Chapter Ten: The Song Is Ending, but the Melody Lingers On
It doesn't matter who it is. Whether it's a boyfriend, girlfriend or a fiancée. An aunt, an uncle. Whether it's a sister, a brother, if it's a husband or a wife. It doesn't even matter if it's a mother or a father, a daughter or a son. It doesn't matter if it's a friend, your best friend, your closest ally and your confident.
It never matters who it is, but will always hurt to loose someone.
The wind flicked the snow in a fine white mist of twisting light; echoing as a song around the quiet headstones
He should've gone back into the fire…because it was his boy. His little boy, just his little boy. The child who should have been running up the driveway as fast as he could, bag dragging behind him.
"Dad! Dad!" The excited yell had Gibbs yanking the door open even before the young fourteen year old Anthony Jackson Gibbs had reached for his house key.
"What?" Gibbs stepped back to let his son dump his school bag just inside the door and stand excitedly bobbing up and down on the balls of his feet, ignoring the fact the laces on his converses were trailing. "Speak Tony, before you explode."
"Only if you guess."
"I'm not guessing, tell me."
"I'm not telling you, guess it!"
"Tell."
"Guess!"
"No."
"Then no story, where's Puppy?" Tony switched subjects like a fire crack, looking around the corridor for the mixed up mutt they still hadn't given a name to even if the dog was almost ten months old.
"In the garden. What homework d'you have?"
"Why do you always assume I have homework? I might have none!"
"You always have homework. No playing with Dog until it's done. Especially if it's algebra."
"Aw! C'mon Dad, it's not like I'm gunna be using that in real life, even asked Mrs. Clarkenson where we'd use 12x + 49 = 253 and she just shrugged."
"Go do your algebra."
"Ah, but I didn't say I actually had any, did I!"
Gibbs just smiled. Tony's expression fell into a pout. "Fine, but I want you to know it's child abuse to make me do algebra!" He stalked off towards the stairs, bag dragging behind him on the wooden flooring. Gibbs smiled wider.
"You gunna tell me?" He called after his son.
"No, you made me do algebra." He heard the annoyed grumble making its way into the kitchen.
"Okay, shall I guess?" Tony's head whipped around, a grin fully plastered.
"No, don't guess, I'll tell you. I made the team!"
"The team? You made the team?" Gibbs blinked.
"Yeah! I made the team, Dad! Third youngest ever. Ever! Coach said I could make Captain before Junior year." Gibbs couldn't contain his smile as he strode forward, enveloping his still growing boy into a bear hug.
Now standing between the quiet gravestones. Thick winter coat wrapped tightly, the wind playing through the tails. Gibbs stood, the frozen earth hard and unyielding.
"See I can cook!" Fifteen year old Tony explained smugly, setting the large pot on the heat mat of the table.
"Never doubted you for a moment." Gibbs smiled ruefully, leaning back in his chair.
"Yeah?" Tony was hardly convinced. "Then why were you following me round the kitchen? Worried I'd set something alight?" Tony pouted, pulling off the oven gloves and tossing them onto the side counter, pulling out his own chair.
"If I thought you'd set something on fire I'd be following you round with a fire extinguisher." Gibbs replied matter-of-factly, reaching to take the pot lid off, steam wafted off the top, drifting up towards the ceiling.
"Well…if you're not convinced that my culinary skills out skill you, take a bite." The slightly troublesome, but no less lovable for a tolerant father such as Gibbs, teenager crossed his arms.
"Can't do that." Gibbs replied mimicking his son.
"And why's that, are you afraid it's gunna kill ya?"
"Nope, just s'not polite."
"Polite?" Tony frowned.
"Yeah, gotta wait for the guests." As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Tony blinked.
"Guests? Guests! Dad, who did you invite, I'm not sitting through another 'polite' dinner with Miss Here-This-Week-Run-Outta-Here-Screaming-The-Next." The boy grumped quietly, slouching in his chair. Gibbs smirked, pushing himself up from the table. The door had started to stay unlocked in the past couple of months, only being truly bolted during the night long after the youngest Gibbs had crashed onto his bed.
"Good evening, Jethro." A jovial and thoroughly recognised voice spoke up, brightening Tony up to no end.
"Ducky!" He exclaimed, his exuberance almost knocking back his chair as he bounded towards the door.
"I heard you cooked tonight, is it a good thing I'm a doctor?" The Medical Examiner smiled warmly at the boy, taking off his coat and hanging it on the familiar coat pegs.
"You're just as hilarious as Dad." Tony griped, stalking back towards his chair. The Pathologist just smiled, catching Gibbs own fond expression.
"Hasn't changed a great deal, has he." Ducky commented slyly, following the expressive boy back towards the table.
"Not a bit," Gibbs announced proudly.
Raising the gaze from the frozen ground, he met the eyes of the Medical Examiner, standing solemnly across from him, weary and mourning. Gibbs lowered his eyes once more.
