A/N: My first NCIS fanfic. I'm really falling in love with the show, but I've only been into it a couple weeks and seen maybe two dozen episodes, so...if this one-shot has any inconsistencies with things that actually occurred in the series, please let me know so I can fix them! This takes place sometime near the beginning of Season 6.
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, no.
For Gibbs
For once, the bullpen was silent. Completely, unearthly, unusually still.
And yet it was crowded.
McGee sat behind his desk, head leaning back on a filing cabinet, eyes closed, face pinched. Abby perched on his knees, her arms around his neck, face buried in his shoulder. Her body shook with silent sobs.
Next to them, Tony huddled in his chair, staring up at the ceiling with a blank expression etched across his features. His hands were clamped together in his lap.
Ziva was watching him, or appeared to be, from across the way. Her arms were crossed on the desk in front of her, and there was grief in her eyes, but they were fixed on her partner.
She shifted. "Tony…"
"It won't do any good, my dear," a quiet British-accented voice interrupted her, and she turned slightly to include Dr. Donald "Ducky" Mallard in their circle-like vigil. The doctor was seated in a chair in the center of the bullpen.
Only one desk was empty.
McGee stirred at the small exchange of words. He blinked rapidly, swallowed, and hesitantly held Abby, who hadn't moved, closer. His eyes, too, moved to the still figure of Special Agent DiNozzo.
"Ducky, do you think—is he—"
"He is in shock, Timothy. Deep shock. He was, after all, present when Jethro-" His voice trailed off into a painful silence.
The air grew tangibly heavier as at least three minds drifted to the events of two days earlier. Gibbs and Tony had set out on a simple bust involving thievery of important naval materials from within the navy yard. An inside job, no doubt. They'd gone alone, leaving Ziva and McGee behind for back-up. It was supposed to be an open-and-shut job.
Except it wasn't. Somehow, the perpetrators knew they were coming. Not only had they relocated their entire supply of illegal goods, they'd left behind a surprise.
It had been Tony who'd discovered the bomb and accidentally activated it. It was Gibbs who shouted 'Run,' Gibbs who shoved his senior field agent out of harm's way. Gibbs had died moments after the detonation, bleeding fatally while Tony held his hand, unable to do anything to help his boss.
Since relating his story precisely once to investigators, Vance, and the rest of the team, Tony had not said a single word to anyone. Nor had he looked at any of his colleagues or the empty cubicle nearby. He remained a statue, waiting like the rest of them for something—some sign that everything was going to be okay.
As if.
"Ahem…"
Five heads swiveled in unison to the newcomer, a squat man in scrubs.
Ducky flatly refused to perform Gibbs' autopsy, so an outsider was brought instead. The team had pulled an all-nighter at the office, unwilling to leave their leader's body alone downstairs while waiting for the new doctor, who showed up at eleven in the morning.
"Well?" Ziva asked in a clipped tone.
The man tugged uncomfortably on his cap, consulting a clipboard.
"After a thorough examination, I have come to the conclusion that Special Agent Gibbs died of fatal wounds inflicted by shrapnel flung at high speeds from a large detonation-"
"Ya think?"
Everyone besides the befuddled autopsy specialist flinched as Tony's coldest tone broke through the air. He was sitting straight up now, his eyes glued to the unfortunate man.
"Pardon?"
"Well," Tony smirked, "I just thought maybe the pieces of metal sticking out of his body would be some clue as to how he died, you know? That, and the ruins of what was a building 48 hours ago. Or did you think he might have died of old age?" He laughed harshly, stood, and left the room stiffly.
The doctor frowned after him. The team sighed as one.
"He was there," McGee explained softly.
"We're all over the weather now," Ziva whispered.
"Under. We're under the weather," Abby corrected blearily, wiping her eyes and repositioning herself on Timmy's lap.
"Shall I speak with you in private?" Ducky suggested, leading the man out of the bullpen.
Ziva drew in a long, shaky breath.
"I will go find Tony, yes?" she offered, standing.
"Sure," McGee said blankly.
Ziva slipped out of the area and made her way to the elevators, though she really had no idea where Tony might have gone. She pressed the button down.
Nothing happened.
She frowned; tried again. Nothing. Sighing, she turned and retraced her steps to her desk.
"Tony is in the elevator," she told the other two.
