He is guarded. She is skittish.
The silver haired supervisory agent had known early on that their personality changes are not without reason.
Had known when he, Timothy, and the entirety of the small NCIS/FBI joint task force he'd been given authority over had stormed into one of Armanno Paolos's wide ranging bases of operations guns blazing.
Had known when the putrid smell of rotting food, pungent garbage, and thick cigarette smoke, not of the legal variety, infiltrated their senses upon entering the door.
When the year old newspapers, yellow, frayed, and stuck together, crunched beneath their feet.
When the countless cockroaches, giant rats, and anything else that could move on of it's own volition skittered away from the beams of their flashlights.
When Paolos's men who hadn't run or tried to shoot their way out, were too strung out to even notice that task force had arrived. When one of the men had smirked at the mention of his agents's names, after Gibbs had shoved him against the wall.
So yes, he had known, even before seeing his lost agents, that seven weeks in this captivity would change them. Three months in the midst of a notorious human trafficking ring would change anybody.
No matter how strong.
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"Oh my god." a task force team member murmurs, when after clearing almost every room in the headquarters, his agents are finally discovered. Gibbs would have told him off for the lack of professionalism, but the young man was only voicing what they are all thinking. Oh my God.
Gibbs sees things in parts.
Sees the chains around their feet.
Sees the one mattress on the floor. Stained several different colors in several different places.
Sees more newspaper. Sees more bugs. More animals.
Sees and smells the squalor. Covering the floor. Marking the walls.
Sees the glass bowl on the floor in the center of the room. Filled with brown, rectangular morsels.
Then sees the bag in the corner and realizes the morsels are dog food.
Sees with startling, horrifying clarity how they tried to dehumanize them.
Then he puts the pieces together, forms the big picture, and sees his agents in the center.
Sees how Anthony Dinozzo hasn't said a single word since they entered, even when he must surely know who they are. Must surely know that they are here to take them away from this hell.
Sees how instead the brunette puffs his chest out, thinner and more haggard than Gibbs has ever seen him.
How his own agent stares at him soullessly with empty, but angry eyes. The dark, dark circles of exhaustion and even darker bruises prominently displayed on his pale, gaunt face.
Sees how tense his posture is. Upright, back straight, shoulders forward, but obviously in pain.
How he is still silent. Watching the task force see them. Silent. Still. Guarded.
The silver haired agent sees former NSA analyst Ellie Bishop behind him.
Sees how impossibly small she's made herself. Shivering, shaking, vibrating with her knees up to her chest.
Sees how she's hidden herself under her curtain of knotted, tangled blonde hair.
Sees how she hasn't even looked up or acknowledged their entrance since they had opened the door.
Sees how they somehow look ten years older and then years younger at the same time.
Gibbs sees this all and knows that seven weeks in this captivity has changed them.
Three months in the midst of any notorious human trafficking ring would change anybody. No matter how strong.
Then McGee steps up beside him and the computer specialists grip tightens on his service gun when he sees the scene.
Oh my god.
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The duo are relocated to Bethesda, but not without trouble.
"Tony, Bishop?" He had asked softly, taking a slow step forward to acclimate them to his presence, motioning the rest of the task force backwards, away. Keenly searching for at least some flash of recognition in their eyes.
But Tony had made himself bigger. And Bishop had made herself smaller.
And there's no convincing either of them that they are here to help.
They eventually had to sedate them in order to bring them in without a struggle.
At the hospital Gibbs listens to the doctor throw words like malnutrition, post traumatic stress coping mechanisms, and sexual assault, as if they carry no real meaning. No real weight. Because he's already seen the trauma in their actions. He's already seen the trauma in their eyes.
"Both suffered multiple fractures of the calcaneus in each ones right foot." the doctor continues.
Multiple fractures. In only one foot. It suggests that the fractures are deliberate.
Made to the calcaneus. The heel bone. It suggests that it was to keep them from running, from standing, from being anything other than subordinate when the goddamn bastards-
He forces himself to take a breath. To remain calm. To remain steady.
This explains why neither moved of their own accord after the rescue team had entered.
This explains why Tony refused to let any of them get near, but never stood up to face them.
The other injuries paint an unwanted picture of their own.
Concern, then guilt sweeps over the agent in charge.
How had it taken three fucking months to find them?
They'll be fine. They're survivors.
He tells this to Abby who arrives in the hospital waiting room with tear-filled eyes.
He tells this to Ducky and Palmer who are right behind her, wearing worry on their faces.
He's already told this to McGee, who doesn't even look from up from the hospital chair he's sitting in, his head buried in his hands.
