Disclaimer: I do not own or profit from NCIS.
Author's Note: The aftermath surrounding Gibb's death continues, as the mystery about what happened to him deepens. Things hit the fan in Ch. 3. A lot more angst, anguish, and whumping to go!
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TH
The hooded man pointed his weapon at the defenseless pair. Even intoxicated, Tony moved in front of Abby to try and shield her. The shot cracked, echoing deafeningly in the small space. Abby screamed and buried her face in Tony's arm as he covered her head. But the protective action was unnecessary; the shot went wild, embedding in the ceiling when McGee, shouting gutturally, emerged from the master bedroom, running madly at the intruder and shoving him into the wall. The two fell to the floor, arms and legs entwined.
The burglar heaved himself to his feet, and as McGee tried to stand landed a punch to the young man's jaw. The junior agent's head jerked back and he once again hit the floor. Turning quickly, the trespasser tore down the hallway toward Abby and Tony. Without slowing, he barreled over the two; DiNozzo, already off-balance, toppled on top of the young Goth. The man's hood fell off, revealing a bald, beefy head. Unfortunately, by the time they pulled themselves apart, the assailant was out the door and gone, providing no chance of catching him.
"Tim!" Abby ran to McGee's side, leaving Tony to try and get up on his own. "Are you alright? Did he hurt you?" She touched the expanding bump on her friend's head and he flinched. "That was so brave. You saved us!"
Tony staggered over to the wall. "It's all good, Abby. I'm ok," he explained breathlessly, even though she hadn't asked.
Abby glared at her inebriated friend. "What is going on here? Who was that guy?" she demanded.
McGee rubbed his head. "It looked like he was trying to rob the place. He had a bunch of stuff torn up in the bedroom. When I came in he jumped me and hit me on the head. Maybe he heard about," Tim caught himself and paused, "you know, that the house was …unoccupied." McGee cleared his throat and stared at his feet, not knowing what else to say.
Tony's face dropped. "Yeah," he agreed solemnly. There it was again. Yet another reminder that Gibbs was gone.
"Should we call the police?" Abby asked nervously.
McGee gave Tony a once-over. DiNozzo's eyes were at half-mast; he looked ready to hit the ground at any minute. He didn't think Tony was in any shape to help with a police report. "Nah, I don't think the guy took anything. He just made a mess."
A mess; that's what everything is right now, a complete and total mess, Tony decided."You're right Abby, I should go to bed." He left his perch on the wall and teetered dangerously.
"Good idea, big guy," she said, smiling sadly at him, no longer angry when she saw the return of his despair. She was still a little mad at him for getting so drunk. But since he wouldn't talk to anyone about how he was feeling, she guessed it was the only way he could deal with his emotions over Gibb's passing. "Let's go." Abby grabbed him under the arm and headed toward Gibb's bedroom.
"No, not there," he managed, when he noticed her direction. "Upstairs. Spare room." He shrugged sheepishly. Sleeping in Gibb's room would have been too much for him tonight.
"Sure, Tony, no problem," she nodded. McGee took his other arm and they helped DiNozzo to the other bedroom.
Lying down on top of the blankets, everything tilted and spun sickeningly. He considered going to the bathroom to throw up, but that would take too much effort. It was better to just lay there with his eyes closed and wait for the vertigo to pass. If he puked, he'd just do it in the floor; he didn't care anymore. It wasn't like Gibbs was there to get mad at him for ruining the varnish.
Tony mentally head slapped himself for the insensitivity. He really needed to pull himself together, but first he had to sleep. The effects of the bourbon were more than he could handle; he couldn't imagine how Gibbs managed to drink the stuff on a regular basis. Then again, Gibbs probably didn't finish off a bottle in a couple of hours, either.
Abby looked down at the rumpled sight. Tony's hair was sticking out in every direction and even though he still wore a dress shirt and slacks, the clothes were wrinkled and untucked. He hadn't shaved in a few days; light stubble grew over his jawline. He looked every bit a drunken sot. The agent appeared to have lost several pounds, and now that she thought about it, Abby couldn't remember the last time she had seen him eat anything. The shadows under his eyes spoke of many sleepless nights. At the moment he appeared very young and vulnerable.
