NOTE: Thanks to everyone for your feedback and support. Glad you like the take charge Tony in the last chapter. This chapter is from Gibbs' point of view.
The late June air was thick, heavy, and still. According to the nasally voiced female news anchor on the radio, a line of powerful thunderstorms was fast approaching and was projected to hit the D.C. metro area and surrounding suburbs within the next two hours. A pair of staff meteorologists was brought in to educate the populace on storm track models, wind velocities, dew points, inflow, outflow, and bow echoes showing up on Doppler radar.
Gibbs tuned out most of the banal chit-chat but snorted at the rather dramatic announcement that "the National Weather Service had just upgraded the current severe thunderstorm watch for southern Fairfax County and the D.C. metro area to a tornado watch". Thunderstorms were common this time of year, often reaching severe status with high winds, heavy rain, and hail, so he didn't pay much attention to the meteorologists' ominous warning to be prepared for the worst and to know when to immediately seek shelter.
"Yeah, no shit," he muttered before turning the knob on the dash to silence the grating voices running down their bullet point list of 'dos and don'ts' during severe weather.
The windshield wipers beat out a steady tempo keeping his field of vision clear from the light steady rain that had begun to fall. Gibbs slowed to only slightly over the posted speed limit as he navigated the all too familiar streets that would lead him home. Home. In truth, the roads would lead him to a two story suburban Alexandria, Virginia house, which he hadn't considered a home for the better part of twenty years. No longer full of love and a child's laughter, it was just the place where his mail was delivered and where he slept - alone.
Each attempt to recapture the idea of home and family had failed spectacularly. Cheap copies of Shannon paraded through his life over the years, some sticking around longer than others, but none of them ever found a place in his heart. He had tried to move on, to start over and live again, but all he could manage was to go through the motions. Three failed marriages were proof enough that he wasn't ready or willing to give his heart to anyone - until now.
Aside from Jackson, the only people Gibbs thought of as family were Tony, McGee, Ziva, Abby, Ducky, and even to some degree, Jimmy Palmer. The last time he had seen any of his blood relatives was at Shannon and Kelly's funeral. Those that bothered to show up to pay their respects were little comfort to him then, and he didn't give any of them much thought now. Jackson kept him apprised of any family news he caught wind of, but Gibbs really wasn't interested. Each member of his dysfunctional NCIS family meant more to him than any of his aunts, uncles, or cousins ever did.
His true home, or so he wished and frequently fantasized, was miles away in the form of his gorgeous Italian Senior Field Agent. When he began developing more than platonic feelings for the interminably annoying, womanizing former frat boy, Gibbs could not say. It could have been when Tony came dangerously close to dying after contracting pneumonic plague, or perhaps it was more recently when a very attractive young FBI agent turned his non-too subtle attention to him during a charity FBI/NCIS flag football game.
Tony was a master at the art of flirting and gave as good as he got, but it was the provocative way Agent Ty Mills sidled up to him that sparked Gibbs' jealousy. Over a few pitchers of beer courtesy of the losing FBI team, Gibbs sat across the table and paid close attention to Mills, whose eyes rarely left Tony and whose chair crept ever closer to him. Tony's only reaction to the invasion of his personal space was a polite smile. If Tony had any interest in Mills, he gave nothing away.
It wasn't until the following Monday morning at work after some sibling-like teasing from McGee about the folded napkin he saw Mills stuff into Tony's track suit jacket pocket that Tony fessed up.
"Well yeah, of course it's flattering when someone slips you their phone number McNosy, but he's not exactly my type," Tony declared, hazarding a glance across the bullpen to find Gibbs staring at him.
Gibbs had never considered the possibility that Tony might be anything other than straight, if the stories of his conquests were to be believed, so he wasn't sure what to make of the pointed look and subtle smile directed at him. Gibbs couldn't help but wonder if he had given off a possesive vibe at the bar.
Almost from the day they first met, Tony had seamlessly insinuated himself into Gibbs' life. Probably not intentionally, but since Tony started working under him their relationship seemed to be in a constant state of flux. There was a certain symmetry and sense of co-dependency in play that had never truly been defined. Were they simply respected boss and competent subordinate, mentor and student, friends and trusted colleagues, or was there something more to be discovered? Gibbs wanted and needed to know, and he suddenly felt hopeful.
