A/N - A little later than usual. Sorry about that. Thanks guys.
Weekend Duty
Chapter 9 – Sunday, 20:13 EST
Vanessa Reynolds, Lucas's mother had arrived. She had insisted on seeing her son and they'd taken her to see his body. She had remained stoic, simply looking down at the lifeless face of her son when Gibbs folded back the covering sheet. She hadn't wanted to touch or caress him; there were no tears, no outpouring of emotions.
Back in the conference room, Vanessa Reynolds had listened as Gibbs confirmed again what she had already been told by Agent Rosario; how Lucas had been found the previous day and that there had been no doubt that he had taken his own life. Gibbs had asked if Vanessa had known why her son might have done it. He had prompted her, encouraged her to talk about the boy's father and her current partner, Steven Porter. How had Lucas been when his father had died? How had she met Porter? How had Porter been with Lucas? Had they done things together? Had she noticed any changes in her son's, or Porter's, behaviour recently?
Gibbs mentioned the bruising and revealed what Webb had told them earlier that afternoon.
At first, Vanessa didn't seem to know what to say and she didn't seem to react at all. Then she denied it. Tony showed her some of the pictures Ducky had taken. She got angry, thumped the table and told them it couldn't possibly be Steven. She would have known. It couldn't have been him. He wasn't like that. He was a good man. He looked after his own. Overwhelmed and exhausted, Vanessa fell into a long silence.
Glancing at Gibbs, Tony stood up and poured Mrs Reynolds a glass of water. Two versus one wasn't helping, and with a brief nod from Gibbs, he placed the glass in front of her and left the room. As the door closed, Vanessa took a small sip from the glass. Unable to meet Gibbs's eyes, she slowly pushed the sleeve of her sweater back to reveal five purple sinister looking bruises on her forearm.
As Vanessa had started to develop a rapport with Gibbs, and realising that three was a crowd, Tony had returned to the squad room to follow up his actions from the interview with Webb. He was only making it worse in the conference room, and it would be easier for Vanessa to talk to Gibbs one-on-one. Especially as he didn't think Lucas had been the sole recipient of Porter's beatings. Vanessa was the classic, clichéd, battered wife that he'd seen too many times in his law enforcement career. Bastard.
The audio of the interview with Webb had been sent off to be transcribed. They were satisfied that Matt Webb had played no part in Lucas Reynolds suicide other than dressing him but they still needed to talk to Steven Porter. He could very possibly be the reason that Lucas Reynolds took his own life. Tony booked an interrogation room for the morning and ordered the technical support. After they interviewed Porter in the morning, the Domestic Violence Unit would definitely want to talk to him, and Vanessa, if his suspicions were correct.
Since his preliminary report was on his team leader's desk awaiting sign off, he'd begun to work on the pile of cold cases he still had. A noise from the corner of the squad room had him craning his neck to find Gibbs walking towards him with Vanessa Reynolds in tow.
"Agent DiNozzo will take you to see Agent Walker now."
"Would you like to come with me, please," he nodded to Gibbs, his suspicions confirmed, and gestured for Mrs Reynolds to walk with him.
Twenty minutes later, Tony introduced Vanessa to Agent Dee Walker from the Domestic Violence Unit. At first, Mrs Reynolds had been reluctant to go with her, but some gentle persuasion was all that had been needed. She was ready to talk and she wanted to make a statement.
Tony made his way back to the elevator and pressed the call button. The familiar ping permeated the area and the doors opened to reveal Gibbs leaning against the right hand panel, holding a cup of coffee. Tony hesitated before entering the elevator, taking the left hand space and then turning to stare at the doors as they began to close.
The elevator began to move gently upwards towards the second floor.
Gibbs already knew the answer, but he had to ask him head on. "Your father ever hit you Tony?"
Tony looked away and Gibbs could see the tension grip his senior field agent. He'd take that as a 'yes'. "Your father hit you often?"
An enduring silence ensued before Tony spoke. "No more than you do now, Boss."
Gibbs swallowed hard. "Tony..." he sighed.
"Boss... don't."
The elevator doors opened.
