The Hill Street Blues
Rating: "T" (PG-13)
Disclaimer: I hold no rights whatsoever to any of the characters or premises of NCIS.
Summary: prologue Gibbs is about to find out he's not the only one on his team with secrets in his past. "Once upon a time he knew a man he'd follow anywhere. Who stood up for justice, mercy, the people he was in charge of. The community itself, no matter how many times it tried to kill him. No matter if it finally succeeded."
Notes: Joe Spano, the actor who plays Agent Fornell on NCIS, was once in a television series called "Hill Street Blues". It was really a very good series; I caught it in reruns and became utterly addicted. It had a way of blending action and tragedy and slapstick humor not just into a single episode, but often into a single scene. It was the prototypical low-rated critical darling. It also introduced a few elements into televison that are still occasionally seen today, like continuity, ensemble drama, realism, multi-episode story arcs, character development, and excellent writing. You may have heard of the guy who created it, his name's Steven Bochco, I think he had some other cop series people thought was pretty good.
Seasons one and two are finally out on DVD. Season three won't be.
So, since you're the kind of people who read fanfiction, I think you can understand why I'm doing this. Please, give me a chance; it's a pretty good story, written fairly well, and I swear if anything confuses you, I will make sure to explain it in the next author's note (unless it happens to be a spoiler). To the best of my knowledge, this is the closest thing to a Hill Street Blues fic on the internet. It feels like I'm a fandom of one, so please; I know it's a crossover, but give it a shot. Thank you.
(-)
Prologue: Five Conversations
(-)
Gibbs' team has a table to themselves, which doesn't surprise Fornell one bit. They all look morose, in their subtly different ways. David, of course, has a look of betrayal well-tempered with anger-- she's probably the one saying, "So he left! He wants to leave, he can leave! Why are you people all so damn depressed? It's time to get on with our lives!"
McGee's still naive enough to look more hurt and confused-- well, maybe not naive; maybe just more uncomplicated. Time'll change that soon enough. He's probably not talking; he's probably just staring at his bottle of beer (half-empty, his first) and wondering what the hell's happened. He can remember being like that. He can remember being that young.
Abby, poor girl, looks utterly devastated-- she always was strangely attached to the old man. She's a loyal one, eccentric but utterly devoted to any cause she takes up-- oh yes, he remembers the type. She's probably been alternating between passionate denial and despair all evening-- all day-- "How could he have left us like that?! He'll be back, won't he? He's got to be back." At the moment, she looks to be in more of a "I think I'll transfer to narcotics... better pay... it's at night, and I've always liked the dark... better chance of dying..." mood. He remembers the type. He wonders briefly if Gibbs is really worthy of that devotion.
Dr. Mallard is there too-- somewhat surprising, given that this isn't really his sort of establishment-- he's trying to cheer them up, distract them, probably going off on all sorts of tangents. Probably very interesting to listen in on, and utterly useless, but he'll give it the old college try because that's who he is; he means harm to no one. Well, he might be dangerous if you put him in a room with a murderer or something. You didn't want to mess with an angry doctor.
And DiNozzo... mainly just looks sad. And bitter, and hurt, and betrayed, but all that is on the periphery. Mainly he looks sad...
And he's seen that look before. He knew it well. He never thought-- well. After all, the kid is reckless, shameless... Ridiculous flirt... Dedicated... Had to be dedicated, to have chosen the path he did...Had to actually be serious, beneath all that...
Yeah. He acts more like his mother, but he has his father's eyes.
Is there anything he can really add to that? After all, it's not a group he really belongs in.
(there's no group he really belongs in anymore)
What could he tell them besides "It'll be all right, don't worry, if he doesn't come back he wasn't worth fretting over in the first place"? Because frankly, he doesn't think that highly of Gibbs' management style. Oh, it gets the job done, and the people who've survived it don't seem to mind, and he means well, it's just... a bit abusive, and it's going to come back to bite him on the ass someday. The way to command devotion is to show that devotion's returned, and Jethro just doesn't do that very much. Not that he wouldn't walk through hell and high water for his team... maybe... See, even he doubts it. How are these people going to feel?
