Sorry for not updating. I can't quite remember how long it has been but it's been a while. I have now resumed all regular updating. I actually enjoy writing this more than my other story but I feel more obligated to the other one as it has been going for almost 50 chapters. From now on, however, I will update both stories every day.
Tony lay on his bed, the ceiling spinning above him. He had definitely had too much to drink the night before. A wedge had been driven into his skull, right behind his ear, and the chasm was sawing away at the bone.
His phone – the one used for undercover FBI work which Ziva had 'found' in her handbag – had woken him up at eight. He hadn't answered. He knew who it was; Joey would never be awake at that time in the morning, and Ziva had had the opportunity to copy the number into her own phone.
He blinked and the ceiling paused in its steady rotation for a second. Taking advantage of his momentary control, he rolled onto his stomach. The wedge was replaced with a drill, screwing its way into the depths of his brain.
He closed his eyes and lay still, trying to calm his shifting stomach. He swallowed slowly and sighed. The hangovers got worse with age, evidently. He should have taken advantage of his youth. All those years more or less sober at NCIS were wasted. He nothing to show for them, anyway, so it would not have made a difference if he had been out drinking every night.
His stomach lurched upwards and he opened his mouth, spewing the remnants of his lunch onto the newly hoovered carpet. He didn't bother trying to make it to the bathroom; he was well practised at bleaching carpets to cover up acidic stains. He groaned quietly, awash with self-pity.
He corrected his earlier thought. He did have something to show for all those years at NCIS. A dead boss. A stellar legacy.
'You know, Ziva. You look more attractive when your mouth is shut,' he remarked across the No Man's Land between their desks.
Ziva narrowed her eyes and closed the gap between her lips, leaning forward to read through her paperwork for the twenty-first time. Gibbs was insistent that it was word perfect and nothing they had handed in so far had met that standard.
Tony sighed and leaned back in his chair, linking his fingers behind his head.
'DiNozzo,' Gibbs barked. 'Finished your paperwork?'
Tony jerked upright and grabbed his pen, poising it over the paper. 'Hey, Boss. I was just –'
Gibbs sat down behind his desk and lowered his head, not listening to Tony. Bullpen banter had been put on hold for this particular case, Tony remembered.
Gibbs dropped his pen and stood up. 'What have you found?' he demanded, walking round to the black plasma screen.
Tony hopped out of his seat. Investigating was more interesting than rewriting paperwork for the twenty-fifth time and, since Gibbs expected them to do both, he had opted for pretending to do the paperwork and actually doing the investigating. Therefore, he had managed to find a possible lead.
'His mum was killed a year before Bates went to prison,' Tony announced. His hand felt naked; McGee would have managed to come up with something to show Gibbs on the screen whereas Gibbs was still staring at the blank, black rectangle.
Ziva sat up, frowning. 'I thought that he was called Sidney Latimer.'
Tony rolled his eyes. 'He is. Norman Bates is the killer from Psycho.' Ziva raised her eyebrows and looked vacant. 'The Alfred Hitchcock film...Janet Leigh...Anthony Perkins...' He sighed. 'We still have a lot of movie ground to cover, I see.'
'And, let me guess, you want to be my mentor?' Ziva asked, twirling a strand of hair round her pinkie finger.
Tony grinned lewdly. 'If you want me to –'
'Was the killer ever found?' Gibbs interrupted.
Tony frowned. 'Well, yeah. It was Norman Bates. Haven't you ever seen Psycho, Gibbs?'
'The mother's killer,' Gibbs barked through gritted teeth.
Tony turned back to the blank screen. 'Yeah. This is the best part.' He paused to create suspense but, seeing the look on Gibbs's face, continued hurriedly. 'His mother was killed in a shootout with NCIS agents.' Tony pursed his lips. 'Not quite like Bates but still –'
Gibbs stood still for a moment. All eyes were on him as he just stood there. Then, suddenly, he snapped and spun round to grab his gun from his drawer. And then he was gone – disappeared towards the elevator.
Tony heard the 'ding' of the elevator doors opening and hesitated for a second, considering chasing his boss down the stairs and going with him. Gibbs would most probably send him back, if he did, though. His eyes shifted south to look at Ziva and he grinned at her and sat down behind his desk to catch up on the paperwork before Gibbs got back from his mystery excursion.
He never returned.
The last time they ever spoke to him; Tony made a joke and Ziva was flirting with Tony. The last time they ever saw him; he didn't even say goodbye.
If he had gone with Gibbs, chased him, he might have been able to save him. He might still be working at NCIS, wasting his life but not destroying it at the same time.
Gibbs would be retired, living in Mexico with Franks, building boats to his heart's content and marrying and divorcing women annually. Happy in growing old. Instead of rotting in a shop-bought coffin beneath the soil.
Ziva would be sitting opposite him, throwing him coy glances every so often, and he would never ignore her calls or close his bedroom door on her. McGee would be a healthy size, his eyes square from staring at the computer screen and a photo of his wedding day on his desk: Abby smiling beside him, framed by a varnished wood frame.
Everyone would be content and companionable, not drawing away from each other, each word guarded and unfeeling. He felt the animosity in the air, even if he didn't particularly care. He didn't care; it was just a fact. All this hate and misery was his fault. If Gibbs was still reachable by a plane or a phone, things would not have deteriorated to the point of impassiveness, bordering on abhorration.
Tony groaned. He could rid himself of the alcohol in his blood, could blow out the plume of acrid cigarette smoke, could send the prostitute away from his motel room, but he could never shake off the all-consuming guilt that plagued him.
Like I said, I will update tomorrow. And Gibbs will actually die in either the next chapter or the one after, probably tomorrow's update.