Both men stood motionless trapped by the awkwardness of the moment. Then the doors began to close. Gibbs' hand shot out stopping them fast. They obeyed, sliding open once again and Gibbs held them there. He glanced at Tony to find the agent quickly shifting his gaze from the hand Gibbs had on the elevator doors to the eyes that Gibbs now had trained on him. Softening his expression, Gibbs jerked his head in the direction of the squad room. Tony obliged and walked out of the elevator back towards his desk. Gibbs sighed and pursed his lips, waiting until Tony was seated before letting the elevator doors close. He punched the button for the basement.
Taking a folder from the stack of cold case files on his desk and opening it, Tony paused and leant back in his chair. Running a hand over his brow smoothing the tension away, he was feeling oddly calmer than he had done several minutes ago. Truth be told, Tony was glad Gibbs had asked him. Many people had asked him that same question. Gibbs never had, until five minutes ago. Somehow, he'd always assumed and thought that Gibbs knew anyway. He probably did. A lot of information passed between them without having actually been said out loud. Gibbs probably just wanted to hear him say it.
In the past, when other people had asked him that very question, he'd answered truthfully. It hadn't been worth it. From then on he'd lied or come up with a plausible explanation, until finally he'd not answered; not even bothered telling. With Gibbs it was different. It mattered that he told him the truth. It mattered that he told him. It mattered to Gibbs, and it mattered to himself. Sure, being hit by his father wasn't something Tony wanted to shout from the roof of the Navy yard and he certainly didn't want or expect pity. He wasn't the only person who'd been hit in their youth. Hell, he'd deserved some of them... not all, but some definitely.
He deserved some of Gibbs's slaps too... not all, but some. There was a difference though. In fact it was completely different. Gibbs was his Boss, not his father. How many Bosses slapped their employees on the back of the head, especially in this day and age? They'd be up on assault charges within the hour. Abby had said they made him feel wanted. Maybe she was right. He didn't particularly like it, but it was what Gibbs did. A little physical contact to the back of his head every now and then grounded him; brought him back on track, made him fight and had stopped him from running on more than one occasion. Gibbs wasn't out to hurt him as such; the guy just seemed to know what he needed... wanted even. That was the difference, and that was why he'd never reported it... well, that and the fact that he'd probably end up working in records for the next twenty years if he even attempted to report it. It would never get that far though, because he knew, and Gibbs knew, that if he ever wanted it to stop, all he needed to do would be to face Gibbs one to one and tell him not to do it.
Or you could stop 'blanking up' Anthony, he berated. Tony sighed. He couldn't see that happening any time soon. Besides, he trusted Gibbs... Gibbs was a man of his word. Three words in particular.
Honour. Courage. Commitment.
Three words. Three values. Values that Tony had slowly been trying to prove he had too. So when Gibbs had asked the question of him in that elevator, he hadn't lied. He'd drawn strength and opened up a part of him that he'd rather have left well alone. Maybe the answer hadn't been a simple 'Yes' or 'No' but damn it, he hadn't lied. He owed Gibbs that much.
The single lamp on Ducky's desk lit autopsy and shadows danced across the walls as Gibbs slowly paced the room. Ducky wasn't around but his single malt was; the specially selected Lagavulin hitting the spot just as effectively as his preferred Bourbon. Pouring a shot into the freshly brewed coffee, Gibbs found the silence of autopsy comforting - like the smell of sawdust in his basement.
So, it hadn't been a picnic for Tony back then. He could imagine Tony being one hell of a stubborn kid, probably driving anyone who came into contact with him completely up the wall; he hardly made it easy for himself now. But he knew DiNozzo. This went far beyond a father giving his errant son a few slaps across the backs of his legs when he was a child. Tony had said very little, but had revealed a lot. Both Gibbs and Tony knew that when Tony exaggerated, Gibbs needn't worry; it was when he understated or tried to cover, that Gibbs should dig. Tony had never mentioned anything about his father hitting him before and Gibbs had assumed, from what little DiNozzo had revealed in the past, and the way the guy craved attention, that whatever problems Tony and his father had stemmed from emotional neglect rather than actual physical abuse at the hands of his father. Perhaps it was both.
The question was, what to do now?
