The ones he knew were always the hardest.
Seeing a friend laid out on the table, all their barriers and masks stripped away, and cutting into them, making the damage worse and removing pieces of them bit by bit . . .
The ones he knew were always the hardest.
Ducky sighed and stared at poor Anthony's desk. He had put a bit of putty on Kate's forehead. She had almost looked like she was sleeping after that. There wasn't a trick he knew that would put Anthony back together, however.
All the boy's masks and deflections had been quite literally burned away until he had not even his skin to hide behind.
He should be down in autopsy examining the lungs, but the director had decided he was too close to the matter and sent in someone else. He had nothing else to do really but stare at the desk. He could do a psychological profile of it, he supposed, but he already knew what it would tell him.
The boy had suffered from trust issues and fears of abandonment. He had never truly recovered from Kate's death or Paula's. He saw Gibbs as a father figure but never quite believed himself to belong. He feared that he would be replaced by a new generation of agents like McGee.
Dark thoughts. And there, as if to counter them, was a Mickey Mouse stapler.
Ducky smiled as he picked it up, turning it over in his hands. Yes, the boy had certainly loved his movies. It was an appropriate symbol of the young man. He had been a bright spot of cheerfulness in a good deal of darkness.
He hesitated before putting it back. He should, he knew. But Anthony had been forgotten and abandoned once by his father. It seemed wrong to let him be forgotten now. As much as he missed Kate, Ducky had to admit that sometimes a day would pass where he wouldn't think of her. The same would eventually hold true for Anthony as well.
A stapler, however. There was a great deal of paperwork in autopsy. If he could have a reminder . . . Yes, Anthony would like that. He wouldn't want to be forgotten, even for a moment.
Ducky frowned. He wouldn't have wanted to be abandoned either, and leaving him alone in autopsy with a stranger felt like abandonment.
Decision made, he gripped the stapler firmly and headed for autopsy. He would be doing the autopsy himself, and if the director had a problem with that, he was sure he could call upon Jethro to take care of it.
That's Kate's desk.
That was what they had all told her when she had arrived. Her desk was always and forever Kate's, never hers. She had not understood it fully then.
As she looked across at Tony's desk and tried to imagine someone else sitting in it, she understood perfectly.
It was Tony's desk. Still, the director would not allow it to remain so forever. Gibbs would fight it, of course, but sooner or later some other agent would sit there.
Ziva already did not like them.
Death was an unavoidable risk in their line of work. Tony had died doing his duty.
He had died without backup. Without his team.
He had died with paperwork still to be signed waiting for him on his desk.
She walked over and took the paperwork, stacking it neatly. He hated - had hated - paperwork. They would have to take care of it for him.
His letter opener lay discarded on his desk. She picked it up and felt its balance. It was surprisingly good for such a tool.
McGee would say that it was on its way to being obsolete, but McGee had not seen the many, many uses she could have for such a weapon.
She took it back to her desk along with the paperwork. It would be useful in the office, and perhaps she could use it as a prop in interrogation if someone was observing and she wasn't allowed to use a proper knife. It could still be useful.
More importantly, it would be hers, and not whatever useless agent they would try to replace Tony with. They wouldn't appreciate its balance properly. They might even try to throw it out.
She placed it carefully on her desk. It was hers now. She would take good care of it. She could not have his weapons, but she could have this.
And perhaps when they found whoever had blown up his car, she could find out just how much force it would take to make the dull tip draw blood.
McGee stared at the desk. There was no laughter, no teasing, no observations that would make Gibbs first growl than admit a grudging good job. Just silence in a place that had always been very, very loud.
We encouraged him to get together with her. We teased him about her. Why didn't we see?
There was an idea for his next book, he thought bitterly. Agent Tommy is blown up in the car he loved so much because his team never even knew he was in trouble -
Tony had said he would kill him if he ever wrote another book.
But Tony was gone. Like Kate had been gone. One day here, joking, everything normal, and then -
And then.
He might not be dead, but this wasn't one of his books. There wasn't going to be a miracle.
