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Nova Initia – New Beginnings

Chapter Nine

With Gibbs bearing most of the kid's weight, it only took two trips across the monkey bars before Tony's independent streak came to the fore. Wriggling in the Gunny's arms he turned to face his foster father.

"Let me try it by myself this time," he said. "Please, Gibbs?"

The climbing apparatus wasn't very high and the playground had that spongy, rubber surface underfoot but the boy caught the reluctance in the man's eyes.

"It's okay, Gibbs, really," he reassured the agent.

Releasing a deep sigh, Gibbs lifted Tony until he could reach the first rung. Letting him go and stepping away was harder than he thought possible but he had to show the boy that he believed in him, even if it resulted in a few spills along the way.

"All yours, Sport."

Unable to use his legs to build momentum, the boy hung from the first rung by his spindly arms. He set his jaw determinedly and reached out his right arm for the next rung. Concentration and purpose was etched into the young face as he brought his left hand forward to meet the right. He took several deep breaths; his eyes darting in Gibbs direction as the former Marine nodded his head in silent encouragement. The process continued until Tony reached the second last rung. His arms and shoulders burned from bearing his weight and his skin glistened from the exertion. It had been a mighty effort but the kid was exhausted and Gibbs stepped forward to help him.

"No, Gibbs!" he panted. "I can…I can do it."

Against his better judgement, Gibbs stepped back. A sense of pride surged through his veins as he watched the young boy ignore his pain and fatigue and reach out for the final rung with his right hand. He stayed in that position – hands on two different rungs - for a long moment; lacking the energy to bring his left hand forward to join the right and hanging on by sheer determination.

"You got this, Sport," Gibbs quietly encouraged.

The expression on the boy's face transformed from one of exhaustion to a look of tenacity that belied his eight years. Taking a deep breath, Tony summoned the last of his energy and flung his left arm forward until he felt his fingers wrap tightly around the final rung. Unable to resist any longer the Gunny rushed forward and took the unresisting boy securely into his arms. Absolutely spent, Tony leaned against him; his chest heaving with exertion as he tucked his face under the agent's chin.

"I did it, Gibbs," he puffed.

"Darn right you did," the agent said, checking his language and giving the kid a little squeeze.

"Told ya that…I could do it."

Gibbs frowned at the long pause; recognising a small absence seizure that Tony didn't even notice.

"Come on, Tarzan, let's get you home."

"But we just got here! We haven't even fed the ducks yet."

"You can hardly hold your head up."

"I'm fine," Tony said, trying his best to look re-energised as the agent eyed him sceptically. "Please, Gibbs. I like it here. It's nice and...I like it when it's just us."

Gibbs grinned and ruffled the blonde hair. Ever since the boy woke up in a hospital bed, his life had been filled with doctors, nurses, physical therapists, dieticians, home tutors and hospital caseworkers. Was it any wonder that he longed for some quiet one-on-one time?

The Gunny looked at the hopeful green eyes and felt another layer of ice melt from his heart. Who was he kidding? The badass Marine was putty in the kid's hands when he looked at him like that but Gibbs knew fatigue was a trigger for seizures. He squeezed the boy tighter, eliciting a tiny squawk and scooped the backpack from the ground nearby. Still holding the boy close, he walked back to the glider swing and climbed aboard. Opening the backpack, he removed Tony's Keto snack and drink.

"Eat, drink and rest," he said as he reached for his coffee thermos. "Then we'll go feed the ducks."

They sat back against the seat, enjoying the warm sunshine and easing the swing into a gentle motion. Several moments passed before Tony spoke again.

"Gibbs, are you going back to work?"

"Trying to get rid of me?"

"No, I was just wondering, that's all."

"Not for a while," Gibbs replied.

"I thought you said you were," Tony continued.

"Director's temporarily assigned two other agents to help Kate and McGee."

"But it's your team, Gibbs. You're the lead secret agent."

"Special agent," Gibbs corrected without thinking.

The tiny quirk of the boy's lips told the Gunny he'd unwittingly become the straight man for an eight-year-old budding comedian - Tony was well-aware of the difference between special agent and secret agent. The boy's face grew serious.

"I think you should go back to work," he said. "What you do is very important."

"Something came up that's more important."

"What?" Tony asked.

"You," Gibbs said, placing a chaste kiss on the blonde head. "Finish your snack, hungry ducks are waiting."

Tony looked back anxiously in the direction of their bicycle.

"What if someone tries to steal our bike?" he asked.

"They won't," Gibbs replied.

"But what if they do? Do you have your gun?"

Gibbs did a quick double take and huffed a disbelieving laugh.

"Ya want me to shoot 'em?" he asked.

"Of course not!" Tony replied, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "I was thinking you could fire a warning shot over their heads."