He wouldn't and didn't feel guilty at having ridden his senior field agent hard over the weekend. He'd intended on keeping DiNozzo physically at his desk for as long as he possibly could, emphasising just how pissed he'd been that Tony had thought it was acceptable to go AWOL after he, McGee... and Abby... had spent the best part of a day worrying about, and trying to locate him, Ziva and that blasted shipping container. Tony had scared him; the way he'd just upped and left like that - without a word to anyone.
It hadn't been one of Gibbs's better decisions, joining Ziva and the others in taunting Tony the other evening. Any other time and Tony would probably have given as good as he got, but Tony had been injured and they had all been coming down from an adrenalin high that night. His reaction had been unexpected.
DiNozzo had needed reassurance that running was not the answer. Tony needed to know that he had a place on Gibbs's team as long as he wanted; that Gibbs relied on DiNozzo and DiNozzo could rely on him. Gibbs wanted to test and assess Tony's resolve, and so far the senior field agent had done pretty well.
He hadn't caved. He hadn't run. He'd stayed.
The fact that he'd yelled at Tony, dished out orders, ignored him, even thrown his food in the trash and the guy had taken it, pleased him. Gibbs knew how to work his senior field agent and Tony had responded true to form. Ah... heck. He'd expected a few complaints, some moaning at least, but apart from a brief whine at the crime scene over in Quantico there hadn't been much else. DiNozzo... Tony... had remained professional throughout the weekend, throughout the case, and throughout Gibbs's bastard routine. He'd not let anything affect his work and although the senior field agent had been a little more quiet than usual, the banter had returned. Tony would have no problems with psych. He might even be ready.
Their little conversation in the elevator had, however, thrown Gibbs somewhat.
What the hell do I do, Ducky? he thought, as he sidled over to and perched himself on the edge of the M.E.'s desk. Do I talk to the guy? Do I wait for him to talk to me?
'Jethro. You can't... he won't thank you.' Ducky's words echoed in his mind and seemingly around Autopsy. They had a whole different meaning. What, so I just carry on slapping the back of his head whenever his attention slips. He couldn't do that. Could he?
If Tony didn't want Gibbs to slap him, all he needed to do was come to him and ask him to stop. He would. He had no problem with that. After all, there were lots of other ways to incentivise the guy. He thought Tony knew that. He might be Tony's Boss, he might ride his ass when he needed it, but Tony could count on him, couldn't he? Damn it, Tony! Why didn't you tell me before?
Was he really that much of a bastard that Tony couldn't come to him?
'You didn't treat Stanley like this on his weekend.' Ducky's words echoed in his head until the memory of a conversation he'd had with Tony floated to the fore of his mind. Gibbs licked his lips and closing his eyes briefly, he let out a sigh.
He'd listened, but he hadn't registered its significance until now. Tony had asked him to stop before. He'd said he'd wished Gibbs would stop hitting him, but he hadn't taken much notice of it at the time. He'd been pissed that Tony had preferred to offer a snippet of humour to the rest of the team instead of concentrating fully on the task in hand. He'd rapped him over the head and Tony had just blurted it out. He'd thought it was a quick retort from his senior field agent, to save face. He didn't think Tony had meant it, and he'd never complained before. In any case, it was his management style. It had worked – with Tony, at least.
He made up his mind. He would stop doing it.
'Jethro. You can't... he won't thank you.'
Could he afford not to continue though? If he suddenly stopped, the rest of the team would notice. They'd want to know why. Tony would want to know why too. He was Tony's mentor. He was also the team leader, not Tony, and that meant he had a responsibility to Tony... to all his agents. Gibbs had a sudden compulsion to head straight for the squad room, grab his senior field agent and slap him for putting him in this position. Cursing Tony under his breath, he knew the decision he had to make should be easy but it wasn't.
Was it really his decision to make? Gibbs pondered. This had to be Tony's choice, not his, and maybe it was time for Tony to step up to the plate. He should talk to him, tonight, before the rest of the team came back on duty tomorrow.
No. That was not what Tony needed. He didn't need orders and he didn't need offers of help.