Truth is, he's just spoiled. Once upon a time he knew a man he'd follow anywhere. Who stood up for justice, mercy, the people he was in charge of. The community itself, no matter how many times it tried to kill him. No matter if it finally succeeded.
The truth is, he's just spoiled.
And given what it's bringing out in DiNozzo, he thinks maybe it'd be better if Gibbs stayed in his little tropical cocoon.
Which wouldn't be a popular sentiment tonight-- so he pays for his drink and turns away.
(some days you wake up and you wonder where you are and how you've gotten here and who you are because you've changed so much from the memories of your past)
(-)
Abby sighs and glances around the lab. Slow day; doesn't look like anyone's about to come in; so she picks up her cell and dials his number by heart.
Two dial tones, then a familiar growl. "Schuto."
"Hey."
His tone instantly softens-- she's always loved the way he goes from "What the hell do you want?!" to "Hey, sweetie!" in less than half a second. So much love in his heart. "Hey, kid. How's it goin'?"
"Pretty good, just booooring."
"Slow day, huh? Know the feeling."
"Yeah, that's the only thing I don't like about working here-- nowhere near enough cases!"
"Yep. Waiting's always the hard part."
"Are you busy?"
"Nah, just writing up a report."
She supresses a grin. "Yeah, I could tell." All these years and she's never, ever been able to teach him to type. "They have these videos, you know, that teach you where all the letters are."
"Maybe it's slow, but it works, okay?" Another peck. He is the epitome of hunt-and-peck, there should be a video of him next to the entry on Wikipedia. He hunts around the keyboard, literally twitching his head back and forth until he finds it, then jabs primly at the key with one finger and looks for the next one. How he's survived the information age, she doesn't know.
Then again, he does know how to work a cell phone. And if you gave him a PDA (which no one's been stupid enough to do, thank god), he probably wouldn't destroy it nearly so many times as Gibbs has.
"What's your next case looking like?"
"Ah, small potatoes. Fencing ring."
"You're not going undercover again, are you?"
"Eh..."
"You know you're getting too old for that! Someday you're going to get yourself killed and then where will I be?"
"I will not get myself killed. You know that! I never have before, have I?"
"Yeah, but stastically, some day your luck's gotta run out."
"Bah. Statistics. There's a reason I never went into math, you know."
"It's like a natural law of the universe, Dad."
"Not what I've seen of it. Seriously, Abs, it's a cakewalk. I don't even have to dress up. Okay?"
"If you'e sure. I mean, it's not like I can stop you or anything."
"Aw, c'mon, honey..."
"Okay." She smiles.
The phone chooses that moment to ring. "Oh, looks like something's gonna happen finally! Gotta go!"
"Okay, sweetie. See you soon."
"Bye!"
(-)
"Everyone seems to be mad at me," says Gibbs, and Fornell ostentatiously stifles his laughter. "Oh, come on."
"No, really," Fornell said, "why would they possibly be angry? Just because you left for, what, a few months--"
"Weeks."
"Months, without leaving your address, left them just long enough to learn to live without you, came back just long enough to get their hopes up, left again, then came back with the Moustache from Hell?"
"What the hell's wrong with my moustache?"
"I'd tell you, but I'm supposed to be back at the office in an hour, so--"
"Real cute, Fornell."
"Seriously, the fact that DiNotzo hasn't killed you? Proves you are capable of inspiring loyalty in a way I simply cannot comprehend."
"You don't understand loyalty?"
"No, I just don't understand how it can survive solely on swats to the head."
"You know I'd do anything for them."
"If it didn't involve showing that you'd do anything for them, yes."
"You're angry at me, too, aren't you."
"Why the hell would I be mad at you? You didn't abandon me. I never depended on your approval."
