Story Notes: Alternative ending to S12E17 "The Artful Dodger." As usual, a creative re-imagining. Tony/Zoe doesn't really exist for the purposes of this story.

Written for Rose Malmaison during the LiveJournal Reverse Bang. Her beautiful artwork is featured within. Prompt suggestion: Gibbs finds out something about Senior's background and has to reveal it to Tony.

Very special thanks to both PhoenixRising360 and Rose Malmaison for their kind support.

THE ARTFUL CON MAN

Senior was really in over his head this time.

"You know I've got a friend," Gibbs began to say, voice calm and even, "He paid his dad's hotel bill once, because his dad couldn't cover it."

Gibbs wasn't yet through his speech, part truth, part genuine distraction, and the room seemed locked in a state of suspended animation. He saw Junior keeping an eye on the situation — on the gun held under the table, on the man in the corner, on his boss — watching for cues. Ready, it seemed, for anything.

They caught each other's eyes, briefly, but then Junior looked away, back at Gibbs. Watchful and confident. Both of them being here, Gibbs and Junior, made him feel oddly safe, despite the fact there was a gun trained on him. And despite the fact that this situation was completely beyond anyone's control.

"And I said to my friend," Gibbs went on, "I said, 'why'd you do that? Your dad never did anything for you.' The look on his face. Never seen anything like it. There was more love on his face than I ever saw. I guess that his dad meant more to him than he knew."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Amir Aziz asked.

Something sprung the hair trigger. Somebody twitched, or flinched. Somebody over-reacted.

Then there were gunshots, from everywhere it seemed.

One would have struck Senior in the side of his head, if Tony hadn't lurched into its path.

"Get him out of here!" Gibbs was already yelling at McGee. Everybody involved knew he meant Senior, who so far hadn't moved from his seat.

He had frozen in place, face set in bewilderment. Last he knew, they were still locked in some odd Mexican stand-off, but now… His eyes stuck on Tony, whose body had crumpled strangely on the floor. Numbly, he let McGee brush him aside and away. And soon Ellie passed with the art forger in cuffs. All business. Brusque, urgent business.

Everything was a mess, except it wasn't, really. Everybody seemed to know what their role was, despite the chaos. Bodies rushed here and there. Loud voices. Semi-confusion. Gasps from nearby diners. Panic from those who weren't used to being front and center to a crime recently in progress.

"What just happened?" Senior kept saying, over and over. "What's going on? What just happened? Tell me what's going on!" Nobody answered him. Nobody wanted to answer him.

Somebody was groaning and panting. Somebody else was demanding an ambulance. Senior couldn't distinguish any of the voices. They blended together into one horrific soundtrack. There was a dead man on the floor: Amir Aziz. His brown eyes stared forward, seeing nothing.

There were voices:

"It went through the damn vest!"

"Hang on a minute. Hey DiNozzo. Hey. Look up at me, bud."

McGee kept a steady hold on Senior's arm as he barked into a cell phone. He tried to muscle him further away, but the older man wasn't having it.

He just kept saying, "What just happened. Oh my God. What just happened?" He'd seen blood. He'd seen it pumping out of where it belonged. And he saw his boy, dying on the floor of his favorite hotel's restaurant, and all because he'd stepped into the unlucky path of those bullets.

For him. To save him.

He wasn't worthy of that. He wasn't…

"Mr. DiNozzo, we need to go," McGee finally demanded… and finally Senior complied.

He let himself be led away, suddenly docile. He was numb and in shock. He turned again to McGee and asked, "What's going on? Is Junior okay?"

"You just need to stay calm," McGee said.

"Is he dead?"

"Please, just calm down."

Senior wrenched his arm away. "I'll calm down when I know my son isn't dying in there!"

"They'll do whatever they can," McGee shot back. "Okay? Now, please. You can't do anything here."

The first bullet had ripped through his chest. The other, his leg. He remembered feeling the floor under him, as it rushed to meet his face. He had no strength to straighten his body. So he just stayed like he fell, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. He remembered it feeling strangely ridiculous. These were temporary memories, because he could see the wall coming.

