Chapter 24

Three weeks later.

Gibbs ran his hands over the smooth wood of the plank, quickly deciding it needed to be smoother. He picked up the sander again, feeling that familiar swell of serenity as he made something completely by hand, without electricity and power tools. The boat was slowly but surely coming together, and it was beautiful. It kept him relaxed and it gave him time to think, something which he found himself needing more and more of these days.

He leaned over the wood, slowly moving the sander with the grain, pushing hard, but not too hard. He wasn't trying to grind away at it, it just needed to be perfect. He blew away the dust and turned to grab an old rag.

A shadow in the corner of his eye grabbed his attention, and he was reaching for his gun before he recognised the figure of Sheppard leaning down on the railing overlooking his basement, looking slightly perplexed.

"I should have known you'd only build a boat by hand. Too afraid another person's yacht will spring a leak?"

Gibbs stepped back, grinning slightly. "If I could afford a yacht, I wouldn't be an NCIS agent."

Sheppard snorted as he started down the stairs. "Yes, you would."

Gibbs grinned deeper, and he leaned back against his bench, studying the colonel: he looked strange in civilian clothes, and he still moved gingerly, was still pale, sure signs of his no doubt lengthy infirmary stay. But he looked a lot better than the last time Gibbs had seen him, stretched out on a bed, barely breathing without the aid of a respirator.

Sheppard stepped onto the floor of the basement and stared at the boat with amusement. "So, seriously. Why?"

"Why not?" Gibbs asked, turning around and reaching for the nearest draw. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

Sheppard chuckled, but didn't say a word, just continued staring at the boat, seeming slightly uncomfortable as he stood there. Gibbs knew it even without looking. But he didn't say a word, just grabbed the bottle of whiskey he always kept in the draw and poured two glasses of the amber liquid.

"They caught Szymański, finally," Sheppard told him, though Gibbs doubted that was the reason the man was here. "Trying to cross into Russia."

Gibbs turned back, offering the second glass. "Must have been in hiding all this time." He eyed the colonel, and then leaned back. "I'm guessing none of the gang will ever see the light of day again?"

Sheppard didn't say a word, which was confirmation enough for Gibbs. He sighed. "So, how is everyone?" Gibbs asked, when the silence was getting too much.

Sheppard shrugged. "Fine. Alive, thanks to you. Everyone's out of the infirmary, most people are back on light duty. Not me, or Teyla, Trohman or Walker, but everyone else is. We, uh had the services for Atler and Bradleys two weeks ago. Which sucked. How's your team?"

Gibbs gave a small snort. "McGee and DiNozzo are still trying to sort out bragging rights about who actually saved the world." He shook his head. "But they're fine."

"Good," Sheppard muttered. "That's good." He looked down into his glass, but he didn't drink it for a moment, just leaned back on the counter, and smiled at himself, shaking his head ruefully, obviously starting to feel stupid for coming here. Gibbs figured he was going to have to do the talking here.

"So, what are you doing breaking into my house in the middle of the night?"

Sheppard glanced up at him, still grinning. "Hey, I knocked. Guess you were too busy living in the eighteenth century to notice. Why no power tools?"

Gibbs stared at him, not letting the man change the topic. "Why are you here, John?"

Sheppard stared at him a moment longer, slowly losing his grin, before standing upright, half turning, running his free hand through his head. "Okay. Okay." He put the glass of whiskey down. "You spoke to General O'Neill before you left Atlantis."

Gibbs nodded, not about to take any guilt over the decision, whatever Sheppard's reaction might have been. "Yes I did. You needed help, Sheppard. Probably still –."

"I wanted to say thank you."

Gibbs cut off, slightly stunned by the colonel's interruption. "You what?"

"Not often you get surprised, is it, Gibbs?" Sheppard asked, shaking his head. "I wanted to say thank you. Not only did you save me, and my team, but… you were right. I probably shouldn't have been on that mission. On either of them. I wasn't in the right headspace."

"Or maybe you were," Gibbs said slowly. "The job got done, didn't it? The planet's saved."

"Yeah," Sheppard told him. "Yeah, no Wraith are on their way, thank God. You're right, the job got done."

"So what's the problem?"

Sheppard was silent for a moment, obviously struggling with his words. With his head. "Me. I'm the problem. Or rather, what happened to me. To my team."

