He walked into the house and was assaulted by how empty it was, and yet how full. Full of her things, like her bag which still stood by the doorway where she'd left it.
Full of his things that she'd touched, like the coffee cup he'd left in the sink, or that damned pot she'd spent hours scrubbing in vain.
Full of her blasted scent. And the farther he paced through the rooms, the more aware he was of its delicate onslaught of his senses.
Full it was, but empty as well. Empty of her.
Exhaustion drove him at last to his bedroom, but as he stopped just inside the doorway, the solitude and the stillness of the room repelled him. As tired as he was, he knew that sleeping there would be impossible. To be without her soft warmth next to him would be worse than powerlessly watching her back at the shack. He turned to go, to make his way to his basement when something caught his eye.
A black spot at the joint between the wall and the ceiling.
Slowly he turned back, hearing Kate's clear description of the cameras in Leah's house rise in his memory. Anger began to form in the pit of his stomach as he climbed onto a chair for a closer look. Inspection proved it to be exactly the same sort of device Kate and McGee had described. Those damned pictures... This was how they were taken...
His anger became rage that propelled him through the house, searching for further violation. Five more cameras later and that rage had become white-hot fury -- driving him into the attic, ripping out the installation with tightly controlled violence. As he flung the cables and electronics down the stairs, without regard to their delicate mechanisms, he felt some small piece of himself begin to heal. This act of taking back his house for himself and Leah, providing them a sanctuary from the atrocities they'd faced began to ease his aching soul.
At last, down in his basement, he hunted for a small block of wood, one he would use to carve a small gift for her, something from his heart to hers. As he settled on his stool, fingers closing around the perfect piece of wood, his knife moving surely over the edges, shaping it, he realized he'd never shown her his boat. He smiled to himself. There would be plenty of time for that later.
Several hours later, he set the small wooden carving aside, pleased with his work. Tired, but unwilling to return to his empty bed without her by his side, he slid underneath the partially finished boat and fell asleep.