No, what Tony needed, was to be alone right now. The worst thing he could do would be to question, interrogate or confront him further about this. Tony had already made that perfectly clear in the elevator. There were times when an offer of help could have just as detrimental an effect as a cold and uncompromising order. Times too when help or orders could be constructive, but this wasn't one of those times and Gibbs had plenty of experience of both giving and receiving orders and offers of help. Tony needed to be alone in his work at this moment, and Gibbs would allow him that. Perhaps, right now, reviewing cold cases was exactly what Tony needed. He could still help Tony in another way though.
Gibbs checked his pocket, wallet... check, keys... check, coffee... check and slurp. Coffee with a kick. Not bad, Ducky.
It had gone 10pm and Tony was busily working his way through the batch of cold cases when he heard the pronounced ping of the elevator and looked up from his dimly lit desk. Surprised by the identity of the man who exited, he wondered what had happened to Gibbs.
"For you, Agent DiNozzo," the night security guard said handing him a pizza box and a bottle of soda.
"Any note?"
"Nope. You didn't order it?" the guard asked.
"Nope. But I'll take it though. How much?"
"Nothing. Delivery guy said it was all paid for," the guard said as Tony opened the box and sniffed. "You really gonna eat that? You don't even know who sent it."
Tony smiled. "More than my life's worth not to," he said, savouring the aroma of a sausage and pepperoni pizza... with extra cheese.
"Well I warned you," the security guard replied, watching as Tony took a huge bite out of one of the larger slices. He shrugged his shoulders and headed for the elevator.
Raising a half eaten slice of freshly baked Pizza in the direction of Gibbs's desk, and wondering how on earth his boss had managed to get one delivered on a Sunday evening, Tony chewed, swallowed and resisted the urge to stuff the rest of the pizza slice into his mouth just in time to get three little words out, "Thank you, Boss."
TBC...
A/N - Well, hope you liked it. Final chapter will be next posted next Sunday. Thanks for reading and for all your comments.
SA3 - To the LE EXPO 2009 and beyond: Part 7 - Naming convention.
DiNozzo, SA3 and Monteleone screwed their eyes tightly shut in anticipation of the inevitable head slap. When it didn't happen, they each gingerly opened their eyes relaxing somewhat.
"Three," Gibbs finished.
'Whack!'
'Whack!'
'Whack!'
All three men found their heads pushed forward from the force and each felt the smart as their respective boss's hand made its presence known. They all raised a hand, instinctively to the backs of their heads.
The small crowd of onlookers quickly dispersed as the three angry leaders faced them. When they turned back DiNozzo and Monteleone were both rubbing the backs of their heads. SA3 was eyeing Ribbs with amusement.
"Ribs? Like the boat, Boss," SA3 grinned, rubbing the back of his head. Picking up on Monteleone's confused state SA3 explained. "Rigid Inflatable Boat. We use 'em occasionally. You must have seen the models back at the entrance." Monteleone shook his head.
"Nope. Not like the boat," the Boss rebuked, fixing SA3 with a glare.
"Let me guess," DiNozzo sighed. "Two 'b's."
"Uh huh," the Boss responded.
"And the second one is for..."
"Bastard," Gibbs interrupted before his own senior field agent could finish.
"I can't believe you've got a name, Boss." SA3 stated, somewhat bewildered. "All these years and I didn't know your name. You could have told me," he smiled. "I mean, it's not like I would even think of ribbing you about it. Why so cagey, Boss?
'Whack!'
"Keep it up SA3 and I'll arrange a little ribbing session in the gym."
At the side of the exhibition hall, two detectives stood watching in disbelief as the events unfolded before them. They observed silently as three irate bosses lectured their subordinates on the possible consequences of their extremely poor judgement and shook their heads as the three errant charges were each ordered to pick up every last piece of the six chicken and pasta salads that had been scattered all over the exhibition hall floor.
"Shut it Montanelli," Craney warned his senior detective.
"Wasn't gonna say a thing, Boss," the detective exclaimed holding both hands up. "Niente."
TBC...
A/N - Sorry, I couldn't resist. After that explanation on the show of GIB (Guy in back) not to be confused with Gibbs (2 'b's), I had to come up with a parallel set up explanation for Ribbs. (Couldn't go for Tibbs btw - that Mr Gemcity's creation).