"Neither did Ducky, and he still seems pretty pissed."
"Yeah, well, you've been friends longer, and you probably know pretty much his whole life story, given the way that man talks. Seriously. Admit to me right now that having had a wife and a kid is not a salient biographic detail."
"It never came up."
"Riiiight. See, that's why he's pissed at you."
"What the hell was I supposed to say?! 'Oh, by the way, I had a wife and kid and they're dead now'? It's not the sort of thing that just comes up!"
"Yeah it does. If you let it. And you just wouldn't let it. Which is okay; I understand it. But Dr. Mallard tells you everything. I can see how he might get the impression you should return the favor."
"I can't."
"Yeah, I know."
"Is that why you aren't mad at me?"
Fornell grins. "No, I'm not mad at you because this just makes us even."
"Oh, really? In what way?"
"I'm in the Witness Protection Program and I've got three other kids. I used to be a hostage negotiator until I was forced underground in a massive government conspiracy to save face and cover ass. So now I don't have to feel at all guilty about not telling you that."
"Is that so." A slow smile comes onto Gibbs' face.
"Yep."
Gibbs cracks up, and Fornell remembers why DiNozzo hasn't killed him yet. He's got his blind spots, but he's a damn good agent.
Still, in the leadership area, he's got some stuff to learn.
And he probably will-- the hard way.
"Ah, that was a good one." Gibbs claps him on the shoulder as the elevator doors open. "See you around, Fornell."
"It's Goldbloom," Fornell calls as the doors close.
They'd kill him for actually admitting that, but it's good to finally say it out loud-- and besides, Gibbs will never believe it anyway, especially now.
Sometimes, the best hiding place is in plain sight.
(-)
"Let me try," Tony says quietly, after his boss storms out of the office.
"Ah, it's no use. That stubborn old ice queen isn't gonna sign a thing unless she's absolutely sure her ass is safe."
"Yeah, but it can't hurt, can it?"
Gibbs stares at him. "You're not gonna try and charm her, are you? Because she'll probably bite off your head."
"Hey, I'm good with the ladies!"
"This lady's old enough to be your mother."
"So I'll appeal to her maternal side."
"She hasn't got one."
"Let me try, Boss. We need this warrant."
Gibbs considers this-- it's true, damn it-- and sighs. "She'll just hurt you."
"One way to find out." He walks into the office and shuts the door behind him.
The attorney is so much older than he remembered-- hair streaked with grey-- she looks so tired-- but she still has that regal air about her, that dancer's grace.
"Agent Gibbs," she sighs, pushing her hair back behind her ear, "if you want me to push for your damn warrant, you'll have to actually bring me some..."
Then she sees him, and she just-- stops. No surprise registers on her face, no shock; she just stops.
"This guy did it," he says, "and we know it. I know the evidence is circumstantial. I know it's iffy, but it's enough, and we will find more in this guy's house. Please, just give us the chance."
She stares at him. "... And why do you think I'll listen to you if I didn't listen to your boss?"
"Ah. Two parts to that answer. I think you'll do it because you know it's the right thing. I think you'll listen because... I mean, I think you sat still long enough to hear me out because..."
"...You promise me this thing is solid."
"Yes. It is."
"And you're not just playing on our..."
"I'm trying not to."
"Yeah. I know." She smiles faintly. "I'll... I'll do it. Just-- don't be wrong."
"Yes, ma'am." He turns to leave.
"And-- stay in touch, a little, would you?"
He looks back at her; she looks wistful, and scarred, and pained, but she still has a smile for him. It had barely even occured to him to miss her, but he realizes he does.
"Yeah. I will." He smiles back.
(that night in the huge soft bed, rocking back and forth, whispering "Tony-Tony-Tony" through his sobs, because otherwise he'd forget, and what would they do to him if he forgot? What would they do if he didn't forget...? If he didn't become this new person they'd told him to be...)