Pain crossed each face; they understood.
--
In the small, dark space, Tony slumped against the back wall, struggling to control his trembling nerves. He felt vulnerable, weak.
"A DiNozzo is never weak!"
Tony winced as his father's gruff voice echoed through the years. He let himself sink to the floor.
"Yeah, well guess what, Dad? According to you I don't belong to your family anyway. So shut up."
"Be a man, boy. Stand up. Stop blubbering like a baby!"
Tony's hand flew to his cheek; he was shocked to feel tears there. He sniffled and smeared a sleeve across his face, gritting his teeth.
Gibbs was dead. He was gone, forever. Tony had bid farewell to a father before, but that had been a bitter parting and he hadn't been sorry. He cared far more about the surrogate he'd just lost. The man had always been there, looking after him and everyone else. Together, they'd been a replacement family for the young agent. With Gibbs there, everything was okay; the team was safe. Now…nothing would be the same.
More tears leaked out of Tony's eyes, and he took a deep breath and let them drip silently to the floor. It was his fault. He should have died—he had been right there, feet away from his superior. Yet he was alive. It wasn't fair.
"DiNozzo!"
Tony jumped and looked around. He was alone in the elevator.
"Gibbs?" he murmured, hardly daring to hope.
"DiNozzo, you listen to me. I don't want to hear you blaming yourself for what happened. It isn't your fault. I made my choice, and I don't regret it one bit. Do you understand?"
Tony choked. "But-"
"No 'but's!' Your team needs you, DiNozzo. You're their leader—you're all they've got left."
Tony finally nodded. He hesitated. "Boss…I'm sorry."
"Don't make me wish I could head-slap you, Tony. What have I always said about apologizing? Now stand up and go back to the others."
The agent nodded and even smiled a little.
"On it, boss."
--
Ziva, McGee, and Abby all looked up when Tony stepped back into the bullpen. His eyes were red, but it was clear he had gone to great lengths to compose himself for his friends. He tried to smile and failed. The false emotion dissolved on his face instantly.
"You…better?" McGee asked finally.
Tony nodded slowly. "I'm not sure. I, uh…I talked to Gibbs."
Shock appeared on the others' faces, and they exchanged worried glances.
"Tony," Ziva said slowly. "Gibbs is…he is dead."
"I know," Tony nodded. Perhaps he had been talking to himself all along, but the conversation had seemed so real at the time. Maybe he just knew his former boss too well—knew what he would say.
Ziva nodded, too, and tried a small smile. She stepped toward her friend and wordlessly held out her arms. Tony stepped into her embrace, finally allowing the pain to consume him. He could not hold back a small sob; Ziva's arms tightened around him. He thought he could feel her shaking and was unsurprised, when they broke apart, to see unshed tears shining in her eyes.
Abby had broken away from McGee during this exchange, and she came forward and gave Tony a brief, but warm, hug as well.
"What are we going to do?" she murmured brokenly into his ear.
Tony didn't really know the answer to this. He, Abby, and Ducky had known Gibbs best, having worked with him longer than the other two. Their late boss would be laid to rest next to his first wife, Shannon, and their daughter, Kelly. Past that…
"We find the bastards who left the bomb," he announced grimly, a spark of fury igniting deep inside him. Gibbs would not want his agents to embark on a bloodthirsty hunt for revenge, but Tony had no intention of allowing his leader's death to go unavenged, and he was certain the others would agree. Although they would be officially barred from involving themselves any further in the case, the team would find a way, as they always did.
"Yes," Ziva said simply, nodding. The sudden fire in her eyes told Tony that her Mossad instincts were allowing rage to overcome sorrow.
McGee, missing from their immediate cluster, rounded his desk to join them. Tony slung an arm over his shoulder, the other encircling Abby. Ziva did the same opposite him, and the remaining two connected the quad.
"All right," McGee agreed, heaving a deep, cleansing breath.
"For Gibbs," Abby proclaimed.
Tony shut his eyes and allowed the welcome feeling of unity to overcome him. The team would stick together. They would remember their dead leader and everything he had taught them. Tony had experienced, and had heard before from fellow agents, that when tragedy struck, spending time with others who shared the loss brought a strange sense of clarity and energizing determination. He felt this now and allowed his anger to fuel it.
For Gibbs.