"Dad! You're supposed to throw it, not sling-shot it!" Sixteen year old Tony yelled as he sprinted after a long throw, scooping up the football from the damp grass.
"Should run faster, kid!" Gibbs yelled back, easily catching the arching ball which Tony had just thrown seamlessly across the distance between them. An animated bark caught Tony's attention. Diefenbaker, now finally named after almost a year of being 'Puppy', bounded back from the undergrowth beside the green grassed park, dragging what seemed to be most of a tree behind him.
"Well, it's sort of like fetch!" Tony laughed as the dog deposited the log in front of him, tail waving backwards and forwards without any seeming point or thought in his fuzzy head.
"Yeah, 'cept you threw him a tennis ball and he comes back with an elm tree." Gibbs tossed the ball between his hands, spinning it up through the summer's air.
"Hey! Tony!" A voice made both the Gibbs' look up towards the late afternoon sunlight where a shadow was quickly becoming clearer and clearer as Jacob Russet, Tony's high school friend and companion footballer.
"Hey Jake, what you doin' out here?" Tony straightened up from where he'd been fussing over his dog, grinning widely at his friend.
"Oh, you know, taking a run, checkin' out the girls, 'bout to butt in on your game. That sorta thing." The tall boy, slightly taller and bulkier than Tony, shrugged, coming to a stop on the grass. He wasn't one for subtlety was Jake.
"I'll leave you guys to it." Gibbs smiled, tossing the ball over towards the two boys, his grin widening as they both grappled in the air for it, Diefenbaker yapping excitedly at their feet.
"You sure, Dad?" Tony finally managed to snatch the football from the air, lunging for it and almost tripping up had it not been for his hand catching him on the grass. Gibbs just nodded.
"Want you home by eight."
"Aw, Da-ad! You let me stay out and then give me a curfew." Tony whined, blinking his big puppy-dog eyes.
"It's not a curfew, it's dinner, you get any thinner and you'll be mistaken for one of the cheerleaders." Gibbs shot back, grinning as he turned his back, clicking for Diefenbaker. It usually worked on the third or fourth attempt. This time it was only the third before the canine came dragging his log behind him, skittering behind Gibbs with his eyes shining. His mouth quirked at the edges as his sharp hearing picked up words he probably wasn't supposed to hear.
"Tones, you complain way too much, man!" Jake's voice was probably supposed to be quiet. "My dad makes sure I'm threw the door at six thirty or I'm serious toast! Your dad's not bad, man."
"You don't need to tell me, Jake-y…now c'mon I only got 'til eight!"
The soft shuffle at feet and the voice of the priest. Neither were comforting whilst one was trying to be. The day was dark, mimicking the mood. Soft flakes drifted around the coffin, brushing over the framed photograph and elegant spring flowers, their beauty lost in the moment, now balanced on the wooden lid, nailed shut.
"Keep it steady, follow just ahead." Gibbs soft voice coached in his seventeen year old son's ear. Green eyes creased with concentration, moving only slightly before pulling his index figure back. A few hundred yards away a clay pigeon shattered against the morning skyline.
"Yes!" Tony cheered himself, dropping the gun from his shoulder with a grin splitting his tanned face.
"Not bad." Gibbs' voice held his own bright pride as he smiled just as proudly over his only son.
"Not bad? That was brilliant!" Tony had never been one for too much modesty.
"Ah…I wouldn't go that far, still can't hit three in a row." Gibbs shrugged playfully, leaning his arm against the post beside him. Tony glared at him.
"That's just 'cause I get bored, they take like five minutes in between them." He griped good-naturedly, emptying out the weapon and replacing the live ammo, adjusting his shooting glasses with his eyebrows.
"Oh, you want them quicker? Think you can handle it?"
"Pst, I could handle it blindfolded, I could beat you." Hmn…not a great idea. Gibbs raised an eyebrow, not moving from his leaning post but just shifting his expression.
"C'mon, you scared?" Tony taunted un-necessarily, grinning widely. Gibbs smirked, pressing a button on the consol behind him, upping the levelling. He watched Tony, never taking his eyes off his son as he brought his gun up. The traditional 'phut, phut, phut' noise of the clay pigeon being release. Gibbs eyes never left Tony, the clay plate sped across the skyline.
In a flash Gibbs brought the weapon around, squeezing the trigger. Three times. With a clatter of broken clay the three clay plates exploded in an impressive firework shower. Gibbs smirk was beyond smug as Tony just stared at him, but the smirk turned into a grin as Tony's expression changed to a glare.
"Doesn't count, you were a sniper."
"Whatever makes you feel better, kid."
Gibbs hadn't slept for days. Couldn't remember the last good night he'd had, or even half a night. Catching a few hours here and there, chairs, corners, desks. The smiling photograph conjured up so many memories, but there was just one which stood out, but he couldn't think of that now. No, not the fire now. Anything else.