Over the last few months, they had started spending more and more time together outside of work. What had started innocently enough as Supervisory Agent meeting with Senior Field Agent to discuss ways to make their well-rounded team even better opened the door to opportunities to really get to know the man, the loyal Saint Bernard who had been by his side and on his six for a decade. Like everything with Gibbs, it started out hesitant and cautious with absolutely no expectations.
Invitations by Gibbs to stop by for cowboy-style steaks became more frequent as did Tony showing up at semi-regular intervals with either a cold six-pack or a pizza, or sometimes both, in hand ostensibly to watch a football or baseball game with him. One Friday afternoon, Gibbs made a comment about spending his first weekend off in ages doing much needed yardwork, which resulted in Tony showing up Saturday morning, armed with a box of assorted donuts and a large thermos of gourmet dark roast coffee, to offer his services.
With no idea what the younger man was thinking or feeling about the gradual shift in their relationship, Gibbs wisely chose to tread carefully. He wanted to be damn sure where he stood before risking the most important relationship, if one dared call it that, in his otherwise lonely life. Overstepping or misreading any subtle tells and cryptic signals could lead to disaster, a risk Gibbs wasn't sure he could take. If Tony was meant to be nothing more than his most trusted friend, so be it. He would hate it, but he would learn to live with it.
To Gibbs, Tony had always been an enigma; a walking, talking totally unique jumble of contradiction. He could shift from behaving like a sophomoric adolescent to extremely competent investigator within the span of seconds. His playful, prankster, movie quoting persona could be, and often was, extremely irritating yet proved to be a very effective training tool.
After years of being subjected to Tony's harmless though often demeaning form of hazing, McGee had finally grown a backbone and began to assert himself. Getting one over on his annoying superior ranking teammate, while earning a rare "atta boy" from the Boss for being the one to uncover the big case-breaking clue, gave McGee a much needed confidence boost. Tony's unique brand of training wasn't lost on Gibbs, either. Intentional or not, Tony earned each and every head slap, but the tiny hint of a Cheshire cat grin on his face when McGee scored a win told Gibbs everything. More times than not, McGee only broke the case after Tony artfully led him right to the missing piece of the puzzle.
Ziva was a tougher nut to crack, so competent Tony took over to mentor her and build her skills as an investigator. It took a few years of patient guidance to help her see things as a cop instead of as a Mossad-trained ninja assassin. When the situation called for it, Tony happily let her do the heavy lifting when her Kidon skills were needed. He knew she was tough and positively lethal with or without an arsenal of weapons at her disposal, but he saw so much more. She was both beautiful and intelligent, which often caused suspects to underestimate her. Tony pushed and coached her to trust her instincts, to read between the lines, and to always look past the obvious. She proved to be a quick study.
Pulling into the garage, Gibbs switched off the ignition and listened to the cooling tick of the Challenger's engine. He pressed the button of the garage door opener attached to the visor, closed his eyes, and sighed tiredly. His gut was in knots, but he couldn't pinpoint exactly why. Climbing out of the car he decided that barring Tony having a last minute change of heart, tonight would be a good night to lose himself in his unconventional method of meditation - sanding the newly constructed hull of the boat.
The first order of business when he walked into kitchen from the garage was to start a pot of coffee. Bourbon, boat and basement normally went together, but his churning gut told him he needed to be alert and not numbed by booze. He made his way through the dining room and living room in the relative darkness of the stormy late afternoon while the coffee brewed and headed up the stairs to change his clothes.
Brilliant flashes of lightning followed by loud rumbles of thunder in the distance signaled the impending arrival of the thunderstorm as Gibbs changed into a beat up pair of cut off jean shorts and a faded paint and varnish stained t-shirt. Crew-length socks and a pair of Timberland boots completed the ensemble. He chuckled as he tied the boot laces. The first time Tony had seen him decked out in his standard woodworking gear, he declared Gibbs to be a "walking fashion disaster."
Thermal travel mug in hand, Gibbs flipped the switch on the wall and sipped his hot, black as tar coffee as he descended the stairs. A few bare 75-watt light bulbs screwed into bases affixed to the overhead floor joists cast plenty of light without being harsh or glaring. Strictly out of habit, he switched on the old 13-inch black and white TV he kept on a shelf across the room from his workbench. He was greeted by the opening applause of a studio audience to a Doctor Somebody he had never heard of. The TV was just there as background noise until the local evening news came on.