Gibbs grabbed the boy in a gentle headlock.

"No more Bonanza re-runs for you," he said smiling as the kid squirmed and laughed.


When Gibbs was sure the kid was rested, he piggybacked Tony from the playground, down the gentle slope, to a park bench near the edge of the pond. The ducks swimming leisurely in the middle of the pond, immediately changed direction and made for the shore while others, sensing the imminent feast, quacked and waddled toward the man and the boy. The former Marine watched as Tony took pieces of bread from a paper bag and threw them to the hungry fowl.

"See Gibbs," he said. "The white duck ate the white bread and the brown duck ate the brown bread. Do you have your cell? I think I should call Abby; this could be a major scientific discovery or something."

"Maybe," the man nodded. "Or it could be that you threw the white bread closer to the white duck and the brown bread closer to the brown duck."

Tony opened his mouth to reply when a thump against the back of the bench marked the arrival of an orange Frisbee. As the ducks startled and scurried back to the safety of the pond, Gibbs and Tony turned to see a large dog running quickly in their direction. The Gunny pulled the boy protectively against him but the dog only had eyes for the Frisbee. Its large paws held the plastic toy in place while he chewed it with his powerful jaws.

"It's okay," a female voice called out from behind them. "It's okay…he won't hurt you."

A young, raven-haired woman in a cut-off tank top that revealed her well-toned abs, jogged quickly toward them.

"I'm sorry," she said as she approached. "The breeze took it way off course and I- Gibbs?"

"Commander?"

"What are you doing here? I mean, I can see what you're doing but I…" the commander's eyes flicked to Tony who was still staring at the dog. "I know it's been a while, Gibbs, but I didn't hear you'd remarried."

"I didn't," Gibbs told her without elaborating. He placed his hand on the boy's back to get his attention. "Tony, say hello to Commander Faith Coleman. The commander works at the Navy yard."

"Hi, Commander," Tony said shyly. "Is this really your dog?"

"Yep, this is my dog, Kort," she replied.

Tony reached out a hand toward the dog but Gibbs caught his wrist.

"It's okay," Faith told him. "He looks mean but he won't hurt him."

"He's very big," Tony said warily.

"He's a Rhodesian Ridgeback," the commander said. "In South Africa, hunters used to use dogs like Kort to catch lions."

Tony's eyes grew impossibly wide as he stared at the dog in awe.

"What happened to his eye?" he asked, noticing that one of the dog's eyes was missing.

"I'm not sure. It was like that when I got him from the rescue centre. Nobody else wanted him."

"Lots of animals have no one to look after them," the boy sighed with a sad shake of his head. "If I had a dog, I would take really good care of him and play with him all the time."

Gibbs suppressed a grin and chose to ignore the not-so-subtle hint. Tony inched his hand forward again, then thought better of it when the Gunny shot him a warning look.

"Do you have any pets at home?" Faith asked.

"I have sea monkeys," he replied. "They're not real monkeys or anything. Abby says they're really just brine shrimp."

"Well, if anyone would know something like that it's Abby," Faith told him. "I bet you didn't know that I know Abby and Kate, McGee and Ducky. In fact, I know…."

The commander stopped mid-sentence; her attention drawn to the boy whose sudden blank stare was disconcerting.

"Gibbs?"

The Gunny cupped Tony's face with his hand and drew him close to his side.

"Tony has epilepsy. He's having a seizure."

"Should I call an ambulance?"

"Just give us a minute. It'll be over soon."

Faith stepped away; crouching beside the dog but watching the boy's still face with concern. Gibbs leaned in, speaking barely audible encouragement and stroking Tony's cheek with his thumb until the boy began to blink his eyes and his awareness returned. The seizure had lasted less than a minute, but in Tony's mind, no time had passed at all. Instinctively a terrifyingly sick feeling enveloped him and he pressed his face against his foster father's chest.

"It's over, Sport," Gibbs said, rubbing his hand over the boy's back. "I gotcha."

Tony felt something wet nudge against his arm and turned to see the one-eyed dog standing beside him. It dropper the Frisbee at the boy's feet.

"I think Kort wants to play," Faith said. "What do you think, Tony?"

Tony shook his head and turned his face away only to have the dog nudge him again, this time adding a little whine. Again, the boy turned to look at Kort, who placed his big paw onto Tony's knee and cocked his head beseechingly. The kid's lips twitched in a small smile and he reached for the Frisbee and tossed it several yards away. In a tangle of long legs, the dog almost fell over itself in its haste to chase after the toy. Stooping, he grasped it in his mouth and obediently trotted back to return it to Tony. The boy tossed the Frisbee again and again and the dog's enthusiasm and fervour slowly worked its magic until the seizure was forgotten and Tony was once again enjoying his time at the park.

