CHAPTER 8
DROWNING
I've been down one time
And I've been down two times
But right now I'm drowning
Drowning in the sea of love
I've been out here so very long
I done lost all my direction
Baby, when you came my way
Thought I had found my protection
But a strong wind came into my life
It surely took me by surprise
I can't seem to control these tears
That's falling from my eyes
~ B.B. King - Drowning In The Sea Of Love
"You okay to work, Tony?" Gibbs asked, peering at Tony across the kitchen counter. "We gotta go soon." The NCIS agents who were on Franks' protective detail had just left and Tony and Gibbs were about to follow them to the Yard.
"Sure, I'm fine. You know me, every time someone knocks me over the head I bounce right back. I just need to take a leak," Tony said, needing a moment to escape Gibbs' scrutiny. He dropped the ice pack he'd been holding to his head in the sink and walked out of the kitchen.
Of course he wasn't fine. He was hurting, both from being bashed over the head by an unknown assailant and from falling face down onto the hard bricks of the patio. His shoulder ached, probably from the fall when he got knocked out.
While he was in the bathroom Tony explored his temple with careful fingers. Yup, another lump there, just beyond the hairline, and when he checked in the mirror he could see a scrape. He located the Advil he kept in the cabinet over the sink and downed a couple before heading out to join Gibbs.
When they were in the car, heading back to the Navy Yard, Tony commented, "Weird."
"What?"
"Being in our home and having to act like I didn't live there," Tony said in a quiet voice. He'd started calling it 'their home' recently; he'd practically been living there, returning to his own apartment less and less. "Good thing I put all the sex toys away this morning," he joked. Truth was, the fact that they'd been living together at Gibbs' house for months and nobody had seemed to notice made Tony wonder what kind of investigators they worked with.
"Good thing the Russians didn't put one in your skull, DiNozzo," Gibbs growled, not letting it go.
Tony liked that Jethro got all protective whenever he got hurt. "Well, I agree with you there, Boss. They probably didn't want to alert the other agents. It sounds like Emmons came out of the house just as I hit the dirt. Maybe he scared them off, so they didn't get a chance to finish the job."
"Yeah, well they managed to grab Mike without making any noise," Gibbs pointed out, slamming his hand on the steering wheel. "Damn it! We've got to find whatever hole those bastards are hiding in. Call McGee and get him to find something to go on!"
As soon as they arrived back at the bullpen Tony coordinated with McGee, tracking down Mike Franks and the Russians. For the next couple of hours, the team was busy following Arkady's and then Mike Franks' trail. By the time they found Franks' hotel room, it was starting to look like maybe Franks had been orchestrating the whole thing. One thing for sure, he wasn't being held by Arkady Kobach and his crew.
"You think Franks really has these files he says he has?" Tony asked Gibbs, cringing a little but knowing someone had to ask.
"He says he's got them," Gibbs replied, as if that was that and not to question him about it again.
Ziva was brave enough to ask, "Do you want us to assume that Franks was taken by the Russians until there is evidence that proves otherwise?"
Tony stared expectantly at Gibbs, wanting to know the answer to that as well, but all they got was a stone-faced Gibbs and an order to track Franks' calls.
Once Tony accepted that it was likely that Franks had been the one to knock him down, and he realized that Gibbs wasn't going to say anything about it, Tony's anger started to build. Not only had the former agent struck him over the head, but apparently he'd been jerking all of them around – all of them meaning NCIS and Homeland Security – for some personal vendetta against Arkady Kobach.
By the time McGee and Ziva worked their way around back of the hotel bar, and Gibbs slipped inside with Tony positioned securely on his six, Franks was already confronting the Russian arms dealer. Tony could hear the conversation but he was taken by surprise when the pop pop of small arms fire blasted from inside the bar.
Franks' voice, laconic as usual, said, "I knew he was over there. I figured I could take them both. Arkady first, then the big guy. Maybe I am a half a second slower."
Gibbs sounded pissed when he demanded, "There was no leak, was there?"
Deflecting, Franks asked, "DiNozzo okay?"
To prove he was okay, or at least alive with a big fat lump on the back of his head, Tony shouted, "Boss?"
"Clear!" Gibbs didn't turn to look at Tony when he barked the standard order, "Secure the room."
