Title: Shelter From the Storm
Author: DizzyDrea
Summary: Tony'd always thought of himself as more the Dean Martin type: sassy, irreverent and smooth; the good sidekick to a great man. He hadn't had anyone he could be a sidekick to, but he'd had time on his hands thanks to the injury, and a talent he could nurture and , he liked the
idea of being his own boss and going where the music took him. He hadn't regretted it a day since.
Spoilers: None
Author's Notes: Technically, this is a Band AU, but there's really no band here, so does that still count? It's also a Bodyguard AU, only without the sex. Or the romance. Or anything but a bodyguard, really. So, yeah. This idea was sparked by Tony's piano, because he's gotta know how to play it (and I can't remember ever seeing him do so, though I'm sure they must have shown it). And since I couldn't see Gibbs being in a band, but I could see him with the band, so to speak.
For the AU: Band square on my Trope Bingo card.
Disclaimer: NCIS and NCIS: Los Angeles and all its particulars are the property of CBS, Paramount, Donald P. Bellisario, Belisarius Productions, Shane Brennan, Shane Brennan Productions, and a lot of other people who aren't me. I am doing this for fun and for practice. Mostly for fun.
~o~
"I'm serious, Tony. You need protection."
"Relax, McWorryWart," Tony said, flashing a sassy grin. "There's a box of condoms in my nightstand. I'm covered."
The other man sighed in exasperation as Tony let his fingers wander over the piano keys, plucking out a mindless tune.
"You want me to relax? I suppose you think those two goons in the front row were a couple of gay guys out for a night of jazz piano and drinks."
"And what if they were, Tim?" Tony asked, not even bothering to hide his irritation. "I think you're overreacting."
Tim threw up his hands and stalked across the room to stare out the floor-to-ceiling windows in Tony's condo. A couple of deep breaths later, he turned around, determination writ large on his face. Well, at least Probie had grown a spine, which was more than he could say for his last manager.
"Look, Tony, you're right. It could be nothing." Tony raised an eyebrow. Placating was a new tactic. He must have been talking to Ellie. "But it could be something. Those same two guys have been in the front row of your last two concerts. Plus the appearance at the Blue Room. That's a bit odd, don't you think?"
Tony hated to admit, but he might have a point. "Okay, so say it's hinky."
"Hinky?"
"Yes, hinky," Tony said, frowning. "What do you want me to do about it? We've already got security for the concerts, and the smaller clubs have their own bouncers. I'm not sure what you think they're gonna do with all that security around."
"The Today Show appearance is coming up," Tim said. "If I'm right and those two guys are a threat, that'd be the best place to get to you. Too large a crowd, no way to monitor the access. It's a security nightmare."
Tony settled behind the piano, plucking out the beginning notes of the song he'd been working on, allowing the notes to spin through his mind as he considered Tim's words. Timothy McGee was a lot of things, including new at his job. But he had good instincts, which was one of the reasons Tony had hired him. Sure, he'd been tentative at first, unsure how hard he could push before Tony would break, but the more time they spent together, the more confident Tim had become.
And if he were being honest with himself—something he wasn't always good at—Tim had a point. He'd noticed the two guys in question at more than one concert. They always stood just to the left of the stage, right in Tony's eyeline as he sat at the piano. And that's all they did: stand there, hands folded in front of them, not reacting to the music or the women gathered near the stage screaming at him. Just standing there, staring at him. It gave him the creeps, but he figured, if they'd paid for a ticket just to stand there like a couple of statues, that was on them.
Still, it was... unsettling.
Tony sighed. "Okay, what did you have in mind, Tim? Because I don't want half the Fifth Army stationed around the stage. I don't like the message that sends to the fans. They came to see me, not a phalanx of security guards."
Tony glanced up to find a look of surprise, followed by a satisfied grin cross Tim's face. Tony narrowed his eyes just as the doorbell rang. He could hear voices—one female, which would probably be Ellie Bishop, Tim's assistant, followed by a male voice he didn't recognize.
Tony raised his eyebrow when not one but two men followed Ellie into the room. "Tim, this is Tobias Fornell from Federal Security."
Tim reached out and shook the other man's hand. "Mr. Fornell, it's nice to finally meet you."
"Mr. McGee," Fornell said. "This is my colleague, Jethro Gibbs."
Ellie slipped out of the room as Tony watched the two men shake hands. Gibbs was clearly older, with greying hair and a stiff demeanor that shouted former military, and a hard expression on his face that suggested he didn't take shit from anybody. Gibbs, of course, chose that moment to turn and raise an eyebrow, clearly aware that Tony had been checking him out. Well, it was his house, after all.
"You said on the phone that you had some security concerns regarding your client?"
"Yeah," Tim said. He extended a hand and guided the men over to the piano. "Gentlemen, this is my client, Tony DiNozzo."
Tony nodded at the men, but kept on playing, recusing himself from a conversation he still wasn't convinced he needed to have.
Tim frowned at Tony, who grinned back. Nothing said he had to make it easy.
Tim shook his head, then turned to the other two men. "We've noticed the same two men at some of Tony's recent concerts, including one last-minute appearance at the Blue Room that wasn't announced until about an hour before he took the stage."
"How can you be sure these two guys aren't just really big fans?" Fornell asked.
"I suppose it's possible. The appearance at the Blue Room went out on Twitter, so anyone following Tony would have known about it," Tim admitted. "But whenever they show up, they never do anything. Just stand there and stare. It's... creepy."
"You ever get any threatening letters?"
Tony looked up when Gibbs spoke. He'd thought the man was a mute for all that he'd kept quiet until now. He shrugged, returning his eyes to the keys as he settled more comfortably into the tune.
"The usual whack-jobs; distant relatives looking for a handout; married women offering a no-strings-attached fling," he said dismissively. "Nothing really threatening. Right, Tim?"
Tim shifted uncomfortably. "You weren't supposed to know about any of that."
"Ellie likes me better than she likes you," Tony said, grinning.
"Do you have any security footage from the concerts?" Fornell asked.
Tim nodded. "The last few were recorded for a concert movie, so there's some footage of the audience. I'll get you in touch with our videographer.
