Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the typos.
Title: One Last Mission
Summary: After the events in Paraguay, Tony DiNozzo comes out of retirement. Episode continuation from Rendezvous (14x24).
Rating: Strong Teen
Spoilers/Warnings: General spoilers up to 14x24. Moderate violence. Language. Past Tiva.
Author's Note: I'm sorry for another WIP (still working on I Ain't Afraid of No Ghosts). But after watching the finale, it just wouldn't leave me alone. I'm back to mostly working on original fic, but I will be updating my two WIPs as the muse allows.
I do have a full length story (LJ Reverse Bang) that's finished that I'll be posting on Monday. So be on the look out.
Enjoy.
-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-
For the first time in his life, Tim McGee just reacts.
His overactive brain, so accustomed to calculating threat assessments and survival odds, stays quiet for a split second too long. It's just long enough for him to leap out of a Navy helo that is three feet off the ground and well on its way to safety.
"McGee!" Nick Torres yells.
Without even looking back, Tim runs straight into the down and dirty gunfight between his boss and the band of rebel bastards. He heads right to Jethro Gibbs' position in a grove of mango trees. When he joins his boss, Tim squeezes of a shot to drop a rebel that had his rifle aimed for them.
Gibbs looks over, eyes wide and face sour.
"McGee," he barks.
"I'm here, boss," Tim sputters.
Gibbs' gaze floats to the Navy helo overhead as though to tell Tim that he's supposed to be there. The helo hangs above them, almost taunting them, before it rushes away. The wind from the propellers sends Tim and Gibbs' hats flying, the leaves on the trees swirling.
Loose dust kicks up around them. Tim chokes on it. Through the haze, he makes out the shapes of the rebels. Muscle-bound, broad-shouldered men loom like giants through the cloudy air.
How can there be so many of them?
The rebels' movements are precise and practiced as they draw closer. Taking a step closer to Tim, Gibbs puts his left hand out to keep the younger man behind him. But it doesn't help because the rebels close in from every direction.
A new hail of gunfire shreds the trees around Tim and Gibbs.
Tim squeezes off a few more shots. Then, his Sig jams.
He fumbles with the slide, desperately trying to unlock it. By his counts, he should have one—maybe, two—bullets left in his magazine. But right now, it's enough. It has to be. Because that's all he has to keep him and Gibbs alive. It doesn't work.
Gibbs takes down two more rebels before his gun clicks. Empty.
As though knowing how precarious Tim and Gibbs' position is, the rebels advance. Someone starts yelling in Spanish. Harsh and guttural. Commanding.
Tim doesn't have to understand a word to know what is happening.
Gibbs steps in front of Tim.
And in that moment, the world seems to stop. The shouting continues, but it sounds far away like the rebel leader is clear on the other side of the planet. Someone fires a warning shot. When Tim and Gibbs' eyes meet, the younger man recognizes dread and fear. The disappointment surprises him.
"You shouldn't be here, McGee," Gibbs says thinly.
Raw fear blossoms in Tim's gut because he can't believe this is really happening, can't believe the shit storm he stepped into. Up until ten minutes ago, the mission was clean. Easy. In and out. They were supposed to sneak in, save those boys, and hop on that helo like heroes. Another hop, skip, and a jump and he was supposed to be home in time to grab brunch with Delilah tomorrow morning.
Oh fuck. His wife.
His beautiful, pregnant wife.
The sight of his wedding ring sends him crashing back to Earth. He is a husband now. Going to be a father soon. Before, it was just him and the job. Always the freaking job. Now, he isn't just him who he needs to think about anymore. Everything is about them. His wife and unborn child.
I might never get to meet him or her.
More yelling.
Gibbs' half-nod tells Tim everything he needs to know. His body shakes, tears spring to his eyes, as he casts his useless weapon aside. Following Gibbs' lead, Tim puts his hands behind his head.
He falls to his knees.
And prays.
-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-
Whomever told Tony DiNozzo that Paris in April was perfection must've never visited in May. Just on the edge of summer, the flowers are in full bloom, filling the air with their heavenly scent. The weather is just right: warm, but not hot enough to send the nude sunbathers out in full force. The sun hangs high overhead amongst a picture-perfect sky filled with clouds that appear to stretch on forever.
In the Jardin des Tuileries, the tulips put on their show for everyone who comes to view it. The center fountain is teeming with little wooden sailboats that children poke at with sticks.
Sitting on a bench, Tony watches Tali tap at a boat with a pink sail. His father, Tony DiNozzo Senior, sits by her side on the fountain edge. She is on her knees, stretching as far as she can over the algae green water. When she lurches forward, Senior catches her and helps her reach her boat.
Tony smiles at the sight.
Paris must be magic because somewhere on these winding streets, his father remembered how to be a dad and a decent human being. After Tony left NCIS, his father was the only one to help with Tali. To hold her when he couldn't anymore. To rub her back when she would cry out for her Ima. To take her on those moment when Tony needed a break. To watch after her when Tony went on that whirlwind trip around the Middle East on the rumor that Ziva David might still be alive. And to comfort Tony when he found out from his contacts in Palestine that she did truly die in that farmhouse fire. While it is very late that Senior became his father, it is enough for Tony.
When Tali looks up from her boat, her brown ringlets cascade over her hazel eyes. Pushing them out of the way, she laughs so heartily that her entire body quakes.
Tony's heart clenches.
For every day that slips past, she forgets Ziva a little more. But what she loses only reappears on her face and in her hair and in her motions as she resembles her mother more with every passing moment.
When she catches him staring, she smiles broadly.
"Abba!" she calls. Then she motions at the boat, Come play with me.
