Four days after Tony's ungraceful fall from the plane landed him in an ankle cast and on sick leave, Gibbs reluctantly started back to work. Morrow had taken the team off rotation for a few days, and Gibbs had actually enjoyed the down-time, catching up on chores around the house and making sure his couch guest was entertained and out of trouble. In between, they'd watched some movies and stuffed themselves with take-out and beer. The day before, Gibbs had grilled some steaks, made popcorn, and amazed and surprised his SFA by making some really great chocolate chip cookies, which they'd polished off by the end of the day.
"Boss, I don't understand why I can't go in with you. I can sit at my desk and work, I swear I won't go anywhere but to the head and the breakroom."
"Ducky said a week. He meant it. I'm not gonna listen to him lecturing me all day about not following his orders. Tomorrow's the weekend already. If we don't catch a case, I'll be back to keep you company."
"Boss, it's not that, it's…I'm…I dunno, going nuts? Not that I don't appreciate your TLC, but-"
"Ya can't go out in the field, Tony, so what difference does it make if yer stuck here or stuck at your desk?"
"I don't know, Boss, it's just weird not being at work for so long."
"A couple more days, DiNozzo, you can suck it up for that much longer."
And Gibbs had gone to work and left him to his own devices, which worried him more than a little. It would be just like DiNozzo to call a cab and come into work against orders, or worse yet, get so antsy he did something really stupid like fall headfirst down the basement stairs on his way back to the plaid couch he'd spent a good share of the last few days on.
Gibbs checked his watch again, trying to occupy his worried brain by answering some of the dozens of emails that had somehow accumulated over the past few weeks. Damn. What did anyone have to tell him that was so important they couldn't just call him on the phone? Concentrating now on who to answer and who to delete without a second thought, it took him a few extra moments to realize someone was hovering in front of his desk.
"Yer actually answering email? Must be really slow in the old bullpen today. Awful quiet too, where's yer motor mouth?"
Fornell took a swig from his Styrofoam cup and waited for the indignant reply to erupt.
"Parked on his ass in the basement if he knows what's good for 'im."
"Ah, still confined to his couch. Bet that's gotten old in a big hurry."
"Too bad for him. Ducky's orders, not mine."
"You just left him home alone with a cast on his leg? Up and down the cellar stairs? Maybe you really aretrying to get rid of him. You could've just called me, I would've been happy to take him off your hands."
Fornell took another leisurely drag from the cup, waiting for the expected reaction.
"If you're waiting for me to get all bent 'cause yer tryin' to steal my second, just keep waiting."
"Not trying to steal anything from you, Jethro. Sayin' I'll go check on 'im, make sure he's not upside down somewhere. If he is, I'll let ya know."
Gibbs looked up at his friend, studying him.
"And if he isn't, you gonna tell 'im I sent ya to babysit 'im?"
"Nope. Gonna tell 'im he did good on his last assignment, maybe bring 'im some take-out or something."
Gibbs went back to his steady deleting. "Yeah, think he'd like that, Tobias, he's getting' pretty antsy the past couple days. Bet he'd like to see a new face for a change."
"Great. Now you can actually get some work done instead of watching the clock and keepin' that itchy finger off his speed dial number. Like I say, if he's fine, which I'm sure he is, you won't hear from me."
"Whataya filing this under for your day's assignment, Tobias? Inter-agency Visit a Shut-In Day?"
"Don't need to file it under anything, I've got the day off. See ya!"
. . . . .
When Fornell arrived at Gibbs's with bags in hand, he half-expected Tony to be out in the driveway shooting hoops with one crutch. As it was, the kid was standing at the sink doing up the breakfast dishes, wobbling precariously as he went from dishpan to dishwater to drying rack. Fornell announced himself, not wanting to startle the injured man, knocking on the dining room woodwork.
"Hey, DiNutso, boss know yer doin' such dangerous work?"