Twisting her mouth and shaking her head, Abby made an executive decision. "We're spending the night McGee. Tony might need us and we have to make sure that burglar doesn't come back and cause any trouble," she told the junior agent. "You go find some extra blankets while I get Tony into bed." McGee raised an eyebrow; Abby punched him on the arm. "You know what I mean," she added.
Tim leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek. "You're a good friend, Abby Sciuto," he said. "See you in a little bit."
Abby sighed and started removing Tony's shoes. Once that was done she decided to enlist some help. "Come on, Tony. Get undressed and under the covers," she encouraged, tugging on his arm. Tony groaned and tried to pull away.
"Not now, Abby. I'm tired," he slurred, rolling over.
"Now, Tony, or I'll strip you myself and I'll have McGee help," she threatened.
Tony opened a bleary eye, "You'd do that?" he asked.
She crossed her arms and stared at him. She'd do that. Tony tried to get undressed. After a few minutes of using his limited fine motor skills to fumble with buttons and buckles, he got down to boxers and a t-shirt then crawled under the blankets; Abby lay down beside him. He wrapped his long arms around her, enjoying the comfort of her presence. Abby always made him feel better, even at the worst of times. He sighed when he felt her warm tears on his hands. It was selfish of him to think he was the only one suffering; Abby had loved Gibbs, too. "It's ok, Abs," he said. "We'll get through it."
Her soft sobs broke his heart; he kissed her dark hair. "I went with Jack to hear Gibb's will read today. The old bastard left me this house," Tony said softly, finally unburdening himself. "I don't know why he did that, Abby."
Through her tears, Abby took a deep breath. "He loved you like a son, Tony. He wanted you to know that. It was his way to tell you." Covering his hand with her own, she said, "He'll always be with us, Tony. We'll never let him go."
Tony closed his eyes and willed sleep to take him. He had dealt with death before; the images of his mother, Paula, Kate, and Jenny running through his mind. Tony was in no state to deal with those ghosts tonight. He knew, no matter how hard you held on to the memories, death meant the people no longer existed where he needed them, in the land of the living. They were really, truly gone.
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The next morning, Tony awoke to a very bright sun streaming through the windows, burning his sensitive retinas. His head pounded like he had been run over by a marching band. With a moan, he pried himself out of bed and into the shower. Slipping on a pair of old jeans from the pile he had left in the house over the years, he made his way downstairs. He found McGee in the kitchen brewing coffee; Abby was asleep on the couch. DiNozzo paused and pulled an afghan around the Goth's shoulders, gently moving a ponytail behind her ear.
"So how are you feeling?" McGee asked the worn looking Senior Field Agent as he walked into the kitchen.
"Quieter, McGee, you must speak much, much quieter," a hung-over Tony instructed, staring gratefully at the steaming cup the younger man placed before him.
"That was quite a display last night. I thought for a minute you were going to tear the whole house apart," McGee paused. "You might have, too, if it hadn't been for our visitor."
Tony sat the coffee cup down and made eye contact with the other agent. He noted the goose-egg McGee was sporting on his forehead. So far, he wasn't doing a very good job of taking care of the team. "I need to apologize for that, Tim. I…let myself get out of hand. It won't happen again," he stated. "Vance asked me to see him when we go back on Monday. I'm pretty sure he'll make me permanent team leader. I need you to respect that, McGee, and I don't know if you can with the way I behaved last night."
McGee considered for a moment, realizing the admission must be hard for the proud man. "Tony, without Gibbs things are never going to be the same for any of us again. We're all dealing with it the best way we can. I won't hold last night against you."
Tony rubbed his pounding head, "I just want you to know that I'm going to do my best as Lead Agent. I'll never be Gibbs, but I'll try to use all the things he taught me. It's important that I not let him down, even now."
McGee nodded, "I'm glad to be part of your team Tony. We might not always see things the same way, but it doesn't mean I'm not glad to work with you."