Running his hand over the newly placed boards Gibbs determined that 80-grit sandpaper was in order. The feel of the bare virgin wood under his bare hand immediately grounded him. His careful and reverent examination was tantamount to caressing a new lover for the first time. Each knot and imperfection in the grain was a unique characteristic that he could shape and tame with his skilled hands.
His earlier thoughts faded away as he became in tune with the wood while he sanded. Beads of sweat began to form on his brow as he became soley focused on the task at hand. His muscles rippled and danced beneath the thin cotton of his shirt, which began sticking to his sweaty chest and back. Except for being caught in the throes of making almost animalistic passionate love, there was no better workout in the world.
Gibbs ignored the increasing flashes of lightning and shorter intervals before the thunder followed as he concentrated on one board that seemed unwilling to bend to his will. The TV signal was lost a few times after particularly intense flashes of lightning, but that was nothing new. The old Quasar had long outlived its life expectancy, but it normally took only a swift smack or two to the side and top to fix the vertical or horizontal hold when it acted up.
After making a second trip upstairs to refill his coffee, Gibbs wondered if he should call Tony but quickly dismissed the idea. As far as he knew Tony hadn't canceled their plans because of a date. Last he heard, according to Abby anyway, Tony had decided to take a break from dating. Maybe that was why he was showing up at his house more frequently, sitting on the stairs or on a dusty sawhorse, chatting about everything and nothing while he worked on the boat. Leaning back against the counter, Gibbs sighed and stared blankly at the floor as the storm continued to rage outside the window beside him. No, obviously Tony had other plans he didn't want to share, or maybe he just wanted a night to himself, or maybe, just maybe, Tony was just as confused about where things stood.
For a brief time, Gibbs had suspected that something was going on between Tony and Ziva. After their respective disastrous relationships with E.J. Barrett and Ray Cruz, it wouldn't have surprised him if they turned to each other for comfort. He didn't confront Tony or ask for confirmation. If there had been something going on, he didn't want to force Tony to lie to him about breaking Rule 12. Based on their stormy history and some lingering trust issues, Gibbs soon became fairly certain that nothing had developed romantically between them.
Lost in thought again as he pushed off of the counter on this way back to the basement, Gibbs failed to notice the decidedly eerie green hue the sky had taken on, or the angry looking clouds building to the southwest. He paused only for a second or two when the lights flickered before again descending the stairs leading down to his sanctuary.
A drop of sweat splashed onto the board Gibbs had been concentrating on sanding. He turned and placed the sanding block on the workbench then pulled a bandana from his pocket and wiped away the sweat threatening to trickle into his eyes. A sharp rapid 'ping ping' sound got his attention. Looking out the small basement windows he could see pea-sized hailstones bounce on the grass and leaves from the neighbor's maple tree blowing across the lawn.
Turning to the TV he saw a banner on the screen about a weather alert, but before the nearly panicked bleach blonde anchor began to speak the screen turned to snow and the sound to static. The usual couple of whacks on the top and side did nothing.
"Shit," Gibbs muttered when he felt a sudden change in air pressure, and heard much larger wind-driven hail stones bounce off the window panes and siding.
Moving to stand on the second from the bottom step he got his first good look out the small window at the tempest raging outside. The sky was a swirling mass of ominous gray-green that he hadn't seen in years. Tree limbs were stressed to the breaking point by straight line winds. The house creaked and groaned.
Suddenly fearing the worst, Gibbs grabbed the long slender Maglite flashlight from its charger mounted on the wall next to the workbench. No sooner had he switched it on, the lights dimmed, flickered a few times, then went out. The fierce wind and hail stopped and everything went oddly still. In the midst of the relative calm, the siren at the elementary school two blocks began to wail.
Hearing a distinct roar building in the distance off to the west, Gibbs pulled out his phone as he took shelter under the massive heavy structure of the boat. He flipped it open and pressed speed-dial 1 to call Tony's cell number. As he waited for the call to connect, he reached out and grabbed two old blankets that were piled in the nearby corner. After three rings the call went to voicemail, and the last words he heard before a loud sustained crash were a cheerfully chirped, "Hi! You've reached Very Special Agent Anthony Di...".