Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who has read, followed, encouraged me, and reviewed this story. You guys are awesome. I'm sad to see this one ending, but I hope you'll join me for future adventures.

WARNING: GET YOUR TISSUES!

Thanks also to my wonderful beta, Gotgoats. You're awesome!

Compelled
Epilgue: A New Life

Six Months Later

"Here we are," Gibbs said quietly, unlocking the door to our new home. He turned around and smiled at me as he hooked a protective hand on my elbow, helping me keep my balance while we walked slowly inside the house. It was a nice one story farmhouse, on about 200 acres of land, in the middle of nowhere. Just what I wanted. No people.

I limped into the house, leaning heavily on Gibbs and smiled slowly as I looked around. This was the first time I'd been here. Gibbs had picked everything out and arranged for the whole place to be set up by the time we got here. Beautiful, thick carpet stretched across the floors, and tasteful, muted colors adorned the walls. I smiled, feeling relief wash over me, when I saw furniture that was similar to what we'd had before, but everything from our old life had been replaced. After everything that happened…I didn't want anything from my old life. I didn't want to run the risk that someone might hide a bug or tracker or something in a couch cushion and find me. I didn't want to be found.

After spending almost two months in the hospital, Gibbs took me back to Mexico. I didn't want to go back to DC. I…I couldn't do it. I didn't want to see anyone from NCIS…I didn't want to talk to them. We spent the winter in the tropics with Mike, giving me the opportunity to get my head back on straight while avoiding the cold during the late summer and fall months.

Have you ever been in a situation where every single person you know is called into question regarding their trustworthiness? Have you ever been in a situation where you feel abandoned and alone by nearly everyone in the world? I woke up in the hospital in Philadelphia, and realized that nearly everyone I knew—nearly everyone I trusted—had betrayed me. Save only two people—Gibbs, whom I thought to be dead, and Mike Franks, who was still in Mexico.

"I was talking to some of the people in town," Gibbs was saying. "They were saying that it'll be May before it really warms up and stays that way. So there's still the possibility of more snow."

"More snow?" I asked. "I hate snow!"

It was late October when I was finally released from the hospital, and when I left, adorned with a huge brace on my leg and external fixators in my hands. I couldn't use my hands at all, so I couldn't use crutches. I was basically at Gibbs' mercy. The question of whether or not I trusted him? Yeah we've answered that one about a thousand times. I remember that day like it was yesterday…

Flashback

"Ok Tony," Gibbs said quietly. He opened the door to the NCIS issue car and I tensed. "What is it?" he asked.

"Is it safe?" I asked.

Gibbs put his hands on my shoulders. "Is what safe?"

"The car?" I whispered. "I…I don't think I want to ride…"

Gibbs' face looked…stormy. "I promise you that you're safe," he told me then. "I will move heaven and earth to keep you safe. I've got your six Tony."

I didn't want to do it, but…but I trusted Gibbs. If he said it was safe, then it was safe. I believed him. "I gotta sit down," I whispered tiredly.

Gibbs gently lowered me into the car and buckled my belt for me. "Where are we going to go?" I asked.

Gibbs climbed into the driver's seat and looked at me. "Home?" he asked.

I must have paled or something. I know I gasped, and Gibbs suddenly put his hand on my shoulder. "We don't have to," he said. "Where do you want to go?"

I stared at my lap, and my ruined hands resting in my lap, and sighed. I tried to think of the safest place I could remember being. "Mexico," I whispered. I thought back on that night I'd run from Jenny and landed in Gibbs' lap in Mexico. "Mike's place," I murmured. I looked at Gibbs. "Can we?"

Gibbs smiled and pulled out his cell phone. He quickly dialed a number and a moment later spoke into it. "Boss it's me," he said. "Look, we uh…we have a situation here and I was wondering…" He listened for a moment. "Yeah…both of us. Great. See you soon."

He hung up the phone and looked at me. "Mexico, eh?"

I nodded. "What'd he say?"

Gibbs put the car into gear and pulled out into the parking lot. "He asked me what time the flight lands."

End Flashback

Gibbs guided me into the kitchen of our house and I sank slowly into a chair at the dining table. I leaned on my elbows and looked around at our state of the art kitchen. It was wide enough that if…if my physical situation deteriorated we wouldn't need to do a lot of renovations. We weren't sure what the future would hold for me. The doctors weren't being very optimistic and…Gibbs and I didn't talk about it a lot because we disagreed on it.