He couldn't feel a thing. Nothing but a weird sense of bliss. Peaceful. He wouldn't mind staying here to fall into a gentle sleep. No delayed fear. No pain.

But then Gibbs kneeled in the growing stain of red, face looming above him, and everything became a bit too real. Gibbs' mouth moved — yelling, everything a booming rage around them, saying nothing Tony wanted to hear. But Gibbs' eyes promised: "Meant what I said. All of that was real, for you."

Tony knew he'd imagined that; Gibbs just wasn't the type. As his brain flickered on and off, he thought he must be hallucinating. Delirious from blood loss or something. He felt the blood pumping from his leg, and he tasted the blood rising in his throat as he gagged, drool frothing from his short, staccato breaths. Tony's hands clutched weakly at his own chest, and Gibbs' hands shoved down on them. Together they staunched the flow.

It felt like an elephant was sitting on his chest. He struggled to suck in more air. Sheer will tried to keep the panic at bay.

But despite their collective efforts, his head sagged against the floor.

"Don't even think about it, bub," Gibbs muttered, shaking him roughly.

Tony surged back into awareness, raising his head and looking around in sudden confusion. He tried to say "boss" but it produced nothing but a grunt and some bloody froth.

"There you go, Tony," Gibbs praised. "Fight it."

There was a hand on his face now, the feel of it calloused and rough and familiar.

"Fight it."

"Mr. DiNozzo?" someone asked.

He didn't hear, not at first. He stared a hole in the hospital's floor.

A pager buzzed overhead. "Dr. Schultz to trauma bay one. Dr. Schultz to trauma bay one." A nurse hurried by.

The waiting area he'd found himself in was halfway full, all of them strangers waiting for their own news on loved ones. But they all kept their distance from him, this distraught old man in a rumpled tailored suit. He must've had the look of a man on the brink.

Again, someone asked, "Mr. DiNozzo?"

He looked up, finally, eyes bloodshot. He saw McGee. The familiar face was not unwelcome. Tim's mouth was moving but nothing reached Senior's ears. Not if it didn't include: "He's going to be okay." Everything else was just noise.

When McGee continued to say nothing of discernible value, Senior asked, "Did he make it here alive?"

McGee didn't shake his head or nod. He didn't move at all. His face was pinched, worried. Stressed out, clearly. He simply said, "I don't know. No one told you yet?"

"No one's telling me anything." And then: "Told me what?"

Letting out a breath, Tim sat down beside him. His hands rested on his knees, and he copied Senior's stare at the floor.

"Told me what?" Senior repeated.

"They got him here. That's what I heard. But last I saw, the EMT's were, uh— They were doing chest compressions. It didn't look good. Gibbs, uh— He didn't want to talk to me."

Suddenly, when it all sank in, Senior reached out and squeezed Tim's wrist. Then he gave it a pat.

"Tony's my best friend," Tim admitted. Then he blushed a little. "He really is, you know."

A gaggle of NCIS folks — McGee, Gibbs, Ellie, Abby and Ducky — had gathered in the waiting area, along with Senior, who was decidedly the odd man out.

They all looked up when a nurse stepped through the double doors with a clipboard. "Leroy Gibbs?" he read uncertainly. Then he looked up and repeated it with a bit more confidence, "Leroy Gibbs?"

Gibbs stood. "Gibbs here."

But everybody else had looked up and now stared at the nurse with rapt attention.

"Says you're Mr. DiNozzo's healthcare surrogate?"

"I am," Gibbs answered. He thought back to that conversation he'd had with DiNozzo, a year or so ago. About contingency plans, and who they were to each other. Tony had asked him then, rather baldly, You'll take care of me, right? Because Tony didn't have much of anyone in the world. Anyone particularly close. That close. Until Gibbs. "You've got news for us?"

"Ah, yeah," the nurse answered. "The doctor wants to meet with you in a private room, so if you'd follow me."

Gibbs looked at the group that had assembled, and especially at Senior. Tony was his kid. He more than deserved to be in-the-know. "Chief?"

Senior looked up. That silly nickname seemed even sillier now. "I'm coming."

