Title: A Piece of Blue Sky
Pairing: Tony DiNozzo/Jethro Gibbs
Warnings: Some naughty language, adult themes, supernatural themes and screwed up situations. Also this story is slash –though nothing hardcore. I mean, Leroy's seven for most of it people and I don't write chan.
Spoilers: None really. Just the show in general. And if you don't watch NCIS then why are you reading this?
Disclaimer: Unless you live under a rock, you should know this isn't mine. And for those who do live under a rock... how'd you get access to a power point, let alone a computer?
Summary: When Tony is shot in action, he's surprised to find himself stuck somewhere between life and death. Which would be cause for concern even without a seven year old Leroy Jethro Gibbs for company. As Tony is plagued by questions of his own existence, Leroy finds himself in desperate need for help. Can Tony get them home safely?
Authors Note: Yes, I wrote a time travel fic. Well, sort of time travel. You'll see. It's because I was reading 'Grave Digger' by jen_wcugirl the other day and it occurred to me that are quite a few stories where Gibbs helps out/raises a young Tony but no stories that deal with the reverse (for a very obvious reason) so I decided to try writing one. Jen, if you read this –I blame you.
There are many beginnings
They start every day
The creep up and jump up
And lead you astray
There are a thousand stories
A thousand reasons why
A thousand different pages
A hundred different eyes
There are many triggers
Chaotic, tragic and fun
There are ways to begin a story
And this... well, this is one
Chapter One: Genesis
A clock kept time on the wall, the steady tick-tock keeping pace with Tony's heart. Outside, traffic blustered, urgent but meaningless. More locally, Tony could make out the faint sound of voices talking and a television humming. Underneath it all was a slight wheeze, the unmistakable sign of a body drawing breath.
He was in a hotel room.
Considering Tony distinctly remembered a bullet hitting him, he was thrown off by the abrupt change in scenery.
Was he dead?
If he was, a dingy hotel room was a sure hallmark that he'd gone to hell. The devil was more devious than most realized if hell was a derelict room –it only needed fungus covered bathroom tiles and lukewarm water to complete the image.
Shuddering at the thought, Tony turned to examine the room in question. The pain was peeling, the furniture was falling apart and everything seemed so out of date that it was appalling.
There also appeared to be a child on the bed.
He was tiny, which is perhaps why Tony hadn't noticed him. He was sleeping deeply, completely oblivious to Tony's presence. He seemed utterly unharmed.
But he was in a hotel room, alone and sleeping on a bed so filthy it made Tony grimace. Stranger still, he wasn't wearing his pyjamas –was, in fact, even wearing shoes.
It seemed more than a bit hinky, as Abby would say. Then again, the last thing Tony remembered was blinding pain as a bullet struck him. Really, a sleeping child was the least of their worries.
The child, perhaps feeling Tony's eyes on him, let loose a small sound and rolled over in his sleep, baring his face for Tony's appraisal. Tony took the opportunity by both hands, raking his eyes over the child's features carefully, a slow frown overtaking him as he did. For, no matter how he strained his memory, the face wasn't one he recognised.
Surely he wasn't dreaming, then? Could you dream of someone you'd never met? Tony, who didn't figure himself creative enough to dream this whole situation up, was doubtful.
The child stirred further. He looked pretty solid to Tony, fully dressed and on the precipice of waking as he was. As Tony watched, his lashes fluttered slightly, opening slowly revealing a pair of blue eyes. They blinked at Tony gently, bright even though they were heavily clouded by sleep.
"Where am I?" the boy asked, voice hoarse and uncertain.
Darn. That had been Tony's line.
"I don't know," Tony admitted, realizing as he spoke that it was the first time he'd done so since he'd found himself in this place. That meant something... though Tony wasn't quite sure what. "Are you dead?"
The boy looked frightened at that and Tony could have hit himself. In hindsight, it had been an idiotic thing to ask. Then again, no one had ever accused him of being good with children.
"I don't think so," the child answered at last, running his hands down his chest as though to check, "I don't feel dead. Are... are you?"
"I must be," Tony murmured, almost absently, "But I... I don't feel dead either."
He realized, having said so, that he wasn't sure how being dead felt. Concerned by that, he wandered over the remote control on the bedside table and picked it up. It rested solidly enough in his hands... ghosts couldn't touch, could they?
