Rating: K
Disclaimer: NCIS doesn't belong to me but I do borrow the characters from time to time. Unfortunately I make no money from this obsession.
Series Summary: When the new Director Leon Vance states to Gibbs at the end of the season six episode Agent Afloat that Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo's deployment as Agent Afloat wasn't a punishment following Jenny Shepard's death, I have to admit that I didn't believe him. I kept waiting for the writers to reveal what was behind the deployment if it wasn't meant as a punishment but like many other issues, it was never addressed again. Even though I believe that his action was punitive, I began to wonder what other possible explanations could there be to explain why Vance sent Tony away like that and I began to come up with several scenarios which are the result of my fertile imagination. I have to say that they are obviously AU and also more than a little tongue-in- cheek but I hope you'll enjoy reading them. Each one is a stand alone story and I also chose to experiment somewhat with writing styles.
A/N The second story in this series is written from Tony's POV and is decidedly AU. A huge thank-you to Arress for offering to beta these pieces that have been sitting around on my computer for a while now. Any errors are obviously my bad :) I have been overwhelmed with the response to the first story so thank you to everyone who left a review (always appreciated and as Arress pointed out, the only form of currency fan fiction writers receive for their efforts) and those of you that favourited and alerted. Love to hear your thoughts too!
And now to the almost obligatory author's rant. I invited readers to tell me what you thought of these pieces and I welcome everyone's opinions, even when they differ from mine and I defend people's right to express them. However, I do not support people's right to use abusive language in order to express their views and for this reason I chose to delete an anonymous review that was discourteous and offensive. As a writer who devotes a great deal of energy to creating pictures using language, profane epithets are anathema to an author... well this one anyway. To tell someone in the crudest of terms that they don't have a right to express their opinion because it differs from the one held by you is extremely hypocritical.
To address several of your statements, everyone has their favourite characters and although you are entitled to your opinion, my stories are predominately Tony-centric as stated in the story summary. While you may feel that Tony is not treated badly by the other members of the team, many, many people would disagree emphatically with your opinion. Once again, I respect your opinion although I can't agree with it. Finally, the point that has had so many of us puzzling over the purpose of sending Tony to sea if it wasn't punishment is that while Vance stated that he split up the team in order to find the mole, it still leaves a black hole in terms of Tony's deployment. Gibbs was assigned to work with the suspects, McGee was sent down to cyber crimes to help track the mole as was Ziva when she returned to Mossad, even if they weren't informed of the purpose of their new positions. Tony was the only team member who seemed to have no purpose in tracking the mole as Agent Afloat. Furthermore, when Langer was identified as the apparent mole, Vance immediately agreed to McGee and Ziva returning to resume their positions on the MCRT even though Ziva wasn't even an NCIS agent. Yet he outright refused to recall Tony and tried to have his position filled by another agent. Thus the comment that his deployment wasn't a punishment begs the question... then what was the purpose?
Okay, folks enough venting and on to the next scenario. Let me know what you think :)
Agent Anthony Afloat
Secrets
Anthony DiNozzo stood gazing out the window of his apartment building as he prepared to leave his former team mates of the Major Crime Response Team for what was certainly an extended period of time. Realistically, he knew that he might never be able to rejoin the team that was the closest thing to family that he had ever known, despite Gibbs' promise to reunite them all as soon as he could. Gibbs was good, and some said he was god-like in what he could achieve, but Tony knew that Gibbs couldn't rewrite destiny as much as he might like to think so or persuade others that it was possible, either.
Tony had packed up what few possessions he would need to take with him for the next few months. He was authorising his attorney to make monthly payments for his rent and utilities, so he didn't need to pack up his apartment, which was one small mercy. If he was able to return to WashingtonDC, he would still have his place to come home to. It was more than he deserved; more than Jenny Shepard had, lying cold and alone in a drawer in autopsy, a Y incision adorning her chest and her brain removed before the skullcap had been cobbled back together as she awaited removal to a funeral home to await burial.
