A/N: I am very happy for the Tiva fans who saw their ship become canon but I wanted a goodbye for Michael Weatherly that focused more on who Tony DiNozzo was as an the agent, his years at and dedication to NCIS, and his friendships with Gibbs and the rest of the team. So, if I were Gary Glasberg, here's how MW's exit would have gone. (Note: there will be a hint of Tiva at the end but it can be read as Tony just riding off into the sunset if you'd prefer.)
Let's set the scene: Ziva didn't die and Tali doesn't exist. No more bodies were found in the farmhouse and Kort was still killed, though in a less mobster and overdone style.
The title comes from an old Naval blessing, "Fair winds and following seas and long may your big jib draw!". From military-quotes (dot com slash) forum (slash) fair-winds-following-seas-motto-t6572 (dot html), "the phrase may also be considered a Naval blessing as well as a farewell. We bid shipmates farewell with this naval blessing because it represents the ideal underway conditions for which Sailors yearn."
Disclaimer: It's been four years since I wrote an NCIS fic and I still own nothing. Please don't sue.
Friday night found Leroy Jethro Gibbs in his basement, dressed casually in an oversized grey NCIS T-shirt and sweats. He had just nailed in the final beam of the hull and was now running his hand from top to bottom, feeling for any uneven patches around the seams. Finding one between the fourth and fifth beams, he switched the sandpaper holder to his right hand and ran it along the grain of the juncture in long, slow sweeps.
He heard footsteps in the hallway above him but kept sanding, already suspecting who his visitor was. Sure enough, he heard DiNozzo call out, "Hey boss," a few seconds later.
"Tony," Gibbs replied as a greeting without looking up from his boat. He blew the wood shavings away then brushed his fingers over the juncture again, pleased to find the seam now almost imperceptible.
Behind him, his SFA let out a long, almost heavy exhale. Sensing a serious conversion was imminent, Gibbs put down the sandpaper, exchanging it for a bottle of bourbon from a nearby workbench. He upended two glasses, dumping out the nails and screws, then poured a healthy amount of bourbon in each, holding out one glass to Tony, who hastily accepted and threw the whole thing back in one gulp.
"I need to talk to you about something," DiNozzo said quickly, thumping the glass back to the workbench.
"You're leaving," Gibbs replied, the words a statement rather than not a question. Based on Tony's reactions to the last few cases and his general demeanor around the office of late, Gibbs had more than suspected this conversation was coming. He had hoped though that he would have a while though before his agent made his final decision, for selfish reasons; he didn't want to lose such a valuable employee and friend.
Tony looked up, his expression flashing to one of genuine shock, before he nodded. "I would have gone with resigning but yeah. Effective immediately, if that's alright."
Gibbs masked his surprise by Tony's response by tipping the mason jar back and draining his drink. A few years ago, they had been so in sync that his SFA wouldn't have even been fazed by Gibbs being able to read him so well. It was easy to attribute the fallout to Gibbs' most recent injury, Tony's father moving to the city, the new (mostly serious) women in his life, but they knew it was more than that. They hadn't had the same camaraderie, the same bond, for years now.
Gone were the days of the silent conversations, the intuitively predicting Gibbs' next words, the time spent together out of the office. It hadn't been conscious really, just something that happened as a function of time and longer hours in the office, so slow it'd hardly been noticeable, always a "we'll get it later" type of decision. It actually wasn't until right then that Gibbs realized just how long it had been since he'd seen Tony in his basement, or anywhere outside of work.
Jethro wasn't much for sentimentality but at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to roll back the clock and make time for their cookouts, movie nights, or camping trips, denying Vance's request for them for them to be on-call another straight weekend.
It was too late now though. As much as he didn't want to see his best agent go, he could tell by the almost relieved set to Tony's shoulders that the declaration that he was resigning was a huge weight off his person.
"We're in between cases at the moment and it just…" DiNozzo threw up one hand while looking slightly at the ceiling, as if it were going to provide him the words he wanted, "...seems like a good time."
Never one for ruining the situation with too many words, Gibbs just nodded again. "That's fine, Tony," he finally managed to get out. "I'm sorry to see you go."
"Thanks, Gibbs." Tony stared intently at the the bottom of his empty glass for a moment then spoke up again, "I should have known you'd already know though. Would have saved those ten minutes I spent outside your door practicing what I was gonna say."
"Which was..." the Marine prompted, swirling his own mason jar slightly and watching the amber liquid swish up the sides. He suspected he knew the reasons but it would be good to hear them from Tony's own mouth.
"I still didn't quite figure it out," he admitted, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards. Then DiNozzo put down his glass and sat on the staircase, propping his feet up on the stair beneath him, resting his elbows on his knees and burying his head in his hands, like he was carding his hands through his hair. Gibbs carefully made his way through the spare lumber then lowered himself next to Tony.