"We're also concerned about the Today Show appearance," Tim said, cutting a quick glance at Tony.
"What he means is that he's worried someone's going to jump out of the crowd and take a shot at me," Tony said, smirking.
"Until we know what we're dealing with, I don't blame him," Fornell said. "I'll get Abby started on the videos, see what she can find. We'll also need his fan mail going back several months."
"Ellie will get you whatever you want," Tim assured the man.
Fornell turned to his colleague. "Meanwhile, I want you to stick with Tony. Until we know what we're dealing with, I don't want him leaving this condo alone."
"Hey! Don't I get a say in this?"
All three men turned to him and said, "NO!"
Tony abruptly stopped playing and closed the piano. "Fine. You up for lunch, Mr. Gibbs? Because I'm meeting a friend for lunch, and since it seems I can't go out to play without a chaperone, that means you're coming along. I hope you like ethnic."
"Wouldn't be my favorite, but I'll manage," Gibbs said, deadpan.
Tony stopped short, utterly surprised that the man hadn't just acquiesced without an argument. He smiled and slapped Gibbs on the shoulder. "I think I like you." He turned to leave the room, stopping beside Tim on his way out. "You, I'm still pissed at."
And with that, he left the room.
~o~
Tony took a deep breath as he stepped outside his building, turning his face up to the sky as he settled his sunglasses on his nose. It wouldn't keep him from being recognized, but in this part of the DC Metro area, he was a well-known sight, so people tended to leave him alone for the most part.
He snuck a glance at his shadow, but Gibbs wasn't paying attention to him. He was scanning the street like he thought a mugger was going to jump out of a tree at any moment.
"Those goons Tim's so worried about have never showed up here," he said.
"Doesn't mean they won't," Gibbs replied. "Just means they haven't yet."
"Aaaand now I'm going to be jumping at shadows the rest of the day. Thanks for that."
Gibbs didn't say anything, and didn't look in the least bit remorseful, either. He just kept scanning the area, though Tony got the distinct impression that if he took off running, Gibbs would tackle him to the ground before he'd gotten five steps away.
The bastard would probably enjoy it, too.
Resigned to his fate, Tony turned right and headed down the street towards his favorite Italian place, just a couple of blocks over. Gibbs caught up impressively fast for a man of his age—which Tony didn't know but could probably guess—and then placed himself a half step in front of Tony, like he'd done this dozens of times before.
Having no choice but to follow, Tony fell into step with his new bodyguard. He chuckled as he thought about what they must look like, walking down the street, with Gibbs in his military near-march and Tony ambling behind him like a wayward child. They were an unlikely pair, that was for sure.
"You know where you're going, Mr. Gibbs?" Tony asked when they'd gone a couple of blocks. He wondered briefly if the man was going to walk him all the way to the Lincoln Memorial before he asked for directions.
"Just Gibbs, DiNozzo."
"Huh," Tony said. "Okay, Just Gibbs, I was just wondering if you—"
They stopped in front of the restaurant Tony had been headed for, drawing a few looks from the people sitting at tables on the front patio.
"Here," Gibbs said. He extended a hand, indicating that Tony should precede him in.
"How did you—"
"DiNozzo's Italian, and you don't strike me as the Thai type," Gibbs said. He eyed his charge critically before going on. "Or am I wrong?"
Tony shook his head. "No, not wrong. Bella Mia is one of the best Italian restaurants on this side of the Anacostia."
"And you're not really meeting someone for lunch, are you?"
"How did you know that?"
"Rule seven: always be specific when you lie," Gibbs said. "You told your manager that you were meeting a friend. You didn't specify which friend you were meeting, and as your manager, McGee would know your friends because it's his job to know everyone you know. So, unless he's terrible at his job—and if he is, I recommend firing him—you lied to him to get out of the condo."
"Huh," Tony said again. Despite himself, he was impressed. Plus, that was the longest he'd heard Gibbs talk since they'd known each other—which hadn't been that long, but Tony had a feeling that might be the most words he'd get out of the man for a while. "Wait, rule seven?"
"I have rules. You live long enough, I might be able to teach you all of them."
"Okay," Tony said. Clearly, Gibbs wasn't for sugar-coating things. He turned and headed for an empty table on the patio, but was stopped by a hand on his arm. "What?"
"I'd prefer inside," Gibbs said.
"And I'd prefer not to be a prisoner in my own life, thank you very much," Tony said. "You do what you want. I'm sitting outside."
He settled with his back to the sun in a corner of the patio, nearer to the building than he might ordinarily have chosen. Gibbs didn't say anything, just sat in the chair across from him. Tony felt guilty for a moment, because the sun was now in Gibbs' eyes, which couldn't be comfortable.
"You want my sunglasses?"
"Nope," Gibbs said.
And they were back to that. Tony sighed. Lunch, it appeared, was going to be a long, mostly silent affair.
~o~
Lunch, as it turned out, hadn't been a silent affair. Mostly because Tony had grown tired of the quiet after about five minutes. What had followed was a running commentary on the state of film in the modern era, liberally sprinkled with examples of how it had been done better in Hollywood's Golden Age. Gibbs had grunted at appropriate intervals, his eyes never leaving the street in front of them.
Tony wondered at the man as they sat eating. He'd ordered a steak, which suggested that he liked the simple things. His clothing was serviceable but not designer: a polo shirt and nice slacks topped by a suit coat, all in muted shades. Not that Tony was dressed in his most expensive clothes either; his jeans were faded, and the shirt was one of his favorites, soft from wear and the blue-green color matched his eyes. The charcoal jacket was Burberry, though, so that was something.
In short, Tony found himself fascinated by the man who would ostensibly be his living, breathing shadow for the foreseeable future. And he knew next to nothing about him.
"You about done?" Gibbs asked, neatly breaking into Tony's thoughts.
Tony blinked in surprise. He hadn't gotten that lost in thought in a long time. He shook his head, not quite sure what had brought that on but hoping to shake it off quickly. "Yeah. Guess it's time to head back and face the music."
Gibbs snorted at his unintended joke, threw some bills down on the table and headed for the exit. Tony fell into step beside him, once again surprised by how fast the man could move.