They're survivors. They'll be fine.
He tells this lie to himself.
To 'survive' would imply that each component of a functional whole had remained intact, that the ordeal had not clawed at personal fears, or scratched deep at the bones of human inadequacy.
That implication would be wrong.
He looks at his team members, all anxiously waiting for another update.
The unspoken questions hangs heavily in the air.
Why?
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The team stays vigil at their bedsides.
Abby frets. McGee worries. Ducky placates. Palmer lurks.
And with Bishop and Tony the ice thaws, even if only a little.
They talk around the abduction. Completely avoid the topic. Gibbs does this for their benefit because he knows they will have to talk about it later. Whether it is is to the therapist, to the police, or to one of them.
Because talking things out is the best way to heal. Even though the rest of them already know much of what occurred because of the medical team's lengthy report.
For the most part everything seems normal.
Normal, if he were to disregard the troublingly obvious.
If he were to disregard the way Tony incessantly watched the entrance of the door, as if waiting for a threat to barge through. How he always kept his back faced toward the wall. How the small, tired smiles he made never seemed to reach his eyes.
If he were to disregard the way Bishop flinched and shied away when anyone who wasn't Tony or wasn't a female nurse dared to get closer than three feet from her.
If he were to disregard how quiet they had both gotten. How they never spoke unless spoken too.
So when at the end of the seventh day, after the others had gone home, after Tony had dropped into a restless sleep, after Bishop descended into another self imposed glassy-eyed stupor, the nurse comes with discharge papers he thinks it is too soon.
Gibbs thinks that this is much too soon.
But there are more people in need of help and not enough hospital beds to house them all.
And because their broken bones are wrapped and their bodies are pumped full of nutrients stolen from the malnutrition, Tony and Bishop are released from the hospital with eleven pill bottles between them and two phone numbers for therapists that 'specialize in these types of situations' exactly eight days after they had arrived.
The wounds are more mental than physical anyway.
He sees the way Tony deliberately puts himself in front of her and how Bishop's eyes dart around like a dear caught in the head lights.
He is guarded. She is skittish.
There isn't a damn thing he can do about it.
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Both of them come home with him.
Because there is no way in hell that either of them are going to an empty house in their current state.
The ride back to the house is painfully quiet.
But he sees Bishop pressing her forehead against the cool glass, sees Tony stretching out into a more comfortable position and it's more relaxed than he's ever seen them be since the rescue.
So he continues driving without a word.
They both hobble in on their crutches. Gibbs is right behind him with duffle bags full of their clothing, courtesy of Abby and McGee. Then he closes the door with his foot, just a bit faster, just a bit louder than expected.
*Slam*
And Bishop whirls around backing away with wide eyes. Tony stumbles, trips over his crutch and ends up on the floor with a crash.
"I can take care of myself." The brunette growls, when Gibbs drops the bags to help him up.
He is temporarily taken back by the primal ferocity in the younger man's bitter, hardened tone. The pause is heavy. The pause is long enough.
"It's okay to need help, Tony."
But his younger agent shakes him off. Is in front of Bishop within seconds.
And the invisible wall is back up.
He walks on eggshells around them for the rest of the night.
Gibbs remembers the temporary psychiatrists 's advice. Allow them to feel as if they are in a normal situation as possible. Make them feel safe, but don't pity them. It is the same regurgitated advice that the doctors gave to everybody that ever faced a situation like this. It was almost always easier said than done.
His agents have been put through a bender.
He is guarded. She is skittish. Both of them look ready to run at any given moment .
Gibbs finds he has to repeat anything he says at least twice before they comply.
They eat the chicken soup Gibbs had prepared for them. Or rather Bishop drinks soup with trembling hands, while Tony watches with disturbing intensity while he makes sure she has enough. Only then does he eat.
And when he eats, Bishop curls her shoulders back inward and picks at a loose thread on her Oklahoma State hoody, studiously avoiding the silver haired marine's gaze.
Throughout the dinner no one says much.
Instead the tv, playing old reruns of I Love Lucy, does the talking for them.
So he's surprised when after they're all finished, Tony follows him to kitchen to help with the dishes.
"I'll help with the dishes." he mutters quietly. The brunette's voice is so hoarse and scratchy, that Gibbs barely deciphers what he is saying. When he realizes, the special agent in charge wants to tell Tony that he doesn't need to help him. But he sees the scars on his wrists from the handcuffs as the man slides the bowls into the sudsy water and knows that there isn't a lot that they've been able to do of their own accord.