He addressed a copy of his Last Will and Testament to Ducky and a second copy to Gibbs so he would be able to drop them into the mail when he headed off tomorrow. He knew that he needed to draft a brief account of what had transpired over the last several days in case anything should happen to him. Abby always said he had more lives than a cat, but Tony was in no doubt that while he managed to extricate himself from some incredibly sticky situations over the years, one of these days his luck would run out and he needed to prepare for that eventuality, especially given his suspicions about what was behind Jenny's death. He wished he didn't have to share this information with anyone because it was dangerous, but it was even more dangerous to have anyone go searching for information. Basically, it was a no win situation.
Resigned to the distasteful task, Tony poured himself a generous serving of single malt scotch and began to type on his laptop. He just hoped that it never became necessary for anyone to read this account, not because it would shock anyone who read it, but because the information in the document could prove deadly. When he was finally satisfied with his cautious report, cautious because he was walking a fine line between revealing enough but not too much information to ensure the safety of the reader, he printed it off and placed it in the file that he would drop at his attorney's office before he departed.
Account of events leading up to Director Jenny Shepard's homicide:
To Whom It May Concern:
They contacted me about a week before Jenny Shepard died in a derelict diner in the Californian desert in a hail of bullets. They 'requested' that I return to the fold for an important assignment, and I ignored them, even though I knew that 'request' was a definite misnomer. I hoped I'd heard the last of them after the last time I had accepted an assignment almost two years ago. I admit that I'd harboured hopes that I was finally free of my past obligations, when I told them I was done with them the last time. I was living in a fool's paradise. I know that now. I will never be free from the poor decision that I made when I was a teenager.
I know now that you don't retire once you join up with these people, but what sixteen-year-old kid, especially a male, is mature enough to understand the consequences of such a monumental decision? Certainly, not I! So, I should have known better; I should have expected that they wouldn't take no for an answer and I should never have ignored their 'request'. They don't do well with being ignored. Nor do they play nice with others.
The next time they 'invited' me to accept their invitation, they mentioned that if I didn't/couldn't accept the assignment that one of my friends might have cause to regret my lapse in patriotism. They also casually mentioned that they were considering recruiting Probie into their elite little family, and I understood it for the threat that is surely was. At that point, I was so freaked out that I contacted them and accepted the damned assignment. That was the night before I left with Ziva on protection detail for NCIS Director Jenny Shepard when she attended the funeral of an old colleague in LA; and we all know how well that turned out.
Now after escorting the Director's body back to NCIS Washington DC, I have had to consider the very real possibility that my former colleagues have made good on their threat to harm one of my friends. Although Jenny was killed by a former nemesis from her black ops era, when she and Special Agent Gibbs worked in Europe, it seems too coincidental that these former Russian agents just happened to find her now. My gut is telling me that I should never have ignored them or underestimated how far they will go to bring me back into the fold again, if it suits their purpose.
Considering the timing of the threat by my former employers, that I didn't agree to play ball and then the death of one of my aforementioned colleagues, my boss no less, after my less than timely acquiescence, and it seems like more than a coincidence. Gibbs doesn't believe in coincidences and neither do I. It is more than likely that my initial attempt to flip them the bird by ignoring them is the reason why the Director is dead, even if she did have a terminal illness that would cause her to die within months anyway. I really wouldn't put it past them to tip off Jenny and Gibbs' Russian cronies about her whereabouts in order to punish me and remind me of what they are capable of. This means, of course, that she died because of me!
So, before my own stupidity gets anymore of my team killed or harmed, I will do what I must, even if I don't have to like it. And I definitely do not like it! But I absolutely wouldn't be able to live with the consequences of them recruiting McGee into the murky, amoral world of the Shadows. Which by the way, is not their real moniker, but if you knew their real identity, I would be endangering you, too. I very much doubt even the Commander in Chief knows of their existence, let alone their real name; they are that secretive. In any case, the Probie is way too much of an innocent to survive the experience, even though he would be way easy to recruit, if the content of his Deep Six pop culture books is anything to go by. No doubt he would be attracted to the perceived mystique and romance of it all, even if the life of a spook is anything but glamorous.
