At five pm Gibbs and DiNozzo made a discreet exit from the bullpen, the two of them being the first to leave. While 'work hours' meant nine to five to most people, a career at NCIS looked more like seven to nine, with the very likely possibility of being woken at three in the morning to a gruff "Grab your gear."
For the second time that day the pair entered the elevator in silence, one man staring at his shoes whilst the other kept a firm watch on his colleague's bowed head.
"You alright, Tony?" Gibbs voice was uncharacteristically gentle, expressing genuine concern for the young agent. "We don't have to do this tonight, not if you don't want to."
Tony considered him for a moment. "It's fine, Boss. I'm fine. It's just - it's been a long time, hasn't it?"
Gibbs sighed. "Sure has." Thirty years today, he thought.
As DiNozzo began towards his car Gibbs grabbed him by the arm, directing him over to the yellow Challenger instead. "I'll drive."
"But Boss, I need my car to -"
"We'll get it later."
He didn't want the kid driving when he was this distracted, especially after that conversation Ducky called him about this morning...
When they got to Gibbs' car a very determined DiNozzo tried his luck at one final protest.
"Look, I know what you're thinking, and there's no reason to -"
"In."
"Boss, really! Don't you think I'm old enough to make my own -"
"In."
"But -"
Gibbs gave him a sharp whack across the back of the head accompanied by a stern look roughly translating to get in before I get you in.
"In. Got it, Boss." And, with that, DiNozzo got in.
They drove in silence for the better part of twenty minutes, Gibbs checking over his senior field agent out of the corner of his eye every few minutes. With his chin resting in his hand, DiNozzo stared out the window. He could feel Gibbs eyes on him, but he couldn't bring himself to move his head off the cool glass.
"We should stop and get some flowers." It came out as more of a whisper, his head still resting against the window. "She loved flowers."
Gibbs swallowed the lump in his throat and, unable to speak, pulled into the driveway of the florist next to the cemetery. He waited in the car while DiNozzo went inside, figuring the kid might need a moment alone to compose himself before they proceeded any further. He figured he was right when Tony was gone for well above what was considered the average time one spends choosing flowers to leave at a grave, but didn't say anything when DiNozzo returned to the car with a modest bunch of small yellow flowers.
"Jonquils," Tony explained while raising the bouquet to his nose. "They were her favourite."
Gibbs parked the car inside the grand iron gates of the cemetery, and the two began their walk in silent camaraderie towards the grave.
It was only when Tony stopped dead in his tracks that Gibbs realised they had reached his mother's grave; an elegant, marble tombstone surrounded in what must have been thousands of dollars worth of red roses.
"Tony?" Gibbs queried, noticing the disappointment in the agent's face. "What's wrong?"
"Wrong?" DiNozzo repeated, his mind busy processing the scene before his eyes. "Nothing's wrong. It's just - he must have -" He moved towards the shrine of roses, retrieving a card from the bouquet covering the foot of the tombstone. He read it once, and he read it again. Unable to speak, he passed the paper to Gibbs.
"Oh," he exhaled, handing the card back to Tony. "They're from your father."
DiNozzo turned to the man he truly thought of as his father with watery eyes and, at that point, Gibbs wanted nothing more than to comfort his boy until all the pain that had welled up inside him for the past thirty years was gone.
"Why didn't he tell me he was in town, Gibbs?"
"Oh, Tony," Gibbs sighed, rubbing a calloused hand across his brow. "For all we know he probably just sent them from New York."
He could tell the boy was doing everything he could to hold back his tears, and was silently grateful he hadn't let him come by himself. God knows what he would have done, thought a concerned Gibbs.
"Tony, it - it doesn't make yours any less special. You said jonquils were her favourite. Not roses." Tony looked unconvinced, eyeing his small bouquet disappointedly.
"Tony -" he pleaded, but go no response from the destroyed man.
"Son," he whispered, holding Tony's chin until his eyes met his own. "Give your mother the flowers."
Tony nodded, quickly wiping his eyes as he turned once more towards the grave, hoping Gibbs hadn't seen the obvious sign of weakness. He took in a deep breath and knelt to place the jonquils in a small gap left by his father's ridiculous demonstration of wealth, taking a moment to trace his finger over the only writing on the headstone not covered in red petals. Paddington. After his mother died, an eight year old Tony often asked his father why he couldn't be called Paddington too; innocent sentiments which only further enraged Senior who, by that point, was falling deeper into the depths of his alcoholism than ever before.
"I miss you," a barely audible whisper escaped his lips before he hoisted himself to his feet and returned to Gibbs, where they stood side by side and faced his mother's final place of rest.
The pair stood in reverent silence for a while, Gibbs offering a private prayer to Tony's mother for raising him to become the courageous man he is today. While neither Gibbs nor Tony were particularly religious Gibbs knew his mother was devout, and believed her son was quietly offering his own prayers for the same reason.
As the sun began to fall and the first shadows of darkness lowered themselves around the grave, Gibbs decided it was time to get Tony home. Sensing the boy needed another moment to compose himself, Gibbs offered to bring the car around, leaving Tony to have a minute alone with his mother.
A single tear slid down Tony's cheek and onto the card nestled tightly in his hand.