"Don't forget the ducks," Gibbs said, as Tony hurled the Frisbee as far as he could and watched the excited dog give chase.

Tony turned to look at Faith.

"Wanna feed the ducks with us, Commander?" he asked.

"Sure," she replied. "But only if you call me Faith."

The boy looked to Gibbs for permission and received a nod of approval.

"Okay, Faith," he smiled. "Do you want white bread or brown?"

"I don't think it matters," she laughed.

"It does to the ducks," he told her. "Just so you know, I'm conducting an experiment on the eating habits of ducks and I found-"

"Tony," Gibbs said, cutting him off before the long-winded 'white duck, white bread" theory began again. "Just give her the bread.

The mischievous grin that flashed in the Gunny's direction left him certain that the kid was quickly learning how to push his buttons.

"You can have some of both," Tony told the commander as Kort returned the Frisbee for another toss.

After devouring their bread feast, the ducks began to disburse and Tony watched in angst as his wayward throw of the Frisbee landed right in the middle of the pond. Mere seconds later he threw his head back and laughed in delight as the 85-pound dog launched into the water in pursuit, creating a tsunami size wave that sent the ducks in every direction. With the Frisbee held firmly in his teeth, Kort swam back to the shore and climbed onto the bank.

"Oh no," Faith exclaimed.

The warning came too late as the dog shook the excess water from his coat and showered them all in the process. Tony's laugh was infectious and Gibbs mouthed a silent "thank you," in Faith's direction, receiving a smile in return.

"Kids and dogs," she shrugged. "You gotta love them."


The excited chatter from the rear seat of the bicycle stopped only long enough for the kid to draw breath and start again. Monkey bars, swings, ducks and a one-eyed dog named Kort all featured prominently in a soliloquy that lasted all the way home. But, when the excitement waned and fatigue set it the kid crashed before he'd finished his dinner. Gibbs carried the boy into his room, attended to his bathroom needs, poured him into his pyjamas and under the covers. He double-checked the seizure alert equipment, dimmed the light and headed for the door.

"Gibbs?" the soft voice said.

"Thought you were asleep," the Gunny said as he sat on the edge of the bed.

"I had fun today," Tony whispered, more asleep than awake.

"I kinda got that," Gibbs grinned.

"Can we do it again one day?" he asked sleepily.

Gibbs brushed the bangs back from the boy's face and leaned in to place a kiss on his forehead.

"You bet," he whispered as a small smile formed on the boy's lips and sleep took him away.


Gibbs switched on the front porch light when he heard the familiar purr of Ducky's Morgan in his driveway. Opening the front door he waited as the ME climbed out of his car and headed his way.

"Good evening, Jethro," Ducky greeted cordially. "I do apologise for arriving unannounced."

"Welcome anytime, Duck," Gibbs said, gesturing the man into the living room.

"Is Anthony still up?" Ducky asked. "I have a copy of Treasure Island that I thought he might enjoy reading."

"He's out like a light," Gibbs replied with a grin. "He had a big day at the park."

"Oh dear, I really should have called first."

"Coffee's hot and I can use the company. Make yourself comfortable," Gibbs said, disappearing into the kitchen.

Ducky took a seat on the couch and glanced around at the subtle changes that had transformed the sparsely furnished residence into a family home. He was particularly pleased to see the large framed photograph of Shannon and Kelly, now situated on the sideboard. After burying his grief and heartbreak for too many years, Gibbs finally understood that he couldn't teach the boy to deal with grief and loss without first dealing with own. There was a lot of healing going on in this home…and not all of it was Tony's.

Gibbs returned to the living room juggling coffee, a small pot of tea and several cookies on a plate.

"Peanut butter and coconut," Gibbs said taking a bite and shrugging one shoulder. "Not bad but they're Keto."

Ducky couldn't help but notice the change in the former Marine. Despite the major upheaval to his life Gibbs appeared relaxed and content.

"Tell me, Jethro, how are you and Anthony managing?"

Gibbs took a mouthful of coffee as he contemplated the answer.

"Hasn't been easy, especially for Tony, but we're getting there. He's a good kid, Duck. He's bright, funny…tough as any Marine I've ever known."

Gibbs' eyes softened when he spoke about the boy and Ducky grinned knowingly.

"I must say, old friend, it looks good on you," the ME said.

"What does?

"Fatherhood."

The corner of Gibbs' mouth twitched in a smile.

"Feels good, Duck."

As they drank their beverages, the men chatted casually about the gradual emergence of Tony's personality. Gibbs recounted the kid's initial disappointment when his "white bread, white duck, brown bread, brown duck," theory had been confounded. But, not easily put off, Tony decided to continue his research on their next trip to the park, in case he had been the victim of some feathered-fowl conspiracy.