They'd get someone to replace him, eventually. He wouldn't be the probie anymore.
Even Gibbs had been a probie once. Gibbs was still probie to Mike Franks.
There'd be a probie sitting at Tony's desk. Tony would hate that. McGee would never forget the look on Tony's face when he had walked in after he'd finally gotten out of that sewer and seen him sitting at his desk.
There was a bottle of superglue sitting on Tony's desk. Tony had always waxed poetic about its myriad pranking possibilities.
McGee walked over and picked it up thoughtfully, tossing it up and down in his hand.
He was Senior Field Agent again. He didn't have any better idea how to do it now than he did last time. He could play games and dress in T-shirts, but he couldn't pull Gibbs back to normal like Tony had after Kate's death. He couldn't quite muster up the courage to reference Moby Dick if Gibbs went Ahab on them again. Managing Gibbs was Tony's job, not his.
But managing uppity probies. Making sure no one ever got too comfortable at a desk that wasn't and could never be theirs. Carrying on Tony's work for him.
He caught the superglue. He could do that.
He wasn't dead. Abby was sure of that. He just wasn't here right now, like Gibbs had been gone for a while.
She plastered his picture up on all her computer screens and hugged Bert tighter.
He wasn't dead. She would know.
She couldn't help staring at the picture on the screens.
Jenny went to collect some paperwork from Agent DiNozzo's desk. Ziva had moved it, she discovered quickly.
She picked it up but couldn't help glancing back at Tony's desk.
He had been a good agent.
Le Granouille had a lot to answer for.
Gibbs waited until everyone else was off working somewhere else before he settled at the desk and opened the bottom drawer.
Every last one of his service awards looked back up at him. DiNozzo had taken care of them for him, managing the awards like he did all the other inconvenient things caused by his boss.
Taken care of flirting with the female witnesses to get the information no one else could. Taken care of smoothing ruffled feathers Gibbs stirred up. Taken care of making sure he never went too far.
His loyal St. Bernard.
He winced at the memory. Whatever else DiNozzo had been, he had been loyal, and mocking him for it hadn't been one of his finer moments.
He didn't like seeing someone move in on his team. Didn't like the idea that they could be stolen away from him.
Like Kate had been. Like Tony had been.
He waited for a moment, but the office was still quiet.
Nothing, Tony? You had plenty to say in life. Don't you have something to say to me now? Yell at me. Blame me like Kate did.
He closed his eyes. And then forgive me for running off to Mexico and leaving you here with this. Come on, Tony. You never let me down before. Don't do this to me now.
He waited for a "Sorry, Boss," but it never came.
He had seen Kate. He had walked in on the others talking to nothing at all. Walked in on Paula doing the same.
Just a coping mechanism, he knew. One most members of NCIS seemed to take up.
Abby had a different theory, but that was just Abby.
Ducky hadn't finished the autopsy yet, but he wouldn't give Abby false hope. DiNozzo was dead. Gibbs had failed him like he had failed Kate.
Gibbs reached down and picked up one of the medals. It would be a closed casket ceremony. He could call, start making the plans, arrange for the medal to be placed in the casket. DiNozzo had earned it ten times over.
What do you think, Tony? That what you want? I never could read you when it counted. What is it you need?
Where are you?
He waited to hear, "On your six, Boss," even turned around to look behind him, but there was nothing. Just silence. Just emptiness.
He had expected to bury soldiers, not agents. He had thought he would have to bury his own boss someday, not his protege.
Kelly, Kate, DiNozzo. It wasn't supposed to work this way. They were supposed to bury him, not the other way around.
He couldn't do this again.
His instinct had been to circle the wagons around his remaining team members like he had done after Kate's death. To bring Ziva and McGee coffee so that they wouldn't have to go outside, to get Abby protection, and to make Ducky stay.
His instinct had been to join Jenny in her obsession, to track down the Frog, whoever had made and planted the bomb, and whoever else'd had the slightest thing to do with it and to put a bullet in all of their heads.
He caught himself waiting for Tony to goad him out of the guilt fueled niceness and to call him out on wanting revenge.