"Never told me I couldn't!" Tony replied smugly, drying his hands after racking the last mug and turning a beaming smile on for the older man. He genuinely liked Fornell, though in the MCRT bullpen, it often appeared differently. Then an awful thought suddenly appeared to him, wiping the smile from his face and giving it one of panic. "Wha–why're you here, is everybody okay?"
"Yeah, kid, everybody's fine. Sorry, didn't mean to scare ya, just had the day off, was out doing errands, figured I'd swing by and see if you needed anything."
"Oh, yeah, okay!" Tony gave a visible sigh of relief at Fornell's answer. "So what's in the bags?"
"Lunch, if ya want some. Brought stuff to make some fettuccine alfredo with broccoli. Loaf of bread, some oil, and some cream horns from the bakery near Todd."
He set the bags down on Gibbs's dining room table and Tony broke into a shit-eating grin at the man. "You tryin' to poach me, Toby? A little dinner and dessert and I'll hop into the Fibbie's nest of vipers?"
"DiNutso, I'm hurt!" Fornell stepped back theatrically, throwing a hand over his heart. "We are not a nest of vipers! Bears, maybe...and besides, you can't judge all of us by Agent Sacks, anymore than I can judge you guys by your boss. Now there's a grizzly if I ever sawone! And much as I think I'd like to have ya on my team to harass and abuse, I'd just as soon not have that grizzly bear after me for luring you out of his den."
"So you're just here to feed me."
"Got the day off, kinda bored, thought you might be, too. Thought after lunch we could catch the National's game. Think they're playin' the Marlins."
"Baseball? Yeah, sure, but-" He pointed to his right foot. "-not sure if you want to drag this along with ya. Might get crappy seats."
"We'll see. Let's eat lunch, then we'll take a ride to the stadium. And no eating the horns while I'm cookin' or I'll break yer arm to match yer leg."
"You sound like Gibbs, imagine that! Guys like you invented 'tough love', no doubt about it. The man doesn't know any other way."
Fornell turned to Tony, a serious look on his face. "He does the best he knows how, Anthony, especially with you."
"What's that supposed to mean, that I'm unteachable?"
Fornell saw the flash of doubt and anger across Tony's face and hurried to sooth the young man. "It means he works extra hard on you, Tonio, 'cause he wants the best for you, and knows you can be the best. He's never taken to any agent on his team like he has to you, you must knowthat! Not even Burley, and the guy lasted five years with him!"
He turned back to stir the alfredo sauce. "Burley was a good agent, and smart, that's why he lasted so long. But he didn't click with Gibbs like you do. Not sure why; let's just say it's surprising to most of us who know him. And even more so to Jethro. It scares him to be that attached to a kid again, he..."
"Again? I thought you said Burley-"
"Not Burley. Burley wasn't as young as you when he landed on Gibbs's doorstep."
"Oh. Kelly," Tony responded quietly. "I – I don't think you have to worry about that, I'm a long ways from what Kelly was to him."
"Hmm. Yeah, maybe."
"No maybe about it, and I don't intend to even try to pretend to fill her shoes. It's not fair to her and especially not fair to him. He's a good boss, and he's been a good mentor, but I'm not asking for more than that from him. I work for a federal agency, not an adoption agency. Besides, one father is all I can handle. And sometimes not even him."
"Bit of a tyrant, is he?"
"Yeah," Tony replied noncommittally as he peeked inside the pastry bag holding the cream horns. Fornell turned to start grilling him about his answer, only to find him eyeing the desserts, and smacked his hand.
"You stop now or we don't go to the game."
Tony flinched, not expecting to get caught in the act, or for Fornell to care. He took his hand back, rubbing it, and Fornell went back to his cooking.
"Little more 'tough love, enh, Tobias?"
"Just means we care, Anthony." He set the pan of noodles in the sink basin. "Drain the pasta, the sauce is almost done. Take your time, don't want you doing a face plant into the counter top."
