Fragments: After the Fall (Tony)

By Jaz

A/N: - Here, as I sorta promised, is a look at after the episode from Tony's POV. Unfortunately, Tony being Tony, he was rather reluctant to share his thoughts with me. Hope you all enjoy it anyway.

~0~

Tony's thumb unconsciously tapped out a rhythm against the steering wheel in time with the music coming from the radio. He wasn't really listening to the song, but the energy in his system needed to bleed off somewhere, and being stuck in traffic meant he couldn't hit the bag or go for a run. Though it seemed like running to his destination might be faster, and it was only with great restraint that he kept himself from laying a hand on the horn, an action that would prove both futile and annoying.

He had no doubt that if Gibbs were here, he'd have found a way around the traffic by now, and though Tony had picked up plenty in the years he'd been Gibbs' Padawan learner, he had no desire to emulate the other man's driving skills. And they were skills, despite the haphazard and often reckless appearance. It had only taken Tony a week or two back in the beginning to place his ultimate faith in Gibbs, even in his driving, and these days, it wasn't unusual to find him nodding off as Gibbs drove them to whatever crime scene they were heading to at the time, something that tended to drive McGee just a little bit nuts. A definite side benefit.

That ultimate faith had taken just a bit of a hit when he and Ziva had returned from Paris to find that their fearless leader had managed to land himself in the Emergency Department. And while it was true that Tony seemed a little more prone to injuries on the job than most, especially concussions, he hardly held the market on them. No matter how you looked at it, what Gibbs had done was stupid. He should've known better than to stand in the path of an oncoming car when the driver had nothing to lose. Because no matter how much Tony might wish it to be true, he knew his team leader was not immortal.

He couldn't help but feel that things would have been different if he hadn't been stuck on that plane with Ziva and their witness. Even if Gibbs still thought of himself as an island, a big, bad marine that nobody would mess with, Tony knew everything just worked better if he had his boss's six. Yeah, the Probie had come a long way in the last few years, but apparently, he didn't have what it took after all. Because this never would have happened on Tony's watch.

He could well imagine the scene as McGee had described it to him, picturing Gibbs and McGee firing away until the last second when Gibbs pushed Tim out of the way. It didn't even take much effort to imagine his boss rolling up onto the hood of the car, to hear the sickening thud of human flesh hitting uncompromising metal. It was not a happy thought, and Tony felt his jaw clench before he let out a breath purposefully, as if to push away the anger. Anger at himself for not being there, anger at McGee for not being smarter or quicker, anger at Gibbs for needing to be the hero once again, and just because he believed in equal opportunity, anger at Ziva. He wasn't sure why, exactly, but he felt pretty confident he could come up with something.

Tony worked on redirecting his thoughts as he lifted a hand and gingerly touched the area along his jaw that had recently come up close and personal with the lovely flight attendant-slash-hired gun's right foot. It smarted a little, but not much, and he allowed a small, dark grin. Definitely not a concussion-worthy kick, but it gave him the excuse he'd needed to step aside and let the little Israeli ninja chick come in and show off her stuff. Ziva lived for hand-to-hand combat and all but shoved Tony out of the way whenever a fight with a suspect broke out. In this case, Tony didn't mind. Never much liked hitting a woman anyway.

He saw a break in the traffic ahead, and switched lanes in an attempt to bypass the tractor-trailer he'd been stuck behind for the last twenty minutes. He'd elected himself to be the one to check on Gibbs once Ducky had come up to the bullpen and announced that the team leader wouldn't be returning to NCIS headquarters since he was tied up at the hospital. Funny, Gibbs had neglected to mention his injury when Tony had touched base with him once the plane had landed. Tony had managed to get the story out of McGee in between the younger agent's stops along the porcelain bus route – nothing like nearly killing the boss to make the head pain just that much worse, and Tony had almost felt a pang of sympathy. Almost.

The ringing of his cell phone pulled him out of his thoughts momentarily, and he checked the caller ID, smiling to himself as he reached in the ashtray for his Bluetooth and pushed it into his ear, pressing the button.

"Hey, Jack," he offered as a greeting.

"Tony! 'Bout time you picked up. Wasn't sure I'd get through to you – been trying to reach you for a while now."