So Gibbs nods in confirmation and Tony silently helps him wash the rest of the dishes. The rigidness in his shoulders, the tightness in his jaw, and the way he angles himself towards the door, tells the marine that the younger agent is trying to force himself to stay in the room with him. It tells him that Tony hasn't really let his guard down.
It will take a long while before he is ready for that.
When they leave the kitchen, Bishop is still where they left her.
Staring at the table, glassy eyed and despondent. Obviously not thinking in the present. Picking at the same thread on her sweatshirt that she has been since they'd come home.
God only knows what she's thinking about.
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The nights are a hellish experience in themselves.
Bishop has nightmares. Loud nightmares.
Nightmares that even when she wakes up, she hasn't truly woken up from.
Gibbs discovers this on the third night when Bishop wakes the house with an earth shattering scream.
Discovers this as he sprints to the guest room and finds her unceremoniously on the floor because she never stays on the bed.
Her eyes screamed that she was still in the throughs of a nightmare.
Her arms, wrapped tightly around herself, practically screamed at him to go away.
Not going to happen.
Then Tony is there. Ghosting past him, putting himself in front of her.
Saying more in quiet whispers than he's said in the last weeks since their rescue.
And he discovers as Bishop's shuddering gasps even out, how much the two must have relied on each other.
Because she's a nervous wreck and he isn't much better off.
He discovers soon after that Tony doesn't sleep.
Or rather he don't sleep as nearly as much as he needs too.
Because hours later after she's closed her eyes, head heavy on her knees, Tony doesn't move.
Only looks between her and Gibbs and the door.
Not daring to leave, even after the sun has made itself known in the early dawn.
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"Can you tell me what happened next?"
Tony is stone faced.
Gibbs watches from the other side of the double sided mirror as a therapist gently pries details from their hell.
He can see the unshed tears in Tony's eyes. Can see the slight tremor in his hands. And knows that the younger man is trying to keep his emotions at bay.
And Gibbs sees Tony as he saw him in the room. Scared. And he wants to help, but he can't.
The therapy sessions are cringe-worthy, but they must occur.
If not for his agents benefit, but for the police.
Armanno Paolo had been caught.
And there must be a trial.
For a trial there must be evidence.
And the prosecutor thinks the best evidence would come from two credible eye witness accounts from government agents.
The mental state of these government agents be damned.
After the session, the therapist pulls him aside.
"You're not watching them enough."
Gibbs flares up with anger at the accusation, but the therapist has fire of her own.
"You aren't. Anthony isn't sleeping."
"I knew that, that's why he's been going to you."
"Did you know he wasn't taking his medicine?"
"I… What?"
Taken off guard by the surprise in his voice, the therapist's tone softens.
"He's not taking his medicine. I don't know how it's been getting pass you, but he's not taking it."
Gibbs looks back at the waiting room. Sees Tony in the chair, sulking, staring at the floor. Sees the dark circles under his eyes. Remembers his antsy behavior.
"Why?"
"You'd have to ask him."
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The therapist is right of course.
And Tony won't tell him why. Only looks at him with angry, hardened, bitter eyes.
He thinks he sees a hint of fear, a hint of sadness, but it is well disguised.
Regardless.
Gibbs begins laying out the pills for both of them.
Watches them take it. Makes sure they swallow.
It feels like he's ripping the fragile control they've been given away.
The invisible wall erects itself even taller.
The days pass. Still relatively quiet.
But Gibbs continues to notice little things about their behaviors that worry him.
How the circles grow darker under Tony's eyes.
How he watches the door for a good two minutes whenever they enter the home.
How agitated and annoyed he's become at everything.
How Bishop often left the room abruptly or dropped whatever she was holding for no good reason.
How she steadily refuses to let anyone except Tony, sometimes Abby touch her. And never more than a few seconds.
How both of them have yet to open up to any of them. Even the therapist.
Then the media grabs hold of the story and everything goes to hell.
It's a wonder, that they've been able to keep it a secret for that long.
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Bishop and Tony handle it well on the surface considering things.
Having their faces on front page news. Broadcasting everything that anyone knows about that the hell and what happened to them in excruciating detail.
Because the media knows no boundaries.
But he can see that it's ripping them apart on the inside.
Bishop turns silent.
Tony simmers.
Gibbs keeps the news channel off his television.
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A scream pierces the air.
Bishop.
It must be another nightmare.
He's halfway out of the basement when he hears the shatter.
He meets Tony at the door and he's surprised that he isn't already there.
Together they push into the room.
The crash came from the lamp. It was on the bedside table.
Now shattered into hundreds of ceramic little pieces on the carpeted floor.