Tim McGee reminds me of that character in the television series MASH called Radar O'Reilly. Radar was smart, but he was also pretty naive and saw things in terms of black and white, good and evil. He was simplistic in his morality, incapable of subterfuge and deception. All traits that the Probie shares, too, which also leave him ripe to be manipulated. His lack of guile and inability to lie convincingly, even when his life depends upon it, is why he doesn't get to do the undercover gigs which need someone to play a black hat. You know, the baddie in those Westerns who is dressed in black and always gets bumped off before the end of the movie?
Well, Tim can never carry off being a bad ass, even halfway convincingly, let alone lie to marks! The problem is that he doesn't have the insight to get why he doesn't get the so called important undercover ops; why he is always left playing the waiter or the room service guy. His attitude is that if someone like me can do it then it can't be rocket science, so someone as smart as he is can do it, too. Poor guy thinks that it is exciting.
He doesn't understand how exhausting it is not having a partner to watch your six. Not being able to ever fully relax enough, to fall into a decent stage four sleep because you might never wake up again. He doesn't understand the emotional cost of playing less than admirable characters or the emotional pain and sense of dislocation when you have to return to yourself. The self-loathing for me is the worst because I battle with the ease that I assume a character. Even if this 'skill' is what keeps me alive, there is a part of me that always wonders if that is actually the real me and all the other stuff is just pretence.
The Shadows began to groom me when I was sixteen years old and attending Rhode IslandMilitaryAcademy after my father sent me away to school and essentially washed his hands of me when I was twelve. I had been identified by a recruiter on the staff as being an ideal candidate, not just in terms of aptitude, but also because psychologically I possessed the right profile. I was estranged from my family and therefore isolated and emotionally needy. These are the same qualities that cults take advantage of in searching for new recruits, in order to exploit and cement loyalty and a sense of belonging towards a guru or authority figure. It was also these attributes that made it easy for the Shadows to seduce me effortlessly into signing on with them. Well, more accurately, to sell my soul to them in a Faustian bargain, even if I didn't realise that was what I was doing at the time.
I was rebellious and angry. I was lonely and scared. I was incredibly insecure and felt worthless, and I was absolutely ripe for the picking. Perfectly poised to be manipulated, glossed up and groomed into the perfect little spook. Moulded and made-over into their creation, which they did by the ridiculously simple device of recognising my strengths. They acknowledged me and made me feel valued for the first time in my life while they appealed to my sense of chivalry in protecting the weak. Oh, yes, they knew exactly what they were doing! That this was my Achilles heel; it was what I had always craved because I had never had experienced it with my family.
I was exactly what they were looking for. Already, I was beginning to excel at sports, and their exhaustive battery of aptitude and physiological testing established that I was capable of achieving an elite professional athlete status in a number of high profile sports. This would be an ideal cover for the clandestine activities that they sought out for their operatives. Who would ever suspect a dumb jock of being a trained assassin or spy? I was too good to pass over and they had already been watching me and biding their time for several years before they finally pounced. They are nothing if not patient, and were willing to invest time and energy into developing super spies.
The vast majority of their 'assets', as they refer to their assassins/come operatives, are elite athletes or musicians and thespians. They are individuals who share one important quality; they can easily move across borders without attracting suspicion, even if they invite attention with their celebrity status. It is the perfect cover, because who would suspect that someone famous would be a trained assassin? After I trashed my knee, or more accurately, when Brad Pitt trashed my knee, I hoped that I would be allowed to retire from my role with the Shadows, but they are nothing if not resourceful, and having poured so much energy and money into my education, they already had a Plan B at the ready. They were never going to let me go, I know that now.
As a child my mother had recognised my musical ability and had me tutored from a young age by a martinet of a piano teacher, and when my career as a professional athlete crumbled, they resurrected my musical one. When I 'accept' their missions, my cover is a classical pianist who is reclusive and emerges periodically to give rare performances around the world. Personally, I prefer jazz and improv to classical music, but needs must be met, I guess. I'm told by those that should know that I am very gifted, but classical music has become forever associated with death and darkness and I take little comfort in any talent that I may have been born with, especially because of the manner in which it was developed.
Anyway…I was already fluent in two languages, not counting English, but they discovered that I had a genuine flair for picking up languages and I was tutored during school breaks in a number of new languages. These tutorials continued into my college years in lieu of vacations, and now I can also speak French, Hebrew, Russian and Chinese fluently, not to mention various Middle Eastern languages, although I am less fluent in these; essentially I understand them better than I speak them.
