Hope you guys can forgive me once again for the delay, I was struggling with the Tim-Gibbs showdown but wanted to have the first bit written so you guys could read it all at once without being left in too much suspense :P Next parts hopefully on their way soon!
She had been worried when she'd caught him sneaking out of the room, he could see it in her eyes and the way she didn't quite believe him when he said he'd be back soon. If he had had trouble sleeping that night no doubt she was now sitting at home, her mind buzzing with thoughts over where he might've gone. The reluctance in the way she'd nodded to let him go made him hope that Tony had the sense to tell her his destination. He too had woken as Tim passed the sofa on his way out, nothing but a nod of understanding exchanged between the two.
Tim hadn't been here in what felt like a very long time, not like this anyway. The boat was looking much more like a boat than it had the last time he'd seen it, midway through being sanded and varnished, the brush discarded beside it. He paced the floor, considered Gibbs bourbon for a minute or two before pouring himself a measure and setting back pacing again.
He'd guess these basement walls housed more secrets than anywhere. It was the place everyone seemed to end up at one point or another. The place that knew things about Gibbs and his previous life that not even Ducky knew, the place where Ari had taken his last breath, the place Ziva had first become part of the team, where she had hidden when she had been accused of murder because it was the only place she felt safe, where Jenny had come on more than one occasion in the past Tim was sure to both be comforted by and to berate him, it was where Abby and Ducky would come to find Gibbs at his most vulnerable and where they could be too, where Tony had come at his lowest points to drink bourbon and enjoy companionable silence, where he had made that all important decision to leave.
He looked around for a while for a way out, secret doors or floor or any way that Gibbs could possibly build a boat and smuggle it out. In the end he decided he simply didn't, it wasn't possible. He sipped the bourbon while he inspected the place, the tools on the shelves, the rifle in the drawer, broken TV and phone on the wall, the air thick with reminiscence of what had been, a small window into the murky past of one Leroy Jethro Gibbs, husband, father, sniper, agent, confidante, marine first and foremost, a family man at the heart.
A letter from Tony lay unfurled on the side pinned under several jars of nuts and bolts, though he was tempted to, he didn't read further than, Boss. Tali's picture caught his eye, pinned to the board beneath a hammer and saw, her bright grin shining back at him, big green eyes wide and excited and waving her fist furiously at the camera with Kelev tucked under her arm; the sight made him smile a little. He swapped his drink for a sanding block from the workbench and turned it over in his hands several times before he drew it over the rougher wood of the boat. No wonder Gibbs gets some relief out of this, it took some work and energy behind it, or maybe he was just lacking something else.
Boat, basement, bourbon. He got it. It was the simple things in life that kept them going. His thoughts drifted to Delilah, sitting at home, worrying after him, that secret she'd kept from him for fear of tipping him over the edge, he hated himself right there and then for being so damn selfish and stupid, but maybe he needed it. He had too long been Tim McGee, computer genius and otherwise failure, never a good enough son, recently not a good enough agent and currently not a good enough friend or boyfriend- could have been fiancé by now if he hadn't been keeping a secret of his own. He was tired of secrets, of feelings that weren't to be shared, things that were thought but not said but should be and not nearly often enough. He was tired of the loss, of the disappointment and the not knowing how he was supposed to react to any of it- disappoint Gibbs, disappoint Delilah, disappoint Tony, disappoint himself? He didn't know which was worse these days. Gibbs seemed to have it worked out, boat, basement, bourbon, kept his cards close to his chest and his feelings buried deep. It worked, and did he ever get hurt, no. At least not visibly.
Tim took another slurp of alcohol, enjoying the burn that came with it as he ran his fingers along the lines of the boat, the intricate detail and the delicately carved name of Ziva, it was only to be expected. Ziva, friend, lover, sister, daughter, mother. Everything to every one of them who had known her and now nothing to the physical world but a name and a ghost.
"With the grain Tim." Gibbs' voice came from the top of the stairs.
Tim whipped around so fast he almost cricked his neck. Gibbs was leaning casually over the banister, watching Tim with a mixture of concern and something close to amusement, his smile was full of anguish and the way he said his name, soft and strained as though speaking to a dying man. His eyes looked tired and pained, he looked broken, like a shell of the man he used to be, and yet he still respected him more than anything, maybe more than ever in that moment. The use of his first and actual name did not go unnoticed with Tim.
Tim wasn't sure how he must have looked to Gibbs, standing so brashly in his basement drinking his bourbon and sanding his boat, as though this was something of a regular occurrence. He probably looked just as broken, probably more; he was the one breaking and entering and helping himself to the man's alcohol supply after all. Technically, the door was open so it's really only entering, Tony would have said. This was the guy who once played football with a rock while explaining the finer details of the act on his first time meeting him. Gibbs barely batted an eyelid. How long he'd been watching him he didn't know.
"Not long." Gibbs answered, reading his mind. He offered him a small smile at the look of bewilderment on his face and Tim noticed it again, the pain behind it.
Gibbs made his way down the stairs, slowly and deliberately, as though waiting for a response from Tim or at best a reason for being in his basement at such an ungodly hour. Tim gave him neither. Without a word he took a jar from the side, blew some dust from it and tipped himself a shot of bourbon too. He raised his hand in Tim's direction and drained the glass in one, Tim took another sip of his own. Gibbs seemed to be trying to steer himself to talk, liquid courage seemed to be key as he drained a second glass as fast as the first. Tim did nothing but sipped his own again, still in silence, the sanding block loose in his hand. It seemed that gave Gibbs some focus.
Tim caught the tail end of a smile and barely had a chance to react before Gibbs had reached for his hand. He spun him slightly on the spot, Tim clutching the glass and for a brief moment wondering whether Gibbs was going to throw him out of the basement with one hand behind his back like a common criminal. Instead, Gibbs' hand covered his own and he stood beside him, one hand on the square of his back, as he drew the sander across the wood and back again. Tim stood transfixed at his hand moving beneath Gibbs' and the strangeness he felt at being this close to his boss. It was minutes before he realised Gibbs had retired to the stool behind him and was watching Tim run the block over the wood with an air of interest.
Gibbs allowed him to be while he busied himself drinking another measures worth of alcohol. A million words buzzed around Tim's head but he couldn't find a way to say them out loud. He didn't even know what to say, what do you say in a situation like this? Sorry came to the surface but dissolved in his throat. Gibbs didn't do apologies in any case, at least not often. He realised though that this silence was different to the usual one between them, strained and tension filled. This was comfortable and full of emotion and space, space that was needed. He lost track of how long he stood there, sanding the same patch of wood over and over again until Gibbs shattered it.
"I'm sorry Timothy."
The spell was broken. The space, emotion, comfort of the silence crashed to the floor and an echo of Gibbs' words rang in Tim's ears. I'm sorry Timothy. He turned on the spot to find Gibbs staring at him, watery eyed and looking a little, no, a lot, ashamed.