I had planned a visit to see Gibbs 4 months after the day he had flown out. Not entirely by choice as I had gathered up a girl squad of 5 chicks for an almost week of debauchery in Mexico at one of those places all the tourists go. Where all the drinks had flowers or limes sticking out of them and for once, none of us thought too much about the bill. I booked my flight 4 days after all the other girls left, figuring that 2 full free days was enough time to bug Gibbs during his retirement.

He had insisted on picking me up from the hotel we were staying at, claiming there was no way or reason for me to find the house where he was staying on my own. He also said he hoped I like leaking roofs.

I was a little apprehensive to say the least.

He had called me 15 minutes before he rolled up in the parking lot in what looked like a 70s muscle car, painted in red and black. Based on the sound, the muffler had long since been removed. Which in my largely hungover state, I didn't appreciate.

Gibbs stepped out of the car and I got a good look at him. He was wearing a well worn short sleeve button up, stained shorts and a visor. His white hair puffed like a mushroom over his head. His skin was tanner, making his eyes look lighter than usual. He started packing my items into the car without much preamble.

I rubbed my forehead, bumping my sunglasses against my nose as I did so and then groaned. "Too much noise…" I mumbled.

"Hmm?"

"What's with the car?" I asked instead, still rubbing my forehead, my eyes closed.

"Oh it's Mike's. '69 Dodge Super Bee. Piece of junk honestly." The loud sound of the trunk slamming shut made me jump and the drum set in my head banged louder.

Gibbs chuckled at my sharp intake of breath and had my eyes not still be closed, I could have probably got a good arm swat in.

"Come on," he murmured, and I felt his hand lightly grabbed at my left elbow. I opened my eyes a fraction and let him lead me into the passenger's seat. My whole body sunk into the seat almost instantaneously. If I didn't think long enough, I could imagine that I was in a bed. He turned on the car and I moaned loudly in protest. He just let up another chuckle. "You had fun, didn't you?" he spoke louder as he rolled the car out towards the road.

"Too much fun…" my voice not strong enough to shout over the engine noise, I wasn't entirely sure the older man had even heard me. It didn't seem to matter though.

"Sleep." That was the last word he said during the drive. I kept my eyes closed the rest of the ride, trying to ignore the Chop Suey drum cover taking place in my head.

I woke up to the much louder sound of waves crashing and the smell of salt water ambushing my face. I opened my eyes to see the car door open and Gibbs' hands on either of my shoulders.

"There you are."

"How….long…."

"An hour or so. Got your stuff to the house and everything." He squeezed your shoulders before letting go and nodded outside the car. "Think you can walk?"

I nodded. We headed down a path that led to what looked like a very worn but perfectly placed beach house - at least from the view from the left back of things. The road ended and I found myself wading downways in sand towards it.

"Probie!"

Still wading through the sand, I dragged my feet towards a lanky man that had turned the corner of the porch. Dressed in a similar fashion to Gibbs, he had an even greater air of "take no shit".

"I didn't think you were real - an actual person willing to drag their ass out here to see this idiot." As I got closer, I realized he was gesturing with a half empty bottle of Corona in his left hand and a full one in his right. He stuck out the full bottle towards me in greeting. "Mike Franks - you look like you could use a drink. Or water."

I grabbed the beer and took a swig of it without so much a second thought.

"I like her." Mike said, a raspy chuckle escaping from his mustache.

"Thank you," I managed to reply, using my free hand to shield my eyes from the sun above us.

"You're not going to puke, are you?" Gibbs muttered. I felt Gibbs' hand lightly guide my shoulder forward and we began walking towards the house. "Because there's enough shit to do as it is."

'Isn't the point of retirement to retire' is what I wanted to say in reply. Instead, I just drank more beer and mumbled back a weak 'no'. I was too out of it to tell if the noise he made in reply was a hum or a laugh.

The moan of aged wood was the main thing that helped me realize we were indoors. That and Mike shortly after, slamming the door behind us. I groaned.

"Have some mercy, huh?" Gibbs seemed to be addressing Mike as he continued to push me forward into the house. Each squeak of our footsteps rattled in my head unto they turned into soft pads. I focused my vision on my feet to see an almost tribal looking rug spread on the floor.

Gibbs took the bottle from my hand and I opened my mouth to properly protest. Before I got a syllable in, I felt his hand lower to my mid back.

"Sleep." With a light shove, I found myself suddenly face first into a bed that felt far more heavenly that it probably was. "Water is on the left. I'll be on the roof if you need me."

I heard his footsteps fade away as he left what I realized as a bedroom of some sort. For once, I was grateful for Gibbs' gloriously short ways of speech.

I rolled over on my bed. The roof was lower than I would have liked. It was grey wood, the swirled lines in the wood seeming harsh against the lighter background. My head fell to my left. I could barely make out the outline of a nightstand above my head. Directly on the side of the bed was a brown leather couch that looked like it was holding onto its last thread. I didn't remember much after that thought.

AN: Stay safe. BLM.