"You didn't have to do that," he said, breaking into the silence. "I could have paid for lunch. I did drag you out here, after all."
"Your manager is reimbursing us for expenses," Gibbs said. "That was an expense."
Tony barked out a laugh. If Tim had made that deal, he deserved to get the bill.
"Do me a favor and walk on my other side."
Tony turned questioning eyes on Gibbs. "May I ask why?"
Instead of answering, Gibbs took his arm and tugged him to the opposite side, away from the street.
"Hey, no need to manhandle me," Tony said.
Gibbs stopped and turned to face him, expression a stony mask. "When I tell you to do something, don't argue, just do it."
"At least tell me why," Tony said.
"You know those two guys you say haven't followed you home?"
Tony felt a chill run down his spine. He swallowed heavily. "Yeah?"
"They've followed you home," Gibbs said matter-of-factly. "They're sitting in a dark sedan across the street. Now, I'd like to get you back to your condo in one piece, so quit arguing with me and do as I say."
Tony darted his eyes around, catching sight of the sedan and two dark lumps inside. He hadn't given much credence to Tim's concern, simply because Tim tended to worry about a lot of things he didn't need to. But this was a whole new level of worry, and Tony had to concede that maybe he had a point.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "Gotcha."
They resumed walking towards Tony's condo, somber and quiet in the late afternoon sun. Surprisingly, it was Gibbs who broke the silence as they neared the condo.
"So, why music and not the movies?"
"What?" Tony asked, completely thrown by the non-sequitur. He glanced around, but didn't see the sedan following them. Didn't mean they weren't there, but he appreciated Gibbs trying to take his mind off of it. "You mean why did I become a musician instead of and actor?"
"Well, yeah," Gibbs said. "You clearly love the movies."
Tony sighed. "Going to the movies was sort of a thing with me and my mom, when I was a kid. We'd stay up late watching the classics, or take an afternoon off and go see whatever was playing."
"And music?"
"Music was all my own," Tony said. "When I blew out my knee playing football, I kept my mind off of not being able to play by heading down to the jazz club near campus. The manager always let me play, and I got kind of popular down there. That's where I was discovered."
The President of Tenfold Records—Leon Vance himself—had been in town to watch the Big Game between Ohio State and Michigan, and had seen Tony play at his favorite club. He'd made Tony sign a right-of-first-refusal agreement on a cocktail napkin right there in the club.
Vance had been persistent, talking about how Tony had a real talent and feel for the music. He'd called him a cross between Adele and Michael Bublé. Tony wasn't too sure about being compared to a female artist, but he got the point. He'd always thought of himself as more the Dean Martin type: sassy, irreverent and smooth; the good sidekick to a great man. He hadn't had anyone he could be a sidekick to, but he'd had time on his hands thanks to the injury, and a talent he could nurture and grow.
Plus, he liked the idea of being his own boss and going where the music took him. He hadn't regretted it a day since.
"Maybe someday I'll take a stab at acting," he added with a shrug. "Who knows? Maybe I'd even be good at it."
He caught Gibbs' smirk out of the corner of his eye and smiled. He hadn't been kidding, but that was a thought for another time. Right now, his whole world was music.
They arrived at the condo and Gibbs turned to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'm not going to let anyone take that away from you, Tony. I promise."
Tony stood stunned. No one had ever made him that kind of promise before, and as he looked into Gibbs' eyes, he could see the man meant every word. It sent something warm and fizzy through him to think that a virtual stranger cared so much about what happened to him, even if it was his job.
He flashed a tremulous smile. "Thanks, Gibbs."
The head-slap came out of nowhere, and Tony rubbed the back of his head, wondering if he'd been caught in some sort of time-warp, because there was no way Gibbs could move that fast and still be human.
"Just do as I say and everything will be fine."
"Yes, Boss," Tony muttered as he followed his bodyguard inside.
If he survived the goons only to be done in by his protector, he was going to be mighty pissed.
~o~
Tony had spent the next two days in his condo, quietly going insane. He hated being cooped up, but there was no way he was going out for anything short of the apocalypse as long as those two goons were still hanging around his neighborhood.
Oddly, even though he was a virtual prisoner in his own home, he'd never felt quite as creatively engaged as he had the last two days. The tune he'd been toying with when Tim had sprung the whole bodyguard thing on him had finally coalesced into a song, one he thought might be good enough to go on a future album. It wouldn't go on his next album—they'd finished recording and set the track list months ago—but that didn't mean he couldn't take it out for a test-drive, see if it clicked with anyone.
He glanced up, catching Gibbs sitting in his customary spot on the couch, reading the paper, ever-present cup of coffee at his elbow. The man was burning through Tony's stash of Columbian at an alarming rate, but he'd discovered early on that keeping him from his coffee wasn't a good idea. If he'd thought Gibbs was grumpy with a full tank, so to speak, he'd been appalled at what he'd been like without it.
After that incident, he'd quietly asked Ellie to special-order more, just in case.
He contemplated for a moment just sneaking out and heading over to Sal's, but he didn't think he'd get very far before his keeper found him and dragged him back kicking and screaming. It was dark outside, and Tony knew how to take advantage of the shadows when he wanted to, but he figured the two guys following him might too, which wouldn't make it very safe for him.
He sighed. Looked like he was going to have to do some creative begging if he wanted to go out tonight.
He got up and wandered over to the living room, sitting down on the couch across from Gibbs. He had to have heard Tony moving around, because he hadn't tried to be quiet, but relocating from the piano to the couch hadn't gotten his attention.
"Um, so," Tony said. Gibbs lowered a corner of the paper, peering at him over the rims of his reading glasses. He didn't say anything, so Tony took it as permission to talk. "See, whenever I finish a song, I like to play it in front of a live audience."
Gibbs still didn't say anything, as though he were waiting for Tony to get to the point. Which, fair enough, Tony was used to people figuring out what he wanted with just a few words or a dropped hint. He hadn't had to work for anything for several years now.
