AN: Part three of the Seelie Court series, preceded by Impractically Magic and Unexpected Magic. Thanks to my beta, SatuD2. Updates weekly, on Fridays.

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Chapter One: Gibbs and the Empty Space

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Things are different now.

There are things that are the same, like McGee's general awkwardness and Abby's firm optimism and Ziva being one scary woman, but that doesn't make up for the things that are missing. One thing in particular. If there's ever a point when Gibbs regrets coming back to NCIS, it's late at night when he's alone in his basement with a boat he never intends to get wet.

If there's ever a point where he regrets leaving in the first place, it's when he's looking at the empty seat in the bullpen that Tony used to fill. It's an empty space in a life that's filled with empty spaces, and it pisses Gibbs the hell off.

"You know, you could fill it," Jenny has the gall to tell him, like doing so is as easy as slapping on some plaster and paint or even as easy as finally looking at the pile of applications she puts faithfully on his desk every morning. He'd argue that it's not that easy, since it's pretty hard to read anything that's been shredded and thrown into a wastepaper basket with trash dumped on top of it. Could argue that it's a waste of good trees to keep trying. But he doesn't.

Instead, he just grunts and keeps on keeping on, without Tony DiNozzo at his back.

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They're investigating the murder of a Navy colonel in a sand bunker at the Army/Navy Golf Club when it brings Hollis Mann back into his life. That's an unexpected empty space to fill, when Gibbs turns to find at the head of the Army CID investigative team assigned to this case.

It's not a space he's sure he wants filling, hearing her voice and very vividly remembering where he's heard it before: trapped in Hell waiting for death to free him, surrounded by hundreds of other damned souls. But, here they are, standing in the sunlight slotted neatly back into their lives, two Dead Men who never laid down to die.

"You're looking better than when I last saw you, Leroy," she says as soon as they're alone, striding away from the crime scene to search for any evidence thrown outward by the blast radius. Gibbs can see McGee working in the woods, can smell Ziva upwind; these days, he's always aware of where his team is, at all times. "Despite the scars."

Gibbs grunts at that, avoiding the desire to reach to his throat where the silvered scars of the collars they'd worn are still vivid against his skin. Mann doesn't have the same scars. Her parrot shift had been caged too, but not like him, just a pretty decoration to remind them all that their wings were equally as clipped.

"Didn't know you were army," he says finally, turning to her and putting his hand out to stop her. "Before you were caught?"

She nods. "For twenty-seven years, before those bastards got me. Army reinstated me as soon as I passed medical and psych—says they're glad to have me back. Glad I'm alive." Her tongue clicks a little in her mouth, a bird-like tick left over from when she was trapped in her feathers. "I believe them, sometimes. We sharing this investigation? Lot of holes on a golf course."

Just like that, the spark of something collective between them is gone and they're two team leads facing off over a bone they're not gonna share.

"Sure, there is," Gibbs answers. "Eighteen in fact. My team will take the crime scene, you're welcome to the other seventeen."

Her reply to that is a smirk that's still awkward on her human face. "When will you learn to play nice with others, Leroy?"

Arguably, never. But he doesn't say that.

Instead, he just says, "I'm always nice, if you keep outta my way," and goes back to his work. One more check of his team—Ziva by the bunker, McGee still visible in the woods. And Tony—

He stops, and huffs. Tony?

Tony's gone.

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When he goes into work the next day, he gets there early. Usually gets there early; doesn't usually poke around in the bullpen until he's got a lead or his team needs startling. Today, the team needs startling. They're clustered around Ziva's desk staring at something on her screen, not one of them—except maybe Ziva, but she doesn't twitch—looking up at his silent approach.

Tony's on the screen. Abby's emailed out pictures of recent events, inserting the same static image of Tony into each of them. Tony at the Christmas lunch, at McGee's birthday party. At the New Year's party Gibbs hadn't gone to—he's a little unsettled to realise he's been added into that one as well, complete with festive hat and a lit sparkler added to his open palm.

"It is uncanny," Ziva is saying to Abby. "Like he is truly there alongside us."

"I know, right? I would have emailed them to him too, made him really miss us, but you know. Email address deleted, like he thinks that's gonna stop me sending him NCIS care packages. Boy, does he have a surprise coming. Literally, and in muffin form—"

"Does he?" Gibbs asks, quietly satisfied by their collective shock at his appearance behind them. "Don't think I gave you permission to use resources on hunting down a man who quit us, Abby."

Abby doesn't flinch, crossing her arms and scowling at him with the black cats stitched into her headband arching their backs and hissing at him. "Well, no, you didn't," she retorts, "but you didn't give me permission to hunt you down either when you quit, and if I hadn't, Ziva would be…"

"Arrested," McGee adds helpfully.

"Dead," Ziva says. Probably not incorrectly.

"DiNozzo isn't going to die from a lack of muffins," Gibbs snaps, not looking at the empty space. "Colonel Frederick Cooper is dead, however, if you'd like me to go tell his son that his investigators are too busy messing around to find who did it!"

Three sets of eyes meet his: McGee, shamed; Ziva, expressionless; Abby, resolute.

"How do you know he's safe?" Abby finally asks, mouth set in a firm, angry line.