"Sorry about that. Just got off a plane." He didn't offer any further explanation, surprised as always by the idea that the older man cared enough to call him about once a week. The feeling was more than mutual, and Tony made sure to check in with Jackson if it went too long between calls. This friendship he'd developed with Gibbs' father was unorthodox, to say the least, but Tony didn't have so many people in his life to count on that he was willing to sacrifice any. The fact that two of them at the top of his list came from the same family tree surely said something, but he was too tired and wound up at the moment to determine what. The sigh he tried to hold back was apparently louder than he thought.

"You sound beat. Everything okay?"

"Yeah, it's nothing, Jack. Just a long day. Long couple of days."

"What's my son gotten you into this time?" Jack asked knowingly.

Tony gave a genuine laugh. "Actually, he sent me to Paris. I should remember to thank him."

"Paris? You just getting back now?"

"A few hours ago. I think. Actually, I'm not even sure what day it is. What day is it?"

"Tuesday," Jack chuckled. "Got a little jetlag going?"

"Something like that," Tony agreed, not willing to admit it might have more to do with his head having been recently used for a kickboxing dummy. "So, to what do I own the pleasure of your call? Or are you just checking up on me again? I told you I'd get that sweater back to you eventually," he joked. He heard the other man huff out a laugh.

"And I told you I didn't want it back. Looks a lot better on you anyway. Listen, I'm not sure you can help me, Tony, if you just got into town. I'm trying to find Leroy, and he's not answering his phone. Again."

"And that surprises you?" Tony asked lightly.

This time there was no answering laugh. "No, it doesn't surprise me, but . . . something's not right. Not sure what, and I sure as hell can't explain it, but I can tell, just the same. Have you heard anything? Something happen to my boy that he's not telling me about?"

Tony slowed for the upcoming intersection as the light ahead went yellow, taking the time to think out his response. It wasn't really his place to tell the elder Gibbs what was going on with his son, but he could hear the obvious worry in the voice on the other end of the phone, and knew he'd have to at least give him the short version. "Gibbs is fine, Jack. I just spoke to him less than an hour ago. We've been working a case."

"Nothing new there," Jack grumbled, and Tony smiled at how much he sounded like his son. "Still, I had a bad feeling, and then, when Leroy didn't answer and didn't call me back . . ." he paused, and Tony could almost hear the wheels turning on the other end. "Something you're not telling me, DiNozzo?"

Tony sighed, and wondered briefly if interrogation was a skill that had been spliced into the Gibbs' gene pool. Something about that tone of voice made him just want to spill everything. "He really is fine. Yeah, there was a little – incident – while he was chasing down a suspect, and it earned him a trip to the ER, but he was treated and released. Nothing worse than a dislocated shoulder. I'm on my way to check up on him now."

He heard the silence coming through the cell phone and waited, wondering if Jackson was going to pump him for more details. He really thought those would be better coming from Gibbs, if only the agent could be counted on to actually talk to his father. Some days his team leader was even less functional as a mute than others, and they often seemed to occur whenever the other man's father was part of the equation.

Though the senior Gibbs was considerably more verbose, it seemed he was willing to let things go tonight, and Tony was glad there were no more questions. He was more than surprised by the words that came.

"You're a good boy, Tony, you know that? Don't ever let my son tell you different."

Tony smiled uncertainly, glad no one else was with him in the car to see the blush creeping up his neck. Compliments weren't something he had a lot of experience in – he still didn't quite know how to handle them.

Apparently Jack was aware of that, because he brushed right over the silence that had followed his remark. "You tell Leroy to give me a call, you hear? Soon as he's feeling up to it?"

Tony made the promise to pass the message along, and Jack chuckled again, knowing as Tony did that to promise his son would call might very well be lying. "That's the best I can ask for you to do. Thanks, Tony. And you get some sleep, young man. You take care of yourself, you hear?"

Tony's smile grew. The simple admonishment was a reminder that the older man cared, and that was something the young agent would never take for granted. "Always, Jack. Talk to you soon."

"I'll hold you to that," Jack replied before disconnecting the line.

By the time DiNozzo pulled his car to the curb in front of Gibbs' house fifteen minutes later, whatever warm feelings he'd had as a result of Jack's call had dissipated. The anger had returned, and seemed to have taken a firmer hold, and while he would have liked to say he didn't know where it was coming from, there was no point in lying to himself. He turned off the car and sat for a few minutes, pulling in several deep breaths. It was time to get his game face on. Gibbs didn't need to know what was going on in Tony's head.