Tony wordlessly did as he was told, maneuvering on his crutches and trying to absorb all that Fornell had been telling him about his place in Gibb's life.
"You still sulking for me slapping your hand?"
"No, no, I – I was just thinking," he answered, straining the pasta water out into the sink, "About what you were saying about Gibbs about him wanting the best for me. Sometimes I want to believe that, sometimes I even do, but…even if he did, if the day ever came that he didn't…I couldn't handle it."
It was quiet for a long while, and for almost all that time, Tony thought maybe Fornell hadn't heard him over the clatter of pans and water draining, or maybe he didn't understand what he'd tried to say. He didn't know why he'd said it anyways, was wishing he hadn't, and was fervently hoping now that the older man hadn't heard him.
Finally, Fornell took the pan of strained pasta out of the younger man's hands and gave him a hard, uncompromising look.
"You ever know Gibbs to give up on anything? To walk away from anything that he started? Burley walked away from Gibbs, and Gibbs gave him a handshake and a 'Congratulations, buddy, good luck!' You try walking away from Gibbs and he'll hunt you down and tell ya where the bear shit in the buckwheat! You ask him to tell him why and he won't be able to. He'll just say you belong to him until he says you don't. Which will be never."
"Jesus, Tobias, you make him sound like a Mafia don! He's not, is he? 'Cause he can be pretty damned persuasive when he wants to be and it would explain his-"
Fornell stilled him with a hand to his forearm.
"He's not with the mob, Tony, c'mon, don't be stupido! You know what I'm saying! And if you don't, I really don't know how to explain it to you. Let's eat, we got just over an hour to get to the game and in our seats. Sit down, slice us some bread, I'll set the table."
About forty-five minutes later, Fornell had the kitchen cleaned, Tony had a platter of fettuccine ready for Gibbs to re-heat, and slices of bread waiting in plastic wrap, and they were out the door and headed to the game.
"Better call yer boss and tell 'im where we're going. He'll get home and think you got kidnapped and be calling me to put out an APB on ya."
"Nah, he won't care, he'll be glad I'm gone..." DiNozzo retorted in a serious tone.
"For the love of God, DiNutso, no wonder he drinks so much bourbon! He won't be -"
"Chillax, T.C., I left a note with the fettuccine, he'll know exactly where I am and who I'm with!" DiNozzo looked over to see a totally riled up Fornell and chuckled happily. "That's pretty funny that your initials are T.C., cause T.C. Is Thomas Magnum's buddy, owns the helicopter that Magnum commandeers lots of times. So that must make me Magnum, right?"
"I was thinking more along the lines of Zeus or Apollo, but to each his own."
. . . . .
Gibbs had been surprised at how productive he had been in the bullpen not having to entertain a desk-bound DiNozzo and not having to worry about him left to his own devices at home. He'd gotten a month's worth of backlogged paperwork out of the way, and had even had time to have a leisurely chat with Director Morrow. Still, he had missed the amiable SFA and his chatter, and actually looked forward to having dinner with him after work. So he was a bit disappointed to find the note telling him where his house guest was, but he had to chuckle at the fact that Fornell of all people had taken him to the National's game. The kid would clean out the Fibbie's wallet for concession food.
Warming up a plate of noodles alfredo and buttering the sliced Italian bread, he mused on the fact that maybe Fornell didn't have an ulterior motive for keeping DiNozzo company for the day other than wanting company himself. Gibbs knew more than anyone how enjoyable Tony was to be around when he wasn't covering his emotional ass in front of the rest of the world. For one thing, he didn't talk as much, didn't feel the need for the constant distraction his often vapid chatter provided. And perhaps even better, he listened more, enjoyed the other side of the conversation more. Or maybe it was just that Gibbs had things to say that DiNozzo wanted to hear. It didn't really matter to Gibbs. When it came to getting the job done, Gibbs couldn't find a better investigator – but personally, he liked Tony better off the clock, when the younger man could be more himself and not so much the flim-flammer.
