Perspective
Half an hour later Tony wearily carried his new friend into the House of Gibbs.
Tim followed behind and left the diaper bag and car seat after promising to return as soon as he could.
The baby was exhausted, both emotionally and physically. He had spent the drive clutching Tony over the car seat restraints, desperate to get out and back into the safety of the agent's arms.
Tony made his way into the kitchen and pulled out the orange juice, then poured some into a coffee cup and helped the baby to drink. He gulped the liquid greedily, and Tony filled the cup again and let him drink until he seemed satisfied.
Checking the refrigerator again, he found the leftover butterscotch pudding Gibbs, Abby, and he had eaten for dessert the night before.
The baby polished off the remainder and then gave Tony a small grin, showing off several tiny teeth. A replica of his mother, his blond hair curled over his cherubic face, and his brown eyes regarded Tony thoughtfully.
The agent grinned back, and used his forefinger to wipe the remains of pudding off of the little one's chin. "You are one little survivor, butterscotch baby. You remind me of one of my all time favorite movie supermen, Bond- James Bond!"
The last part was uttered so dramatically that the child laughed out loud.
Delighted at the unexpected response, Tony pointed at him. "Come on, Bond, James Bond! I have to change out of this shirt, and we need to see about cleaning you."
The baby giggled again and Tony slipped him onto his shoulders. Grabbing the diaper bag, he jogged them upstairs, where he swung the little one onto his bed. The baby immediately flipped over, laughing delightedly.
Tony began rummaging through the bag. "A diaper bag hides a great spy's secret arsenal, as we well know. Aha, Bond, look here at the clean diapers packed for your comfort! Ooh, some disguises, too, have found their way inside, shirts and shorts and pajamas. Let's slide you in the bathtub and return you to your stunning, debonair self."
The baby stood and threw himself at Tony, who grabbed him and tickled him softly.
Finally he set the boy on the floor and spoke seriously. "Hold on, James Bond. My shirt is absolutely filthy, but I can not leave you to shower right now. We'll simply have to wait for reinforcements. Let's just settle for getting my shirt changed, and then we'll get you bathed and devilishly handsome so that we match. How about that?"
A minute later he sported a clean shirt and left the blood stained one he had discarded on top of the dresser. He wasn't positive if it would need to be tested for evidence. Carrying the baby, he set him down in the bathroom he and Abby shared, and as he filled the tub he chatted with his content listener. "Take a look at all these potions Abby has at the tub, girly girl shampoos and body wash. It's unbelievable, isn't it, Bond?"
The baby took both hands and grabbed Tony's cheeks, then planted a slobbery kiss on him.
That stopped the agent short, and he immediately wrapped his arms protectively around his visitor and held him against him. Finally he pulled back to order, "Bond, James Bond, your mission is bathtime!"
He sat on the floor by the tub and hurriedly bathed and shampooed his visitor, narrating the activity with rundowns of plots from Bond movies. The baby proved cooperative, and after the bath Tony bundled him into a clean towel and dressed him in a red shirt and red and white striped overall shorts.
Tony placed the child on the bed and lay beside him, rubbing his small back and running his hand through his blond curls. He spoke soothingly, a combination of chitchat about James Bond and lines from nursery rhymes. Within a couple of minutes the baby lay sound asleep, dry, clean, full, and with his thumb jammed in his mouth.
Tony waited a couple of minutes before leaving him to straighten the bathroom. He stretched tiredly. It had been both a physically and an emotionally exhausting day.
Returning to check the baby, he lined his bed with pillows to make sure the tyke did not fall off the bed when he woke.
Ten minutes later Gibbs entered the house, and Tony had barely clued him in on the baby's welfare before Ducky and Tim followed. The men gathered in the living room and compared notes.
Ducky drank tea, and Gibbs swilled cups of coffee.
Dowdy had already confessed to the afternoon bomb in his home, the murder of his wife, and plotting to blow up two federal buildings. He had definitely suffered a break with reality, and had been admitted to the mental part of the hospital under armed guard.
The bell rang forty minutes later and Ducky got up to admit Ilena Corbin, a Department of Family and Childrens' Services (DFACS) social worker. She and the NCIS team had encountered each other a few times over the years, usually as she dealt with the offspring of naval service people.
She accepted the cup of coffee Gibbs offered and then sat down to add to what information they had procured.
The baby, she revealed, did not belong to Joey Dowdy. His deceased mother, Adriana, had hooked up with Dowdy when the child was a newborn. His biological father had been killed in an automobile accident the day after he and Adriana discovered they were to be parents.
Ducky nodded in sympathy. "Is there no other family?"
"None here in the States," Ilena replied. "However, we have some sketchy information that mom's sister and brother- in- law both serve as active military. I understand that NCIS is trying to locate them now, right?" she questioned Gibbs.
He nodded.
"So, until then, we will put the little guy in foster care. I have a home ready for him this afternoon. That was no easy feat to arrange, considering this is Friday."
All eyes turned to Tony, who obviously had been taken by surprise that she planned to walk away with the child.
"What's the rush on taking him?" He regarded her with surprise as he perched on the edge of the sofa arm.
"Silas- that's the child's name, Silas Simons, needs someone experienced in toddlers looking after him. He's…." She broke off to check a little notebook in her purse. "He is all of sixteen months old."
The front door opening and then slamming interrupted them, and Abby skidded into the room.
She made a beeline for Tony, throwing her pocketbook on the sofa as she grabbed him. "Hey, are you okay? It scared me to death when I heard you and Timmy were nearly annihilated! Where's that baby you saved from death?"
A sudden yelp from upstairs froze them into silence, but then heartbreaking shrieks followed. The frightened toddler screamed desperately for Tony, "Bond! Bond! Come here, Bond!"
Tony nearly knocked the side table over as he sprinted from the room and up the stairs. Despite his haste, Silas had made it nearly to the landing.
Spying his friend, he stretched out a tiny hand and motioned Tony to him, relief evident as he absorbed the man's appearance. The agent swung him up and held him tightly against him, then pushed him back a bit to wipe some of the tears from the tiny face.
"Stay, Bond," whimpered the baby, resting his head against the agent's chest.
"I will," the man promised, tightening his embrace around the little body. "I am here with you."
Tony carried him down the steps and Abby rushed to take him when they reached the ground floor. The baby tightened his grip and frowning, announced defiantly, "Bond only, Bond only!"
Understanding, Abby nodded and stepped back, and Tony repositioned the child, then wiped his eyes and pointed at the Goth.
"Abby, meet Bond, James Bond," he invited, and the baby laughed softly.
Smiling, she carefully approached and caressed the blond curls, "Spanish blond-"
"James Bond, not Spanish blond," Tony corrected as he led them into the living room.
Abby laughed, touching one of the downy soft curls again. "No, silly, Spanish blond is when someone has blond hair and brown eyes, like James Bond, here."
Tony held the baby at arm's length and raised his eyebrows as he consulted him, "Well, what about that, Bond?"