The door rattled and, startled, Tony dropped the remote, scolding himself a second later. He was jumping at shadows.
The man who entered the room wasn't that much younger than Tony was. He was slightly pudgy, poorly dressed and could have used a thorough shower for he was exceedingly scruffy. The boy on the bed looked at the man oddly.
"Mr. Harley?"
The man started, looking at the boy as though he was surprised to find him there. He frowned, perplexed.
"Leroy," he greeted and, as shoddy as his appearance, his voice was soft, gentle and consoling, "What are you doing awake? You should have been sleeping another few hours."
"How long have I been sleeping?" the boy (Leroy... now why did that name sound familiar?) asked, rubbing at his eyes tiredly, "Where are we?"
"What's the last thing you remember?" the man inquired cautiously.
Leroy frowned at that, thinking hard.
"I remember talking to you," he answered at last, slowly, "Dad had gone into the backroom to fetch something. You gave me a soda."
That didn't sound very promising.
"You feel tired right after you drink that?" Tony asked at once, "Dizzy or faint?"
Leroy looked over to him and nodded thoughtfully.
"He drugged you," Tony whispered, unaware he'd spoken aloud until Leroy jerked in reaction.
"You drugged me?" Leroy echoed accusingly, turning back to Harley, "Why?"
"Sorry kid," Harley managed, running an agitated hand through his hair, "You weren't meant to wake up."
"What? At all?" Leroy asked and, for the first time, he was beginning to look worried, "What were you going to do to me?"
Harley didn't say anything but, then again, he didn't have to. Leroy, likely seeing a hint of this, scooted back on the bed as far as he was able.
"Why?"
"I'm sorry Leroy," Harley croaked, clearing his throat awkwardly, "I tried. I really did. But you can't understand how beautiful you are. It's your eyes, I think. They remind me of a boy... Jeremy his name was. He was such a lovely little thing. His breath stuttered when I touched him..."
Harley seemed to discern he was giving too much away because he shook his head and refocused his attention on Leroy. Whose eyes were wider than a dinner plate.
"I'm going to put you to sleep again now," Harley informed him, almost tenderly, "I promise it won't hurt. You won't even feel anything."
"And what, you expect me to just stand by and do nothing?" Tony put in, bemused that Harley hadn't so much as glanced in his direction, "Because I gotta tell ya, that so isn't happening."
Harley didn't even glance at him. Instead seemed more concerned with making his way towards the vulnerable boy on the bed, holding what looked like a syringe behind his back. Feeling a distressed fluttering take root in his stomach, Tony approached the man and, with both hands, pushed him experimentally.
Harley stumbled.
Tony stared, more puzzled than ever. Harley, on the other hand, spun around wildly to find who had pushed him. He looked directly past Tony without seeing him. Which moved this situation from odd to downright freaky.
"What the hell was that?" he wondered sharply, as though expecting the silence to answer him.
"That guy pushed you," Leroy offered blankly, observing them both oddly, his confusion momentarily overriding his fear.
"What guy?" Harley asked, frowning and sweeping the room once more, "There's no one here..."
"But how –"
"Leroy!" Tony interrupted forcefully, "Not important right now. When I say go, run toward the door."
Leroy hesitated, disliking the idea of leaving Tony behind. His eyes flicked back to Harley however, having regained his equilibrium, now holding the syringe in plain sight, and he nodded nervously. Tony, using his years playing football as inspiration, readied himself into a tackling pose.
"Ready," he began and Leroy tensed, waiting, "GO!"
Tony launched himself at Harley the same moment that Leroy made a mad dash for the door. Harley crumbled beneath him, hitting the ground with a loud oomph. He struggled under Tony, cursing fluently, but Tony held tight until Leroy was safely out of the room. Then he knocked Harley's head solidly against the ground, hard enough to render him unconscious, and clambered to his feet. He paused for a moment there before, swearing softly, he bent back down, riffled through Harley's pockets and swiped his wallet.
He closed the hotel room behind him as he left and spied Leroy at the end of the hallway, peeking around the corner and watching the door nervously. He relaxed immediately upon seeing Tony and trotted towards him, face etched with concern.
"I'm fine," Tony assured, cutting off the question before it could surface, "And I told you to run."
