Chapter 89: Susan
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| Ouch! |
“I know. And I hate to say it, but you’re not any more off
than you ever are. What happened with you two?” Tim asked.
“Nothing. He’s just in a pissy mood.”
Tim wasn’t buying that at all. “Pissy mood? Come on. Something
is going on. You and Ziva okay?”
Tony flashes him his really,
you’re going there look. “We’re fine. Why would you ask that?”
“He’d headslap you if you’re pissing her off.”
That made sense, sort of. “If I’m pissing her off, I’ve done
it without her letting me know.”
“That’s not like her.”
“No it’s not. So it’s him.”
They both winced when Gibbs double slapped them. “More work,
less gossip.”
“If you weren’t slapping the hell out of Tony every two
minutes, we’d be working. What’s going on?”
Gibbs just glared at Tim, so he flashed Tony his talk later look, and both of them got
back to working the crime scene.
Two days later, Tim said to Tony, “I feel like I woke up in
2004.”
Tony looks up at him like a light just went on. “That’s it!
We fell into a time warp and somehow we’re ten years back in time. How did that
happen? Tell me that, Probie.”
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| It's not 2004 and I will kick your ass if you start that Probie crap up again. |
“Fine. Still, he hasn’t been this hard in years. As Senior
Field Agent, I’m thinking it’s time to do a little investigating.”
Tim nods, this sound promising. “Good, let me know how that
goes.”
“You let me know.” Tony smiled, looking satisfied.
Tim’s eyes went wide. “Nooo… I don’t want to poke into his
life.”
Tony flashed him his I’m
being totally reasonable here, even if you think this is insane look. “I’m
not asking you to hack him, just head over tonight and talk.”
“Why do you want me to do that?” There are a lot of things
Tim McGee is good at, walking up to people, even people he loves, and saying,
“So, tell me why you’re acting like there’s a stick up your ass and you don’t
want it there,” isn’t one of them. He’s much better at the whole respecting
privacy and leaving them alone until they sort it out for themselves thing.
“’Cause this has gone on long enough. You’re free tonight,
and I’ve got Schul.”
“Skip it.”
“Can’t. I missed the last two weeks because of cases.
Rabbi’s getting annoyed at my attendance.”
“Great.”
“Besides, I think he’d rather talk to you about stuff like
this.”
“Stuff like what?” Sure Gibbs was being a bear lately, but
Tim hadn’t figured out the cause, yet.
“When was the last time you saw Susan?”
“Oh.” Tim realized it had been close to a month. “You think
that’s why he’s so angry?”
“Could be. He wasn’t much fun after Hollis left, and I think
that was the last one he really liked.”
“And he did like Susan, didn’t he?” Well, if they had broken
up that could explain it. It’d been more than six months, so that could mean
the thing with Susan was fairly serious, and she was the first woman in ten
years he could remember being invited to some of the social things for their
group. So, that was another mark in the serious column.
“Yeah. Look, if he’s still being a bastard after you talk to
him, I’ll go see him tomorrow, and pump Ducky for information, too.”
Tim shook his head, sure how that was going to go. “That’s
not going to end well.”
“I’m hoping that you’ll talk to him and it’ll help.”
“Why do you think he’d talk to me about this?”
“You’re good at this stuff.”
Tim’s sending Tony his are
you insane look. “What on earth makes you think I’m good with
relationships?”
Tony’s got the same look on his face, stupefied that Tim would even ask that. “You’re getting married in six months.”
“I’m good with Abby, which is not the same thing as being
good at relationships.” An idea hit as he said that. “Abby! She can go talk to
him!”
“He won’t talk to her, not about this sort of stuff. Broken
heart stuff is man talk. Usually involving alcohol and maybe steaks.”
“It sounds like you know what you’re doing. How about we
wait until tomorrow and you handle it?”
“Just get on it.”
Tim glared at Tony a little and then flashed a text to Abby
about his post-work errand.
Two minutes later he got back Thank God, it’s about time one of you did it! I’ll pick up some bourbon
for you to bring over.
Wonderful. See you at
lunch?
Sure.
Gibbs glanced up from his workbench when he heard the steps,
feeling mildly surprised to see McGee standing there holding a bottle of
bourbon.
“You’re supposed to be DiNozzo.”
McGee nodded. “I agree. But he’s at Schul, so,” he put the
bottle on the workbench next to Gibbs, “I’m here. Look, I’ve never done this
before. Do we just drink until you’re ready to stop being a jerk?”