Tony flushed with embarrassment. "Thanks, Tim. I really needed to hear that." He waited a moment, "Now, this doesn't mean I won't still head slap you…."
McGee responded with a wounded look. "Just stay away from the super-glue and we'll both be fine."
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After Abby and McGee left, Tony found himself wandering around the quiet house. His bare feet slipped silently across the hardwood floors. Feeling the smooth surface beneath his toes, the memory washed over him like a soft summer rain.
"Shit, shit, shit," Tony mumbled, cursing his own stupidity. He had only been on Gibb's team for two weeks and he had screwed up big time.
The field agent had been staying at Gibb's house for the last few days. The unexpected living arrangement resulted from a sprained ankle and some bruised ribs Tony suffered while apprehending a suspect. Gibbs had driven his agent home, staring incredulously at the fleabag hotel where Tony was staying until he found a decent apartment. Before Tony had a chance to open the car door, Gibbs was already pulling out of the parking lot.
"Uh, Boss, shouldn't you have waited until I got out of the car?" Tony asked, confused. Gibbs gave him an unreadable look. Tony thought he seemed mad, but the younger man couldn't figure out what he had done wrong.
"You can stay at my place," came the gruff reply.
Tony was shocked. Most of the other agents were scared to even talk to Gibbs and it had taken Tony a few days to start getting a basic rapport with the ex-marine. He didn't know if bunking at the former gunnery sergeant's house was such a good idea. But the hotel was pretty disgusting; hot water was a hit-or-miss prospect and he'd noticed a couple of very interesting bugs in the bathroom.
"Are you sure you want me to do that? Believe it or not, I can be kind of annoying." He thought he caught a glimpse of a smile in the grizzled face.
"I don't doubt that, DiNozzo, but you'll never make it up and down those stairs with a bum ankle. Plus, with the number of prostitutes living in that place, you might end up getting distracted and not making it in to work one of these days." Gibbs grinned fully now.
After the Lead Agent called Ducky to pick up Tony's things, the three of them ate dinner together in Gibb's kitchen. Tony had been unusually quiet; the easy friendship between the older men was something he wasn't accustomed to sharing. Following dinner, Ducky re-bandaged his ribs and ankle, then Gibbs sent him off to bed. When Tony tried to protest that he didn't need a bedtime, he'd been met with a glare that had him scurrying to the spare room. DiNozzo felt oddly like a college graduate who had moved back home with his parents.
But, despite the teasing from Blackadder and several other agents, Tony actually enjoyed living with Gibbs. It was more like a home than anything he had ever experienced. To show his gratitude, he made a serious effort to pull his own weight with chores and to not get in Gibb's way, which wasn't that difficult considering the older man spent most of his time in the basement, anyway.
The lack of a television, however, was just too much. Tony decided to fix that problem by bringing in his own portable set and video player. Placing the television on a small table, he tried to arrange the furniture in a way to make the tiny screen viewable. He shifted the couch and recliner some, slid a table this way and that until he was satisfied. Just as he was smiling at his handiwork, he looked down at the floor and discovered he was about to die.
The beautiful hardwood floors in Gibb's living room were covered in scratches. Dozens and dozens of scratches. Several were deep enough to qualify as gouges. Tony was terror-stricken, which is what led him to stand in Gibb's living room repeating those three words.
"Shit, shit, shit," he mumbled again.
"What in the hell is that, DiNozzo?" the old marine barked at him.
Gibbs was standing just inside the living room gazing at the floors. His blue eyes were heated.
"I am so sorry, Boss," Tony apologized. "I didn't know I was scratching the floor. I'll get it fixed, I promise. God, I'm so stupid!"
Gibbs just stared at him. "No, Tony, you won't get it fixed," he said with finality.
"What?" Tony asked. "Oh," he added. Hanging his head, he turned to leave the room and get his things.
"Where are you going?" Gibbs deep voice boomed.
"Well, I suppose you want me to leave?" Tony asked hesitantly.
"Did I ask you to leave?" Gibbs questioned.
"I guess not," Tony replied slowly. "But you don't want me to have this fixed, so I just thought…."
