Disclaimer: As usual, nothing belongs to me.
The Silence Remains
It's quiet, way too quiet. He has never been particularly good with silence, but this time, it feels like it's trying to suffocate him, pull him under. From a distance, he can hear the waves crashing onto the shore but little does it help to overcome the quietness around him.
There's still his breathing, though. He can hear it, it's shaky but it's there, even though it shouldn't be. For a moment, he wonders why he's still breathing and why he hasn't died, yet. He's as good as dead on the inside after all. The very essence of his life has been torn away from him and he knows that while he is still breathing, it doesn't make much difference. He won't ever be able to breathe as freely as he used to, as freely as he has done mere days ago.
Days ago, when everything was still alright in the world. When he was still able to hear his daughter's laughter. When he was still able to pull his arms around his wife. When his house was full of life and colors whenever he would come home.
But the colors, just like the sounds, have now vanished.
There's nothing. Just grayness and defeating silence. He knows that it won't ever be the same again and he regrets not having taken them to Disney World, regrets that he has spent so much time at work when he could have been at home listening to the songs they sang. But like so many things in his life, it's simply too late for that.
This time, at least, it's not his fault. But that only makes it so much harder to accept. They're gone. They're gone for good and they left him behind with nothing to hold on to but the emptiness that is their house and the silence that has been crushing him for days.
He looks away from the sea in front of him and stares at his hands for a while. Very much alike his breathing, they are shaking, too. They haven't stopped doing that for days, ever since they have sent his phone flying towards the ground when he lost grip on it. He can still hear the voice on the other end, telling him just how sorry he was. But how could he possibly be sorry? He doesn't know. He never heard them laugh, heard them cry, saw them goofing around, watched them getting ready for bed, reading bedtime stories together. He doesn't know what it feels like to kiss them, what their arms felt like when they hugged him.
He blinks a couple of times, refusing to let the tears fall. They won't help and he knows that once they'll start rolling, he won't be able to stop them ever again. So he blinks.
And then picks up the gun that has been lying next to him on the bench all this time. He hasn't paid any attention to it until now, but he also knows that the sole purpose of coming here was to pull the trigger and put an end to the silence around him.
Here, where he has spent the first date with his soon-to-be bride. Here, where he went down on one knee. Here, where he taught his daughter how to fly a kite.
He doesn't know what will happen to him once he's dead. But he's sure it can't be any worse than this. There won't be memories haunting him, there won't be thoughts eating him up alive because he, himself, won't be. He has no clue if he'll see his girls again, wherever they are now, but he really hopes so.
For a moment, his thoughts stray and he realizes that he's being a coward. That like so many times before in his life, he's running away, even though he has sworn to himself a couple of years ago that he never would again. But that was before. That was before his family has been torn away from him with brutal force, leaving him with no other choice. He doesn't even care where he's running to. It just doesn't matter anymore.
He lets his fingers trace the cold metal for a while and it's oddly soothing to know that these will be the last moments of his life, that there's a chance he's going to see his girls really soon.
He just has to pull the trigger now and everything will be gone. The grief, the emptiness inside of him, and the goddamn silence. Just one little movement of his finger and it all won't be important any longer. Just do it, he cheers himself on, just do it.
.
He feels his presence before he sees him, before he even smells him, and for the first time in his life, he doesn't want him by his side. But Gibbs wouldn't be Gibbs if he didn't know where he'd be. It seems like second nature to him and he realizes that there is nothing to be done about it. But that doesn't mean he appreciates it. Not right now when he does finally have his mind settled. He's still not looking at him when he feels him sit down next to him. Instead, he's returned his glance towards the water in front of him, watching the movement of the waves, wishing he could have been faster, only a minute faster.
"What are you doing here?" he finally asks after what seems a very long time, realizing that his voice doesn't quite sound like his own.
Gibbs doesn't answer right away and he feels his eyes on him, but he's not ready to turn towards him. He knows that once he's locked eyes with the older man, he will be done and he won't be doing anything rash. And that's not what he wants. He wants this over with and not even Gibbs will be able to change his mind. Not this time.
"Had a hunch you'd be here," Gibbs finally replies so quietly that he almost turns around nevertheless because this doesn't sound like his boss, either.
He holds himself back, though, fixing his eyes on the gray sky over the sea instead. It's quiet again because he's not willing to talk and Gibbs apparently doesn't feel the need to, either. So they sit in silence, watching the waves, listening to their combined breaths that cut through the quietness.
Finally, when he's not able to stand it any longer, he clears his throat, unsuccessfully trying to get rid of the lump in his chest that has been there for a week, and starts to speak again.
"It's just not fair."
"You're right, it isn't," Gibbs answers quietly and then lets out a soft sigh that somehow sends a strange shiver down his spine.
He's tempted to look at the man next to him, but he's not ready yet to give up, so he stoically keeps staring right ahead.
"I know," the older man starts over a couple of minutes later. "It's hard."
"You don't know nothing," he retorts with more force than he intended and feels the guy stiffen up next to him, but he doesn't care.
He doesn't know, can't know what's been going on in his mind for days now.