Gibbs looked at the bottle of Blanton’s Original. It’s not
anything he’s ever drunk. The bottle is globe shaped, looking a lot more like
some sort of cordial than anything he’d think of as bourbon. McGee doesn’t
drink hard alcohol much and when he does, he goes for scotch, so if he picked
it out that means he probably went online and looked it up. If Abby did, than
that’s probably her year bartending showing. He hoped Abby picked it out.
McGee sat there, waiting for him to say something. There was
one difference between doing this with McGee versus DiNozzo, Tim, once he got
comfortable, did quiet pretty well. Tony either never really got comfortable or
just couldn’t handle the quiet.
Gibbs touched the bottle, turning the label toward him. “Gonna
take a bigger bottle.”
“You’ve got more if this isn’t enough. What happened with
Susan?”
Gibbs stared at him, looking amused. DiNozzo would have
spent half an hour talking about, well, Gibbs isn’t sure, he wouldn’t have paid
much attention to it. Just would have been noise to let the alcohol sink in a
bit before getting to the main topic. “You’ve really never done this, have
you?”
“No. The only guy who would come to me with something like
this is Palmer, and he’s doing just fine with his love life.”
McGee pulled up a stool and opened the bottle, pouring a
glass for each of them. Then he pushed one of them toward Gibbs.
“Talk to me. It won’t hurt. Might help. And if we both still
think this is stupid tomorrow, we’ll both slap Tony.”
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| "We'll both slap Tony." |
“You aren’t drinking.”
“I’m pacing myself. I don’t want to be hung over tomorrow.”
Gibbs took another drink. “The idea is get drunk so you hurt
as bad on the outside as you do on the inside.”
McGee shot his back. “Better?”
Gibbs nodded, and he realized McGee always takes a drink
from him, but rarely finishes it or has more than a few sips. “You don’t like
bourbon, do you?”
“No. Though this is a lot better than I thought it’d be. So,
let me guess, the other part of both of us drunk is so I don’t really remember
what you’ve said?”
“Something like that.”
“Won’t blab. Won’t tell Abby if you don’t want me to.”
“Abby’s fine. The ten million people who read your next book
are the problem.”
“I won’t put it in there. What happened?”
Gibbs finished his, and poured himself another. “Nothing.”
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| Susan |
“You weren’t in love with her.”
The tilt of Gibbs’ head says yes. “At least by now I know to
cut out before she gets too attached to me. It took three tries, but I figured
out that sticking around longer and getting married and hoping isn’t going to
make me fall in love.”
“Why not?”
He just stared at McGee.
McGee sent him his best I’m
not an idiot look. “Say it out loud, see if it helps.”
 |
| Shannon |
“You ever talk to anyone about Shannon?”
“Mike. A little.”
“He handled her case, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Talk to me. Tell me about her. How’d you two meet?”
Gibbs stared at McGee, not saying anything, not sure if he
could make himself say anything. He was never a big talker, learned early with
his Dad that silence was armor, a good way to protect himself, but he started
talking again when Shannon came into his life, and when she died, his words
went with her. Too many memories, too many feelings went with words, and
keeping them bound and silent let him function.
McGee waited patiently, not in any hurry, a somewhat
expectant look on his face.
Then Gibbs got up, heading upstairs. When he came down, he
was holding a framed photo, and his glass was refilled.
“They were beautiful.” McGee’s voice was low as he said
that, and Gibbs realized that part of never saying anything was never having
anyone around who really understood how much he had lost. Most of his friends
were bachelors, like Ducky or Mike, never settled on one woman. He watched Tim (and realized sometime between putting the picture in front of him and now, he
switched from McGee to Tim) study the picture and could almost feel the raw shock
of aching sympathy from Tim as he felt, and knew, what Gibbs lost.
“Yeah, they were.” Gibbs took another long drink.
“How old are you in this picture?” Tim looked up at him.
“Almost thirty-three.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. Didn’t go gray until after. Didn’t even notice for
something like a year. Had to renew my driver’s license. I listed my hair as
brown. The DMV lady just stared at me for a minute before grabbing a compact
and showing me myself in the mirror.”
Tim smiled at that. He looked at the picture again. “She
would have been about Ziva’s age, right?”
“Kelly was born in ’82. So, yeah, same age as Ziva.”
Tim looked back up at him. “You love Abby, right? And Ziva?
Really love them, not just fond and protective of them?”
Gibbs nodded.
“What’s different? They aren’t Kelly, can’t be Kelly, won’t
be Kelly.”