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Gibbs' team bagged and tagged the evidence at the scene with their usual efficiency. They were halfway done when the director sent over a secondary team to get the job done faster. That was what Special Agent Emmons told Gibbs, anyway. Tony had a strong feeling the presence of Team B was to ensure that nobody – meaning Mike Franks – tampered with the evidence.
Gibbs silently fumed, though Tony wasn't sure if it was due to the implication that Director Shepard didn't trust them, or because Franks had used the NCIS agents, including Gibbs, to further his own agenda.
Tony never intended to confront Franks on the scene, but it just happened that on his way back from the NCIS truck, he spotted Gibbs' former boss in the alley behind the bar, smoking. Just the smell of the Mexican cigarettes was enough to make Tony feel sick, and his temper, which he'd held in check all afternoon, got the better of him.
Tony rushed at Franks and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, slamming him against the brick building. He heard a satisfying crunch and watched Franks' features scrunch up in pain. A second later, Tony was being shoved hard against the very same wall, as Franks turned the tables on him.
"You got something stuck in your craw, DiNozzo?" Franks snarled.
"Yeah. Yeah, I have, Franks. Like why the hell d'you think it's okay to hit an agent over the head? Huh? You think your old probie Gibbs is going to cover for you?"
"And you don't think he will?" demanded Franks with a rough kind of laugh.
That infuriated Tony more than ever. "You think you can do whatever the hell you want, don't you? You used us, used the agency and people who were on your side, to go off on your own mission. I get it: Arkady's the bad guy, the kind who never makes it to court. But you should have trusted us! We're a team and we're supposed to work together, not…" Suddenly a pain shot through Tony's head and he doubled over, one hand pressing his eye socket. "Damn it!" It gave him a small amount of relief, but when he felt a hand on his arm, he jerked back. It was Franks and Tony wanted nothing to do with the man. Shaking him off, Tony straightened and stepped back, saying tersely, "I woulda gone to bat for you. Any of us would've."
Franks was staring at him. "I didn't mean to hurt you–"
If that was an apology about to come out of Franks' mouth, Tony wanted none of it. Too little, too late. Instead of stepping back, Tony launched himself at Franks and his fist connected with the older man's face. He wanted to strike out again but people were pulling him back, shouting at him to cool off, and all of a sudden none of it mattered any more. Tony pulled his arms out of their grip – he saw it was Ziva and Gibbs who'd dragged him off Franks. "Let me go!"
Gibbs still had hold of Tony's arm and Tony had to say, "I'm fine, I'm fine," before Gibbs reluctantly released him.
"You sure?" Gibbs was eyeing him with concern, but Tony didn't want any of it right now.
"I'm going back to the Yard." He could see Jimmy and Ducky loading a body into their van.
"Don't drive–"
Tony said abruptly, "I'll go with Ducky," and walked away.
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Doing nothing takes up a lot of time. Tony finds he needs a routine, if only to keep some kind of balance to his life, such as it is. He does a daily ritual, swimming in the perfect blue ocean until he's this close to letting it all go, to letting the water suck him under and take him to a place where he can finally stop struggling. This time Tony barely makes it back to the beach. Exhausted, he drags himself across the cooling sand and heads back to his room, stumbling the last few feet. He drops naked onto his bed, panting heavily and trying not to think about how close it had been this time.
I should have let go, floated, sunk to the bottom.
Even though he's more tired than he's ever been in his life, sleep proves to be elusive. Tony reaches blindly for the bottle of vodka, his own version of a bedside idol, and pours a tumbler full. Emile never brings him vodka any more but Tony has figured out a way of buying it. There's a shop down the road, the kind that sells newspapers and cigars and locally brewed beer. They also stock some hard liquor, including some decent vodka. He lets the old man behind the counter pick the correct amount of money out of his hand.
Propped up on pillows, Tony sips until the glass is empty and then he slides down in the cool sheets to lie flat on his back. Arms out, palms down, breathe evenly, relax. He forces his eyes to remain closed, no matter what visions come into his line of sight, and eventually succumbs to the pull of sleep.
He awakens in the night, drenched in sweat, with the taste of diesel fuel in his mouth. A large ship comes to mind, a freighter. The Bakir Kamir. A room drenched in blood and bits of burned human flesh. A mouthful of vodka chases the foul taste away but nothing can get rid of the picture of Gibbs, his skin badly burned, being carted away on a gurney.