Gibbs grasped the dishtowel, drying his hands, tossing it over the drying cutlery and tableware on the drying rack. For the last few minutes there had been the non-stop clatter and putter from upstairs; drawers opening, closing, the wardrobe door which always creaked, the bathroom cabinet which clicked loudly whenever it closed. But, that all seemed to have stopped in the last minute.
Making his way from the kitchen, Gibbs wasn't surprised to not see the frisky dog curled up in his basket by the fireplace, the flames flickering gently, almost fading in the dark living room; shedding shimmering sparks across the far wall.
Tony's room had a door which refused to shut, it stuck on the carpet leaving a good six inches of space. But, unusually, no music was playing, the radio wasn't burbling on, not even Tony's voice on the phone or strumming against the old batter guitar which was held together with duct tape and willpower.
Gibbs pushed the door open lightly, leaning against the doorframe. Tony's bed sheets were folded and packed away into one of the two suitcases which lay across the floor, ready for someone to trip over. The mattress was bare except for the stretched out pooch and the eighteen year old leaning against the headboard, stroking the dog's back. Absentmindedly, Gibbs stepped forward, folding one of the shirts his son had just thrown haphazardly into the bigger suitcase.
"Almost done?" He asked, glancing up at the boy he could still remember as a lanky fourteen year old bouncing on an office chair. Tony nodded mutely, continuing to stroke Diefenbaker's soft back as the dog sprawled across the bare mattress.
"What's left?"
"As in 'what's left from packing up your life and taking to Ohio'?" Tony grinned, sliding off the bed, earning a disgruntled gruff from the pooch. Gibbs nodded.
Reaching up towards his chest of drawers, Tony grabbed the photograph in its light wooden frame which had taken residence on his chest of drawers for the past five years. The photograph was candid, a snapshot Kodak moment taken inside the NCIS bullpen with Tony sitting on the floor with the crime scene photographs of a finished case burglary from years before spread all around him. Roy was crouched down in front of the fifteen year old (at the time fifteen anyway) looking around to Peter who had just given a comment, grinning equally as loudly as Roy. Gibbs hadn't even realised he'd been in it until the flash had gone off, covering him in light. He'd been standing on the first landing of the stairs, surveying the bullpen with a smile as his agents fought around a cold case.
Pacci had taken the photograph, left it on Gibbs' desk the next morning with a post-it note stuck on. Tony had kept it as one of the centre-pieces of his room ever since, Gibbs also had a copy in his top drawer.
"Hey, Dad?" Tony said after a moment, zipping up one of the suitcases he'd ship up to Ohio the next morning for his new four years of University.
"Hmn?" Gibbs turned calmly, watching Tony fidget with his hair in the mirror for a moment. That should've been a candid photograph.
"Wanna watch a movie?" He turned with smiling green eyes, Gibbs grinned.
"Sure, son."
The clock had ticked long past midnight when Gibbs looked down at Tony. The den was quiet, just the quiet hum of the television, the very low crackling of the fire which had been blazing only hours before during the film. Tony had fallen asleep somewhere between the first car chase and the second, his head resting against Gibbs shoulder as he legs draped over the end of the couch. Whether consciously or not, Gibbs slid an arm around his son's shoulders, covering him with the afghan which adorned the back of the sofa. Diefenbaker snuffled in his sleep by the fire, curled up warmly in his basket.
Leaning his head back against the back of the sofa, Gibbs kicked off his shoes, resting them on the coffee table in front of him, closing his own eyes, a smile permanently lined across his lips.
They definitely had it right for once. Heaven really was a place on Earth.
So many memories. The cold bit through, a constant reminder of the pain and the terror of that day.
A new voice. Not the priest's, a different voice entirely.
"It didn't matter to him who it was. But that was just what he was, my best friend, my closest ally and the one I trusted so much. With my life, with my friends and family, with my hope. I would've trusted him, and I did trust him beyond what I can say here. He saved my life, in more ways than one.
He was my closest friend. And I am not ashamed, but I am proud to say I loved him, he was my family. Maybe not biologically, but when did that matter?
I have lost a lot in this world before, but through him I gained so much, so much life. I can't say how much, I can't put it into a list. I can't put his love, his courage, his life into a list. He pulled me from a dark hole of self-pity and pain. There was something more in this life, something more that he could show me. And he did. I remember when I first met him, feels so long ago. He understood me, and I him. It never had to be said, and it never was. Sometimes I wish I had said it, every day I wish I'd told him."
Tears fell unguarded, glistening on his cheek before they fell. "He saved my life, but not just mine. He helped me find my family, I never needed anything else and I never thanked him, but he never wanted to be thanked. That was just who he was, made him who he was."
Beside Gibbs Tony stood, silent tears shining against the dark curves of his eyelashes. So vividly he could see it all, remember it all.
Roy took a shuddering breath, composing himself as Annie squeezed his hand.
"Peter Dalrym was my best friend and he died to protect me."
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I'm not sure. I never was about this chapter, we'll see. I hope you like it, and thank-you to all the reviews, thanks very much indeed.
Eryn [Soul Music]