Title: Five Takes
By rose_malmaison
Spoilers for Season 9x24, Till Death Do Us Part
Warnings: Death of a major character, sex
Rating: FRAO
Characters: Gibbs, Tony, Abby, Tim, Ducky
Slash pairing: DiNozzo/Gibbs, established relationship
Betas: Mamamia, and CombatCrazy - thanks so much!
Summary: Family sticks together even in the hardest of times.
Note: These are five variations on a theme, tags for the end of season 9. Depending on how you look at it, they go together, or can be taken separately.
Take 1
Luck
"Let's face it," says Abby. "Ducky really needs to change his name to Lucky. I mean, not only did he luck out that there was a lifeguard on duty, but what are the odds that the guy would have a Ph.D. in toxicology and that he specializes in poisonous fish, and that he recognized that Ducky had been dosed with Synanceia neurotoxin?" She barely pauses for a breath before her shoulders droop and she says sadly, "A couple more minutes and Ducky would have suffocated to death, all alone on the beach. All alone, Tony."
"It was close," Tony agrees. "Too close."
She turns to Tony, arms outstretched, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "Ducky could have...he might have, he came so close, Tony. Our Ducky."
"Our Lucky," Tony gently corrects, and hugs her close, thinking of those who were not so fortunate as to have a lifeguard at hand when their world was blown apart.
Abby straightens up and she gets a faraway look in her eyes, and it's obvious she's plotting something. She says, in a low, dangerous voice, "If it's the last thing I do, I'm going to make sure that that evil bastard Dearing gets a dose of his own medicine."
"He will, Abby. We'll make sure of it," vows Tony.
Take 2
Living
"For God's sake, Jethro, do stop fussing," Ducky says, settling at his desk. "It was a warning, which I am heeding. I have been tested and poked and, considering the volume of blood they extracted from my veins, it was surprising that I had any blood left for them to test," he adds peevishly. He clears his throat and turns his back on Gibbs. "But it is all behind me, and I have been cleared for light duty. Now please go about your business, so I can get on with my work."
Gibbs frowns at being dismissed, but stubbornly refuses to leave.
Ducky rolls his eyes and begins checking the emails that have piled up in his absence, muttering under his breath.
…
That night Gibbs paces around the house until Tony wrestles him into their bedroom and gives him a fast and dirty blowjob that includes plenty of tongue action and lewd sucking sounds, just to remind him that they need to get on with living.
Take 3
Pain
Funerals suck. Tony knows this from personal experience, learned at an early age. Standing at his mother's grave, crying noisily until his father put a stop to it with a quick cuff to his shoulder. Bewildered and bereft, consoled by the housekeeper once Dad turned away – he remembers it all too well.
There were other funerals, too many to think about, each one coming to mind with unwelcome clarity despite Tony's attempts to block them. Kate, buried on a bright, humid Indiana day, her family standing there as proud as Marines. Paula…God, Paula, interred in closed coffin that did nothing to dispel the horror of her death. Ducky had refused to let him see her, but Tony's imagination provided pictures that were probably worse than the reality.
Jenny Shepard, another woman, buried with full honors, dignitaries gathered around her final resting place. The day after they lowered her into the ground, he was torn away from his job and lover, sent to sea, awash in guilt that took months to ease.
Of all the deaths in recent years, it's the loss of Mike Franks that has struck Gibbs the hardest, and so affects Tony as well. Since Mike was killed, Gibbs has retreated to his basement to work on small projects, no energy or desire to tackle anything bigger. He has only just begun to come around, has been talking about starting another boat, which Tony thinks will be good for him, but now this.
Now a dozen agents and NCIS employees – all members of one big family – are dead and buried, many in the past week alone. Some of the deceased have been flown to their faraway hometowns, escorted by an honor guard. A handful of the badly injured linger but they aren't expected to make it, though the doctors never say so aloud. They don't have to; it's plainly written on their faces.