No one is aware of my proficiency in these extra languages because they cannot be easily explained; unlike Italian and Spanish which can be accounted for by my background. My father is Italian so I learnt to speak it growing up and I picked up Spanish because my childhood nanny was from Barcelona. Except that my mother was English, so she used to refer to Rosa as my governess rather than my nanny. I always called my grandmothers' Nonna and Nana, so nanny would have been a bit too much!
It can be hard ethically to maintain the pretence that I don't speak more than two foreign languages, especially when Ziva is swearing in Hebrew or speaking to one of her Mossad spy contacts discreetly on her phone. It's hard not to feel guilty, knowing that she thinks that her conversations are private and they're not! I do wonder if her contacts have any idea of my own black ops ultra secret spy background, but I don't think so. The Shadows operate so far under the radar that outsiders who learn of their existence are likely to be squished like a bug on a windscreen.
Sometimes though, I catch her watching me quizzically, as if there is something about me that she can't quite figure out. While I am very careful not to let my inner assassin leak out, occasionally he escapes in spite of all my efforts. Peruvian steel, for example, brings out the beast, as do political machinations and being manipulated by people that I should be able to trust.
Apart from my aptitude for languages, they courted me because of my IQ and my skill with firearms. I know that I act like a dumb shit most of the time because I need to fly under the radar. My life and the lives of those around me depend on no one ever discovering the truth about my murky past history with the Shadows. I have hopefully covered up my past association by fabricating some of my personnel records, but it is a constant source of concern that someone will catch on that some of my years as a cop are nothing more than a huge con job.
My absences during college were explained by my being disowned by my Dad, which really was kosher, and my procurement of a partial scholarship at OSU. Truth be told, the Shadows paid for my tuition as well as my living expenses, but the partial scholarship ruse made it believable for me to disappear frequently, on the pretext that I was working to pay my way through college. Actually when I stop and consider it, I was working and damned hard, too. It just wasn't the typical waiting tables or bartending jobs that most college kids do to earn money.
I was also taught the finer points of hacking into secure databases and computers of terrorists and other delightful protagonists. While Probie is the maestro when it comes to all things related to the computer, I am actually no slouch either, except that it all bores me silly. I prefer to be on my feet and doing stuff in the field, so even if I wasn't trying to hide my dubiously acquired skills, I would still be more than happy to act dumb and leave it all up to Probie. He really does enjoy it after all, which is the real difference between us, I suppose. I can do it when I have to, but I don't especially enjoy it; it is a means to an end, but when I watch the excitement on McGee's face when he tries to explain to Gibbs and me how he has developed a computer program to search for some vital clue, I can see his passion.
I've known for years that several neurophysiologists and researchers have dibbs on my brain for dissection purposes when I kick the bucket and that they probably wouldn't be terribly averse to pushing me under a bus to get hold of it sooner, except that it might get squished in the process. I know that they were getting pretty orgasmic when I contracted pneumonic plague a few years ago and I was given a fifteen percent chance of survival. I bet they were busy sharpening their scalpels even while my friend Brad Pitt was trying to pull me through a vicious bout of pneumonia. I'm betting that they were seriously pissed when against the odds, I recovered.
Apparently, my brain is an anomaly, a freak of nature if you will. I scored high on an unusual range of skills. I am a gifted problem solver, which comes in real handy when you are a spy working without back-up. I also have good deductive reasoning, creativity and excel in abstract thought, a combination which seemingly is what enables me to make intuitive leaps of logic as an investigator and identify variables that are seemingly unconnected to the investigation. As is the case with Abby, when it comes to thinking, it seems my brain works best if I am multi-tasking and I am best served by being over stimulated, which is partly why I muck around so much. I found out early on in the game that trying to focus my thoughts doesn't allow my butterfly-like thinking to do its magic or to be able to look for patterns that no one else can see.