"Okay, I have this friend, Sal La Montaigne," Tony said. "He's got this club in Downtown Alexandria called Sal's—I know, right?—and he lets me play whenever I want to, says it's good for business, which I don't know, maybe it is, but—"
"You do this on a regular basis?"
Tony stopped short at the question. "Regular as in same time each week? No. Regular as in, 'hey, I finished a song and need a second opinion'? Yes."
Gibbs stared at him for a long minute, and Tony couldn't for the life of him figure out what was going on behind those blue eyes. Finally, Gibbs appeared to come to a decision.
"Get your coat. We'll take my car and we leave when I say so. Deal?"
Tony couldn't contain the grin on his face if he'd tried. "Absolutely, Boss. Whatever you say, Boss."
Gibbs frowned at the nickname, but Tony's grin just grew. He'd said it the first time as a joke, and the second time just to see if he could get a rise out of Gibbs. Now, it was a full-on nickname and Tony wasn't sure he could stop if he wanted to.
~o~
Sal's wasn't the swankiest nightclub in the DC Metro Area, but Sal had been the proprietor since well before Tony had moved to DC. He appreciated good music and good booze and wasn't afraid to kick out anyone who ruined either of those things. He'd given a lot of encouragement to a still-wet-behind-the-ears Tony DiNozzo, giving him a place to practice back when he hadn't had his own piano, and all the food and drink he could stomach whenever he played a set for the crowd.
Tony strolled in like he owned the place, walking up to the bar where Sal was holding court. He caught the older man's eye, smiling when he got a nod in return. Sal finished his conversation with the two women he'd been talking to and ambled over to Tony and Gibbs.
"Sal," Tony said, reaching across the bar to shake the man's hand.
Sal was a bear of a man, six feet tall and well-muscled, despite the fact that he had to be nearer to sixty than fifty. He was an easy-going fellow, coffee-colored skin lined from years of hard work and salt now peppered liberally through his close-cropped black hair.
"Tony, I wasn't expecting you."
Tony shrugged. "I finished a song earlier. Thought I'd try it out."
"You know you're always welcome here," Sal said. He cut his glance to Gibbs, standing stoically beside Tony, eyes never stopping their circuit of the room. He jerked his head, asking, "Who's the guy?"
"Sal, this is… a friend of mine," Tony said. "Meet Jethro Gibbs. Gibbs, this is Sal."
The two men shook hands, both sizing the other up. Sal was one of those guys who never missed a detail, so when he turned to Tony with a raised eyebrow, all he could do was shrug his shoulders. Gibbs screamed bodyguard, with his non-descript clothes and watchful demeanor, not to mention the gun holstered at his hip. But it wasn't like he could do anything about it. After seeing the two clowns in the car the other day, he'd had a change of tune—no pun intended—about the whole protection detail thing. Hell, Gibbs had basically moved into his condo for the duration.
"I'm just gonna—" Tony said, tipping his head in the direction of the stage.
"Knock yourself out," Sal said.
"Give him whatever he wants," Tony said as he headed for the stage. "My tab."
Sal just laughed as Gibbs ordered a club soda with lemon. Tony never paid for anything at Sal's, so the tab had become a running joke between the men.
He reached the stage and settled behind Sal's baby grand. It had been his grandmother's, and only a select few people ever got permission to play it. Tony counted himself lucky to be among those few. He caressed the keys, sitting on the bench as his mind settled into what he called 'music mode'. He could tell when the crowd recognized who had sat down onstage. There was a flash of murmuring and some enthusiastic applause as he plucked out the first notes of one of his favorite songs.
He relaxed into the music, playing a few of his go-to songs from albums past, just to warm up. When he finally launched into the new song, there was silence in the room, almost as if they were in church. Which, when Tony thought about it, was probably about right for some folks. As he played the song, he kept glancing up, gaging the audience's reaction. From what he could see, they seemed to be responding to it.
He caught sight of Gibbs, still sitting at the bar. He was wearing the tiniest of smiles, his head bobbing ever-so-gently back and forth as he listened to a tune he must know about as well as Tony did, for all that he'd lived with it playing over and over in the condo. Somehow, his reaction meant more than the cheering of the crowd when the last notes left the piano.
"Thank you," he said, smiling like a proud papa. "I just finished that one this afternoon. Don't know if it'll make it on a future album, but we'll see."
More applause, and then he saw Sal wander over to Gibbs and lean over, the two men chatting with their heads close together. They were too far away for Tony to hear what they were saying, so he stood up and waved at the crowd as he stepped off the stage. Gibbs got up from the bar and walked over to him.
"Pretty good for an ex-football player."
"Gee, thanks, Gibbs," Tony said, though he couldn't keep the smile off his face.
"There's a couple of suspicious guys hanging around the front door," Gibbs said, almost non-chalantly. "Sal says we should head out the back if we're going to leave now."
"Are those guys ever gonna give up?" Tony asked.
"Doesn't look like it," Gibbs said. "You about done?"
Tony sighed. "Suddenly, I'm not in the mood to play anymore. Let's go."
He waved to the crowd one more time, then headed for the back door. They'd almost made to Gibbs' Challenger—and damn, what a sweet ride the man had—when the goons made their move. They came at Tony, but somehow Gibbs was faster. He punched one of them and kicked at the other. Goon One went down hard, and Tony vowed to find out just exactly how the man had done that, because it was impressive.
Before Gibbs could take out Goon Two, the man had his gun drawn and took a shot at Tony. Pain seared through his arm, and he went down on one knee, instinctively trying to get out of the line of fire. Gibbs stepped in front of him, getting off one shot that hit the goon in the arm, before he ran off.
Gibbs dropped to a knee beside him, holding his arm gently as he inspected the damage in the faint light of the streetlamp. "You okay?"
"I've been shot!" Tony barked back. "I think that's the very definition of 'not okay'!"
"It's just a flesh wound," Gibbs said as he pulled aside the material of Tony's jacket.
"It's also an Armani," Tony said, lamenting the demise of his suit coat. At least it wasn't one he particularly liked.
"Come on," Gibbs said, pulling them both to their feet. "Let's get you looked at."
"Are you kidding me? I am not going to a hospital!"
