I woke up to the sound of silverware clinking and a dry mouth. For a moment, I was confused as to why the ceiling of my hotel room had changed completely until I remembered.

Gibbs. Mike. Bed.

Being a general mess.

The clinking continued. I turned my head to my right, where there was a window, covered by faded red curtains. They were just parted enough for me to see what looked like a setting sun. Dinner time then.

I let my eyes roam around the room, slowly turning my head so as to not induce more of a small headache I was still having. I didn't remember the curtains being closed when I had fallen asleep but to be fair, I wasn't in a great state. Looking closer around, it was a humble sized bedroom. I was lying on what felt like a queen bed, white linen perfumed from a fresh washing. I inhaled again, surprised. Was it lavender? Everything else in the room looked as if no one had lived in the space properly for years.

On the side with the window, there was a cherry wood drawer set underneath, covered in a layer of thick dust. A hand held gun was casually on the top of it, next to a cigarette box. They were the only items that looked touched. On the couch, I saw that my luggage had been brought in and unlocked. As I slowly began to sit up and felt heavier than usual, I decided I would be grateful and not as violated by that fact.

Other than my luggage, the couch was still worn. There was a red throw blanket that had appeared and as I set my feet down on the rug, I found myself looking at sandals set for me to use.

"Wait, did someone take off my shoes?"

I had been wearing sneakers and socks, which had not made the walk in the sand to get to the house any more pleasant. But I did not remember taking them off.

"Yeah."

Gibbs' voice floated from beyond the bedroom door, directly to my left as I sat facing the couch. I slipped on the sandals as I heard his footsteps come closer.

"You didn't drink." I looked up to see him open the double doors of the bedroom and stand in the threshold with a stern look on his face. He nodded to something behind me. I glanced over to look at the left nightstand. A pitcher and a full glass of water. I took the glass immediately and started drinking.

By the end of the glass, my throat was still dry but better, at least.

"Oh thank god." I started pouring myself another glass, my back facing away from Gibbs in the process.

"Dinner's not cold yet if you can stomach it."

"I'm starving," I poured my third glass, taking it in one hand as I finally stood off of the bed. I took a sharp intake of breath, my head having a sharp pain.

"We also have ibuprofen. American stuff." I could hear the smirk in his voice before I saw it.

"I have some...somewhere…" I muttered. I glanced at my luggage, frowning as I tried to remember which of the pockets had most of my toiletries.

"Just use mine. It's fine." He started towards where the clinking sounds had first come from. My stomach felt grossly empty so I wasted no time in following him.

The rest of the house was a very small hall, with one door that I could only assume was a bathroom. At the end of the hall, there was a large living area, with an old looking kitchen set up against the same wall as the front door.

"I thought I came through the back…" I muttered.

"Gibbs practically shoved you through the front, my dear." Mike's voice still boomed, even without the once intense pain of the hangover. He was sitting at the head of a four seat dining table set up to the right of the room. Talking with his mouth full, which he seemed completely fine doing. As I came closer, the smell of fish and lemon wharfed to my nostrils. Mike nodded to the seat next to him, a full plate of rice, fish and some sort of salad set on it. For some reason, I felt the need to look at Gibbs for confirmation. He nodded and I sat, setting my drink down.

"Feeling better, I see." Mike's grin was so wide that in certain lighting, it would have been rather eerie. I just nodded, mouth quickly full of fish.

Gibbs had told me rather little about the man that owned the property I would be staying at for the few days. I trusted Gibbs enough to not feel unsafe but I had not realized until now that Gibbs had not been exaggerating in the slightest how loud Franks would be.

"He's an old loudmouth. But he's good people. Annoying as hell and in another world, he would probably try to get in your pants. Don't get too offended by his talk," Gibbs had warned over the phone. "He's harmless."

Abby had told me more or less their history as far as working from the agency in Gibbs' beginning years. Supposedly the "head slap" came from this eccentric stick of a man, who reeked of Corona and sea salt.

The agency photo Abby showed me looked nothing like the man at the table. His stern gaze replaced with eyes glittering in amazement and alcohol. His hair was far longer, whiter. His face was wrinkled, but it seemed to suit him somehow.

Gibbs also looked far different from when I had last seen him. There was little evidence of the burns from the accident on the side of his head, if you looked proper at him, as I was blatantly doing.

It was strange.

I had seen Gibbs relaxed but this was a new level. He had scruff and his hair looked wilder without the visor hiding parts of it. Tanned skin that made his crow feet more pronounced. The lack of suit or even proper collar exposed the shape of his shoulders. His forearms were exposed, also tanned.

Exposed. Exposed seemed to be the word.

"Got something on my face?"

I half laughed which led to a near choking fit on fish and rice. Mike snorted through a bottleneck of Corona and Gibbs just raised his eyebrow.

"Just...looking."

"Looked more like inspecting." Franks said and my sight goes firmly back to my plate.

He wasn't wrong.

Most of the team had been relying on this trip of mine to make sure Gibbs was alive, and by some miracle, get him out of retirement.

Step 1 was completed so far.

AN: Two in one night, what are the odds. But hello, I'm alive! I have been watching The Last of Us Part II and it got my old soft spot for Gibbs to resurface. Forgive my rusty writing.

Thank you for reading this far and welcome to the slowest fic in the universe.