I know that my ability to flit around a bunch of topics frustrates the hell out of Gibbs and his Gibbs' slaps are his way of getting me to focus, but the irony is that my freak of a brain just doesn't work that way. I have learnt to not focus, but let my thoughts drift into a sort of free form thinking, while stimulating my brain with a number of extraneous sensory stimuli to allow it to process multiple types of data simultaneously. My strength is not linear processing like most individuals, which makes Gibbs crazy because he thinks I am mucking around and not taking the job seriously; but I can't help the way my brain works.
All I can do is what works for me and accept the head smacks in the spirit in which they are given, even if I've probably lost a fair few brain cells over the time I've spent with him, forever lowering my IQ. Luckily, I am trying to hide my background, so dumb is good. It isn't just that I am trying to keep a low profile with my 'former' employers and NCIS, but I am also hiding from the other federal agencies and clandestine organisations that would try and recruit me in a heartbeat. I have good reason to know that their methods of recruitment wouldn't necessarily be pleasant. Even here, if the director had a clue about my background, I would be transferred out of the MCRT so fast my head would spin and sent off on black ops counter terrorism missions.
Now in the irony of ironies, I had to show at least part of my hand to the new Director Toothpick because this latest assignment that I have been 'persuaded' to carry out will be an extended one, possibly up to two months or more, and so I am going to need his help to cover my absence. To this end, last night when all I wanted to do was mourn the loss of a colleague, I spent hours hacking through secure databases and calling in some markers to find some dirt on Leon. I will need it so he doesn't try and take advantage of me if I make it back after the mission.
Leon's face, when I dropped my little bombshell this morning, was priceless. If this whole situation didn't suck so badly, I might have been tempted to laugh fit to bust, but this is way too serious. Imagine his shock to discover that he was nursing another trained assassin on his gun MCRT who could kill him with a paper clip; although he only knows the bare minimum. He doesn't know about the languages, the hacking, and my information analysis skills. He just knows I have advanced training in the art of killing and that I am a former spy. I wish I could have gotten away with telling him even less.
He was seriously pissed, especially when I wouldn't give him info on the organisation that I was working with. I really hope that I impressed upon him how dangerous it would be for him and his loved ones if he were to try and dig up Intel on the Shadows, because I really don't want to carry around anymore guilt than I do already, and his wife and children are way too precious to risk just so his curiosity can be satisfied. I shared with him my suspicions about Jenny's death and I hope to God that he heeds me. Sure I sound like a paranoid nutcase, but I let the beast off the leash for a couple of minutes, and I think he was stunned to discover my ruthless alpha streak that would give Gibbs a run for his money. Hopefully, it convinced him that I am serious and that they are all in imminent danger unless he follows my instructions completely.
I am entrusting Vance to keep the rest of the team in the dark because they would be in danger if they found out or tried to come to my aid. I can't be responsible for anyone else that I love dying. It would be the death of me, supposing that I am even still alive, I guess. Fortunately, with Jenny's death, Vance was already planning on splitting up the most successful MCRT in order to catch a mole, so the timing couldn't have been better. My cover story is that I am being sent to the USS Ronald Reagan as the Agent Afloat as punishment. If I survive, I will officially be transferred to the USS Seahawk and spend time serving as the Agent Afloat before being reassigned to Washington.
While the prospect of being a navy cop aboard a ship full of five thousand sailors isn't exactly inviting, it has a couple of advantages. When I come off the back of long term undercover Ops, it can take me some time to come back to myself and find my centre. My beast takes a while to submit to being imprisoned in the mental box where I keep him, and my friends would be able to tell straight off that I am off balance if I go back to Washington too soon. They would demand answers that would be far too dangerous for anyone to possess, so if I have to take a vacation at sea for a while, then it is a price that I have to pay to keep all of them safe. Such a small penance really!
I will be forwarding this account of the reasons why I have had to disappear for an extended time, although not the specifics of the actual mission, to my attorney for safe keeping in the event that I am killed or captured and cannot make it back in time to resume my position without arousing the suspicions of my team mates. He has been instructed on what to do with this information in either eventuality. The purpose of this information is to impress upon the reader the importance of doing nothing. Do not investigate or even ask questions. Simply forget that you ever knew Anthony D. DiNozzo. Trust me that it will be safer for everyone if you follow my instructions.