"I did," Leroy offered, unrepentant, "Sides, I couldn't just leave you behind."
"Sure you could" Tony countered firmly, "And next time, you will. Now come on. Let's figure out where the heck we are and how to get you home. Where do you live?"
"Stillwater," Leroy replied carelessly, "Why couldn't Harley see you?"
"I don't know," Tony admitted, "Maybe I am dead and your –wait. Did you say Stillwater? Leroy from Stillwater?"
"Yeah..." Leroy agreed dubiously, eyeing Tony questioningly.
"Leroy Jethro Gibbs, from Stillwater?"
"Hey!" Leroy exclaimed, stopping short, "How'd you know my name?"
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," Tony muttered, not swearing by the skin of his teeth, "This is great. Now I'm insane as well as dead."
Leroy took his hand and squeezed it. It was warm, slightly sweaty, and very small within his own.
"I couldn't touch you if you were truly dead," Leroy pointed out, holding up their clasped hands for Tony's examination, "How did you know my name?"
"Because I know you," Tony replied, "Only you're much older. Much, much older. Like, mid-forties older."
"That is old," Leroy agreed, eyes wide. "Are we friends?"
"Sure," Tony returned, mind almost imploding with how surreal this was, "You're the best man I've ever met."
Leroy looked very pleased with that pronouncement.
"Maybe you time-travelled," Leroy suggested, "Or were abducted by aliens?"
"I don't have a phone booth," Tony dismissed light-heartedly. Unfortunately, that prime Dr. Who reference went right over little Leroy's head. Apparently total ignorance of popular culture was something that hadn't changed. Or wouldn't change. Whichever.
"What do you remember?" Leroy asked curiously.
Tony hesitated, not sure he should tell a child he'd been shot. In the end, he relented.
"I remember being hit by a bullet."
"Seriously?" Leroy breathed, awed.
"Yeah. Then I opened my eyes and I was here. Maybe I'm dreaming." Tony mused.
"But I can see you and I'm not dreaming," Leroy pointed out.
"You could be part of my dream," Tony argued.
"I feel pretty real," Leroy disputed uncertainly, "I'm fairly sure I'm not a dream."
"But if you were a dream, you would say that," Tony rebutted, unmoved. Leroy looked confused by such logic, unable to comprehend such massive concepts. Since he looked no more than seven, that was hardly unexpected.
"Don't worry about it," Tony dismissed with a sigh, seeing his expression, "It doesn't make a difference. Dream or not, I'm here for now and in this moment. While I am, I might as well be useful and help you."
"How'd you get shot anyway?" Leroy wondered, "Were you in a duel?"
"Sort of," Tony replied, grinning and imagining himself as a cowboy, "I'm a special agent."
Leroy looked at him blankly.
"A bit like James Bond," Tony elaborated, "Without being a spy. I work for NCIS. It's a little like the FBI, but with fewer idiots employed."
"Sounds cool," Leroy remarked, "Do you like it?"
"Best job I ever had."
Leroy looked thoughtful at that. Tony used his distraction to steer him out of the hotel and onto the street.
He knew at once that they weren't in Stillwater.
It was busier, far more polluted and filled with people. Tony looked around anxiously, trying to find a street sign, an address –anything. At the top of the street he found one: it read "W Pine Av". Which told Tony absolutely nothing.
"Where the hell are we?" Tony wondered aloud.
"I don't know," Leroy admitted, "I've never been here before."
Tony sighed and, looking up and down the street, made his way to the nearest bin. He peered in at the surface and, seeing nothing, grimaced and began rifling through it.
"What are you doing?" Leroy demanded, wrinkling his nose.
"Looking for –ahah! A newspaper,"
It was soggy, sticky and covered with god-knows-what, but it was legible.
"Why?" Leroy asked, incredulously.
"For this," Tony pointed, directing Leroy's attention to the title: "The Bloomsburg Daily".
"Tuesday?" Leroy read, anxious, "I've been missing two days!"
"Your dad must be worried sick," Tony muttered, "Still. We know where we are. Were in Bloomsburg... sound familiar?"
"I... I think so..." Leroy said slowly, brow furrowed, "I think there's an airport here."
"That's something," Tony consented, "It can't be too far from Stillwater if you've heard of it. Hopefully. We'll need to get a map."