Gibbs then looked at the others.

But Ducky answered for them, dignified as ever. "We will wait here for the news, Jethro. You two go on."

The doctor looked haggard but competent as she sat across from the two men and explained DiNozzo's predicament. "If he can pull through the next few hours with marked improvement, I might be more optimistic. But it's contingent on several factors. He lost a substantial amount of blood. The bullet that entered his chest did a fair amount of damage. Emergency surgery on that took a couple hours, a couple hours his body wasn't ready to handle. He'll need more, provided he remains stable. He was also not breathing on his own for a prolonged amount of time. And even now he's reliant on a ventilator."

Senior put his face in his hands, while Gibbs took a more pointed approach. "Doc, what do you think?"

The doctor gave Gibbs a tight smile as she said, "I don't want to understate how serious his condition is. We need to be realistic. He's in a coma. And he's going to stay in that coma unless something drastic happens. And if it doesn't…"

"We'll get to that hurdle when we get to it," Gibbs attempted to fill in the blanks.

"Right. In these circumstances, I usually advise for family and friends to begin making plans, or at least to prepare themselves."

"For what?" Senior suddenly asked.

She looked at him, but decided to forego the usual euphemisms and go right for the truth: "For his potential death. It's good to have at least an idea—"

"He's not dead yet, lady," Senior broke in. He then looked at Gibbs. "You hear what she's saying? She's writing him off." He turned back to the doctor. "Look lady, my kid—"

Gibbs put a hand on his arm. "Chief—"

"Don't you 'chief' me!" Senior spat out before standing up. "You hear what she's saying? You heard, right? How can you believe that? You of all people?"

"Sit down," Gibbs said.

"My kid's not going to die. It's not his time. It's not even close to his time."

"Sit down." That was Gibbs again, and he had that dangerous gleam in his eye. This time, it wasn't a suggestion. "If there's a chance for him, there's a chance. All we can ask for."

Reluctantly, Senior sat. "Tell us some good news, then," he said, "Don't think I can handle much more of the bad."

"He's stable, for now," the doctor answered. "That's excellent news. He's still fighting. I've become familiar with his medical file. He knows how to fight."

Gibbs said, "He does."

"Can I see him?" Senior asked.

She nodded. "Of course. And I'm sure, in a coma or not, he'd appreciate the company."

"Hearing is the last sense to go," Senior said.

"Some do say that." She looked at him with interest.

"My wife. She passed away, years ago. Cancer. At the end…" He couldn't finish the story.

Gibbs looked at Senior. "You go first, chief."

"You both can go," the doctor suggested.

But Gibbs shook his head. "No. We have differing opinions. He needs some time alone. I'll go in later."

Senior looked at Gibbs long and hard before he finally stood up and waited for direction. "Please," he said. "I need to see him." And when he did see him, he stayed almost the entire night in silent vigil. Everybody respected that.

Later, when Gibbs finally joined him, they sat together in silence and stared at Tony's still body.

"So who are you?" Senior suddenly asked. "Who are you to my kid?"

Gibbs stayed quiet, until finally he said, "Not sure it's my story to tell."

"Never would have thought."

Gibbs said nothing.

"I think he'll be okay. He always seems to come out okay. Even when he was small. Broken arm? No problem." Senior chuckled. "Never cried. I remember once he nearly cracked his head open falling off some monkey bars. Came to me and you know what he said? He said he needed a bandaid. Turned out he needed ten stitches. That kid…"

Again, Gibbs said nothing, and finally Senior stood up and said, "Figured you'd want your own time."

But Senior's optimism didn't last long, and soon he began waiting for the worst to come.

Tony hadn't shown any improvement, but he hadn't deteriorated either. Sitting by his side, Senior's mind kept circling around and around. He attempted to catalogue all of those things he'd ever wanted to say to Tony. All of those fights they had with each other that went unresolved.

But there was one big thing that loomed overhead, and Senior knew it was time to come clean.

He met with the doctor. She had no guarantees for him. It was on Tony, she said. "Tell him to fight."