"That's because you are going to fix it," the Lead Agent explained.
"Me?" Tony questioned. "If you haven't noticed, Gibbs, I'm from Long Island. I wouldn't know how to fix this if you held a gun to my head." Tony paused, an idea striking him. "You aren't planning to do that are you?"
Gibbs expression indicated that might not be a bad idea. "I guess I'll have to teach you what to do. But you tore it up, so you have to fix it," he repeated.
"You're going to teach me? How long is this gonna take?" Tony asked.
"A couple of weeks. It'll take that long to find you a decent enough place of your own anyway. We'll start tomorrow after work," Gibbs decided. "Now, hit the rack. You're going to need the rest before I'm through with you."
It had been a grueling project, but to Tony's surprise, he didn't mind. No one had ever taken as much time to work with him on something as Gibbs did this, and he enjoyed the hours they spent sanding and staining. The older man talked to him, discussing their cases and describing all the rules. At one point, while applying a coat of stain, Tony had exclaimed, "Hey, this reminds me of a movie! The Karate Kid! Pat Morita, Ralph Macchio. Wax on, wax off? Ever see it?" Gibbs just raised his eyebrow. "Guess not," Tony added.
The next night Tony forced the older man to watch the movie. At the end, Gibbs said, "You wish you knew karate like that kid, DiNozzo. You might be able to take down a suspect without getting hurt."
By the time they finished the floor, Tony found an apartment and was ready to move out. But more than that, he found someone he could look up to. He had never met anyone he really trusted, who didn't disappoint him. With Gibbs he knew where he stood, and that the man meant what he said. Tony would never take that for granted, just like he would never take his boss for granted.
DiNozzo was sitting cross-legged on the floor; he rubbed his thin fingers over the wood recalling the days they had spent together to create the perfect finish. He once again felt the burn of tears in his eyes. The last time he endured this kind of pain was when his mother died. Thinking about the last ten years, Tony admitted that Gibbs had been more of a father to him than his biological dad ever was. The realization made him miss the grizzly old marine even more than he thought possible.
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The burglar had made a mess of Gibb's master bedroom. There were books and papers pulled from drawers and scattered throughout the room. Tony sighed, knowing he needed to clean up. Slowly he started collecting papers and stacking them together. He looked at the book titles as he gathered them to place on a shelf. Woodworking 101, The History of Baseball, How to Speak Fluent Russian. As he moved to slide the last title on the shelf, a picture fluttered to the floor.
Picking up the photograph and looking at it closely, DiNozzo immediately noticed a younger version of Gibbs. Another man stood to the side, his face familiar, but Tony couldn't come up with a name. The last figure in the picture was a woman. "There's no way," Tony said aloud, peering at the image. It couldn't be Katerina Sokolov. This woman would have to be at least twenty years older than the dead prostitute. But they looked almost identical. The woman in the picture was a little different; fuller lips, smaller eyes, shorter. Yet there were so many similarities, clearly they had to be related.
Tony noticed the building in the background. Unmistakable architecture. Red Square. They're in Russia! he realized. He looked at the back of the picture, but there was nothing written. No names and no dates. What was going on with you, Gibbs? Tony questioned. There was definitely more to his Russian trip than Gibbs had suggested, and Tony was more determined than ever to find out what.
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"You could not locate anything?" the blonde-haired man asked in his heavily accented Russian.
"Nothing. I was interrupted, but there was no sign of the picture or any other information about the Secretary," he informed his counterpart.
The blonde man paced, deep in thought. "We will wait for now. Perhaps Gibbs did not tell DiNozzo anything about the reason he went to Russia. Keep him under surveillance. It there is any indication DiNozzo knows something he will need to be eliminated, just like we eliminated his boss," the Russian intoned.
The large, burly, bald man with a goatee shook his head with frustration. "I do not like this, Dimitry," he said. "There are still too many loose ends. Katerina should have never put us in this situation."
"I know, Ivan. Katerina was a foolish girl; it is a shame she had to die for her ignorance. If she would have just stayed in Russia as I requested! But no, she had to follow us to America and try to earn her own living. As a prostitute!" He shook his head. "She was an embarrassment to us all."