"Should have brought some wine and chocolate," DiNozzo commented as soon as Gibbs was seated, his words muffled through his hands. "Would have made this a real heart-to-heart."
Jethro chose not to respond and just sipped at his drink, letting Tony decide if he was going to elaborate on the original query or not. He only had to wait about a minute before Tony muttered something indecipherable under his breath then turned his head so he could look directly at Gibbs.
"I'm stuck," his former agent declared. "I've been at this job for fifteen years—longer than I've been anywhere in my entire life. Even as a kid I never stayed in one place for more than a few years." He paused to take a deep breath, then continued, his words picking up speed. "I'm way past my prime, I still haven't found someone to spend the rest of my life with, and I have almost no attachment to this world other than this apartment and you guys at work. My evil lookalikes were right: I'm boring, I'm predictable and I have no life outside the job."
He looked up, panicked. "Don't get me wrong, I've loved my time at NCIS and appreciate everything you taught me," DiNozzo added quickly, "but there's always going to be another big bad for us to chase, another day I spend more time at the office than at my own place. I'm just not sure if that's what I want to do for the rest of my life." He shrugged again, trying to act nonchalant about the whole thing, as if he wasn't just walking away from the most stable element in his entire life for a huge unknown.
"It's just...not the same as it used to be," Tony finished lamely, looking back down at the stairs.
Gibbs just nodded in understanding, Tony's words stirring the pot of his own feelings. NCIS had changed a lot over the last two decades, in order to keep up with a new breed of informed, connected threats. This shift had led to the hiring of a new class of agent, who relied more heavily on technology to solve cases than he or DiNozzo did. They had adapted, Tony more than he, coming to appreciate the new intel all this connectedness provided, but he too was starting to feel like an outsider now that the agency was made up primarily of McGees and Bishops. Unlike Tony, he didn't know what he would do if he retired, so he weathered the storm with as much grace as possible, setting out to prove he was still useful.
Whether that was what Tony meant by his statement, Gibbs wasn't entirely sure, but he would wager that it was playing at least a small part of DiNozzo's decision to leave.
The Marine took another swallow of his bourbon then asked, "Where are you going?"
Tony looked pointedly at his raised knees and rubbed at the slightly discolored denim. "I hear Israel's nice this time of year," he said almost sheepishly, ducking his head slightly so he could gauge Gibbs' reaction. "Got to figure a few things out over there," DiNozzo continued more firmly, as if bolstered by his boss' warm smile. "After that..." he shrugged with his entire body, lifting himself slightly off the staircase as he did so.
"Good for you, DiNozzo," Gibbs said after a long moment. Then he pulled himself to his feet, his knee stuck slightly from sitting in the same position too long, put down his glass and the bottle and headed up the stairs. "C'mon Tony!" he shouted over his shoulder and heard his former SFA scramble to his feet behind him.
"Where are we going, boss?"
"Not your boss anymore."
Gibbs couldn't make himself look over his shoulder to see Tony's reaction and instead focused on not falling on the stairs. A lot time ago, Abby had joked about setting up a rappelling system to get him into the basement more quickly; at the time, he'd thought it was ridiculous but the older he got, the better the idea sounded.
Once he was on the ground floor of his home, he turned left and strode into the kitchen, opening the older fridge and pulling out two ribeyes he'd purchased this weekend on a whim.
"How long have you known?" Tony demanded a few seconds later upon entering the kitchen and spying the steaks. "I literally just decided last night."
"It costs almost as much to buy one by itself," Gibbs lied, his face deceptively blank, almost daring Tony to challenge his statement. "Two's a better value."
DiNozzo shot him a curious look but eventually nodded, still not looking entirely convinced.
"So ya hungry?" Gibbs asked, shaking the package in Tony's direction.
Tony grinned. "For your steaks? Al-ways."
While Gibbs grabbed a lighter from the counter, the former SFA yanked open the fridge door again, pulled out two ice-cold Dominions, and popped off the caps by leveraging them against each other. As his former boss passed, Tony handed him one bottle while he took a long swig of the other.
In the living room, Gibbs set about rearranging the logs underneath the grate between pulls of the his own beer.
"How old's this pasta in here?" DiNozzo called as Gibbs set the stacks logs aflame.
"From the last time Fornell was here."
"So no." From the subsequent swish he heard, Gibbs knew Tony had just shot the takeout container effortlessly into his trash bin without it even touching the rim.
"Since when do you have stuff for salad?" Tony asked a moment later, poking his head out of the kitchen and holding a packaged bag of lettuce high into the air.
"Doc said it's good for me."
Tony stared at it again then shrugged. "Salad it is, I guess"
By the time the flame was crackling and the steaks were sizzling, Tony had just walked back into the room with a bowlful of salad, a bottle of dressing, plates and utensils. He deposited them on the table then sat on the ground next to Gibbs.
