Gibbs: What is all this?

Jackson: They're your mom's stuff. No use leaving 'em at home. I had 'em shipped. For the tree. It's a beauty, isn't it?

Magic Always Ends

The Christmas season had held magic for Jethro when he was a young boy. He would watch the house transform under his mother's efforts. This year he had learned with no uncertainty that magic didn't really exist. His mother didn't have the energy for her usual decorating. A neighbor had brought in a tree. Jackson had strung some lights. Most nights the tree sat dark, unless Jethro's mom felt up to sitting with them. Then Jackson would plug in the lights and there'd be a subdued attempt at cheer for almost an hour before his mom went back to bed.

Jackson: I was helping you build a model plane, and you asked me about the war. Do you remember the story I told you?

Her Gift

Every year there would be a model kit under the tree for Jethro. His mom picked them out, he knew. He and his dad would spend the week after Christmas working to put it together. His mom never complained about the smell of glue in the kitchen or how much of the table was taken up with the project. She'd just laugh and say architects and engineers had to start somewhere. Model glue and coal dust both represented honest labor to her. What she was really fostering with the model kits, though, was conversation between a father and his son.

Gibbs: Merry Christmas, Dad.

Jackson: Merry Christmas, Son.

Quitting Christmas

The Christmas after his wife died, Jackson tried. He brought home a tree. He cajoled his son into helping decorate it. On Christmas morning there were presents. The model kit he had bought was the same one Jethro had gotten three years before. On his way out to shovel the walk, Jethro said as much. The kit was gone when Jethro came back inside and nothing more was said about it. The next week Jackson came up with excuses to work late at the store every night. That was the last year Jackson and Jethro tried to celebrate Christmas together.

Jackson: I can't hang on to every piece of junk.

Gibbs: No, just your junk.

The Light Goes On

The funeral arrangements were set. Jethro opened Jackson's closet to look for his military medals. He pulled the chain for the light bulb, then froze momentarily when he saw the top shelf. He scanned the entire shelf. Displayed in order by year were the models the two of them had put together. There were also several unopened boxes. Jethro took a closer look at those. It seemed that Jackson had continued to buy the model kits for years after they'd stopped putting them together. Building the models together meant more to each of them than either one would have admitted.

Jackson: Leroy, there's a lot in this world you can't make right. But this, this, you can always make right. And that's a start.

A Good Model

Jethro was headed back to DC with some things he'd found in Stillwater. He glanced down and allowed himself a small smile. The old box with the faded writing "Chickadee" was on the passenger side floor. He'd had an idea after seeing the old kit models of his that Jackson had hung onto. His relationship with his dad had some rough patches at times, but the foundation had been solid. The last few years had been mostly good. Jethro felt that there was something he needed to make right, though. The Chickadee model would give him a place to start.