He hopped out of the car and was halfway up the driveway before he turned back, grabbing the nearly forgotten white bag off the front passenger seat. He made his way into the unlocked house, toeing off his shoes by the front door, and peeling off his jacket, which he laid over the chair. Tossing the bag at Gibbs, he took in the scene, noticing the steak cooling on the coffee table, the older man sitting back against the couch, his arm in a sling and lines of pain etched on his features.

Tony's stomach gave a rumble at the sight of the steak, and he realized how hungry he was. Airline food was a misnomer if he'd ever heard one. He pulled out his knife and began cutting away, making some smart remark to ease Gibbs' embarrassment over not being able to do it himself. He refused to acknowledge the sense of déjà vu that came over him as he recalled the last time he'd eaten a meal with his boss, and the conversation that had occurred that night.

Gibbs, as expected, did little to make the younger man feel welcome, but Tony smiled inwardly at that. It was all part of the little game they played, and both of them were comfortable with their roles. Changing things now would upset the balance, and neither wanted that. He commented that he'd been the one elected to check on their injured leader, with no intention of letting the other man know he nearly had to beat Abby and Ducky off with a stick to keep them from taking Tony's place. And it was his place, he thought childishly. Taking care of Gibbs was part of his job description, and he took it seriously. Hell, he'd let him out of his sight for two days, and look what happened.

He knew better than to share that thought aloud.

He took the time to fill Gibbs in on the wrap up of the case over the half of the meal he'd helped himself to, injecting the report with just enough humor to make it a DiNozzo special, working hard to keep his anger over the situation from showing. It helped to see that Gibbs was going to be fine. He told himself that repeatedly as he went over the inane details, but he wasn't honestly sure it was helping. Seeing Gibbs sitting there when he'd first come in, staring blankly at a steak he couldn't cut, had rankled with Tony. Gibbs wasn't supposed to be – well, weak. And though Tony knew he wasn't, not really, anyway, it was too much of a reminder for him of how much he'd come to rely on the older man.

And God forbid, but the day might come when Gibbs wouldn't be here, and Tony sure as hell didn't want to be reminded of that.

The time Gibbs had left them all for Mexico had been sheer hell. Tony had done everything he could to keep it all together for the team, his team, the ones who had been left behind. For Abby and McGee and Ducky and Ziva, who were all hurting more than they could deal with over the departure of the great Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Who let Tony know in no uncertain terms that he wasn't Gibbs, and that no matter how hard he tried, he'd never live up, never be able to be to them what Gibbs was. And even though that knowledge had hurt more than he'd ever admit, he'd still done his best by them, given them everything he had just to keep them all from falling apart.

And if he gone home alone late each night to his empty apartment and quietly come apart at the seams - well, he was the only one who had to know about that.

He never wanted to go through that again.

He knew something had shown on his face at that thought, but he quickly worked to reassume the neutral mask he'd been wearing, hoping that Gibbs hadn't noticed, but not really fooling himself into believing it. He asked about the shoulder, and was momentarily surprised when Gibbs returned the question about his head. He should have known someone would fill in the agent on DiNozzo's minor injury. Gibbs liked to know whenever something happened to one of the members of his team, and he seemed to take what some might consider a very un-Gibbs-like interest in the health and well-being of all his agents. Perhaps DiNozzo most of all, though maybe it was just because Tony had earned the most frequent-flyer miles at Bethesda. Tony smiled when Gibbs' concern morphed into an unspoken acknowledgement of his tendency to allow Ziva to handle the cat-fighting, and he relaxed somewhat in the knowledge that the other man felt the same.

He sat up on the front edge of the armchair, his knee absently bouncing and his hands having a hard time keeping still. He rolled the beer bottle back and forth between his palms, mindless of the way that the liquid was sloshing around inside, and did his best to look anywhere at Gibbs, knowing it wouldn't take much before Gibbs zoomed in on his agitation.

He was right, of course, and the question from Gibbs was hardly a surprise.

"You want to tell me what's on your mind?"