"Didn't say you were," Gibbs said.
He took Tony's arm and gently led him over to the car, depositing him in the passenger seat before rounding the car and getting in. He fired up the engine and roared out of the parking lot, getting honked at in the process. Tony grabbed the chicken bar and held on, thankful that it was his other arm that was bleeding.
Gibbs drove like a madman through Alexandria, taking the long way around for obvious reasons. At one point, he took out an honest-to-god flip phone and made a call to someone named 'Duck'. Tony was barely paying attention, too intent on staying in his seat to care who Gibbs might have called.
He breathed a sigh of relief when they pulled into the parking garage under his building. After this, he was never leaving his condo again.
~o~
"Well, my dear boy, you were lucky."
"I don't feel very lucky," Tony muttered.
The doctor—the ironically-named Ducky Mallard, an old friend of Gibbs'—patted his knee as he finished dressing the gash in his left arm. "It's my experience that these sorts of things can go horribly wrong without much provocation. I remember back in my Army days, I was out with some friends in Budapest, enjoying an evening of drinking—and other activities—when we were ambushed by a very irate woman with a knife. Seems she'd mistakenly identified one of my companions as the person having an affair with her husband."
Tony barked out a laugh. "I bet that was hard to explain to the MPs."
"Yes, quite," Ducky said, shaking his head. "What followed was several hours of questioning. The things my friend had to tell them to make them understand her mistake. I shudder at the memory."
"Sounds like fun," Tony said, smirking.
Ducky merely smiled. Tony glanced at Gibbs where he stood a few paces away, having an intense conversation with his boss. He'd worried a little bit, once the immediate shock had worn off, that they'd be in trouble for leaving the scene of the crime, as it were, but Gibbs had merely told him they had it covered and not to worry. Easier said than done.
Tony's phone vibrated on the side table. The display read the same as it had for the last five calls, so he ignored it. He had more pressing issues to deal with at the moment.
Gibbs finally hung up the phone, his lips pressed into a tight line as he turned to face the two men.
"So, what's the verdict? Am I gonna live?" Tony asked, trying to lighten the mood.
"We're still trying to find out how they knew you'd be at Sal's tonight," Gibbs said.
"Oh, that's easy," Tony said. "Twitter."
Gibbs frowned. "What the hell's a twitter?"
Tony threw his head back and laughed, wincing slightly when the motion pulled at his wound. "It's not 'a twitter', Gibbs. It's Twitter. You know, social media?"
When all he got was a blank stare, he shook his head. "How is it you've lived this long without knowing what social media is? Nevermind," he said, waving him off. "Basically, you sign up for an account on Twitter so you can send messages out to a lot of people at once. You know, share your thoughts. Recommend stuff. People follow you so they see whatever you tweet out, and they can re-tweet your messages or tweet you back. Whatever."
"Why the hell would I want to do that?"
"Why indeed," Ducky muttered.
"Anyway, somebody at the club probably tweeted out that I was onstage tonight," Tony said.
"They might have thought the parking lot behind Sal's was a good place to ambush someone," Gibbs said. "It's not dark, but it is off the street."
"Yes, but hadn't they noticed that Anthony has been accompanied for the last few days?" Ducky asked. "Surely they're not stupid enough to try to kidnap him while in company. Male or female."
"Apparently they are just that stupid," Tony said. "Besides, it's not like they knew who Gibbs was. For all they knew, he could be a visiting friend."
Just then, Tony's phone vibrated, showing an incoming call. Gibbs glared at it with narrowed eyes. "Who's been calling you?"
Tony's eyes darted away. "It's just my dad. I don't want to talk to him, so I just ignored it."
"Put it on speaker," Gibbs said, quickly flipping his phone open and making a call.
Tony frowned at Gibbs, but did as he asked. "Dad?"
"Junior!" His father exclaimed. "When you didn't answer your phone, I got worried. Is everything okay?"
Tony's frown deepened. He almost never actually picked up when his father called, so him being worried somehow didn't ring true. Gibbs raised an eyebrow, having seen his reaction, but otherwise didn't respond.
"I'm fine, Dad," Tony said. "Been busy, that's all."
"Of course you've been busy," his father said. "You're a big star now. I just wanted to make sure you've been taking care of yourself."
"Taking—" Tony stared at the phone for a beat, wondering what the hell had gotten in to his father. "Yeah, Dad. I have people who do that for me now."
"Well, of course you do—"
"Listen, Dad," Tony said, interrupting before his dad could really get going. "I'm kinda busy right now, so can we talk later?"
"Oh," his father said, seeming hesitant. "Sure, sure. Whatever you like. Just, take care of yourself, okay?"
"I will," Tony said.
He disconnected the call and hung his head. He would never, no matter how long he lived, understand how his dad could go from not remembering he even had a son one minute, to worrying over whether or not his son was taking care of himself in the next.
His phone buzzed in his hand, but when he looked at the screen, there was a FaceTime request from a number he didn't recognize. He looked up, finding Gibbs and Ducky having a silent conversation. He cleared his throat, waggling his phone in the air.
"Who—"
"That's probably Abby," Gibbs said, a small smile on his face. "Go ahead. She's just going to keep calling if you don't answer."
Tony connected the call and his screen was filled with pale skin, deep red lipstick and black pigtails.
"Tony! Oh my god, Tony, are you alright? When I heard about what happened, I was so scared! Tell me you didn't get hurt. Okay, obviously you can't tell me that because you did get hurt, but tell me you're okay. I mean—"
"Abby," Gibbs said as he settled at Tony's side on the couch. Tony angled the phone so he could see the woman on the screen.
"Gibbs! GibbsGibbsGibbs! You're okay! Did you kick ass? Did those horrible guys that are following Tony have to be taken away in an ambulance?"
Gibbs' smile went tender and fond. "Abby, slow down." He pointed to the screen, leaning into Tony's side. "This is Abby Sciutto, our tech expert. Abby, meet Tony DiNozzo."
"Hi, Tony!" Abby said, grinning from ear to ear. "I love your music, by the way. I mean, I don't usually listen to jazz, but when Fornell told us you were going to be a client, I streamed some of it and whoa, dude, you got talent."