His thoughts had wandered during the work day to what it would be like to never again be able to look across the bullpen and see his second working at the ever-paper strewn desk, and he would think of the dream he'd had the last several nights, and would probably continue to have on occasion for many years to come.
The night that Tony had been pitched out of the plane, Gibbs had hardly slept enough to have any dreams at all. It was the next night, when he'd slept on the living room couch, that he'd been exhausted enough to fall into a deep sleep, and consequently, relive in his nightmares the horror of that fateful decision he had made for Tony and himself to join the jump crew on their maneuvers. The dream always started out the same, someone pushing a violently protesting DiNozzo out of the airplane door, with Gibbs hanging out the same door, heart pounding, waiting for his SFA's chute to open. The rest of the dream ended in various ways – the chute opened, but Gibbs finding a mangled and dead Tony at the drop site. Worse were the ones where the chute never opened at all. But this morning before waking for work, he had had a dream altogether different than the rest.
DREAM FLASHBACK
The week had been a long and difficult one for Gibbs, having had to bring in a Marine who had lost control while drunk and put his young son in the hospital after a brutal beating. The man had been at loose ends for several months, coping with the loss of his wife and now sole custody of his child, but Gibbs could still find no excuses for him. He himself had had some rough times after the loss of his own wife, but he never once considered taking it out on his innocent son. And that son was one who often pushed him to his mental and emotional limits on a fairly regular basis.
Like last week. He had gone out to the back yard to check on his nine year old boy, and found him diving off the swing set using a piece of old nylon curtain for a parachute. He had no idea how many times the boy had made this jump without him seeing it, but this time Tony saw him out of the corner of his eye, and startled at what he knew was probably going to be a bawling-out, lost his concentration just before jumping and landed badly, his left leg swinging out to catch himself in a last-ditch effort to stay on the wooden swing set.
His right leg crumpled beneath him, and Gibbs could hear the crack of a bone from where he stood transfixed on the patio. It all happened in a matter of seconds, his mouth open to yell at his son to stop, Tony looking up at him wild-eyed and then losing his balance, and crashing to the hard ground below. The scream from his boy's mouth tore him out of his frozen state and sent him top speed to Tony's side.
"Easy, baby, easy, it's alright, daddy's gotcha, we're gonna get right in the car and take you in to the emergency room, I'm just gonna grab the keys."
"No-o-o-o, daddy, PLEASE, no hospital, PLE-E-ASE!" he begged, hugging his dad hard around the neck. Gibbs knew all too well why his boy hated the place, having visited his mom there before she passed away; it was a place neither ever wanted to return to, but times such as these left him no choice.
"Baby, we HAVE to, you broke a bone in your leg, I heard it snap, and you can't not have it taken care of, like a cut or bump. I'll call Grandpa Ducky, he'll meet us there and take care of it for you, here, let me wrap you in this blanket, yer starting to shake a little."
"Hurts, daddy, can't help it!"
"I know, baby, but Daddy and Ducky will make it stop hurting, I promise."
He leaned down and kissed Tony's forehead, hoping to comfort even if just a little.
"You'll be fine, buddy, just hang on for a little bit longer," he promised as he carefully loaded him into the front seat and belted him in, turning his little form to face him and put his legs up on the seat between them. Tony stifled a scream when his right leg was moved, and Gibbs nearly burst into tears himself, but he couldn't let the leg hang off the edge of the seat.
"I'm so sorry, baby, daddy's sorry, I had to move your leg!" he apologized miserably, misty eyes imploring his son to understand.
"It's okay, daddy, just drive, I need the pain to stop now!"
Gibbs nodded and grabbed his cell, punching Ducky's speed dial number in his left hand as he started the car with his right and pulled out of the driveway. His hands were shaking, mostly from hearing his son scream in his ear when he'd moved Tony's injured leg, and his voice shook, too, when he finally got to talk to Ducky. It had been years since Tony had seen his father this upset, and it was a sight he couldn't handle much longer, so he calmed himself and steeled his own voice.