"Don't I?" Gibbs replies so softly that it takes all his efforts to keep his eyes straight ahead.
He is about to contradict him but then remembers that of all people in the world, Gibbs is the only one that actually understands and he feels even more miserable than before because he has forgotten about it. He blinks rapidly again, willing his tears away.
"Sorry," he finally mumbles his apology. "I'm…" he trails off because he has no clue what to say.
"It's okay," Gibbs answers and he's glad that the older man's voice has regained somewhat of its usual strength, isn't all that quiet anymore.
"No, it's not," he disagrees nonetheless. "It's just… I don't seem to… I just… I can't."
He turns his head farther away from him, desperately trying to hold back the tears, but he feels the first one betraying him as it rolls down his cheek. He still isn't looking at Gibbs, doesn't want him to see him cry. He's seen him at his worst, of course, but he has yet to see him cry and that is the last boundary that he has drawn for himself. He can't cry in front of Gibbs, it only makes him that much weaker. So he quickly wipes away the tear with his sleeve before he trains his eyes on the water again.
"I know," Gibbs finally repeats himself, his voice back to being quiet and calm. "I know."
He feels himself nod numbly before he asks. "Does it ever pass?"
"No," Gibbs says and slams his last hope. "But it gets easier eventually."
"But I don't want that," he answers. "How can it get easier, when they're not here? When they're dead and I'm still here?"
Gibbs doesn't offer an answer, just shifts next to him. He's able to smell the wood on him; that one scent that always seems to calm him down, make everything better, but it doesn't do the trick this time. If anything, it only makes it that much worse.
"You should go," he eventually speaks up when dusk is already falling.
"No, I don't."
"But I don't want you here," he says, trying to put as much force into his voice as possible, but Gibbs doesn't waver.
"Don't care. I'm not going without you."
"Why?" he replies angrily, his fingers cramping around the cold metal of his gun. "Why won't you leave me alone?"
Gibbs remains silent and once again the quietness seems to crush him, seems to have a tight grip on him and suddenly he wishes that the older man would just say something, would make him see sense. Or would just go away and let him be. But when Gibbs finally clears his throat, he sounds beat and devastated again. The older man puts a hand on his shoulder and while his first instinct is to flinch away, he doesn't. Gibbs' hand is warm and radiates so much more than he has expected it to. But it isn't the physical contact that finally makes him look at the older man, but the words that quietly follow.
"Because I don't want to grieve for you, too. You're not the only one who's lost them, you know. I lost my goddaughter, too."
He stares at him and then suddenly, as if a gate has been opened, he feels the tears rolling down his cheeks, hears himself let out sob after sob and he doesn't know how to stop it. His vision is blurred when the hand vanishes from his shoulder and an arm is slung around him. He all but melts into the embrace, doesn't care that he's losing the last of his dignity, doesn't even care what Gibbs' whispered words mean. He just can't seem to stop the tears, can't seem to stop the sobs. He's feeling faintly embarrassed, but Gibbs just holds on to him and he figures it can't be that bad, he can still worry about it later. Wait -
Later?
That particular train of thought finally manages to stop his shoulders from shaking. He straightens up and Gibbs lets go of him almost immediately. For the first time today, he really looks at the older man and realizes that he looks years older than he has last seen him. He lines somehow have grown deeper over the last couple of days and the blue eyes look at him with so much sadness that it breaks his heart all over again. He knows that tears are still streaming down his face but he doesn't care and neither does Gibbs apparently because there's a lone tear running down his cheek, too.
"We're all here for you," Gibbs finally continues quietly. "And we're all sad about what happened."
"I know," he replies, surprising himself because he hasn't been aware of that fact mere minutes ago, but he should probably have known all along.
"So, let us help?"
The simple question sends him into another fit of crying, but Gibbs is already there and pulls his arms around him again, silently helping him through it.
He finally nods in answer to Gibbs' question and then straightens again, wiping away the remaining tears. He knows that it probably won't be enough. He knows that the pain is just as bad as it has been an hour ago, but somehow it has eased up a bit and he doesn't even care why. It just has.
"Come on," Gibbs finally breaks the silence again. "Let's get you home."
He feels himself stiffen up and he looks away again.
"Home," he whispers. "No... It's no home anymore. Gibbs, I…"
"I know," again, the older man's voice is quiet and soothing. "I meant my house."
Gibbs' house. Basement and bourbon. Wood. Yeah, he can do that.
So, he nods. "Okay."
Only as he already stumbles after the older man towards his car does he realize that he's still clutching the gun in his hand.
"Why didn't you take the gun from me?" he asks and Gibbs stops and turns around to look at him again, a determined expression on his face.
"'Cause I know you always do the right thing, Tony."
He blinks once and twice and then nods as the realization sinks in that Gibbs is counting on him, even after everything that has happened. He trusts him. The older man gives him a curt nod and then resumes walking. He follows him and with every step, he feels a bit of the burden ease up. He knows that it's not enough, not by a long shot. But it's a first step. He doesn't know whether it's the right step, but it is a step and he knows that if he should fail, Gibbs and the others will be there. No matter what.
Sure, he knows that the silence around him will remain but maybe it'll ease sometime, somewhere.