"We are going to miss you, Tony," Jethro commented offhandedly as he poked the burning logs, sending embers into the air.
DiNozzo looked up in surprise, blinking once as if reassuring himself that he was still awake. "I'm going to miss you all too," he said after a moment. "But you'll be fine without me. Monroe and Reeves seem like they'll be alright."
Gibbs made a grunt of acknowledgement then leaned forward to lift the steaks with the blade of his knife. Alright might be a little bit of a stretch but they were competent enough in their own rights to make him feel comfortable with Vance wanting to keep them around.
"You know I'm always here for you," he continued, again purposefully keeping his eyes forward on the steaks. "Whatever you need. You call, I'll be there."
"Thanks bo—Gibbs," Tony replied quietly. "I really do appreciate that."
"I mean it," Jethro added, now looking over his shoulder to emphasize his point, in case the original intention wasn't clear. "Number won't ever change."
Tony snorted out a laugh. "That's for sure. You can make it the third certainty in life: death, taxes and Leroy Jethro Gibbs' phone number."
After he flipped over the steaks for the last time, Gibbs sat back, just catching the lingering remnants of a genuine smile on Tony's face, again reminded of just how long it had been since he'd last seen one there.
"You want to watch a movie?" he asked, in a final attempt to regain some semblance of their old friendship before Tony left for good.
It might have been the wrong thing to say though for DiNozzo just stared blankly at him. "Really?" he finally managed to ask.
Gibbs shrugged. "Why not? You've been bugging me for years about never seeing the Nerd Wars or whatever they're called."
Tony stared at Gibbs for another long moment then, when he realized Gibbs was serious, he smiled brightly, all of the unease that had lingered since they walked into the living room instantly gone. Now completely in his element, he began to chatter about how it was actually called Star Wars, how there were six movies—well seven now—but most people only recognized the four or five of them, how Lucas had gone back and edited the originals and what an uproar that had caused, and more.
Gibbs had seen the original trilogy a long time ago and remembered a fair bit of the premise but the detail at which DiNozzo was explaining relationships and plot details was a little beyond him. So, Gibbs tuned him out slightly after the third "How have you never seen this?" and focused on making sure the steaks were cooked to medium, just the way they both liked them, using Tony's explanations as a welcome white noise.
A few minutes later, DiNozzo, who had been searching the entire living room for the VHS, discovered the casing in one corner of the cabinet and its corresponding tape in the other. After wishing it a fond farewell and dropping it reverently into the trash can, Tony dug through the full cabinet again, locating a working tape of Air Force One, to which Gibbs nodded his agreement. While Tony hooked up the VCR, Jethro plated up the steaks, extinguished some of the flame and sat back on the couch, opening a second beer for each of them. After Tony had sat down, Gibbs held out his bottle and Tony tapped the necks together, the silence holding more meaning than any words Gibbs could say.
When the film was over two hours later, Tony didn't immediately get up, instead fiddling with his plate, as if not sure what to do. Gibbs took the initiative, standing up and motioning for Tony to do the same.
The SFA did, though somewhat hesitantly. Gibbs shot DiNozzo an unamused look, then pulled him into his best approximation of an Abby hug, feeling Tony relax into and complete the gesture. After a second, Gibbs lifted his right hand and rubbed the back of Tony's head, in lieu of one final headslap, using the position to pull his friend into a tighter embrace.
"You take care of yourself, you hear?" Gibbs instructed as they pulled apart, his voice thick. "Find someone to watch your six out there."
"I will, boss," Tony replied, his smile a touch sadder than it had been two hours ago. Gibbs didn't bother to correct him.
It was hard watching his best agent walk out of his life but Gibbs knew both he and the team would get through it. There was no replacing Tony, even with Reeves and Monroe, who would bring their own quirky personalities to the bullpen. The team would shift as it did when they hired Bishop but eventually settle into its new but different equilibrium.
"Say hi to Ziver for us," Gibbs called as Tony climbed into the car.
"Sure thing Gibbs," DiNozzo shouted back, putting the car in gear and peeling out of the driveway in the exact fashion Gibbs' neighbors hated, sticking his hand out the window and waving all the way down the block.
As he waved goodbye to his close friend, Gibbs couldn't help but return the infectious grin, though his heart felt as heavy as lead.
As much as they were going to miss him, they had to be okay with this, for Tony's sake. He didn't think a single person on the team had realized how much Tony had changed until they'd seen him the last few hours: the spark that so defined him was back, the slight spring in his step as he walked to the car. He seemed truly happy with his decision and none of them were cruel enough to begrudge him that.
Tony DiNozzo was was off to bigger and better things and, of that, Gibbs couldn't have been more proud.
Try as I might, I couldn't work in a "I had to go see about a girl" reference. But it's my head canon that that's the note he left on his desk along with his badge and gun back at Headquarters.
Thanks for reading! I'd love to know what you thought!