Ivan sighed. "I should not have lost my temper when I found her. But to see her with that man!" he growled, clenching his meaty fists, his dark eyes blazing. "I did not mean to kill her," he added, trying to reign in the violent temper that once more surged out of control. "I only meant to bring her to you, as was requested. I know the way she died has caused a great deal of difficulty for you and the Secretary."
Dimitry patted the man's thickly muscled arm. They had planned on killing Katerina anyway, just in a less messy manner. She had become too much of a liability for them. "It is forgiven, Ivan. I blame Katerina, not you. But now we must continue to do what we can to protect the interests of the Secretary. His connection to Katerina must never be known. Even if that means we must kill Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo," he stated coldly. Ivan nodded in agreement.
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The car purred beneath him. The engine rumbled with perfect timing; he could feel it throbbing through the floorboard and into his legs. He curled his fingers around the steering wheel, sitting for a moment, breathing in the smell of leather and oil. He glanced at the darkened street; above him stars twinkled in the clear sky. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the pedal to the floor, screeching from the driveway into the night.
After a restless day spent puttering around Gibb's house and nursing his hangover, Tony had lain awake staring at the ceiling, knowing that sleep wouldn't come. Finally, he decided to literally drive away the demons. He looked at the window of the apartment. He didn't know how he ended up here. Abruptly pulling out his phone, he found the name and dialed the number. He watched as the light came on behind the curtains. A few seconds later, a sleepy voice answered. "Yes, Tony. Do we have a case?" Ziva questioned.
He paused. Now that she had answered, what should he say? "No." he replied tersely. "Come downstairs."
"Is everything alright?" she asked, apprehension evident in her voice.
"Just come downstairs," he said.
"Give me five minutes," she replied and disconnected the line.
True to her word, five minutes later she stepped from the door, long hair pulled into a sleek ponytail. She glanced around to find him, dark eyes suddenly noticing the car parked in front of her building.
Approaching the yellow and black Challenger, she gently ran her hand along the side, before opening the passenger door and sliding inside. She looked at him, but didn't speak.
Without a glance at her, he put the car in gear and tore out into the dark. They drove without talking for miles. Scenery flashed by, one moment there, the next gone as they turned another corner, accelerated down a highway, passed other drivers as though standing still. The car met her expectations; the driver exceeded them.
She had never seen Tony so focused, so intent on the task at hand. His gaze never wavered from the road in front of him, one hand on the wheel, the other shifting fiercely. Even at one point when they were traveling at least 100 miles per hour, she never felt fear, only exhilaration. As they banked a small rise in the pavement for a few seconds the car went airborne, and Ziva shrieked in delight despite herself. Tony finally graced her with a toothy grin.
They ended up parked by a small pond; Tony skipped rocks across the surface of the water while Ziva sat at the edge with her arms wrapped around her knees. Eventually Tony came to sit beside her. He draped his jacket across her shoulders and let his arm stay there, hanging loosely. She tilted her head to the side and let it rest against his chest. The masculine smell of his cologne comforted her.
After a while, she asked softly, "Do you still think he might be alive?"
"I don't know, Ziva," he replied. "My instincts have never stopped telling me he isn't gone, but if he is alive, why wouldn't he contact us? Why not come back?"
"I think we have to accept that he is gone. Otherwise we will never be able to move forward," she said sadly. "He would want us to do that."
"I know," Tony replied. He stood and pulled her up beside him.
"Thank you, Ziva," he said, kissing her gently on the cheek, trying to prevent his day-old stubble from scratching her skin.
She smiled and touched his face, "You are welcome, Tony."
The weak rays of the morning sun broke through the clouds as he drove her home.