Even while unconscious, Tony somehow managed to capture the hearts of the nursing staff in wing 9A. The colorful group of family and friends that surrounded him helped. The staff knew the story of the brave federal agent who nearly gave his life for that of his estranged father. That was the gossip, and they passed it along amongst themselves, each retelling becoming a bit more fantastic than the last. They doted on him as much was appropriate for a patient locked inside a coma, after the wound dressings were changed and his care needs met.

In the painful early hours of the fifth day, Lindy — a middle-aged woman who pulled 3rd shift on a consistent basis — paused by Senior's side and put a hand on his shoulder. She said, "I'm praying for him."

Nobody but Lindy saw, but Senior covered his face with his hand and began to cry. She'd jarred something loose, and he didn't know if he'd be able to put it back in its place.

When the morning of the sixth day broke, Tony remained unresponsive, and he maintained the same appearance as he had for the previous five days. The reality of the situation began to hit any and all of Tony's visitors. His mouth was open with a tube shoved down his throat, secured by some severe looking strap around his head. One of the nurses had smeared moisturizer on his lips, but they still looked sore. A bag hung at the bedside, collected urine from the catheter. His eyes were shut, and the skin beneath them was bruised. He was basically a dead body, apart from the machine making sure he got oxygen in his lungs and the beating of his heart and — as reported by the visiting neurologist — some brain function. But perhaps what was most disturbing was the second tube that disappeared down one nostril. A nurse had taped it to his face. "It's a feeding tube," a nurse had explained, matter-of-fact.

This was a far cry from the proud man Senior had seen not even a week ago. There was no dignity in this kind of existence. Now he was just a sack of blood and bones kept alive by the will of man and modern medical technology.

Gibbs had said if there was a chance for Tony, then there was a chance, but this seemed needlessly cruel.

"Junior," Senior spoke. He waited, as if he expected him to react. But of course, there was nothing. "I need to tell you… I've been meaning to tell you. You already know… you think you do. You just don't know the details. You need to know… I need to tell you the truth before…" He took Tony's hand. It felt colder than it should, and heavier. Touching him made it real, holding his hand and bringing it to his face. They'd never shared this kind of intimacy, not since Tony was small. "You don't know how hard it is to live with myself. How you became the good man you are, I'll never know. It's in spite of me. I know that."

Senior paused. There was nothing but soft beeps and mechanical breaths. "They say you can hear me." He paused again. "When I heard what you were telling people about me, that I was a con artist… I was shocked, and I don't know why – because it's true. You're just telling them the truth." He didn't know why he was continuing to stall, perhaps he didn't want to admit it to himself. Sharing the family secret with his kid just made it all the more damning.

"Junior, I am a con artist, and I'm the worst kind of con artist. I'm the kind who believes his own con, believes there is a shred of legitimacy to be found in it. An entrepreneur…" He chuckled, the sound wistful and contrite. "My head was always full of ideas. I always knew what to say to get people to believe me. To get people to believe in me. But I was never a smart man. A smart man would have seen it coming, the end game. Junior, every scheme comes to an end."

Tony's hand felt just as cold and limp in his grip as when he'd started. Distantly, Senior wondered if his son would feel vindicated by this admission. If he'd look him in the eye and state, "I told you so."

"I lied to your mother," Senior went on. "I lied to her all the time, about everything it seems. What I did for a living. Where the money came from. But your mother was a smart woman, and I think she knew. I was good at the con; that's the only thing I excelled at. Maybe the only thing I ever loved. She knew that, too. If it wasn't a con job, then I'd lose myself in gambling. Ponies, dogs, cards. I needed the challenge of a con. It distracted me from what was real: You, my son. Your mother and our marriage. We crumbled, and you suffered for it."

Senior's fingers clasped Tony's, and he squeezed. But Tony couldn't squeeze back. He couldn't even flinch or twitch.

"I helped steal a lot of money from a lot of people. Naïve people. Innocent people. Good people. People who were just looking for a good deal. Good returns. Something for their children and grandchildren. They had earned that money through honest, hard work, and I took it from them with a smile and with an assurance that it would all work out. I justified my actions with my own lies. Wasn't I also working hard? I traveled the world. I put in long days. I met people, talked to people, lied to them. I led them by the nose and they let me. I always thought it was their own fault."