"You get it?" Gibbs asks, like he's expecting the answer to be no.
"Yep." He holds up the proof, pushing a smug smile onto his face.
"You're kidding me."
"She's calling right now."
"How the hell did you do that?"
He smiles, though he doesn't feel much like smiling. "Ah, magicians never reveal their secrets."
(and the worst part of it was, he succeeded. the worst part was all those days when he went to bed and looked up at the ceiling in the dark and realized, I didn't think of them today. the worst part was all those days he didn't even think that.)
(-)
"What was that?" Ziva asks, mildly curious, because that did not sound like a happy phone conversation. It wasn't even loud, like a fight with an ex-lover or friend might be; it was quiet, and deathly calm, and stuffed to the rim with resentment. Tony didn't do that often. He was the flashy, emotional type. If he was feeling something, god help you, you knew it.
"Ah. My brother." His lips curl when he says the word. Interesting.
"I didn't know you had a brother," she proceeds.
"Yeah, well, in a lot of ways, I don't. He's just my brother if you're dumb enough to believe the birth certificates."
It takes her almost a second to untangle that one. Verily English is the language of asylums. "Ah. So you don't like each other."
He laughs. "Nope."
"I can see that," she says, and nods. "A Prodigal-Son thing, yes? You leave, and he stays, and he feels you get more attention than you deserve."
He laughs again. "Maybe. Not really, though."
"Then what is it?"
"...On his side, weirdly enough, that is what it is. He thinks they pay attention to me. He thinks they worry about me too much. He thinks they send me too much money-- apparently he thinks they should be stealing it from me or something, 'cause I keep telling him, they don't pay me a dime. He should know that. He knows he's the one they care about. He knows damn well. But whatever he's missing in his life, he thinks I have. He thinks I stole it somehow. But like I just told him: if there's anything he's missing, he lost it himself."
That takes her several seconds to sort through, because she wasn't expecting anything nearly so insightful. "You've been thinking about that for a long time, eh?"
"It's been happening for a long time."
Well, of course. But she didn't expect such a good answer. So this man does have some hidden depths; she's suspected it, but so many times he's done his damndest to prove her wrong.
Still; she's suspected, and now she knows it. There is something serious behind that goofy smile and ridiculous talk of movies; not only that, but something big lies behind that talk of prodigal sons, she knows it. She doesn't know how she knows it, not yet; that part always takes more time. But it will turn out to be true.
"Does it show any signs that it will stop?"
"Nope. The second he saw me, he thought I was stealing from him. I doubt it'll change."
Which leads to the intriguing question: how does he know what his brother was thinking when he first saw him? The obvious answer is he's guessing, extrapolating.
She thinks it's something less obvious. She couldn't tell you why. But she has perfect faith it'll turn out to be true.
"Nearsighted of him," she comments.
"Shortsighted."
"Short-sighted? That's a word? I thought it was near-sighted!"
"Only when you're talking about someone actually being nearsighted. When they're just being stupid, it's shortsighted."
Language created in an asylum, which should be declared the official language of asylums everywhere. "Why the hell is that?"
"I don't know. It just is."
"You're all insane, that's why."
"Oh, we're insane."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?!"
She's got him pinned and he knows it, but then Gibbs walks in and the conversation immediately ends as they hurry to get everything they've finished into order.
(-)
Somewhere, a young man is standing in the middle of the ruined street, remembering what his mother told him. Burned, scavenged ruins everywhere the eye can see-- left here; why? As a warning, to all the people who might talk? Sheer carelessness? Or simply because they could-- because no one would think anything of it?
("the kind of place that falls off maps," is how Goldbloom described it once-- but that man is dead, he's Fornell now)
The flames that had consumed this place. He remembers those flames.
He remembers why this happened. He remembers who's to blame.
He's run from this past as fast as he can, to sports, to school, to drugs, to anything he could find.
But he's not running anymore.
By the blood in his veins if need be, the truth is going to come out.
(-)