…
Tony makes his usual preparations, putting an extra handkerchief, a small squeeze bottle of nasal decongestant and eye drops in his suit pocket. Not that he'll need them because he doesn't plan on crying. It's just a ritual he goes through.
At the last minute Tony tells Gibbs he's forgotten something and hustles up to their bedroom. He rummages around in the bottom drawer in his dresser until he finds what he's looking for, tucked in the back in a small black box. It's a metal ball about the size of a chestnut, with a hundred wicked spikes jutting out of it, a Chinese torture device that he picked up years ago at a fetish fair in Berlin. Tony closes his hand around it, making a fist until the spikes cut into his tender flesh and make his eyes water.
Gibbs is in the kitchen calling to him to hurry up so Tony sticks his left hand in his pocket and heads downstairs, fingers fisted around the spiky ball. He doesn't relinquish his grip on it even when he joins Gibbs in the car, finding comfort in the biting pain.
…
That night, Gibbs sits at the kitchen table holding Tony's wrist. His firm, clinical grip is at odds with the gentle touch of his fingers as he applies antibiotic ointment to the dozens of painfully deep perforations in Tony's palm.
Whenever Tony dares to raise his eyes, it's to find Gibbs sending sharp, angry looks his way. Every one is a barb of hurt and confusion, a plea for Tony to say something – anything – to explain, but Tony's grief has rendered him silent.
After Tony is bandaged up and they are in bed, Gibbs holds him tightly from behind, legs and hips and chest pressed close as if he can't get near enough. Maybe he can't. His big hand protectively covers Tony's wounded one where Tony cradles it against his chest. Tony lies there stiffly, cold and unresponsive for a long time, and when something inside of him breaks and he finally allows himself to cry, Gibbs kisses the back of his neck and rocks him gently to sleep.
Take 4
Grief
Gibbs comes out of the room, head down, eyes averted, but then he pulls himself together and looks up. He is surprised to find Tony standing there, probably because Tony had made his case perfectly clear.
"No deathbed scenes," Tony had said, realizing how bad that sounded even before he saw Gibbs' shocked reaction, but meaning it nevertheless.
Now Tony steps forward because he knows that Gibbs needs him. The way Gibbs meets him, rushing and almost stumbling in his haste confirms he was right.
Gibbs wraps his arms around Tony, a hug of sorrow and loss, soft and heavy, that turns into something far more fierce. "Damn it, Tony."
Tony swallows and says in Gibbs' ear, his voice low, "Is there still time?"
Gibbs pulls back and looks at Tony with relief. Gibbs nods as if he's physically unable to speak, and his voice, when he does manage to get a word out, cracks. "Not much."
Abby joins them and for a moment the three of them stand in a circle, heads bowed, private, cut off from the world by their shared grief and anger. She asks Tony, with her eyes, if he wants her to go in with him, and in reply he takes her hand. Gibbs steps back but Tony takes hold of his hand and squeezes it once, questioning, and Gibbs joins them when they go into the room to say their final goodbyes.
Take 5
Sailing
The sailboat slips through the warm Gulf waters, smooth and sleek. The storm on the horizon seems to be receding and the brilliant blue sky promises a beautiful day. There's a light breeze blowing up, and the sails flutter like a flock of doves. Gibbs is at the helm, and Tony, sitting within the circle of his arms, smiles with contentment.
Abby is perched up on the bow, dressed in black lace, parasol protecting her fair skin, and Tony thinks she looks almost happy.
Ducky raises a bottle of champagne, cork popped, ready to pour. Tim is holding out his glass expectantly, but Ducky first has to regale them with a tale of a young man who fell into a vat of whisky and took thirty days to drink his way out.
Gibbs kisses Tony's suntanned cheek, and when Tony turns his head Gibbs easily locates his mouth. Tony asks, "Do we know where we are?" He's seen charts and an old sextant below decks, but Gibbs doesn't even look at them.
Gibbs smiles and says, "Sure. Heaven."
***end***