Senior paused yet again and studied Tony's face even closer. He tried to commit every feature and stress line to memory. He saw a gray hair. Several gray hairs. When had his kid gotten so old? "Who do you want to be?" he continued, voice quiet now, barely rising above a whisper, "The sheep or the wolf? That's what my own father used to ask me when I was a child, and I thought it was a fun game. But I grew up and realized it was a metaphor. But you… You became the dog." Senior reached out hesitantly, and put a hand against Tony's cheek. "The protector." His eyes stung with unshed tears. "I feel like I never knew you."

There was a sudden noise from behind him, and Senior startled, drawing his hand away from Tony and wiping at his eyes. When he turned in his chair to look for the source of the noise, he saw Gibbs standing there in the doorway. "How much of that did you hear?" Senior asked.

"Enough," Gibbs answered, simply.

Senior stood up.

"Don't stop on my account, Chief."

Smiling ruefully and wiping his eyes again, he said, "I'm sure he'd rather hear from you."

"I wouldn't be so sure."

"It's okay. I said my piece." Senior spoke to Gibbs, but his eyes lingered on Tony.

"But did you make any peace?"

"Kind of hard to do that… all things considered. It's a one-sided conversation."

"Didn't need to be."

Gibbs speech was always simple and to the point, and it always made sense. Senior felt frustration rise in his chest. "Look, I get it. I'm not even a quarter of the man my own son is, but I'm trying."

Cool blue eyes looked the older man up and down. Then Gibbs nodded, as if he'd heard something he liked. "Okay then."

"Gibbs, Gibbs! I made it!" Abby rushed to the doorway, but she stopped dead when she saw Senior standing beside the hospital bed. "Oh hey, Mr. DiNozzo. I can come back later."

"No, no," Senior said. "Don't be silly. I was just leaving."

"On our way out for coffee," Gibbs added as he took Senior by the elbow and steered him out the door.

Abby gave them both a strange look. "Alright. I'll keep Tony company." She walked into the room, put her bag down, and immediately moved the chair even closer to the bed. She sat and straightened out an errant tuft of hair on his head. "He looks a bit better, doesn't he?" she asked. But when she received no answer, she discovered that they'd already gone. Abby turned back to Tony and said, "I think you look better. You're getting better, aren't you?" She leaned down and kissed him on the forehead.

"So how much did you really hear?" Senior asked darkly, looking at least a decade older than he should.

They sat with their coffees outside in the garden area adjacent to the cancer center, and they looked out at the well-maintained grounds. It was a chilly day, but not unbearable out in the sun. And after spending the entire morning in the sanitized air of Tony's hospital room, some time in the great outdoors was welcomed.

Gibbs stayed quiet and respectful, his presence meant to encourage conversation, not demand it. And truthfully, Gibbs appeared more than a little haggard himself. His face was drawn and tightened by tension. He hadn't slept a wink last night. He'd gone through all the unhappy endings to this story, and each and every one had broken his heart. He wouldn't admit as much, but each day he had to see Tony in that bed tethered to all that equipment, each day he had to see his once proud and self-reliant partner bathed by near strangers, even though in the course of several long days those near strangers had practically become family… All of it still bothered him. It bothered him more than he knew he could, or should, show.

Senior said, "I'm guessing you heard it all."

"You plannin' on repeating it when he wakes up?" Gibbs asked. "He should hear it from you."

Senior frowned. "You heard the doctor. It's been almost a week."

"I always bet on Tony," Gibbs deadpanned. "Never disappoints me. Not once. Not when it counts."

Senior looked over at him. He breathed out a humorless laugh. The sound was full of disappointment, in himself and in his own cowardice. "Optimism," he said.

"No." Gibbs shook his head. "Trust. Devotion," he began to list out loud, "Love."

"He thinks the world of you," Senior admitted.

"He wants to give the same to you. Despite what I think you deserve."

"That I can't believe. You heard what I said in there. You know what I am. You think he'd be so quick to forgive?"

