Christmas in Stillwater Ch 5
Young Hank Booth had not been happy about his parents' plans to leave town after Christmas. Not only was he missing vital practice time to prepare for the challenging basketball tournament; he was also missing a certain fellow student whose locker was eight down from his. As usual, Mom was right; he was enjoying the family time. But… cell phone conversations with Emily Witowski were a very unsatisfactory substitute for in-person time! Hearing her laugh wasn't the same as being engulfed in her merriment when he told her his latest lame joke, as most of them turned out to be. He scoured the internet, Youtube comedy clips, the newspaper, and any likely source to give her a unique daily laugh.
Once Brennan reminded her son how much Christmas meant to his father, and how rarely they had been able to spend time with Gibbs, Hank resigned himself to a few rather boring days away from Emily. His mom suggested bringing along his basketball in case they found a place to practice and Hank accepted the trip with the same gracious spirit he'd seen his dad demonstrate so many times over the years. Once they arrived in Stillwater, the teenager was happy to find a basketball goal alongside the driveway of Jackson Gibbs' house and decided this trip wasn't so bad after all.
Hearing that a critical basketball tournament was coming up, Gibbs smiled knowingly and led Hank to the well-lit basement.
"Here you go, Hank. My dad installed this goal for me my sophomore year. We had so much snow that year, it was hard to practice enough outdoors. You can't run much or dribble very far, but you can sure practice your lay-ups and such down here."
Hank's eyes lit up. "Thanks, Gibbs! My coach will be really happy about this! Just let me know what hours you want me to knock off so I don't disturb you or any of your neighbors," he added politely.
"Son, the walls of this basement are about 3 feet thick so I don't think the neighbors will even guess you're down here practicing, but that's very considerate of you to ask."
For the rest of their visit, the muffled thump of a basketball could be heard for several hours each day, and Booth joined his son for some friendly competitions as well.
bbbbbbbb
The one regret the lanky dark-haired teenage Hank had was being too young to have known his senior namesake. Parker had known Pops very well, and though Christine didn't remember as much as their older brother, she had fond memories of playing with his intriguing collection of small vintage toys. This treasure trove of interesting objects resided under Pops' bed in a sturdy old shoeshine box he'd made in high school shop decades before. Its luggage latch prevented curious little fingers from gaining access until their owner was carefully watched by at least two Booth family adults; himself, Shrimp, or his Bone Lady.
Whenever Christine was allowed to peek inside and choose a plaything, its variety had captivated her. A small red rubber ball from a jacks set (its metal stars carefully removed), tiny trucks that still rolled easily across the floor even though their paint was disappearing, wooden blocks, miniature bears re-stuffed and sewn by Grams, a small flashlight, a top that spun when her dad launched it just so. These were just a few of the amazing artifacts of past Booth childhoods.
Hank had played with these items too, but there hadn't been Pops' hearty laugh or his broad strong lap to go along with them. He hadn't been born while Pops was alive and that was truly "a major bummer" as he'd told his parents on more than one occasion growing up. This complaint was repeated often enough that, on his sixteenth birthday, Booth had given "Little" Hank a very special gift. The agent had taken his younger son down to the man cave and opened one of the paneled cabinets that lined his retreat. Pulling out a worn cardboard box, Booth sat down next to his son on the comfortable leather sofa and carefully opened the carton. He handed Hank a faded blue cloth-bound notebook.
"I found these among Pops' things after he passed away. It was quite a while before I could look through the boxes without crying too much to read things clearly. I never realized he kept a journal of sorts; not a diary of entries each day, but a record of events he experienced as significant or meaningful, and his reaction to them. These start when he was toward the end of high school, and continue sporadically through his life. Some entries and comments are mundane, but some are pretty profound in a gruff sort of Pops' way. I know you wish you'd had the chance to know your great-grandfather, and I think you're old enough for me to share these and let you read them if and when you'd like to do so."
Hank had been caught completely by surprise, and was speechless for the next few minutes. Then he grabbed his father's hand, squeezed hard, and looked him in the eye.