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As weeks passed, Tony developed a routine. He maintained his apartment, but spent most of his evenings at Gibb's house, either drinking in the basement or driving the Challenger around DC at all hours of the night. Vance made him team leader and life went on; marines kept dying and they kept investigating. But even though the team was operating smoothly and solving crimes, the Director felt DiNozzo looked like hell. It was obvious the new Lead Agent wasn't sleeping well and was possibly fighting a serious depression. However, until Tony decided to talk about it or it affected his job performance, there wasn't much anyone could do. Vance just observed, and waited for the younger man to hit a wall. He hoped it wouldn't take too much to scrape him off.
For his part, Tony thought he was holding it together pretty well. He didn't get drunk every night, made it to work on time, and was still working cases. Considering how he felt, that was a vast accomplishment. Like most class clowns, Tony possessed an equally dark and moody side that he covered up with his antics. Lately, however, it was becoming more and more difficult for him to keep the darkness at bay.
Beyond his depressed mood, his other main worry was the people following him.
There were two men he noticed off and on; they tailed him most of the time. He even thought they might have been going through things in Gibb's house, but nothing was stolen. Tony just sensed someone had been there.
He didn't mention the tails to anyone; DiNozzo was actually somewhat afraid he was becoming paranoid. A small part of him wondered if he was manufacturing the people following him as an excuse to believe Gibbs might be alive. After finishing off a bottle of vodka, he even thought he'd seen the old marine in the house one night. But that was crazy. If Gibbs was out walking around he would contact him, and Tony didn't believe in ghosts.
Finally, he decided the only way to solve his dilemma once and for all was to catch one of them in the act.
Walking down the street, Tony quickly stepped into an alley and hid against the brick corner of a building. Several people strolled by, then suddenly one of the men passed. Tony quickly grabbed his collar and shoved the man into the shadows and back against the hard surface. "Who the hell are you?" DiNozzo demanded roughly, pressing his arm against the man's neck. "Why are you following me?"
The man struggled to free himself from the agent's grip. "Let me go," he demanded in heavily accented Russian.
That got Tony's attention. Reaching in the man's pocket with his free hand, the Lead Agent pulled out the Russian's wallet and flipped to his identification card. Dimitry Petrov. "What has this got to do with Jethro Gibbs?" Tony shouted, banging the man's head into the wall. "Is he alive?"
The Russian slipped down a little, but came up swinging. Tony responded with vicious force, landing several solid punches to the man's face and stomach, before taking him to the ground with a kick that would have made Mr. Miagi proud. Straddling the now injured man, Tony continued to hit him, all the time demanding he reveal what he knew about Gibb's death. The Russian spit blood from his mouth, but kept repeating, "I will tell you nothing!"
The agent had been so involved in the fight, he forgot about the second tail, that is until pain radiated from the back of his head and his vision went black except for tiny points of light dancing in the darkness. He groaned and fell heavily off the Russian, not completely unconscious, but unable to move for a few minutes. Through his grey vision he saw a thickly muscled man leverage the bloody victim off the ground.
Dimitry stared down at Tony for a moment, blood dripping from his brutalized nose, before delivering a hard kick to the agent's abdomen. Tony gasped and curled up. Dimitry bent down beside him and said through bloody lips, "We were content to just follow and find out what you know, Agent DiNozzo. But you will pay for what you did today." He spat red phlegm in Tony's face and walked away.
The NCIS agent lay on the dirty ground, his sight returning to normal as he breathed in heavily through his mouth. Using the wall as support to get to his feet, Tony looked in the direction the two men had gone. If I don't make you pay first, he promised silently. Straightening his tie, he stepped back out on the street, deciding to enlist the aid of the one person who could help him.
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Unknown to Tony, another figure emerged onto the sidewalk, staying far back from the well-dressed, but now bedraggled federal agent. The observer was dirty and disheveled, wearing ill-fitting clothes and a long, ripped coat. His hands were shoved in his pockets. An oversized hat covered the upper part of his face, hiding his silver hair and ice blue eyes. Gibbs watched as Tony walked into a coffee shop. Dammit, DiNozzo, he thought. You're going to end up getting yourself killed. He fought the urge to walk up behind his friend and head slap him for his recklessness. Instead, the older man veered in the same direction as Tony's assailants, hoping to find out what they were up to. It was the only way he knew to protect his former partner from the danger that was all around him now.