Gibbs shrugged, feeling the alcohol hit, hard. Might taste
sweet but there was a real punch hiding in there. “Kelly wasn’t mine. You’ll
realize that soon, I hope. Your kids don’t belong to you. They belong to
themselves, and, eventually, whoever they give themselves to.”
“Shannon was yours.”
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| At the train station. |
“That’s your wedding, isn’t it?” Tim asked, fingers lightly
tracing the edge of the photo.
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| Wedding pics. |
“She was your first?”
Gibbs closed his eyes and swallowed, remembering that as
well, thinking of a moment of sublime, ecstatic joy forever tinged with the
excruciating pain of having lost that moment. “She was my only, and yeah, my
first, too. We waited until we got married, and you do that, and… you say the
words, make the promise, put on the rings, and then share yourself like that,
feel her body on yours, your one and only and her one and only, and you are
married.”
He rubbed his eyes again. He was not crying, or trying not
to cry, or maybe Tim was just doing a very good job of not seeing him cry. And
with the tears (or lack of tears) words started to rush out. “She was mine and
I was hers and none of it matters because she’s not here. She’s been dead
almost twice as long as we were married at this point. And yeah, it gets better
and it gets easier, but she’s still gone, and the hole she’s supposed to fill is
still there, and this house is still empty when I come home, and there aren’t
any pictures on the mantle of the three of us growing old together, and I don’t
have grandkids, and I didn’t get to give the bride away, or dance with my wife
at our daughter’s wedding.” He paused, inhaled fast and deep. “We aren’t
getting ready to retire, and we didn’t go to the places we were supposed to, and
she’ll never set foot on this boat, and the future we wanted to build didn’t
happen. And it’s all so fucking wrong!” Gibbs shot his drink back, and Tim
poured him more.
“And every time I try to rebuild, it comes back up again.
I’m hers, and she’s not here, and I don’t know how to belong to someone else.”
Gibbs drank some more.
Tim touched his arm. “Find the right girl, Palmer told me
that. It won’t work with the wrong girl and no amount of trying will make it
work. I’m sure everyone and their cousin has told you Shannon wouldn’t have
wanted you to mourn her forever, but if you haven’t found someone you can fall in
love with yet, then you haven’t. Maybe sex and friendship is what you can do.
Maybe it’s all you need.”
Gibbs snorted. “Been telling myself that lie for years. It’s
not. I miss the way love felt. I want it. I just can’t get it. I should have
loved Hollis. Really should have loved Jen. Should have loved the exes. Should
have loved Susan. They deserved to be loved. Just, can’t do it.”
Tim thought about that while Gibbs stared at his drink, then
he asked, “Where’s your wedding ring?”
“Upstairs.”
“When did you take it off?”
Gibbs almost answered and then stopped.
“After Hernandez?” Tim asked.
He figured that it really shouldn’t be a surprise that Tim
knows that. He half wondered if Abby told him, but decided Tim figured it out
for himself. Abby may have confirmed it, but she wouldn’t have told. “Yeah.”
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| Still married. |
Of all the things Tim could have come up with, that was
something he would have never expected. “It’s been twenty-three years.”
“I know.” Tim tapped his glass, he’s only had the one shot,
hasn’t poured himself a second. “I haven’t had so much I can’t do subtraction.
You aren’t done being her husband, so put your ring back on. Maybe if you go
back a few steps, try it again, you can get to where you need to go.”
Much to Tim’s surprise Gibbs got up.
“You still have hers?” he asked as Gibbs set foot on the
bottom step.
“No. She was buried wearing it.”
“Okay.”
“Why?”
“If you had it, I would have suggested put it on, too.”
Gibbs nodded, that made sense to him. It didn’t take him
long to find. It’d been living in his sock drawer, in the small black box his service medals live in. Plain gold band, wide, still fit, and
looked very right on his hand.
“Feel better?” Tim asked when he returned.
“A little.” And it did, which was probably wrong, but… at
this point he wasn’t going to argue with it. He hated having that finger naked,
and sticking other rings on it never helped, so why not put the one that
belonged there back on?
“Good. So, tell me about her. In my family, when someone we
loves dies, we get drunk and tell stories, and we laugh until we cry and then
cry until we can laugh again. I’m going to take a wild guess and bet that you
never did that for Shannon or Kelly.” Gibbs nodded. Tim poured another shot
into Gibbs’ glass, poured more for himself as well. “Tell me some stories.”
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