"I would consider reading these a great privilege and can't tell you how much it means that you'd do this, Dad. I do wish I'd been able to know Pops personally, like Parker and Chris got to, but you sharing these is definitely the next best thing! I appreciate it so much."
bbbbbbbbbbbb
On this particularly snowy morning, Hank awoke earlier than usual for a holiday, probably because he was in a strange bed in an unfamiliar house. Although the bed was comfy and Gibbs' hospitality was wonderful, sleeping somewhere besides home always feels a little off-kilter for Hank. Rolling over to untangle the quilts, he listened intently for a moment. Two deep voices were conversing quietly down-stairs…his father and Gibbs. He sleepily remembered they were planning to go fishing this morning, and it seemed odd that he was still in bed. Usually a fishing trip meant being awakened before the sun had even thought about rising. Hank reached over and pulling aside a curtain and window shade, he peered outside. Snow drifted on the windowsill continued to fall outside the frosty glass. Hmmm, no fishing today….Hank thought. He sat up in bed and looked more closely at the weather. Snow was really falling. Hard and fast. He frowned to himself. This probably means a delay in returning home too, he sighed to himself. He settled back down on the thick down pillows and dozed a bit longer. Then his stomach growled . I don't smell bacon or Dad's pancakes, but might as well get up and see if there's something to eat down in Gibbs' kitchen, he thought.
Pulling on his robe and slippers, Hank tiptoed down the hallway and stairs. Not hearing any conversation, he paused and listened again before walking across Gibbs' dining room and into the living room. His dad was asleep on the sofa and the NCIS agent was crouched in front of his fireplace coaxing the embers back to life. Gibbs turned as Hank entered the room.
"Hey, kid, your dad's zonked out. Do you drink coffee or would you prefer cocoa? I have both."
"I'd try some coffee, please. My dad is addicted to the stuff, straight black; and while my mom won't admit it, she really is too. With any kind of milk; standard dairy, almond, oat, creamer, you name it. Especially when they're dealing with a tough case. Doesn't look like the weather is very good for fishing this morning, huh?"
"Nope, it's not. Your mom and sister may not be disappointed but I think your dad is. Not sure what the travel conditions are; this storm might delay you guys returning to D.C. You wanna flip on the TV over there and let's see what kind of news we can find?"
Hank glanced at the vintage television in the corner dubiously.
"Don't worry, it still works as well as I need it to. I have another newer one; just haven't had time to install it. Stillwater has had cable and satellite TV for a while; but since I just recently retired, I haven't messed with hooking up all that. Maybe your dad can help me with that later, but we can get the weather on this old set just fine for right now."
"I'd see if Mom or Parker will help you, Gibbs; or if they can't, I'll give it a go," Hank grinned. "Dad isn't exactly the handiest guy around when it comes to electronics," Hank grinned. "He can surely use it, but installation is another matter."
Well, let's leave Booth to sleep and see what food we can rustle up. Are you an eggs and bacon guy or do you favor pancakes?" Gibbs asked.
"I'll eat anything you've got, Gibbs. Even buttered toast would taste good right now."
Gibbs opened his fridge and started pulling out food; eggs, bacon, biscuit tins, and hash browns.
"One of these days, you come up here with your dad for a few days of hunting, and I'll show you how to make hash browns from scratch. Scrub the potatoes thoroughly, leave the skins on, slice and dice 'em, or shred them and then fry or oven bake them. Way better than these frozen things, but it takes some time to prepare them. For today, we need lotsa food fast for your hungry family who will soon be waking up."
"I can scramble the eggs if you like; I've done plenty of that on Scout campouts," Hank offered.
"Have at it, kid; I'll handle the bacon. Quickest way to fix it is in the oven; that's how they do it for jail inmates where they have to have plenty on hand really fast," Gibbs winked at his young guest.
"So tell me about this basketball tournament you have coming up; are you playing for the Maryland state championships or is it still a regional competition? I'm surprised your coach let you leave to come up here; missing practices before tournaments was strictly verboten when I was in high school."
"Well, I'd been practicing my shooting before we left town, and when I texted my coach about your basement practice hoop, he was satisfied that I'd be able to keep up my drills enough to be ready for our games, so I really appreciate you letting me use it!"
"No problem, Hank. I remember how important sports was to me at your age. For your dad too, from what I hear, until he messed up his shoulder. Both of us ended up joining the military, but I continued to play in intramural games on whatever base I was stationed on. Believe me, nobody is as competitive as a bunch of Marines, and we had some very intense amateur seasons."
"That should be enough bacon to feed your clan, and it looks like you've prepped a sufficient batch of scrambled eggs. Let's go rouse your family for breakfast, and then see what other activities we can find to have fun in spite of this weather. Maybe some ice skating if the pond is safely frozen over. I still have several pairs of my old hockey skates downstairs that might fit you and your dad."
"Sounds good, Gibbs. I'm starved enough that if the rest of the Booths don't get up pretty soon, I'll eat everything in sight by myself. That bacon smells sooo good!"