"I don't have any money," Leroy observed.
"Harley's buying," Tony assured, hating the necessity of stealing but knowing there wasn't a way around it. Leroy looked delighted by the statement, which, oddly, just made Tony feel worse. He was a terrible influence.
"Should we buy a map first?" Leroy wondered, cocking his head thoughtfully.
"Rule 25," Tony began, half by habit, "Never buy anything you can get for free."
"More stealing?" Leroy asked and Tony was pleased that the boy at least looked uncertain by that.
"No," Tony countered, "Just loitering. We'll be able to find a street directory at a newsagency or a bookshop. Whichever one we come to first."
"Good idea," Leroy approved, looking impressed, "Left or right?"
"Er..." Tony stalled, because, really, when one didn't know where one was, things like that seemed rather pointless. "Left?"
"Why left?" Leroy asked as Tony began walking.
"Why not?" Tony countered, "It's as good a direction as any."
Leroy was not very reassured.
"How old are you anyway, Leroy?" Tony asked, changing the subject as abruptly as he could.
"I'm seven and a half," Leroy proclaimed proudly, puffing himself up self-importantly.
"Practically grown," Tony agreed, not bothering to hide his smile. Leroy beamed at him, apparently missing the humour.
"What's your name, anyway?" Leroy asked curiously, "You never said."
"It's Tony," Tony replied, "And try not to talk so loudly. People are staring."
Indeed, a woman standing at a bus stop not far from them was eyeing Leroy oddly. Considering that Tony couldn't be seen by anyone else, Tony could hardly blame her.
"Sorry," Leroy whispered, his voice soft but his manner no more inconspicuous than before. Tony sighed and rolled his eyes fondly.
"Oh look, a bookshop," Leroy pointed out, forgetting discretion all together to point eagerly a couple shops down. Tony face-palmed himself as the overt act garnered them yet more strange looks.
"Good job," he said instead, remembering why he planned to never have any children, "Let's have a look."
The bookshop was quiet and smelled strongly of paper and wood –a scent that reminded Tony rather forcefully of his father's study except for the absence of tobacco and alcohol. Aside for a few other customers, most of whom were female, the shop was barren and as such a small seven year old boy stood out like a sore thumb.
Tony, feeling more than a couple of eyes gazing in their direction, felt a pressing need to get the job done and get out. He wasn't McGee, however, and his expert navigation skills vanished completely once books were entered into the equation. As such, it took longer than Tony would have liked to find a street directory –to the point where Tony nearly had a mini panic attack worrying that bookstores didn't stock them.
Leroy flipped through the book with absolutely no method to his madness, apparently skimming at random. Pointedly, Tony took the book and flipped to the index, where he found W Pine Av and Stillwater, though the two were far enough apart that a lot of flipping back and forth was required.
"It's not too bad," Tony declared as he examined the pages, "Harley didn't take you far. We're only an hour or two out of Stillwater. He probably just hightailed it to the nearest city with an airport."
"I can be home in a couple of hours?" Leroy asked hopefully.
"If we had a car, sure," Tony returned, a touch wryly, "But we're going to have to do this the hard way so... probably double that."
"Oh," Leroy breathed, disheartened.
"Better than nothing," Tony consoled, a little awkwardly.
"I suppose," Leroy agreed listlessly, not looking very consoled.
"Come on," Tony coaxed, taking Leroy's hand and giving it a squeeze, "We'll never get anywhere hanging around here."
Not releasing Leroy's hand, he guided the child back onto the street and back up the road to the bus stop. The woman who had stared at them was gone (small mercies) so Tony took his time examining the timetable tacked up on the post.
"I've never wished for a laptop so badly," Tony bemoaned, "This is much easier when you can look up directions and transport on Google Maps."
"Google?" Leroy parroted bemusedly and, reminded once more of the year, Tony waved the question off.
"Bloomsburg Station is on here," Tony noted idly, "And I'm sure I've heard you mention something about a train station in Stillwater..."
"There is one," Leroy assured.
"We'll go there then," Tony decided, "Figure out the train details later."
"When's the next bus?" Leroy asked, peering at the timetable with the expression of one not able to make heads or tails of it. Checking his watch, Tony compared the time against those on the post.
"Seven minutes," Tony declared, "But really that means anything from ten to fifteen. Buses are never on time."