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He's sitting on the beach, stretched out on a comfortable reclining beach chair that Emile procured, when a shadow slides by and somebody settles beside him. Tony closes his eyes, unwilling to acknowledge what he already knows. His lips move of their own accord and he whispers, "Abby."
She doesn't speak, which is unusual, but then nothing in his life, this new Tony-life that consists of troubled days and nights and ocean views with no end in sight, is exactly what he'd call normal. Tony averts his face and fumbles for his sunglasses. He's afraid to look at Abby in case she isn't the same person he pictures, and if she isn't the same, it will only confirm that he isn't Tony DiNozzo any more. He isn't sure that he can handle that because then who is he? He breathes in a ragged breath that sounds more like a sob.
Her hand is gentle on his arm, as if she's afraid he's going to jump, and he does flinch a little. She doesn't let go. Her touch has the desired effect and, against his will, he turns to look at her. He's wearing the sunglasses, and he's glad his eyes are hidden because the sight of Abby, dressed in black with her lace umbrella casting cobwebs of shadows across her vivid features, makes the world swim. His hand goes to his chest and he clutches at his shirt because his heart is beating too fast, and he realizes that tears are streaming down his face. When he speaks her name, "Ab-Abby," he stutters with disbelief even though he knew she'd be the one to find him.
"Oh, Tony…"
He's enveloped in a hug, a warm, soft, scented hug that reminds him of home and fills his heart with an unexpected feeling of longing that is almost painful.
Abby releases Tony but she clings to his hand as if she's afraid he'll take off before she gets a chance to tell him what she came for.
Time passes. He doesn't have a clue how long they've been sitting there but it must have been a while because the shadows are long and the breeze is coming off the land.
She must sense that now is the time, and she's right because soon, very soon, he has to swim and swim until he's exhausted and ready to sink into the dark, dark blue of the ocean. This time, this time, he thinks. This time he'll do it, he'll stop the pain and confusion and the not knowing what's going on with him.
"You've been here long enough, Tony," Abby says, her voice soft, like she's talking to someone on the edge.
She's right. He's been in this limbo for far too long. When he finally speaks to her it's surprisingly difficult. His voice is hoarse, as if he hasn't spoken to anyone for a very long time, which just might be the truth. He thinks back and remembers asking the boy to buy him some dinner, but that might have been days ago. "I can't…" He can't remember, can't care, can't stop trembling at the thought of going back there, to that place where he used to be someone else.
Removing his sunglasses, Tony rubs his eyes. He's so tired and he can't think straight with Abby looking at him with her big eyes. "I think I made a mistake," he says hesitantly. He risks a glance at Abby and finds she's watching him intently. "I think I got mad at Gibbs. Tell him I'm sorry?"
"You can tell him yourself. He'll understand."
Tony shakes his head. "No. I can't go back."
"Then go forward," she says with a wise nod.
"I don't know what the hell I'm doing, Abby. I don't think the answer is there."
Abby gently tells him that they do need him, that he does belong, that he is the same Tony, even though he doesn't remember saying any of those things aloud. "And Gibbs has been driving everyone crazy, making us all gather around every morning. He says it's to go over the cases, to make sure we're all on the same page, but I know it's his way of doing a head count. Making sure nobody else is missing."
For the first time in a very long time, Tony smiles. "Campfires?"
Abby squeezes his arm. "Campfires. He's been doing his best to hold us all together, but he's been different ever since you left, Tony, like part of him is missing, too. He's so worried about you."
"I'm okay here," says Tony, lying unconvincingly.
"I had a feeling he wasn't going home at night and I followed him." Tony looks sideways at Abby and she says, nodding, "I was right. He didn't go to his home. He went to your home, Tony, and he's been sleeping there ever since you left. He's waiting for you to come back to him."
Tony stares at her, trying to picture the place she calls his home, but it seems so distant. That world is so far away and she's wrong because Jethro doesn't want him any more.
He doesn't think he spoke aloud but Abby looks him in the eye and says, "Then maybe you need to open your eyes, Tony, and your heart, because he really needs you. Now more than ever."
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He dreams, as the water flows over his head and he sinks to the bottom. He dreams of people and places that fill him with sadness, even though there were plenty of happy times. But his head hurts and he can't breathe, and he stiffens and thrashes about until suddenly, with no warning, it goes black.
"Tony…It's okay. I'm right here."
"Ab…Abby?"
"Abby isn't here."
"Wha'?"
"It's me. Jethro."
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