Tony had to chuckle. Abby, it seemed, was a big ball of positive energy. "Hi, Abby. It's nice to meet you. And thanks."
Abby's smile just got bigger.
"Abs," Gibbs said. "What have you got?"
"The two goons are definitely Albanian," she said, getting down to business. "OCB's database has them as low-level muscle for a local crime boss. Not nice guys."
"Why are the Albanians following me around?" Tony asked, scrunching up his nose.
"Don't know, but I'm still digging," Abby said. "As for the phone call, it came from the Hay Adams Hotel in DC."
"Last I heard, my father was in Paris," Tony said. "Not that he'd tell me if he were coming. He likes surprising me."
"Anything else?" Gibbs asked.
"Tony was right about the fan mail," Abby said, turning to Tony. "You have some freaky fans."
"Gee, thanks, Abby," Tony said, smirking.
"Keep us posted on anything else you find, Abs," Gibbs said. "And get yourself a Caf Pow on me."
"Will do, Bossman," Abby said cheerfully.
The screen went dark without so much as a goodbye, but it didn't dampen Tony's opinion of the young woman he'd just met.
"She's something," Tony said, lowering the phone.
"Yes, she most certainly is."
Tony looked up guiltily. Ducky had been listening the whole time, and he'd completely forgotten the man was even in the room.
"I'll just see myself out, gentlemen," Ducky said, that same fond smile on his face that Gibbs had been wearing earlier. "Make sure you keep that wound clean and change the dressings regularly, Anthony. Tylenol for the pain, and you should be fine in a week or so."
"Thanks, Doctor Mallard," Tony said.
"Think nothing of it, my boy," Ducky said. He pulled a card out of his pocket and handed it over. Tony's eyebrow rose when he saw who had treated his flesh wound. Donald "Ducky" Mallard, it seemed, was the head of Cardiothoracic Surgery at George Washington Memorial Hospital. "If you have any issues, please call me. I'm happy to help in any way I can."
With that, the older man settled his hat on his head, collected his medical bag and turned for the door.
"Thanks, Ducky," Gibbs said, rising and following Ducky out of the room.
Tony fell back on the sofa, threw an arm over his eyes and groaned.
~o~
Gibbs came back into the room several minutes later. He stopped at Tony's bar cart and poured two drinks, then crossed the room to settle on the couch beside him, handing over one of the cut-glass tumblers as he sipped at his own drink.
"You a whiskey drinker, Gibbs?" Tony asked as he took a sip of his drink.
"Bourbon," Gibbs said. "But I'll take whiskey in a pinch."
The fell into silence, no other sounds in the room beyond their own breathing and the occasional car outside. Tony had already talked to Tim; convincing him not to come over had been hard, but right now he was glad it was just him and Gibbs. The last thing he needed was Tim fussing over him. Gibbs didn't seem prone to fussing, for which Tony was grateful. He needed a calm presence right about now.
"You think my dad's involved in this somehow."
He didn't frame it as a question, mostly because right now he wouldn't be surprised at all that his dad's shady business dealings had somehow backfired onto him.
"Don't know," Gibbs said. "Won't know for a while yet."
Tony sighed. "My dad's a bonafide, old school conman. I found out when I was eleven, right before he shipped me off to boarding school, and I've tried to forget ever since."
Gibbs didn't say anything, just reached over and draped his arm across Tony's shoulders, pulling him into his side, offering silent comfort. Tony settled into the man's side, resting his head on Gibbs' shoulder.
"My mom and I were close, so when she died, it was just me and my dad," Tony said quietly. "And no matter what I did, my dad just didn't seem to care about me. He was too busy with his scams and deals to care about his only son."
He could hear the bitterness in his tone, but at the moment, he really didn't care. This had been his life for as long a he could remember, as much as he'd wished it were different. But it wasn't something he talked about with anybody. When the press asked about his past, he kept his answers general and vague, preferring to keep his past in the past. People who knew him knew better than to ask, and that suited him just fine.
"You're not responsible for his choices, Tony," Gibbs said quietly.
"Doesn't feel like it," Tony said. He took another sip, relishing the burn, wishing it could burn away all the anger and disappointment his father had brought him over the years. "You got family, Gibbs?"
Gibbs stilled, then let out a soft sigh. "Got a dad, up in Pennsylvania."
"You guys get along?"
Gibbs snorted. "Sometimes we do, sometimes we don't."
"Sounds about right," Tony muttered. "What about a wife, kids. You got those, too?"
"I used to," Gibbs said, and Tony could hear the sadness in his tone.
"You don't have to—"
Gibbs squeezed his shoulder. "I know." He took a sip of his drink, then began to speak. "I lost my wife and daughter in an accident while I was serving in Afghanistan. Remarried a couple of times, but it just wasn't the same."
"It never is," Tony said, remembering his father's various wives, after his mom had died. He hadn't ever been sure if his father was trying to replace his mother or just trying to forget her. Either way, he'd felt a little like Cinderella until he'd been shipped off to boarding school.
"We're gonna figure this out," Gibbs said, dropping a kiss into Tony's hair.
And when he said it like that, Tony could actually believe it.
~o~
Two weeks practically flew by. Tony spent the time meeting with Tim and Ellie, plus his producer and record label, to finalize the album release and set the schedule for the press tour. All of it could be done via phone or Skype, so he didn't need to leave the condo. After his encounter with the Albanian mobsters, he was more than happy to stay home.
Gibbs spent the ensuing two weeks on Tony's couch, reading the paper, drinking Tony's coffee and smirking at some of the ridiculousness that Tony dealt with on a daily basis. They hadn't seen the Albanians for a while, but that didn't mean they weren't around somewhere, so Gibbs also chimed in on security precautions.
Now they were in New York—the Penthouse of the Brooklyn Clock Tower Building—doing the photo shoot for his album cover ahead of the Today Show appearance. Tony had been jumpy all day, drawing confused looks from Gibbs, who'd stood by with an amused smirk on his face as Tony had been moved this way and that. At least the costume was comfortable: barefoot in a linen shirt and jeans with the cuffs rolled up.