"Wish they had benches," Leroy grumbled, and Tony eyed him worriedly. Being drugged tended to suck so much because they continued to make you feel lethargic even after they'd worn off enough for you to wake. Worse still, the only cure for that was sleep –something Leroy wouldn't be getting for a while.
"But then you might fall asleep," Tony teased instead, wanting to keep Leroy distracted, "And I wouldn't be able to tell you all about your future self..."
"I'm not tired!" Leroy protested at once, perking up.
"Alright," Tony shrugged, overly casual, "What do you want to know?"
"Am I married? Do I have any kids? What am I like? What do I do? Do I still live in Stillwater? How long have you known me? Am I handsome? Am –"
"Woah!" Tony pretested, holding up his hands and grinning, "Slow down. This isn't a race so one question at a time."
"Sorry," Leroy chirped, not sounding sorry at all.
"Don't apologise, it's a sign of weakness," Tony parried reflexively.
"That another rule?" Leroy wondered curiously, "How many have you got?"
"Fifty-one at my last count," Tony returned, pausing to consider that, "Approximately. Some are more important than others."
"What's rule one?" Leroy asked.
"Er... 'Never let suspects stay together'," Tony remembered and, seeing Leroy's expression, explained, "They're not in order of importance. As that goes, number two is probably the most important."
"Which is...?" Leroy prompted.
"Never screw over your partner," Tony quoted, "Or is that one 'always wear gloves at a crime scene'?" realizing he was losing ground and getting off track, he quickly changed the subject, "But didn't you have some questions about your future?"
"Oh yeah," Leroy recalled, "Do I still live in Stillwater with my dad?"
"In your forties?" Tony laughed, "No, thank god. You live in D.C. these days. Same as me."
"What do I do? Am I a fireman?"
"No," Tony was forced to admit, smiling at the image of fireman Gibbs despite himself, "You're a Marine. You work with me at NCIS."
"Oh," Leroy muttered, considering that, "That could be cool."
"It is sometimes," Tony freely agreed, not mentioning the days where it seemed to suck out your soul, "You watch my six –my back."
"We partners?" Leroy wondered.
"As a matter of fact, you're my boss," Tony corrected, laughing lightly at the awed look that confession produced, "That's right, you get to order me around all day."
"Am I a good boss?" Leroy wanted to know.
"The best," Tony assured him honestly, "And the best man I've ever met. Stubborn as hell though."
Leroy grinned at that, clearing taking it as a compliment. He would, Tony couldn't help but think in fond exasperation.
"We been working together long?"
"Over six year now," Tony returned, feeling amazed all over again. It was three times as long as he'd lasted anywhere else, "And here's our bus. A full four minutes late, of course."
The buss ground to a stop with a sharp screech and, with a hiss, the doors slid open. It was, of course, older than any of the buses Tony was used to catching and looked liable to fall apart at any moment –which made Tony very apprehensive about boarding it.
"Two tickets to Bloomsburg train station please," Leroy requested politely.
The driver, an elderly man whose nametag read 'Ian', eyed Leroy curiously.
"Who's the second ticket for?" he wondered.
Tony was having another face-palm moment.
"My friend Emily," Leroy covered at once, making his eyes as round as possible, "She's my bestest friend in the whole wide world and follows me everywhere. Doesn't she need a ticket?"
The bus driver softened, assuming that 'Emily' was Leroy's imaginary friend. Tony was meanwhile trying to suppress any annoyance he felt for being turned into a little girl... with mixed success.
"Best friends ride free today," he assured the child with a wink, "That'll be eighty cents."
"Wow, thanks," Leroy returned earnestly, "Come on Emily."
"I'll show you Emily," Tony grumbled, not at all taken in by Leroy's false innocence but following Leroy to the back of the bus obediently, "Just you wait."
Leroy grinned at him and scooted into his seat. Tony turned away to hide his smile and instead gave the bus a quick once-over. It was practically empty and none of the passengers looked particularly threatening but Tony examined them all carefully regardless, determined to be vigilant.
Leroy –sweet, innocent, only seven years old –was more interested in watching the scenery (if you could call it that) rush by.
*~*~*~*~*
TBC...
*~*~*~*~*
Note: Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? Should I abandon all hope? Let me know.