Gibbs knows he better step careful now, or he's going to end up cursed something nasty by the angry witch. "You think I haven't already checked that, Abby?"

Just like that, he sees her relax.

"If it helps, I have seen him too," Ziva says, not unexpectedly. "He is healthy."

Abby's head snaps around, McGee's too.

"You know where Tony is and you didn't tell me?" McGee bursts out with.

"Healthy?" is Abby's exclamation. "What about happy, Ziva! Like he could be happy without us."

Gibbs cuts that off: "Enough! It's been months, he's gone! Get to work, dammit!" They scatter, thankfully realising that he's at the end of his—already short—leash. But, when he turns, Jenny lurks behind him.

"If it's been months, I have applications—" she begins. Growling, he stalks past her. That's not even worth an answer.

Three minutes into the day and he's already done with it.

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The words from earlier that day linger. My son, Tony, he plays that same game. He's never been more pissed to have had a cover story readily come to mind, so easily spoken when trying to get the trust of a potential assailant. When the case is closed, he goes home and paces. Everything is empty: the bedrooms upstairs where Kelly and Shannon aren't anymore and the couch downstairs where Tony had slept while faithfully waiting for Gibbs to return.

Gibbs had, eventually, but had he stayed?

If he's being honest with himself, he understands why Tony's so sore. He would be too. What he did he had to do to survive, but it doesn't mean it wasn't cruel. But the man they'd plucked out of those pits—the wolf he'd been when they'd saved his life—that isn't who he is now. He's back together, back in his right head. Leading his team—some of his team.

He'd be lying if he said he didn't want all his team there. All those empty spaces filled.

Like his gaze has been drawn to it by that thought, he looks to the carved wolf sitting on the coffee table. He'd carved it, years ago, for a woman who's dead now. Another team member he failed. Sorry Kate, sorry Tony. Should have never trusted him to keep them safe.

"You look pensive," says a voice behind him. It's Hollis, he recognises the bird beneath her tone. It never really leaves, not once he'd recognised it being there. He wonders if she's as crazy as he is under his practised recovery; knows he's never going to ask. "Where's your vampire? I missed him at the case."

"Moved on," Gibbs says shortly. "Beer?"

"Are you asking or offering?" She steps closer, hair down and eyes soft. "I wasn't kidding, Leroy. You look… tired. Trouble shared is trouble halved."

"Rough few cases," he says. It's not a lie. They're still dealing with the aftereffects of their previous case, a kidnapping with no resolution. Halloween snatch and grab of a marine staff sergeant's seven-year-old daughter, Sarah. Never found. Someone's still looking, but it isn't them anymore. Too many fresh cases needing attention, not enough hands on their deck. Maybe it is time to replace— "Nothing time won't fix more than talking will. And I'm offering."

She stares for a moment before catching up. "Oh, the beer." There's a pause that lingers, her head tilting slightly. "Do you dream of it, Leroy? That place…"

"Do you?"

Neither of them need to answer that. It's obvious.

"It's not really the same though, is it? As when we were there… there, when we woke up, we were still in the nightmare. Together, though. I guess that had something going for it… waking up to someone there, even if they were people you'd be trying to kill tomorrow."

Gibbs is quiet. It's not a good idea. He doesn't share nicely, not his crime scenes, not his trouble, and not his life.

But he's done with pushing people away.

"Want to try that again?" he asks, staring at the carved wolf as he does.

"What?"

"Waking up together."

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One dumb thing leads to another. It's what he always warns his team—mistakes snowball. They breed more mistakes. Cut it off at the legs and ask for help before that happens.

But yet, still, he's here. And he knows why.

Even a battered old werewolf like him still gets lonely. Even with the pack back in his world, even with other wolves to run with, there's a vampire-shaped hole in his life that won't stop nibbling at him.

He thinks, as he slips into the alley across from a restaurant trying to live up to its swanky surroundings, that this wouldn't be bothering him so much—Tony moving on—if there wasn't something wrong about it. The whole situation stinks of something bigger than a simple want to be anywhere Gibbs isn't. Gibbs knows Tony—knows where he'd run if he wanted to get away, and that somewhere isn't back into his father's grasp. Not when he'd fought so hard to get free of it.

But, there he is. Across the street in the middle of a part of DC crawling with his father's people, fine dining with a pretty lady vampire who smiles and laughs at all his jokes. Gibbs watches critically as Tony works to woo the woman, noting plenty in that short time. Tony's focus is absolute, his gaze doesn't wander. They don't order food and he doesn't think that the red in their glasses is wine. If it's a performance, it's a good one, because the man Gibbs is watching both is and isn't Tony DiNozzo—a pattern of behaviour he's been repeating over the last five months.

Tony's living like any other vampire, even though he's never been a stereotype before. Sharp features and dark eyes show he's been feeding on more human fare. His clothes aren't his. They're expensive, sure, and tacky—that's DiNozzo—but there's no charm, no character—that's not. If Gibbs had met this man at Baltimore, he never would have seen the inside of NCIS.

He settles, continuing his surveillance. If there's something wrong here, some power these people have over DiNozzo… he's going to find out. And he's going to do what Tony did for him.

He's going to bring him home.