When the photographer called a break, Gibbs ambled over to where Tony was sitting on the ledge of one of the clock faces.
"You okay?"
Tony sighed. "Yeah. It's just... I grew up in New York. Swore I'd never come back here unless I had to."
"Is that why you picked DC?" Gibbs asked.
"It's close enough that I can make it a day-trip if I have to come up here, but far enough away that it might as well be on another planet."
Ellie appeared just then, her ever-present laptop clutched to her chest. She held out a bottle of water, which Tony took gratefully. "The photographer says he needs a couple more hours."
Tony groaned. This was definitely his least-favorite part. "Seriously? We've been shooting all afternoon. How many more pictures can he take?"
They'd taken pictures in just about every corner of the penthouse. It had been on the market for a while, so they'd brought in all manner of furniture and accessories for the shoot.
"He says he wants to take some pictures with the city lights in the background," Ellie said, shrugging. "They're bringing in some Chinese food for everyone while we wait for the sun to go down."
"You up for Chinese on the floor while we watch the sunset?" Tony asked.
Gibbs shrugged. "It'll do."
~o~
Hours later, they'd finally wrapped the photo shoot. The photographer had raved about the visuals of Tony against the lights of New York City. Tony preferred the pictures they'd taken in the afternoon, with the sun streaming in through the floor to ceiling windows, and he thought the record label would too.
Overall, he was pleased with the day, and happy to be back in his own clothes. The temperatures had begun to drop, so trading in a linen shirt for his favorite charcoal cashmere sweater and a pair of his own jeans did wonders for his mood.
"They want you for a rehearsal at six tomorrow morning," Tim said.
"They're sending a car for you around 5:45," Ellie said. "And I've already confirmed hair, make-up and wardrobe, so all you have to do is roll out of bed and meet the driver."
Gibbs snorted and Tony smacked him in the abdomen. "We'll be ready."
"Long as they have coffee," Gibbs said.
"I made sure to tell them to have a large vat ready and waiting for you, Mr. Gibbs," Ellie said, winking at Tony.
"You'll be doing a stand-up interview with Matt and Savannah before you take the stage," Tim said. "They're going to ask about the new album and your celebrity flag-football game for the foundation next month."
"Can someone make sure I have a football for that segment?" Tony asked, grinning widely. "I wanna see Matt go back for a pass."
The elevator dinged, but Tony paid it no mind. The photographer's assistants were still emptying the apartment of all the stuff they'd brought, so he didn't even notice that the minions weren't scurrying around.
Gibbs suddenly tensed beside him, drawing Tony's attention across the room.
"Dad!" he said, more than surprised. "What are you doing here?"
"Junior," he said, smiling that conman's smile that Tony knew so well. "We were in the city having dinner when I found out you were here. We just had to stop by."
"Who's we?" Gibbs asked, taking a minute step in front of Tony.
"This is my associate, Alex Zaharia," his father said. "He's always wanted to meet you."
Tony saw Gibbs' hand twitch minutely and his heart rate picked up, just as two more very muscular men in terrible suits stepped into the room. Zaharia wasn't exactly an imposing man, but he knew how to dress. He was wearing a custom suit in a muted grey, with an understated shirt and tie that made him look like a cross between a serious businessman and an international playboy. His facial expression exuded confidence; just the hint of a five o'clock shadow and dark, slicked back hair adding to the image he projected. Tony wanted to cry for the man's lack of style and creativity, but he thought maybe Zaharia wouldn't appreciate it.
"I was so glad to hear that Mr. DiNozzo's son was in New York," Zaharia said, his tone of voice conveying anything but glee. "I believe we have much to discuss."
"Tony's got an early morning, so—" Tim started to say, before he was cut off with a look from Zaharia.
"As I was saying, we have much to discuss. I'm looking forward to working with you."
Tony shoved his hands in his pockets as Ellie moved a little bit closer to him. His fingers brushed something in his pocket, and he very nearly sagged in relief. He'd thought Gibbs was being overly paranoid when he'd handed him the panic button, but now he could only be grateful. He pressed the button, heart pounding as he wondered just how long it would take someone to respond.
"I'm not sure what my father has told you," Tony said, hoping to stall for time. "But I don't get involved in his business dealings. It's better for everyone. I'm sure you understand."
"And I'm sure you understand that I'm hoping you'll reconsider," Zaharia said. "Your father has spoken highly of you. I wouldn't want to be disappointed."
Gibbs twitched again, his hand reaching for his gun as if without his input. One second his hand was empty, and the next he had his gun pointed at Zaharia. Zaharia held up his hand as the two goons behind him reached for their own guns, leveling them at Tony and Gibbs.
"I'm sure you'll agree that there's no need for violence, Mr. Gibbs."
"As long as you let us leave without incident, I'd agree with you," Gibbs said.
"You are all free to leave," Zaharia said, extending his arm toward the elevator. "Tony will, of course, need to stay. Can't talk about business if he's not here."
"Junior," his dad said, "just do as they ask and everything will be fine."
"Everything will be fine?" Tony asked, going from worried to outraged in a heartbeat. "Everything would have been fine if you hadn't brought your... associate here. I've told you before I have no interest in your business dealings. I'd have thought by now you'd get the message, but apparently not."
"Tony," Gibbs said, angling himself so he could put a hand on Tony's shoulder.
"No, Gibbs," Tony said. "I'm done. I don't care anymore. It's never gonna end unless I end it."
"I'm sorry to hear you say that, Tony," Zaharia said. "I had hoped we could work together."
"You can't just kill him," Tim said in what he probably thought was a reasonable voice. "People will notice."
Zaharia shrugged. "People die in car crashes all the time. It's a sad fact of life in this modern age. Besides, it's not Tony you should be worried about." He flicked his wrist and the gun trained on Tony was aimed at his father instead. "It's not good business to kill the goose that lays the golden egg, as it were. Giving that goose incentive to lay the eggs is another matter entirely."
Ellie squeaked beside him, so Tony put his arm around her, pulling her into his side. "Won't matter. I'm still not giving you what you want."