What were we disagreeing on, you ask?

It's quite simple. Gibbs wants me to have more surgery. And I told him no way in hell. My hands are mostly functional, most of the time. I can walk ok, but not great. Surgery might change all of that. I was totally on board until the doctors started throwing around the statistics (surprisingly low, by the way) of the surgeries' success rates, of the mobility I would gain by doing it, and the nerve damage that was likely going to be a side effect to the operations that I needed.

I decided, based on that information, that I didn't need to have surgery. Gibbs doesn't like it. It's been a couple of months since we discussed it last. I know he wants me to take the chance, but…but I've spent my whole life taking chances. And every time it seems like it bites me in the ass. I'm done being risky. I don't want to do it anymore. I told Gibbs—and I meant what I said—that I just want to have a nice, quiet life without a lot of fanfare and without the fear of being found and tortured again.

He's told me several times that everyone who hurt me is gone. None of them survived the storm on the building that Gibbs led to find me. I knew that they were all gone. And then…then the chief showed up in the hospital, and he wanted to kill me too, but Gibbs…well let's just say that Philadelphia had to find a new police chief after that day.

I stared around the house, smiling at it. I really liked it here. I could look out the window and see the Beartooth Mountains. They were still capped with snow from the winter.

"Where did you find this place?" I asked softly.

There was a period of time over the winter when Gibbs left me to go to find us a place to move. Mike told him he had to. I think, even though Mike is supportive of us, that he felt a bit invaded after a while. Sure he said we could come, but he never said we could live there forever. And I was…well I needed a lot of help with…well, everything, for a long time. So Mike agreed to take care of me, and Gibbs came back to the States.

He went to DC to take care of closing out all of our stuff. He cataloged my movie collection and we are going to work on replacing it. He sold his car and my car and the house. He worked with the JAG officer to push my retirement and disability through quickly. Then he retired too. As my power of attorney he settled my father's estate. I don't even want to talk about how odd it is to have inheritance from the man who tried to kill me. Turns out he didn't do his will correctly. And that, coupled with my wonderful lawyer—it was impossible for his will to stand up legally, so I ended up getting everything as his next living family member. I told Gibbs to handle it. If it was stuff, sell it, if it was money, invest it. I didn't want to see any of it. It was dirty money. Awful.

Gibbs took care of all of it. He invested all of the inheritance in a market account that would never depreciate—it would only get bigger. I don't know dollar amounts. I don't want to. Gibbs told me that we shouldn't have to worry about money. I was ok with that.

"I found it online," Gibbs answered my question. "And I used the money from our house and cars to pay for this place. I bought it out right."

"Do you have a workshop?" I asked.

Gibbs smiled. He helped me up and guided me through the dining room to another room and pointed out the window. "See that little outbuilding right there?" he said, pointing.

I nodded.

"That's my workshop. Fully stocked, state of the art. I'm going to build furniture to sell," he said proudly. "And that will keep me close by," he smiled at me.

I smiled. I liked the idea of Gibbs being close by. I felt safer. "I like that," I said quietly. "I…Are you sure this is what you want?" I looked at him carefully.

Gibbs looked at me then, and he pulled me close to him. "I'm positive," he said. "There is nowhere else in the world that I would rather be than here, with you."

"Can't build boats here," I said with a sad laugh. "There's no water anywhere around that I saw."

Gibbs chuckled. "No, no bodies of water around," he agreed. "There's a river, but…I think it's time to do something new. I have lots of free time on my hands these days."

I returned the embrace, putting all of the words I could not say into the gesture. Gibbs tightened his hold on me and I felt him run his hand down the back of my head as if to say, "I know Tony. Me too."

xxx

It took a while for me to settle in, but that was more because of the residual panic I carried with me all of the time. You see, there were shadows in every bright space and monsters around every corner. I walked through a living hell every day only to collapse into an inescapable nightmare every night. It was absolutely maddening.

One nightmare was particularly disturbing—though I can't remember it now—and I woke to Gibbs looming over me, his hands holding my wrists gently to prevent me from striking him, and reassuring me that I was safe.