He snorted at himself. Since when had he become so superstitious? DiNozzo was gone. Gone. He wasn't coming back. He'd had a problem, and Gibbs hadn't proved himself trustworthy enough to come to it with, and DiNozzo had paid the price.
He slammed his hand down on the desk.
He should take the medal. Make the arrangements.
But he hadn't seen DiNozzo, and DiNozzo'd never let his boss down yet.
So his subconscious must know something he didn't. DiNozzo wasn't dead. Not yet. Gibbs had given him an order when he'd had the plague, and he hadn't rescinded it yet.
You bury me, DinNozzo. Not the other way around. I haven't given you permission to die yet.
He put the medal back in the drawer. DiNozzo was missing, not dead. He knew it in his gut.
And he wouldn't believe otherwise until he had no other choice.
He slammed the drawer shut and went to go bark at McGee to work faster.
They all heard Ducky's revelation that the body couldn't possibly be Tony with glee until Gibbs reminded them that Tony was still in danger. He wasn't home yet.
They knew they should return his things, but he wasn't home yet. They needed them for just a little longer.
McGee managed to return the superglue unobtrusively enough, and Abby changed her background before Tony had reason to see it without thinking about it, but Ducky had less luck, and Ziva went ahead and flaunted it. The director just told him that the paperwork he was looking for had been taken care of.
Gibbs just watched. And watched. If DiNozzo thought he was leaving headquarters without supervision in the next week, he'd best have another think coming.
He found the request for leave in his inbox a day late. He deleted the email like McGee had taught him and dropped a set of papers on DiNozzo's desk.
"Er, Boss, I didn't request leave for Friday." He sneezed, glanced up at Gibbs, and winced. "Sorry, Boss. Just a cold. Guess my immune system's not the best at the moment, and those sprinklers didn't help."
Yeah, just a cold. Except there's no such thing as just a cold after the plague, Tony. You know that.
"You've got a doctor's appointment Friday," he informed him. He'd called Dr. Pitt.
"Think I would have remembered that, Boss."
He put his hands on the agent's desk and leaned forward. "You've got a doctor's appointment Friday." He slapped one of those little reminder cards down on the desk.
Realization dawned on DiNozzo's face. "Got it, Boss. Doctor's appointment Friday."
"You can even go to the dentist while you're gone," he added.
DiNozzo winced. Then the coughing started up again.
Gibbs handed him another set of papers. "Run these up to Abby."
"On it, Boss," he wheezed out.
Abby had some cough drops. She could mother him into feeling better for a while.
Gibbs watched him go and then turned to where Ziva and McGee were watching him. Ziva had a packet of cough drops out and was going to put them discreetly in Tony's drawer. He did her the courtesy of pretending not to see.
McGee, on the other hand, had crossed the line. He walked over deceptively calmly and looked at what McGee was doing on the computer.
"Working hard?" His voice was mild.
"I was just - "
There was more, a lot more, but it was all technobabble to Gibbs.
"I don't understand a word you just said, McGee." He paused a moment before leaning in a little. "That make me obsolete?"
McGee gulped. "No, Boss."
"I didn't think so." He leaned over into McGee's space. "Next time you want to get even with DiNozzo for a prank, pick something that won't mess with his lungs or you'll be out of a job. Got it?"
McGee gulped again. "Got it, Boss. Sorry, Boss."
Gibbs nodded and stole McGee's coffee off his desk. "Good."
McGee knew better than to protest the lost coffee. He just went to get another one.
Proving his intelligence, he brought back two and put one on DiNozzo's desk. Tony inhaled it greedily when he got back. The warmth would do him good.
"You know, I was just talking to Abby about that last case, and it reminded me of this movie - "
Gibbs settled back and raised an eyebrow. It was his version of a smile.
A/N: So Michael Weatherly's leaving, and I think we all know what DiNozzo's going to do.
Not sure Gibbs can take losing another agent, to be honest.
So I wrote this. Tony's been almost dead before. Maybe he can pull it off again?