So the team is starting to really pick up on things and notice how different Tim and Gibbs are, Grace is especially worried about Tim but with Gibbs already in a bad mood she has to tread carefully or he'll start thinking she's trying to interfere with his team to get at him. Appreciate you guys thoughts, helps keep me writing :D Expect delays... again... but hopefully not as long as before, I have a few ideas to work out :)
It was late but Ducky had tracked him down, not hard for a man who went nowhere but work and his basement. Gibbs had already poured a measure into a second jar before Ducky's footsteps reached the head of the stairs.
"Wondered where McGee had got to earlier. Should've guessed." Gibbs shrugged as he drained his glass in one. Ducky took his own in his hand and observed it.
"He wasn't planning on running into anyone I'm sure. He knew we were out to lunch."
"So, autopsy his new hiding place then?"
"Did he have an old one?" Ducky raised an eyebrow and sipped the burning liquid. Gibbs shrugged again.
"Abby's lab?"
"From what I gather he hasn't spoken to Abigail in days. She's very concerned."
"He's a big boy." Gibbs poured himself a second.
"Yes, but even big boys need looking after sometimes." Ducky cast Gibbs a curious glance. "I hear Delilah is away?"
"Mmhm, DOD sent her to China for a week. She's supposed to be back day after tomorrow."
"Supposed to be?"
"You know how things are Duck."
"That explains why Timothy seems increasingly down lately."
Gibbs stayed silent this time.
"It seems he is struggling. I assume you've noticed, what with you working with him and all?"
"When he wants to he'll come Duck."
"Oh come on Jethro wake up and smell the coffee man." Ducky snapped. "You know your team better than anyone, you know they do nothing if they think it will upset or anger you. You know they mirror your every move, your every action and emotion. While you yourself stay so internally contained and outwardly unemotional how can you possibly expect Timothy to be anything but the same? You make a rod for your own back in what you do Jethro. You expect too much."
"I expect them to know their limits."
"As you know yours?"
"This isn't about me Ducky."
"And that there is the problem, because it is about you Jethro. It's about you and Timothy and Anthony and everything that has happened. The three of you, you have been a team together longer than anyone else I've ever known. Those boys grew with you, they learned, they lost, they became the men they are today because of you and in that respect, you can't expect them to not be somewhat similar in personality."
"Bu-"
Ducky raised a hand to stop him.
"You raised those boys Jethro, they became men in your company, and you know you've always had difficulty getting to know Timothy as well as Anthony. Anthony was already so much like you, Timothy, less so, and now you've been left with, rather than a carbon copy of yourself, a man that you helped mould who you're now questioning just because he has different ways. We have all been through so much lately. Ziva's death has affected us all in different ways, some in not so different ways. He is much like you, you need to realise that before it's too late."
Gibbs sighed and rolled a hand down his face. He knew what Ducky was saying was true but hadn't he also taught them to ask for help when they needed it? Didn't Tim already know that anyway?
"You're right Ducky, but what I've taught them, he'll come, when he needs to, he'll figure it out and he'll come. Rule 28."
Ducky shook his head and sighed in exasperation.
"Sometimes my dear boy, people need a pull in the right direction. One of these days, I fear you will miss the stop." With that Ducky donned his hat and laid down his glass at the side. "Just think about it Jethro."
He sighed before taking to the stairs and leaving Gibbs alone once again. Gibbs regarded his own drink for longer than a while before slugging down the remainder and turning back to the boat.
Steps, barely an hour later, he knew belonged to Grace. He had been so engrossed in his work that he hadn't heard the car or the chink of his front door. The steps were too clicky to be a mans, too heavy for Bishop, too light for Abby. Grace was the only one left.
"And here was me thinking you'd given up."
"I never give up. Did you miss that on my business card?"
"Ah of course, Grace Confalone, therapist extraordinaire, what was it? No one is a lost cause?"
"Something like that. You forgot the Dr part."
"Silly me."
"Not going to offer me a drink?"
"Didn't think you were staying for one."
Grace crossed her arms over her chest and smirked at the back of his head.
"You think I'd drive all this way for your scintillating conversation?"
Gibbs made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a scoff but reached for another jar from the side all the same.
"Already had company?" Grace indicated to the almost empty glass.
"Ducky." Gibbs passed her her own, finally meeting her eyes.
"I take it he wasn't enthralled by your hospitality either?"
"Came to discuss McGee."
"Ah, so something in common then." She too sipped the drink.
"Drinks like you too."
"So, what was his point?"
"Same as yours probably so no need to waste your breath."
"Did a wonderful job of getting through to you then did he?"
"I'd tell you what I told him but I could guess I'd get the same response as Ducky's."
"You could try."
She stared him down for a minute, watched as he swallowed a mouthful of bourbon and reached for the bottle. Several empty, she noticed, lay at the side of the bench. Gibbs followed her gaze and turned his back once again.
"Thought you'd be more concerned with giving me a hard time about skipping sessions."
"Oh I'll get to that."
"Please don't."
"I wouldn't have to if you went."
"I wouldn't have to if you didn't make me."
"And I wouldn't have to if you cooperated." Grace placed the glass to the bench and paused to admire the boat. "You don't half make my life difficult Popeye."
"Told you before, just say the word."
"Oh no, you don't get off that easy. You talked a bit before Gibbs, I don't understand why now is different."
"Because I don't need to talk about the things you want me to."
"Don't need to, or don't want to?"
Gibbs stiffened and uncapped the bourbon bottle. Grace sighed under her breath.
"Gibbs, I know things have been tough. You lost Ziva. As much as you don't want to believe that affected you it did. And then you lost Tony, and you're trying to kid yourself that that's ok too but you know it isn't."
Grace stepped forward and grasped his shoulder to turn him to face her.
"No one could deal with everything you have in such a short space of time Gibbs. You need to grieve, to accept things and accept the help, and you need to be there for your team. The only way to do that is to help you first. You and Tim, you're in the same boat and it's sinking Gibbs, fast. I'm throwing you a rope here. Take it."
She was pleading with him now, hoping that his obvious love for his team would be strong enough to counter his fear of talking about it. It was going to drive him insane otherwise, Tim too. His expression was blank, emotionless and she knew he barely cared for what she was saying. He was too drunk, too absorbed in his self-loathing and too wounded to understand what he was doing to that boy; too stupid to realise what the both of them were doing to each other. They were each other's last, the only person they worked so closely with that had been there from the beginning. No Ziva, no Tony. They should be leaning on each other right now, not pushing each other away.
Gibbs took the glass from the side and brought it to his lips without meeting her eyes. Grace shook her head in defeat; for tonight anyway. She turned to leave and made it to the bottom of the stairs before she addressed him again, her tone stern and authoritative, as though speaking to a misbehaving child.
"You miss your next scheduled session with the department shrink and I will have you put on psych leave."
With that she left. Gibbs stood alone once again, staring at the spot at the top of the stairs where she had vanished. He waited until he heard the door click and hurled the glass towards the wall where it shattered. He slid to the floor against the worktop and dropped his head to his hands in exhaustion.