The question drew Tony's eyes up sharply, and he fought with himself briefly, debating the wisdom of sharing what was currently churning around in the depths of his thoughts. The internal debate lasted only a few seconds, before the question he'd been dying to ask could no longer be denied, and he put the beer on the table with more force than necessary.

"What the hell were you thinking?" There was no finesse to the question, no attempt to hide the anger he'd been dealing with for the last few hours. He could see he'd surprised the older man.

"When, exactly?" Gibbs asked.

Tony all but threw up his hands in exasperation. "When you stood in front of a moving vehicle, thinking that would be enough to deter an escaping felon! Haven't you figured out yet that you're not infallible?" He bit his lower lip to keep himself from saying anything more than that. He'd already let slip more than he intended. He could see Gibbs was not happy with the implied accusation.

"Never said I was, DiNozzo," Gibbs grumbled, annoyed.

He'd never had to say it. "Aren't you the one who always says 'actions speak louder than words'?" Tony clamped down on the part of him that wanted Gibbs to answer that yes, he was infallible. That something as stupid as a car wouldn't be enough to take the former marine down. That he would be there, when the team needed him. When Tony needed him.

Gibbs eyes narrowed, not at all happy to have to be defending himself to the younger man. "The guy would have plowed McGee down in a heartbeat if I hadn't pushed him out of the way."

"McGee never would have been standing there if he hadn't taken his cue from you!"

Tony bristled at the amusement that shown in Gibbs' eyes as the other man made some comment about it not being a big deal, and it was all he could do not to reach over and throttle him by the throat. He took a deep breath, then another, as he tried to calm himself from the near shouting he'd been doing. He looked away, remaining silent, working to put his thoughts into words. He finally looked back at Gibbs.

"You don't get it, do you?" he said quietly.

"Get what?"

"That it makes a difference whether you're here or not. That we need you around. The team, I mean. Abby, Ducky, McGee, Ziva – we all take our cues from you. And if something happens, and you're not there . . ." Tony held back the words 'when I should have been watching your back.' The guilt from that, however misplaced, wasn't letting go of him easily.

"If something happens and I'm not there," Gibbs jumped in, "then you'll step in and lead. Just the way I've taught you to. Just the way you've already shown you can."

The quiet confidence acted as a balm to Tony's tired soul. The words meant more than they should, because of whom they came from. He'd spent years trying to live up to the standards Gibbs set, always afraid of failure, of not measuring up, of disappointing the one man whose good opinion meant everything to him. To know Gibbs felt he was ready and able to step in did wonders to reaffirm his fragile sense of self-worth. Still, though . . .

"And if I don't want to?" He had to ask. Had to know.

Gibbs' returning gaze was steady, holding Tony captive in the strength of his belief. "You'll do it anyway. Because that's who you are. That's who we are. It's where we belong." Gibbs paused for a moment, a half smile curving his lips. "And I know you'll do a hell of a job."

Those words were ones Tony lived for. He could admit that. Hearing them now was better than all the 'atta-boys' he'd received to date, and he felt the tension that had been inside him start to fade.

Gibbs thought he could do it. And Gibbs was never wrong.

He was pretty damn sure nothing else really mattered.

He gave a token protest anyway. "Still don't want to," he said, smiling when Gibbs laughed.

"Good. Because I'm not planning on going anywhere anyway," the older man replied, still holding his gaze. "Deal?"

Tony stared back at him, nodding. Life didn't come with any guarantees. He'd learned that the hard way, over and over again. He couldn't really ask for more than what Gibbs was offering. And it was a pretty good deal, when he thought about it. Feeling more relaxed now than he had since he'd first set foot aboard the flight to Paris, he leaned back and folded his arms behind his head.

The conversation he hadn't wanted to have had gone better than he expected. He could be thankful for that. And though it was still fairly early, he'd already made up his mind to stick around tonight. Gibbs' couch was more than comfortable enough, and the pillow was already there and waiting. It might take a little finagling, but he was pretty sure he could help out enough when the time came for the older man to head to bed.

Tony frowned momentarily, remembering something. Unpleasant though the thought may be, all he had to do now was break the news to Gibbs about Jack's call. He had no doubt the other man might be a trifle upset over what he would see as Tony's meddling, but he gave a little grin anyway.

Maybe Gibbs in a sling wasn't such a bad thing after all.