"Oh my," Ducky chuckled, "the lad certainly has a most active imagination. You will have your hands full, my friend."

"Ya got that right," Gibbs replied, as Ducky's smile faded. "Something on your mind, Duck?"

"Jethro, I've just come from a meeting with Alistair Chambers," he said.

"Tony's family solicitor."

The ME nodded his head.

"There is growing interest from several development companies wishing to purchase Anthony's family home."

"They wanna knock it down?"

"It's a sizeable portion of land in a prestigious location. There have been some very generous offers made; any one of which would ensure the lad has a very, very comfortable life. Has Anthony ever spoken of his former home?"

"Nope."

"As joint trustees of Anthony's inheritance, Alistair and I will do whatever we think is in the boy's best interest, however, it would be helpful if we knew how the lad feels about the house."

"I'll talk to him."

"And what about your future, Jethro?"

"Mine?"

"The director seems to believe that you will be returning to your position on the MCRT," Ducky said. "As you cannot draw your pension until you have officially retired, I imagine your personal savings have taken a considerable pounding."

"Money well spent, Duck."

"Undoubtedly," Ducky agreed. "Anthony has a sizeable inheritance that is already covering his medical needs. But Alistair and I believe it is only right that the trust fund also covers the considerable costs incurred adapting your home to the boy's needs."

"There's no need."

"Perhaps, but it is the right thing to do. You know, Jethro-"

The strident pitch of the seizure alert sounded from the small portable monitor on the coffee table. But it was the chilling sound of the boy's scream that launched Gibbs from the couch and up the hall before he knew he was moving. The instant the boy screamed, the Gunny knew this wasn't a seizure. There had been numerous occasions when vivid and terrifying nightmares had left Tony wild-eyed, distraught and crying out for his parents. But this wasn't a scream of fright; it was one of pain.

"Gibbs! Gibbs!" Tony cried.

Gibbs burst through the door of the boy's room to see Tony writhing in pain on his bed.

"Tony!"

"It hurts, Gibbs, it hurts!" Tony sobbed.

"What hurts, Sport?" Gibbs said, trying to hold the boy still as he twisted and threshed out of his grasp. "Tell me what hurts?"

"Jethro?" Ducky asked, moving quickly to his side.

"He's in pain, Duck," Gibbs replied tersely while struggling to hold Tony. "I don't know why."

"Let me see him," Ducky said, shouldering the other man aside as he reached for the boy. "Anthony? Anthony, listen to me. You must tell me where the pain is so I can help you."

"Here!" Tony cried, his face contorted in agony. "It hurts here!"

The boy clawed at his left thigh and Ducky shifted his hands to feel the tell-tale signs of seriously contracted muscles. Immediately, he began to knead the painful muscle spasm with deft fingers as Tony cried louder as he tried to bat the doctor's hands away.

"Ow, ow, ow, owwwww! Make him stop, Gibbs! Make him stop!"

Gibbs held the boy tightly, his heart threatening to burst from his chest.

"Duck?"

"Jethro, I need heat packs, the instant kind if you have them," Ducky directed sharply as he continued to massage Tony's thigh. "And any muscle relaxant medication Anthony has."

Gibbs cursed his own futility as he looked at Tony's tear-stained face, twisted in distress and torment.

"Now, Jethro!" Ducky snapped. "Go now!"


Gibbs placed a kiss on the boy's sweaty temple and fell heavily into the chair beside the bed. Leaning forward he rested his elbows on his knees and cradled his head in his hands.

"Is he asleep?" Ducky asked softly as the returned from the kitchen with a mug of coffee.

"Yeah," Gibbs replied, scrubbing his face with his hands.

"The medication should see him sleep until morning," Ducky said, handing the steaming mug to Gibbs.

Tony stirred in his sleep and Gibbs gently carded his fingers through the sweaty-blonde hair until the boy settled.

"Shoulda seen him at the park today, Duck," Gibbs said softly. "Happy, laughing…being a kid."

"I spoke to Doctor McNally. He's made an appointment for Anthony to have an MRI first thing in the morning."

"What do you think it is?"

"Traumatic spinal injuries are very complex and no two are the same," Ducky explained.

"Come on, Duck!" Gibbs growled.

"Really, Jethro, you should wait for the results of the MRI. I don't wish to give you or Anthony any false hope."

"Any hope's good hope, Duck," the Gunny said, brushing the bangs back from the sleeping boy's face.

Ducky sighed loudly.

"This may have been a one off incident that will never happen again," he said.

"Or?"

"Or…it could have been the initial stages of Anthony regaining the use of his legs."


More soon. I hope you are still enjoying the story. SMcG