"Daddy, don't be upset, it's okay, I'm fine. I was just scared at first, but I'm okay now! It just hurts a little bit!"
Gibbs looked down at the little boy, and going by the off-green color of his face, knew damned well it didn't hurt 'just a little bit'. His chest surged with pride, even though his heart hurt at the little boy's pain. He knew what Tony was trying to do, knew he had to calm himself down and be the stronger of the two. He was the daddy, after all, and he wasn't the one hurting, physically, anyways. Gibbs took in a long, steady breath and blew it out, then gave his boy a smile.
"Okay, buddy, that's good. We're almost to the hospital anyways, and Grandpa Ducky will be there to help us. When he's all done, we'll stop and get ice cream sundaes on the way home."
Tony hitched a sob that was desperate to escape no matter how hard he tried, and nodded his head, strands of silky sun-bleached hair swishing in his damp eyes.
"Atta boy, buddy. Hang in there. It'll be better in a little bit."
Better turned out to be several hours by the time Ducky could get them into the x-ray lab and the assisted the technicians in applying a cast to Tony's ankle. It was a bad break, and something he would have to be careful with for several weeks, even after the cast was off. A nurse had given the boy a mild sedative to take the edge off the worst of the pain, and Gibbs had re-wrapped Tony in the old blanket before taking him home, rocking him and reassuring him that they WOULD have ice cream later. Tony snaked a sleepy arm around Gibbs's neck and snuffled into his ear.
"What were you trying to do with that old curtain anyway, bud?"
"Tryin' to...jump like those men...yesterday... the ones you took me to see on the...on the base...wanted to...fly like them."
"Hmmph, well, you FLEW alright, just not the right way."
"You startled me and I lost my balance."
"I know, baby, and I'm sorry about that. Still, it's something you need to wait until you're bigger to do and have more experience in. It's dangerous, even for guys that are TRAINED to do it."
"Yeah, I know that now...won't do it again, I promise."
"Tony, just because you see someone ELSE doing something doesn't mean -"
"I KNOW, Daddy," Tony sobbed pitifully, "I didn't think jumping a couple feet off the swing set was dangerous!"
"Well, I guess normally it wouldn't be," Gibbs agreed soothingly. Both of them were well pushing their emotional limits, he knew, and it was best to not strain them any further. "Doesn't matter now, let's go get some stuff for sundaes, we'll make our own and put whatever we want on them."
Tony nodded wordlessly into Gibbs's neck, and they headed for home, with Ducky assuring he would come by before bedtime and check on his young friend. True to his word, Gibbs stopped at the grocery store, a groggy Tony plastered onto his shoulder as he picked out the ice cream and all the toppings. He decided they would both lie down and take a nap when they got home, and have the sundaes for dinner, and Ducky found them sleeping on the couch as he crept in a few hours later and left a set of child-sized crutches and some mild pain relief prescription.
END DREAM FLASHBACK
"Hey, Duck, what're you doin' here?" Gibbs asked, looking up from his nearly gone fettuccine and bread. "Siddown, have some pasta. Tobias made it, it's great."
"Indeed! Is Tobias here now? I don't see his car."
"Took Tony to a National's game, they should be back shortly."
"I see! Well, that was certainly good of him to keep the boy occupied while you were at work. Still, that's a good amount of hiking about for him in that cast."
"Enh, I'm sure Toby took it easy on him."
"I certainly did!" Fornell's voice carried through from the front foyer as he and Tony made their shuffling way to the dining room. Ducky assisted his young patient into a chair, and proceeded to give him a quick check-over, much to Tony's chagrin and Gibbs's approval. Fornell made his way to the other end of the table and heaved himself down with an audible huff.