Zaharia pursed his lips, clearly not at all happy to hear that. Tony was wondering just when the cavalry was going to show up when the elevator dinged again, this time turning out a couple of people in cheap suits that Tony had to assume were cops, followed quickly by several cops in uniform.
"Alex Zaharia," the male detective said. "We've been looking for you. You've been a very bad boy."
Tony watched in amazement as the uniformed cops disarmed and cuffed the two goons, while the detectives took Zaharia and his father away.
"Junior," his father said, turning pleading eyes on him.
"You made your bed, Dad," he said, eyes cold as ice. "Now it's time to lay in it."
The officers took his father by the arm and escorted him from the room, protesting all the way that there must have been some mistake.
Tony slumped as if he were a puppet with his strings cut. He probably would have collapsed to the floor if not for Gibbs, who slipped an arm under his shoulders, pulling him into his arms as Tim guided Ellie away.
He heard Gibbs' phone ring, heard the man talking to someone, but all he could do was stand in Gibbs' arms and soak up the man's strength. Finally, he stepped back, giving Gibbs a sheepish look, but found only concern and compassion in the man's blue eyes.
The detectives had a few questions, but since they'd come based on a tip to arrest Zaharia on a pre-existing warrant, there was very little Tony or the rest of them needed to do.
Once the detectives left, Tony breathed a sigh of relief.
"I'll call the Today Show, let them know you won't be able to appear tomorrow," Tim said as they made their way downstairs, two police officers shadowing them the whole way.
"No," Tony said, shaking his head. "I don't want to cancel. I need to not feel like a prisoner anymore."
"You sure?" Gibbs asked.
Tony nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure."
~o~
Epilogue
Tony smiled as he watched the band getting ready for his performance that morning.
He felt like a lead weight had been lifted from his shoulders in the last twenty-four hours. He'd slept surprisingly well, for all that he'd been through the night before, and the coffee at the Craft Services table was hot and endless, something that even Gibbs had seemed pleased by.
He spotted Gibbs across the plaza, talking to the head of security for the Today Show, no doubt going over last-minute details. Tony had protested that, now that the Albanians were under arrest, he didn't need a babysitter anymore. Gibbs had made the very reasonable argument that just because Zaharia was under arrest didn't mean his associates were out of the picture. Until they knew for sure who his father had been dealing with, it was better to be safe than sorry.
Thoughts of his father dimmed his excitement a little. He couldn't believe that his own father had put his life in danger by throwing in with such unscrupulous characters, but somehow, he should have known. This was the man, after all, who'd forgotten him in a hotel when he was a kid. Senior had only ever been out for himself, and that had never been so apparent as it was last night.
But, as usual, Tony figured his father would be out of jail and back to his old tricks within days. The man never learned, it seemed, but Tony simply wasn't going to make it his problem anymore. It was easier said than done, but just for today, he was going to stick to it.
He refocused his attention back to the Plaza. The crowds had gathered, and his stand-up interview with the hosts had gone well. He'd even baited Matt Lauer into going back for a pass. The man definitely had good hands, and when he'd caught Tony's pass, he'd spiked the ball for good measure, earning a raucous cheer from the crowd. He'd even gotten to plug the celebrity flag-football game his music foundation was hosting the following week; putting music education back in schools was a cause near and dear to his heart, so getting to talk about it on national TV was a chance he wouldn't turn down, ever, no matter what else was going on in his life.
The production assistant who'd been assigned to him for the day tapped him on the shoulder, which was his cue to prepare to go on stage. He checked his tie and shot his cuffs, making sure his suit was perfect before he bounded up on the stage and greeted the crowd.
The ensuing cheer sent a rush through him. He'd been doing this for long enough that any other artist might have become jaded by all the attention. Not Tony. He loved the cheering crowd, loved the enthusiasm, loved that they loved what he did. Not for his own sake, but because it meant he could share his joy of music with them, even for just a few minutes.
He settled behind the piano at center stage and dove right in, the first bars of the first single from his new album echoing off the walls of the plaza. It was an old classic—Creedence Clearwater Revival's Who'll Stop the Rain, rearranged by Tony and his producer—but Tony felt like it was all his own now. Another thrill went through him when it became obvious that the crowd not only knew which song it was, but also began to sing along. It fed his own energy, creating a loop that just kept growing with intensity until the final note sounded.
Tony stood and took a bow, waving at the crowd as the cameras faded to black for the commercial break. The crowd kept cheering as he stepped down off the stage, the noise fading away as the crew reset for the next segment of the show.
Gibbs was standing at the bottom of the stairs, smiling that coy smile that Tony still hadn't quite figured out yet.
"So, Boss, what did you think?"
"Not bad," Gibbs said.
"Not bad?" Tony said, grinning widely. "That was awesome!"
"You say so," Gibbs said, raising his cup of coffee for a sip.
"I, uh, just wanted to say thanks," Tony said, as they slipped back inside the studio. "For watching out for me." He stopped in the hallway, turning to face Gibbs. "I know I wasn't always on board with the whole protection detail, but I'm glad you were there."
"Rule 28: When you need help, you ask. Simple as that," Gibbs said.
"Rule 28, huh?" Tony asked. "Just how many rules are there?"
Gibbs shrugged. "Fifty or so. But don't worry. We've got time."
Gibbs tapped Tony under the chin with his knuckle, then turned and headed down the corridor, towards Tony's dressing room. Tony stood stunned for the space of a heartbeat. Then, a startled grin broke out on his face. He jogged to catch up with Gibbs, throwing an arm around his shoulders.
"Gibbs, I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship."
~Finis
Author's Note Post-Script:
The Brooklyn Clock Tower is a real place. The apartment is gorgeous and has some incredible views. If you're interested, check out the url below for some fantastic pictures (just replace the dots and slashes with the appropriate symbols).
homemydesign dot com slash 2013 slash clock-tower-apartment-with-view-of-the-brooklyn-bridge
Oh, and before I forget, the title of the story comes from a line in Who'll Stop the Rain, by CCR (as already mentioned). And ironically, the last line of the story is also the last line of the movie it was taken from (Casablanca). Didn't do that on purpose, but it is kinda fun!