"Go away!" The young blonde, screams - higher than a whisper for the first time in days - - at them. Her voice is gravel, rough in the back of her throat.
She's standing, wavering, swaying on the lamps broken remnants. Her eyes are wide and dilated. She's completely out of it, he realizes. Tony realizes it too.
Behind her the bed is perfectly made. And he realizes either she's never went to bed or she's still sleeping on the floor. When had that started happening again?
Panic flashes in Bishop's eyes when she turns to look at Gibbs and the former NSA analyst recoils away from them, when they continue to approach.
If she get's scared, you have to remind her she's not there. You have to ground her in the present. The psychiatrist's words of advice ring in his mind.
"Ellie. It's us, remember? Tony and Gibbs?"
She wavers. Her eyes flit between them. If only for a second. No recognition sparks.
And he hears the ceramic crackle under her feet. Then sees her make a split for it.
Gibbs moves in front of the exit because he knows that letting her go in this state will cause more harm than good.
He forgets what this must look like to traumatized person stuck in that nightmarish past. Two grown men forcing her to stay in the room.
But things happen to fast and he catches her when she runs into him.
"Let go of her!" Tony roars. And then he has both of them to worry about.
Bishop is thrashing out of his grip and he immediately lets go.
And Tony reaches for her, to get her way from him.
But Bishop reels away from Tony too.
"DON'T TOUCH ME!" She roars.
She backs herself into the corner. Away from both of them.
As soon as she does her fight dissolves, and suddenly her knees shake. Her weight seems to drop, sliding her down against the wall and onto the floor.
"Don't touch me. Don't touch me. Don't touch me." the blonde murmurs.
Tears run down her face.
Tony's face is stricken. Horrified. Confused.
He backs up a step. Then another. Then he's gone.
The night is long after that.
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Abby comes the next morning.
Says hello to both of them before disappearing up to Bishop's room where she has refused to come out since the incident.
Tony gives Bishop's room as wide as a berth as possible.
The familiar guard now up, but still looking shell shocked.
Gibbs takes him down to the basement with him, if only to occupy him and keep his mind of her.
He sits him down on the chair and then goes to the boat.
Begins smoothing out the wood.
When Tony gets up and begins to walk the length of the basement, Gibbs pretends not to notice.
When he lingers at the tool table, Gibbs doesn't say a word.
He knows that Tony needs this.
Then the tools sweep off the table.
Gibbs is up and over to him in seconds as the younger man starts throwing punches at the wall.
The silver-haired marine shoves himself in front of Tony.
Tony followed through with the punch. Gibbs leaned sideways, letting his fist fly past him, and grabbed his arm, then gently, but firmly pushes the younger man away from the wall.
Grabs his shoulders to prevent him moving away again.
His eyes are red and bloodshot. His fists are bloody.
"Tony."
"Let me go." Tony tried to jerk away, but Gibbs remained firm.
"Tony. What's wrong?"
"Let me go." Tony says again, but the steeliness in his voice wavers.
"Just tell me. What's wrong?"
The younger man let's out a strangled gasp. Then the wall is down.
"I'm sorry! I'm s-sorry."
"It's okay, Tony. It's not a big deal."
But Tony isn't done.
"I couldn't protect her! I couldn't! I couldn't! I tried. I really did!"
The tears are pouring down, the guarded facade is broken. He's shaking like a leaf and sounds like a devastated little kid.
"I was supposed to have her back. I was s-supposed t-to protect her. I tried. I tried Gibbs." The tears muddles his voice, but the point isn't missed.
Suddenly everything came together. Why Tony would never eat until he was sure she had enough. Why Tony stopped taking his medicine. Why he was agitated whenever she left the room at random points. Why he cringed at her nightmares. Why he was stricken, was he was horrified when Bishop yelled at him to go away.
He thought it was his fault. He'd been carrying the guilt with him since the beginning. And he thought he was deserving of all that pain.
And Gibbs had missed it all.
"Tony." he tries to interrupt.
"I tried. I tried. I tried. I d-did. I tried so hard."
"Tony, you can't blame yourself for this." Gibbs tried to placate
"No! You don't understand! They-"
"Listen to me Tony. It is not your fault."
He wraps Tony in his arms and the younger man shudders against him. Tears still falling, but he doesn't cringe away.
"I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry."
"It is not your fault."
Three months in this captivity had changed them. Three months in the midst of a notorious human trafficking ring would change anybody.
No matter how strong.
If only he'd found them sooner.
If only he'd not sent them to investigate the crime scene.
If only…
That normal is gone.
Only this new normal remained.
And they had a long way to go.