Signed: A.D. DiNozzo Special Agent NCIS
Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo sighed, overcome with a deep melancholy as he decided to write a personal missive to his mentor. He knew that Gibbs would be furious, disappointed, intent on seeking vengeance, and more than a little shocked that his goofy senior field agent had managed to lie to him for so many years without him catching on. Oh, he knew that Gibbs had only half bought his dumb-assed jock act, but he knew that Jethro had no idea that he was inviting a viper onto his team back in the day in Baltimore.
Yet, even though Gibbs would be homicidally angry at him, he would also be equally driven to avenge his death because no one messed with his team, well apart from Gibbs himself, of course. He knew that this note needed to appeal to what Abby referred to as Jethro's Papa Bear persona and reinforce to him that his job was not to go off all lone wolfish, but remain at home and protect the rest of the team. Tony smiled grimly as he began to type, hoping to find the words that would strike the right chord with the curmudgeonly Marine. Finally, after several abortive attempts and numerous drafts he was happy with his effort and printed it and attached it to the other documents that he was entrusting to his attorney.
Attention: Supervisory Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs
Naval Criminal Investigative Service
Washington DC Naval Yard
USA
Dear Jethro
I am forwarding this letter and document along with all the incriminating data I have collected over the years about the Shadows, which is my insurance policy, to the safekeeping of my attorney. He has been instructed that in the advent of my death or disappearance, he should arrange for this information to discreetly fall into your hands to warn you not to investigate. If that should happen, Gibbs, I implore you to let me go. Do not try and search for me or try to avenge my death. You have no idea who you're dealing with. I have no wish for anyone else to suffer for my own bad decision all those years ago. Remember, Jethro, I surrender this Intelligence to you only to convince you of the potential danger that you could all face.
Please keep on watching the team's sixes' and while I think that the threat to recruit McGee was just a device to get me to cooperate, I also wouldn't bet my life on it. Probie is much too guileless for his own safety about a lot of things... well, anything that doesn't pertain to a motherboard or serial processors anyway. They probably have more than enough computer gurus already, but we both know that he would be an easy mark, so save him from himself if they ever come knocking.
You'll need to feed and walk him regularly, Jethro. Let him off the lead sometimes and ration the Gibbs' slaps, hey? His cranium is nowhere near as tough as mine. Remember, he was my first (and if you are reading this), my only Probie that I ever had and I do not want him broke! He is nearly house trained, but you need to finish bringing him up proper for me. Consider it a favour. Please?
Make sure that Ducky takes Ziva to the Ballet sometimes, too. She really loves it, but I don't expect you to go. You'd probably end up shooting someone. Make sure she continues to lighten up. Set her a challenge to forget about killing people with a paperclip. It's just so passé. Give her an assignment to come up with forty ways to kill someone with a kosher matzo ball. You'll know she's fully housebroken when she starts using contractions. Don't expect her to stop murdering idioms, though. I sorta think that she does it on purpose. No one could be an even half-ways decent spy and mangle the English language the way David does.
And my dark angel, Abby; you're going to have to be there for the horror movie nights and go with her to those god-awful clubs in seedy parts of the city that she loves going to, to dance and yes, Gibbs, if I have to dance with her, then you do, too. You're also going to have to be on stand-by to pick her up when some sleaze bag is hitting on her and won't leave her alone. And when she dumps her boyfriend, you are going to be sitting around in your PJs ... er sweats... (Do Marines wear PJs?)… And sit through an endless supply of chick flicks that she needs to watch before she finally breaks down crying.
Thanks, Jethro, for giving me the opportunity to live a normal life and indulge my passion for the investigative process. I owe you my life and my sanity. I expect that the next boat that you build will more than likely be 'The DiNozzo', and I expect you to figure out a way to get the damned thing out of your basement and onto the water. If I find out you burnt my boat, I promise I will find a way to come back from the grave and haunt your every waking hour. I will make your life a misery. Remember, that's a promise Leroy... not ... a... threat! Watch your six and take care of my family for me, Dad! This is probably the only time I will ever get away with calling ya that without earning a slap upside the head.
With the greatest of respect
Anthony D. DiNozzo, Very Special Agent (deceased or disappeared)
A/N If anyone is curious, The Shadows are a homage of sorts to a Sci Fi show - Babylon Five.