"Even on crutches he's hard to keep up with!" he complained loudly. "And the boy sure can eat!"
"Told ya I wasn't that hungry, Tobias! You insisted."
"Figured you'd be full after the fettuccine. Didn't know you could still eat a full-course meal."
"Growing boy, Tobias." Gibbs winked at DiNozzo, who gave him an odd look back.
"Yes, well, this 'growing boy' needs to use the 'little boy's room'. I'll be back."
The three watched him amble off, making good time with his crutches. They all knew he had way too much experience in using them by how handy he was with them.
Gibbs looked at Fornell expectantly, as did Ducky.
"Got the suite at home plate. Friend of mine lets me use his pass when he's out of town. Fast track parking, elevators, bar, huge buffet. Kid had a ball. Boy, can he eat!" Fornell reiterated, and then caught the knowing glint in Gibbs's eyes. "You're welcome for the dinner, by the way. And the, uh, riding herd on your house guest. I've gotta go, this weekend's my turn with Emily, gotta get things ready for her. Tell DiNutso it's been fun, but no more dropping out of C-130s in the middle of the night."
"Hell, Tobias, who knows what he'll do next if it means you take him to see the game in the luxury boxes. And thanks for the dinner and the herding. I'll take it from here, and he'll be back to work by Monday."
"Good to hear. Goodnight, Doctor Mallard. See ya, Jethro."
They watched the man head out the door, then smiled knowingly at each other. For the first time in a long time, Fornell had seemed to lighten up from his usual take-no-prisoners persona, just from spending the afternoon with DiNozzo. Who would've thought?
"Well, I'd best be going myself, need to check on Mother before I head home. He seems to be just fine, Jethro, if a bit worn out from his busy day. I suggest an early bedtime."
"Yup, he'll be parked on his couch soon as I can get 'im there. He'll read for a while or watch a movie, then he'll be ready to head up to bed."
Gibbs got up from the table to see the M.E. to the door.
"Do make sure he gets plenty of rest this weekend. He really needs to be at the top of his game when he starts back Monday, otherwise he'll be-"
"I know, Duck, he'll be ready. Thanks for stopping by. See you Monday."
"Yes, alright then, give Anthony my regards."
"Will do, Duck. Goodnight!"
He closed the door and watched to make sure the older man was safely in his car and down the street before he turned to find DiNozzo making his way towards the basement.
"Gonna go read for a while, Boss. Comin' down too?"
"Yup, I am, just wondered if you wanted an ice cream sundae before we head down there."
Tony's face brightened considerably at the mention of ice cream and he wobbled back to the kitchen.
"Yeah, Boss, always! I didn't have any dessert at the buffet, ate too much shrimp and Swedish meatballs...What do you have for fixings, got any of that marshmallow sauce left? You know, it was fun going to the game with Tobias today, but maybe sometime you and I can go, you know, just regular seats and hot dogs and popcorn..."
Gibbs listened to Tony ramble on while he got out the makings for the sundaes, surprised at how much he didn't mind the chatter, and thinking how easily it could have been silenced permanently those few days ago. He knew he couldn't keep his SFA from all harm, and finally had reconciled himself to the fact that the whole shove-out-of-the-plane-door and resulting injuries had not been his fault. He did still wish he'd been there for Tony as soon as he'd hit the ground, the thought of him in pain and struggling alone in the dark and cold rain making his guts twinge every time he thought about it.
In fact, the entire incident seemed to bother him more than DiNozzo, which bothered Gibbs even more when he contemplated that little discovery, making him wonder why his SFA was so like Teflon, and why his own armor coating was starting to get a little holey in places. But then, if the dour Fornell wasn't immune to the kid's mix of charm and vulnerability, then he couldn't expect himself to be. The kid was dangerous, on so many levels.
Well, he mused, it's too late to take him back to where I got him.
He'd been damaged now and was past his two year warranty. Gibbs would just have to keep him around.