"I do," Gibbs said. "He's like that. All heart."

Now it was Senior's turn to shake his head.

"So why'd you wait until now to tell him?" Gibbs asked. "Now when you might never have to answer his questions?"

Senior's face suddenly turned dark. "If you're trying to suggest—"

"Not suggesting anything. Just asking."

That took the defensive wind out of his sails. He sighed. "Always wanted to tell him."

"About the bad deals," Gibbs helped him along.

"Ponzi scheme. Text book definition," Senior said. "I didn't run it, but I was out there, seeking new 'investors.' Solid returns. Join up quick! This opportunity won't last forever. I ran in a lot of circles, Gibbs. Knew a lot of people. But there's something about this kind of deal."

"Doesn't last forever," Gibbs filled in the blank.

Senior nodded. "The man who ran it, a good friend of mine, he's in prison now. He never gave me up."

"You feel guilty about that?"

"I don't know. When the feds busted it up, all of the assets were frozen. Never saw a dime after that. Got what I deserved. I went to live overseas for a bit, in Dubai, but the feds were never looking for me. So when I came back, I felt like I was reborn."

"And lucky."

"Lucky as hell."

"Was that the last scheme?"

Senior nodded. "Yes. Before that, it was only small investment deals. Some of them good, most of them bad."

"And you never told your son."

"No. I wanted to, several times. But the first time… He'd already left college and become a cop."

"Did you think he'd turn you in?"

Senior shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. That was a rough time for us. We weren't on speaking terms. But mostly, I didn't want to put that truth on his shoulders. I didn't want to force him to choose. Job or family."

Gibbs smirked. "After that?"

"Peoria. Philadelphia. Baltimore. I lost touch with my kid, Gibbs. He was one person, and I was another. I lost touch."

"Then there was NCIS."

"NCIS. That was a big deal for him. I couldn't tell him then. He already knows I'm a fraud."

Gibbs gulped his coffee. He couldn't disagree.

"He told his coworker that. His friend."

"Tony says a lot of things, some of them untrue," Gibbs said. "He's more like you than you think."

"Well, he wasn't lying. I posed as a military man once. Did you know that? I wore the uniform and everything. You wouldn't believe the returns on that. I keep a picture of that in my wallet. To remind myself exactly how much of a fraud I am, an absolute fake." Senior studied Gibbs' calm face. "You can't believe that's forgivable."

Gibbs' answer was honest. "I think it's despicable, personally. But I'm not Tony. When he wakes up, you're gonna tell him. Everything you told him in the room and everything you told me."

"Don't know if I can. I'm a coward, Gibbs."

"Don't have to stay a coward, chief."

"I'm a coward," Senior repeated, "And I don't know if I can ever change. Some people just aren't made for heroics, you know."

Tony woke up in one of the odd hours when no one was sitting with him. It was Lindy who found him, lying there on his bed — not asleep, but with his eyes open and looking around in bewildered confusion.

The panic would come soon, so she called for the doctor then got in his line of sight, hoping to calm him before it did. "Tony?" she asked. It felt like they all knew him like a brother, so his given name slipped out and it felt natural. "Tony, I'm your nurse. You're in the hospital."

Tony stayed as still as he could, as if afraid to upset the tube in his throat and all the other tubes and lines stuck into him. But finally, his hand came up to paw at his mouth, just a reflex to the feeling that something was irritating him, potentially choking him.

But Lindy caught it, and she held his hand, squeezing it gently. "Boy, are we gonna be glad to finally get to meet you. You're a legend on this floor."

Even after the coma, Tony still slept. Except now it was a natural sleep of the utterly exhausted and extremely blessed. After a battery of tests, he'd since been freed from most everything but a single IV drip and a pulse monitor. And he'd even been able to hobble, with a lot of help and support, to the head, where he could pee on his own in blissful semi-privacy.

Gibbs looked up from the paperback he'd been distractedly reading to find Tony watching him.

"Hey, Boss," he croaked, his throat still suffering from the recently removed respirator tube.

