"Thank you for coming, Mr. Gibbs," said the Coroner as he led them down a darkened hall, toward the morgue. "I assure you this will be quick."
"Thanks."
They stopped in front of a large glass window.
"Please, wait here."
The Coroner went into the room and approached a table, similar to one of Ducky's autopsy tables, and looked up at the window as he gently laid his hand on the sheet covering the body. He nodded toward the window, and Gibbs nodded back. Slowly, the Coroner pulled the sheet back, exposing the face of Jackson Gibbs.
He squeezed Abby's hand as he willed the tears not to fall again. Slowly, he nodded at the Coroner, who nodded back, and covered Jackson's face again.
Gibbs let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. The hardest part was over.
The Coroner came back out.
"A lot of people break down during this part. You are doing very well, Mr. Gibbs."
"It's Jethro," he said, shaking the Coroner's hand. "Give me 48 hours to make arrangements."
"No problem, Jethro. I'm so sorry for your loss."
Gibbs nodded and walked away. Abby said goodbye to the Coroner and hurried after him.
As soon as the truck was in park, Gibbs got out and headed into the house. Abby stayed behind in the truck for a moment. She sat back and fingered the crucifix around her neck. She briefly closed her eyes.
"Lord, please watch over him. He really needs you right now."
Gibbs slammed the door and stalked across the kitchen and into the study, which was situated in a small room off the living room. He closed the door behind him, and locked it.
The study was small and modest. There was an oak desk, with an open laptop computer on it. There was a small bookshelf next to the desk, and a liquor cabinet in the far corner. Jackson had kept that cabinet locked until Gibbs left Stillwater. Gibbs tried it, and found it unlocked.
He reached in and found a bottle of bourbon, and a glass. He brought them to the desk and sat down. As he dialed the number for the local funeral home, he poured himself a glass. He cringed when the secretary answered. It was the same woman that had worked there when his mother passed away, and she had the same nasal voice.
"Gable & Jones, how may I direct your call?"
"Is Mr. Gable available?"
"One moment, please."
The line was silent for a moment.
"This is Morrie Gable."
"Hey Morrie, it's Jethro Gibbs."
"I've been waiting for your call. How are you holding up?"
"I could be doing better," he said, taking a gulp of bourbon.
"Do you have something in mind already, Jethro?"
"Dad had a will. He wanted his funeral to be simple, and he wants to be buried next to my Mother."
"I remember helping him with the burial plot. He bought the space next to Anne."
"I remember."
There was an awkward pause. Gibbs took another gulp of bourbon.
"I trust you, Morrie. I've known ya for 50 years. Arrange something nice. I'll bring down a nice suit for him, and we can work out the details."
"He'll be in good hands, Jethro. I'll call you in a few days, and we'll have lunch and finalize everything, okay?"
"Sounds like a plan. Thanks, Morrie."
"Take it easy, Jethro."
Gibbs hung up and sat back in the plush chair, bourbon in hand. He remembered sneaking into the study as a teenager, to pilfer some of the liquor. Of course, the cabinet was always locked, but that never stopped him. He'd get in trouble for it down the line, but it was always worth it.
He closed his eyes as more memories floated through his mind, and soon drifted into a much needed sleep.
"Gibbs! I know you're in there! Open the door!"
He jumped out of the chair when she started pounding on the door. He quickly put the bourbon and glass back into the liquor cabinet and shut it. When he was sure he'd cleaned it up, he opened the study door.
"You've been in here for three hours! Are you all right?"
"I fell asleep."
"Oh."
"It's okay, Abbs. I shouldn't have locked the door," he said, ushering her out of the study and shutting it up behind them.
"No, I should have left you to your thoughts."
He hugged her. She could smell the bourbon on his breath.
"Have you been drinking?"
"Abbs,"
"I don't want to see you drink a hole in your stomach. Please promise me you won't use alcohol as a crutch."
"I can't promise that, Abby."
"You always retreat to a bottle of bourbon when something bad happens. Please, for me, don't do it this time."
Gibbs looked into her eyes. He always had a problem telling her no when she gave him her puppy dog eyes.
"I'll try. That's all I can promise."
"I'll take it. I'm sorry for yelling."
Gibbs hugged her.
"It's okay, you were worried."
"How about lunch?"
"Sounds good, Abbs."
They went to the kitchen together, where Abby had lunch prepared. She set a plate in front of him with a roast beef sandwich and some fruit.
"This looks great," he said, taking a big bite of the sandwich.
They chatted lightly over lunch, and Gibbs volunteered to wash the dishes. When everything was cleaned up, they retreated to the living room to watch a bit of TV. They found a movie, and within 15 minutes, they were both asleep.
TBC...