He didn’t realize how much he craved solitude until Bishop had asked if he was going to McGee’s house.
When he was in Paraguay he was never alone. The noises of the guards moving about the ship had been a constant. Their conversations and laughter echoing around bouncing off of the metal walls. There was never silence. The actual visits from the guards, still angry over the loss of their friends, had been even less pleasant.
McGee had been there as well. His constant presence was something for which Gibbs had been grateful. It had brought him comfort, though he would never admit it aloud, to have his agent in his line of sight. Even when things looked bleak and McGee was visibly in pain or hungry it comforted Gibbs to see the steady rise and fall of his chest, to know that while things were bad they weren’t as bad as they could be.
Getting McGee home had been the only goal he had had for the last two months. It was all he thought about. The mantra in his head that drown out the constant noise around him. And with their return to the states and the conclusion of the never ending debriefing even that voice was silent. McGee was safe at home in the arms of his much relieved wife surrounded by people that loved him.
Gibbs was in his basement now. Eyes closed his forehead pressed against the hull of his latest creation and the world was silent. No footsteps, no breathing besides his own, no voices in his head screaming at him to keep his agent safe at all costs. He let the last two months wash over him he let the memories of hunger that gnawed at his belly and pain that clawed at his sanity wash over him and break against him. He felt the solidness of the wood beneath his fingers and it all retreated like the tide rolling out.
He blinked his eyes open and saw the wet tracks of silent tears that ran down the side of the hull and felt lighter than he had felt in months.