Time Moves On
Author: OrphanActress818
Category: Angst (Romance)
Rating: PG
Contents: A little snapshot of Jethro Gibbs' method of grieving.
Spoiler: 5x18/5x19 Judgment Day
The ticking of the clock was all that could be heard. The sanding, the swearing, the sips of bourbon were all missing. There was just an old clock counting out the seconds, the minutes, the hours since that moment.
The moment Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs found out.
And now he sat, his back propped up against the bow of the boat he'd worked on so lovingly, the boat he'd whiled away his time and loneliness on. In the end, it still didn't matter. She was just as dead. They all were.
Shannon, Kelly, and now her.
A full glass of bourbon sat by his side, the dim shine of the single light bulb reflecting off its polished sides, twinkling up at him. As he stared at the rainbows thrown from the cup to the floor, he wondered how some things could go on being so damn cheerful when everything else had gone to hell.
Kelly had liked rainbows.
Slowly, he picked up the glass and twirled it in his fingers, admiring the way the shadows played with the light. Taking a sip, he let the alcohol roll on his tongue for a moment before swallowing. Then, he threw it.
Just as calmly as he had taken his drink.
He watched placidly as the glass shattered against the wall, drops of bourbon and bits of shard flying everywhere. An exceptionally large piece grazed his cheek. He didn't bother to wipe off the blood. What was one more scar, anyway? The only thing that mattered was that the damn sparkle was gone.
Shannon had hated it when he threw things.
He picked himself up off of the cold floor. After making a mental note to clean the mess up later, he dragged himself to his worktable. For once, it was clean. For once, there were no tools, no bits of wood, no scattered piles of junk.
For once, there was a picture.
Jethro Gibbs made it a point to never look at the pictures once they had made their way into the boxes he stored in his attic. No excuses, no exceptions. Once they were gone, they were gone. Anything, and everything, was shoved into a carton and stored away, never to see the light of day again.
Until today.
His wife, his daughter. Shouldn't their deaths be more monumental? Shouldn't their pictures be the ones he was taking out of age-old packing and bringing into light? He didn't, hadn't. So why had he felt so compelled this time? He didn't even know what she was. Not a lover—that was the past. Not a friend—she'd left too soon and for too long to ever fit into that category again. Certainly not a wife, a fiancée. So why her? Why now?
He had no idea.
All he'd known was that he had to find something, anything, of hers or he’d go mad. Her belongings, her presence, had been destroyed along with her house. All he had to placate himself with was the grainy photo in his hand.
A photo from Paris.
She was smiling. Not the small half smile that only graced her lips every once in a while now, but the smile she'd once had. Beautiful was the only word for it. Standing in front of the Eiffel Tower and beaming, red hair long and loose. So gorgeous he remembered he’d felt physical pain when he found out she'd cut it.
And with that thought, his mind zoomed into the fast track of memory lane.
With difficulty, he wrenched himself free of his thoughts. This was exactly why these things stayed in the attic. It was too painful to remember. He could feel his eyes swimming. Jethro Gibbs never cried.
He wasn't about to start now.
Carefully, almost tenderly, he turned the photograph in his hands upside down. He placed it gently on the table and, for a moment, stared intently at the Kodak signature on the back of the paper. Then he slowly pushed himself up out of the chair. Turning abruptly he headed for the door. That mess wasn’t going to clean itself. As he left, all that could be heard was the ticking of the clock.
Jenny would have been proud.
All the pain and the suffering in the world can't stop a clock. Because, no matter what else is happening, time moves on.
END