"You mean the torture." Gibbs knew he needed to be blunt, knew Sheppard would not respond to coddling. And apparently the colonel knew it as well, because Gibbs was starting to get an idea of why the man was here.

Sheppard nodded, clearing his throat. "Yeah. Yeah, the… that." He shook his head, leaned back against the bench and laughed. "Christ, I can't even say it."

"No reason you should have to," Gibbs told him. "There's no person alive who can come through something like that unscathed."

"I know," Sheppard snapped, a little angrily. "I know." He sighed. "But O'Neill and Woolsey have both said I need to talk to someone. Except I hate… I hate talking to shrinks."

Gibbs nodded as the man looked away, shaking his head, obviously feeling stupid for having come, for asking. But Gibbs was feeling strangely honoured. He nodded, before reaching around to grab Sheppard's abandoned glass of whiskey.

He handed it to the colonel, who took it, catching Gibbs' eye and not letting it drop. Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"So talk."

He heard the clanging of sticks first.

Sheppard frowned, as, still in the clothes he had worn to see Gibbs, he rounded the corner and looked into the gym, wondering who was sparring at this hour.

He was only slightly surprised to find Teyla and Ronon, both with a light sheen of sweat, but looking healthy, fit – more than he could say about himself.

They had both seen him, he was sure of it, but they didn't pause, just continued with the light drill. Technically they were all on light duty – himself on extra light, not even allowed to touch paperwork – but Keller had agreed that some gentle sparring wouldn't hurt the two warriors, as long as they didn't exert themselves.

Taking the opportunity when his two team mates were on the other side of the room, John slipped in, walking around the wall to the seat where Rodney already waited, watching the two fight with something between admiration and derision. Sheppard sat down next to him, leaning back with a sigh of comfort. He probably hadn't been up to the trip to the mainland, but he knew he had needed it.

"Hey, haven't seen you since this afternoon," Rodney told him, turning his head with a frown. "Where have you been?"

Spilling his guts to a man he hardly knew. "I had business on the mainland," he said with a shrug. "Just needed a break from Atlantis for a couple of hours."

"I know what you mean," McKay sighed. "It's like I was away for a month, the city nearly fell apart."

Sheppard chuckled, seriously doubting that was the case, but not about to push the point. "Did I miss anything?"

"Me and Ronon were cleared for active duty. I can finally get back to working."

"You mean, not just working when Keller doesn't know where you are."

A year ago, McKay would have scowled. Now, he grinned and nodded cheerfully. "Absolutely." Then his face fell. "You won't tell her, will you?" He looked away, about to be sneaky. "Because I feel that then someone would need to tell her that a certain CO has been doing laps in the wee hours of the morning."

Sheppard rolled his eyes. "No, McKay. I'm not going to tell her?"

"Tell who what?"

Teyla and Ronon had finished sparring, and had approached their team mates, the Athosian asking the question.

"Keller, that McKay's been doing work when he shouldn't be," John told her cheerfully. Teyla grinned.

"Do you really believe she does not know that neither of you are paying attention to her instructions?"

Sheppard laughed, and stood up. "No, not really." McKay, on the other hand, looked devastated.

"She does?"

Sheppard laughed again as Rodney stood up, only this time he was joined by Ronon and Teyla, as they grabbed their bags.

McKay turned to Sheppard, all devastation gone, though not replaced by amusement at all. "How are you feeling? Still breathing okay?"

"Yes, McKay," John told him gently. "The doc says my lung is fine. Quit asking."

"Well, sorry for being worried," McKay snapped as Ronon and Teyla rejoined them. "But do you know how hard it was to just sit there and watch that… and Olczak… and everything! So you know what, we deserve to ask questions!"

Sheppard didn't speak for a moment, but looked at his team instead, studying them, how they were all bouncing back from what had happened to them. Then he thought back to what he had told Gibbs, and he did so without flinching, physically or mentally.

And he nodded. "Yeah, McKay. I'm doing okay."

Again, thanks to everyone for sticking around, this was a seriously long story!

Um, that might be my last crossover for a time. I have the urge to write some pure SGA stories, and I have loads of ideas that keep getting shoved aside for these crossovers! That being said, I do have an idea, but I think I will wait and see what the reaction is to SGU first...

Anyways, glad/hope you all liked it! And see you in my next story!