He gestures back. In a moment, my love.
Signing is the easiest way for them to communicate. Her speech still comes in fits and starts. Bits of Hebrew peppered with English. Throw in the French she hears in the city and at three years old, she still can't formulate coherent sentences.
He just wants to sit here. Because in these quiet moments, it's as though Ziva is next to him on the park bench, experiencing their little girl growing up.
His cell rings.
He sighs.
More than likely, work. Always work. While he could leave law enforcement, it turned out that it wouldn't ever leave him. When he settled in Paris, he became a munitions course instructor for Interpol. It's enough to keep his fingers wet and dirty, but still safe enough that Tali will always have one parent.
Another ring.
"Yeah," he answers.
"Agent DiNozzo." The voice on the other end is familiar and foreign at the same time.
"Director Vance?" Tony asks, incredulously. Before he remembers: "I'm not an agent anymore."
"I apologize, Officer DiNozzo. Old habits die hard." There's a short pause. "I trust Paris and Interpol are treating you well."
Jumping up and down, Tali vies for Tony's attention. He signs at her, I'm coming, I promise.
"Yeah, they're going great. I still owe you a fruit basket for helping me land the job with Interpol." Tony chuckles anxiously. "Who knew training French probies could be so much fun? My last class was like a whole room full of Jacques Clouseaus."
"You mean the marine biologist?"
"That's Jacques Cousteau." Tony bites his lip. "Haven't you ever seen The Pink Panther with Peter Sellers, Director?"
"Not yet."
Tony checks his watch. Just barely mid-morning in Paris, which means it is middle of the night back in Washington. Which means, Vance probably didn't call to discuss Peter Sellers' movies. Only something important would cause the director to call him without provocation.
Something that feels a lot like fear bubbles up in Tony's gut.
"You didn't call me to discuss movies, did you?" Tony asks.
"It's about your former team."
Tony chest tightens. "Who's dead?"
"No one." Vance pauses for a long beat. "At least, not yet."
Over by the fountain, Tali shrieks like she does when she doesn't get her way. She signs at him like crazy, but Tony can't focus on her, can't focus on anything except for his nerves.
"What do you mean 'not yet'?"
"Agents Gibbs and McGee were in Paraguay when their mission went haywire. They were taken hostage by a group of FARC-wannabes."
"Oh G-d." Tony rubs his hand over his face. "Have there been any demands yet?"
"None."
"Then, you know those rebels aren't planning on releasing them." He covers his eyes with his free hand, as though it could hide every scenario playing out in his mind. "Or they're trying to make a point."
Vance doesn't say a word.
Tony swallows hard. "What's the plan for the rescue mission?"
"They were the rescue mission." Vance lets that sink in for a moment. "But yes, there are things in the works with one of the SEAL teams to get them out. Hopefully, alive."
"Is there anything I can do? I mean, it's hard with – "
"Actually, that was the point of this call, DiNozzo." Tony swears he hears the smile in Vance's voice. Of course, he would be while he suggests a suicide mission. "The SEAL team could use your help to track Gibbs and McGee's movements in the rebel camp during the raid."
Tony gapes at the phone. "Are you suggesting that I go to Paraguay?"
"Not quite. I'm requesting your services as a civilian consultant." He clucks his tongue. "Or an Interpol liaison. Whatever you'd like to call it."
After pulling the phone away from his ear, Tony stares at it. He pinches himself, just to make sure that he isn't dreaming.
"Are you crazy?"
"Perhaps the better word is desperate." Vance sighs. "Look, DiNozzo. The SEAL team's tactical expert doesn't understand Gibbs the way that you do. Both you and I know he can be a tad…unpredictable. After thirteen years together, I trust you would know how he would act better than anyone."
Tony nods. "He would do whatever it takes to save McGee."
"Right. So you can appreciate why I'd prefer to have someone who'd know how they'd respond when all hell breaks loose down there."
"Yeah, I get it."
"I've had one of our agents book you on the next flight out of Charles De Gaulle."
Tony hesitates.
"Only if you choose to, DiNozzo."
From her spot at the fountain, Tali lets out a whoop. Even though Senior desperately tries to distract her, she is laser-focused on Tony. Her eyes have that same awareness that Ziva's used to. The way she could simply glean all his secrets with a single glance. Throughout the past year, Tali has been a constant, living reminder of the teammate—the love—he couldn't protect.
And now, those he left behind are in mortal danger.
Rolling his head back, Tony stares up at the clouds that look like spun candy floss. Somewhere to the south, angry storm clouds loom, ready to sweep through and ruin everything.
Will I still be able to catch that flight to Paraguay?
"Abba! Abba!" Tali cries.
Ever since he learned about her, Tali became his entire world. Because of her, he was finally able to abandon his frat-boy persona and become a real man. But before her, there was someone else who pushed him to be a better man, a fine-tuned machine, a damned good agent. Gibbs molded him into the person he was meant to be; Tali just perfected him.
"Abba!"
And Tim deserved to experience the domestic bliss that is parenthood. After Tony heard the news that the wedding was moved up, he gave his International Best Man speech over a Skype and a bowl of cereal in his pajamas while the impromptu Fielding-McGee nuptials went long into the night Washington time. When they—okay, so it was Abby—blurted out the good news, Tony had seen excitement and elation and fear in Tim's eyes. He deserves it more than anyone.
If Tim didn't get a chance to meet his kid…
"Abba!"
Sorry, my heart, but Daddy needs to help his friends.
"Look, DiNozzo, I shouldn't have presumed – "
Tony clears his throat. "Tell the SEAL team I'll meet them at the airport."