"Hey, DiNozzo," Gibbs answered back. He set the book down in his lap and scooted the chair closer. "How ya feelin'?"

"Tired."

"Well, you've been to hell and back."

Tony huffed out some air in some semblance of a laugh. "Got shot."

"You did. So you remember?"

"No. Lindy told me."

Gibbs nodded. "You remember anything?"

"Nothing."

"Would you believe me if I said your dad's been practically livin' in here with you?"

Tony looked away, and he grunted. He answered honestly, "No."

"He was. That's true."

"News to me."

Gibbs went on, "He was helping us out on a case. You stepped in front of not one, but two bullets, for him."

Tony stayed quiet. Again, he looked away. "It's in the job description. I guess."

"You saved his life. He woulda taken one in the head. We would've had to go to his funeral instead of planning yours."

"It was that serious, huh?"

Gibbs just looked at him. "Yeah. Didn't give up on you though."

"Thanks." Tony cleared his throat, or tried to. It came out as a dry wheeze. He played with the pulse monitor on his finger.

"And your dad finally got to see you as I see you."

Tony looked up, brow quirked. God, how Gibbs had missed that face.

"How's that?" Tony asked.

Gibbs' answer was simple: "Brave. Selfless."

"Wow. Musta really been something."

"It was."

"Sorry I missed it." Tony smiled, smaller than usual. An exhausted kind of smile. "So I'm a hero now, huh. Where are the news crews?"

Gibbs chuckled. Their eyes met. Gibbs never wanted to look away, not ever. "How'd I ever get so lucky?" he asked.

"Back atcha," Tony answered quietly.

If they kissed, nobody saw it.

"Thought I'd find you here," Tony announced himself. He looked around his dad's new place. It was nice. A turn-key condo in a respectable neighborhood. Senior had wanted to move closer, and here he was. Definitely closer. He gazed out the sliding glass doors that led to a lanai complete with a small swimming pool. "How'd you afford it?"

"Junior!" Senior called from the kitchen. He met Tony at the sliding doors, and he hugged him tight. "You look even better." When he pulled away, he kept hold of his son by the shoulders.

"You just saw me a few days ago."

"You look better," Senior reasserted. Then he asked, while throwing his hand toward the surroundings, "How do you like it?"

"It's nice," Tony answered, unsure of what else to say.

Senior's eyes landed on the wrapped gift in Tony's hands. "What's this?"

"Housewarming gift." Tony shrugged. "Not much."

"Well, come on, come on." Senior opened up the doors and let the spring breeze in. "Come out back. Let's sit at the table. Gorgeous, isn't it?"

"It sure is," Tony had to agree. "How'd you afford this?" he asked again.

Senior smiled, a little nervously. "I know a friend who knows someone else—"

Tony stopped him there. "Say no more."

"Completely above the board, Junior. That's what I'm about now." Senior sat and looked at the gift. "Aren't you gonna sit down?"

"Sure." Tony sat, slowly, stiffly.

After unwrapping the small box, Senior opened it and pulled out a coffee mug, which read "World's Greatest Dad." He made a face, before he looked up at Tony. "Junior, is this some kind of joke? I mean…"

Tony laughed and shook his head. "Pretty funny, isn't it?"

Senior didn't seem so sure. His apprehension showed. "Junior…"

"It's absolution," Tony stated.

Looking from the mug, to his son, to the mug again, and then to his son again, Senior said, "What?"

"For what you wanted to tell me, but couldn't. I was right. Just never knew the details. I always knew I was right. But you know, I just really wish you could've told me the truth, face-to-face."

"Junior—"

"Jethro told me."

"Jethro?"

"Gibbs," Tony clarified.

"He treating you all right?" Senior then asked, non-sequitur.

Tony ignored the question and repeated, "Absolution. Don't you want it?"

"I wanted to tell you myself," Senior said.

"You did... sort of."

Senior studied his kid's face. He'd committed every feature and stress line to memory. And there were the gray hairs, too. At least one, and several more.

"And just so you know… You're right. I never wanted to be the sheep or the wolf," Tony said. "I'm the dog. I'm the protector."

THE END.