He scraped the woodwork, sweatpants and a t-shirt lightly dampened from the exertion. The birdhouse was coming along nicely; it looked just like the other two dozen he had given to his father. Still, after each one, his old man still smiled and said thank you for the birthday present. And he always had a place to put it as well.

Gibbs would have smiled at that thought, normally.

Jackson was a lot like Ducky. Both were older and insightful, both had stories dating back generations. Both could also be stubborn as hell. And both had earned his love.

"I am honored, Jethro, that you would hold me on the same level as your father."

Gibbs let out a deep breath, not bothering to look behind him. "Is this gonna happen every time somebody dies? Mike Franks hitch a ride with you?" he asked, almost bitterly.

A slight chuckle was his answer. "Mike Franks is a ghost you have put behind you, Jethro. He is one you have allowed to rest in peace, along with Director Sheppard and Kate."

"But not you."

"No, not me," agreed his friend.

"So how have I not let you go, Duck?" Gibbs asked, turning to face his dead comrade. He leaned onto his working table, spreading his hands curiously.

Ducky smiled. "Considering that I am in your mind, my psychological profiling may not be all that you would have hoped. However, I do believe that you hold the answer to this yourself."

Gibbs scoffed. "Is that some sort of riddle, Ducky?"

Dr. Mallard laughed softly, leaning back against the opposite desk. "Yes, well, that was a bit vague, I'll admit. However, it is nonetheless true. Reminds me of a time, around forty years ago now. I was studying some ancient hieroglyphics, painted, we believed by the Egyptians..."

"Ducky, not while you're in my head."

Again he smiled. "Yes, I understand."

A long moment of silence passed between them, the kind you only see between ageless friends. Gibbs dropped his gaze, hands folded in front of his waist.

"I'm gonna get this son of a bitch," he said softly.

Ducky stood, his features becoming grave. "Yes, Jethro, you will. But what is your motivation?"

"Do you really have to ask?"

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't." The doctor took another step towards him. "Jethro, there are plenty of reasons why you need to bring Dowing in. In all truth, there are plenty of reasons he should die. But my death should not be one of them. Nor the injuries dealt to Antony, Abby, Timothy or Ziva."

"And why the hell not?" Gibbs growled angrily, clenching the corner of the wooden table.

"Because," Ducky continued, voice firm, "as soon as you make any one of those your chief reasons, and as soon as this hunt turns into a quest to repay him for the pain he has dealt you, you have become the man you are trying to catch."

Gibbs stood still as the truth sunk in. Ducky's face softened. "Jethro, there was nothing you could have done. My heart simply failed me. The news of the bomb gave it a push, but it was going to happen eventually."

Gibbs stayed silent and Ducky looked straight into his eyes. "You need to catch this man, Jethro. But you need to do it for the right reasons."

A ghost of a smile appeared on Gibbs' face. "I always could count on you to bring me to my senses, Duck."

"Well what are friends for? And speaking of friends, it is time you allowed yourself to be near them." Gibbs started to protest, but Ducky raised a hand. "You claim you do not need them. But regardless, they need you, Jethro. Especially one Antony DiNozzo. He has bared the brunt of the other's emotional weight, as he usually does. And if my evaluation is correct, he will need someone to turn to as well."

Gibbs nodded again, and then reached out a hand towards his oldest friend. As soon as it made contact, the apparition vanished, leaving him alone in his basement once again. Wearily, Gibbs looked up.

"Thanks again, Duck."

Turning, he grabbed his coat and keys, walked up the stairs, and shut the door behind him.