"They're gone," he murmured. "They can't hurt you anymore. You're safe Tony. I've got you. You're safe with me."

He was being so careful to refrain from giving me orders. The last order he'd given me was the night I begged for one in the hospital. When I asked him about it, he told me that I'd requested that he not give me orders and he was respecting that. Now I clung to my partner, burying my face in his chest, letting him encompass me so absolutely that I didn't know where I stopped and he began. I always felt so safe with Gibbs—I knew there was no threat to me because he would take care of me. With Gibbs around, it was as though I was in a bubble. A nice, safe, warm bubble filled with so much love and peace that I could just drift gently off to sleep again.

The next morning, while we were working together in the kitchen, Gibbs asked me about my dream. We live 30 miles from the nearest store, so we found it easier to make our own bread. I was up to my elbows in bread dough, happily exercising my busted hands, and I stopped and stared at Gibbs.

"I don't really want to talk about it," I said quietly, turning back to my dough and punching it listlessly.

Gibbs stopped his chopping and stared at me. "Might help," he said with a shrug.

I nodded. "It might," I agreed. "But it might not." I started kneading again. My bread skills were improving—each loaf I made was better than the last.

"Tony—" Gibbs started, but I shook my head, stopping him.

"Please don't make me," I whispered.

He came over and wrapped his arms around me from behind and put his chin on my shoulder. He kissed the side of my neck and nodded. "Ok," he said softly. "You know you can talk if you want to."

I nodded and leaned back into his embrace. "I know," I said.

xxx

I sometimes feel bad for our situation. Not because there's anything wrong with it—I absolutely love our situation!—but…I feel bad for Jethro. You see, when we left DC (and by 'we' I mean 'when Gibbs went back and did all of the work while I laid on the beach') Gibbs left everything behind.

He left Shannon and Kelly's graves. He left the car his father remodeled for him. He left a career that he loved and was so good at, and he left all of his friends behind. There are only four people from our former lives that know where we moved to. Ducky. Tobias Fornell. Jackson and Mike Franks. Gibbs explained it to me and I agree with him. By staying in touch with Fornell, we keep an ear to the grapevine. We'll hear if there are any threats. And Ducky? Well aside from the little blip while Gibbs was in Mexico, Ducky has always ever only been a wonderfully faithful friend to both Gibbs and myself.

Ducky came to visit us while I was in the hospital in Philadelphia. He told us about the extremely low morale at NCIS. So low, in fact, that he is planning to retire at the end of the year. He's going to leave the "family business" to Jimmy Palmer. Ah Palmer. I missed my Autopsy Gremlin.

The news of Director Sheppard's death spread like wildfire throughout the agency. Ducky also told us that there were rumors floating around that I was dead as well. Human Resources knows now that I am not dead, but they are keeping that information very quiet. They only have the account number to an overseas wireless account through which to contact me. And…well…that's difficult to do. When the rumors started about my death, Ducky told us that it explained to most everyone why Jethro all but disappeared for several months, before showing back up long enough to tell the Acting Director, Former NCIS Director, Tom Morrow, that he was retiring along with me. Me? I had to retire. I couldn't do my job anymore and I refused to be stuck behind a desk in an office full of people I could not trust.

Ducky said that Tim was moved back to Quantico to work in their Cyber Crimes unit (as a regular agent, not as a supervisor or team lead)—which was where he first started at NCIS—and Abby…well Abby was still in DC. She works at the FBI now. She begged Ducky to disclose Gibbs' location, but Ducky refused. He told her the truth about why he wouldn't say—that when she'd hurt me she'd broken Gibbs' trust in her. I bet it broke her heart, and yet…I couldn't—and still can't—bring myself to care a whole lot.

After that conversation with Ducky, I felt bad. I was lying on the couch with my bum leg propped up and Gibbs was running his fingers through my hair. We always talked to Ducky on speakerphone so we could all chat together.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"Not your fault," Gibbs murmured.

"Is my fault," I insisted. "If it wasn't for me…you could still have your good life."

Gibbs shook his head. "My life was not good before you," he told me. "I was a grumpy bastard who stayed in the basement and drank too much bourbon."

I grinned. "You're still a grumpy bastard," I said.

Gibbs swatted me lightly on the head and poked my stomach. "Is that a fact?" he said gruffly.

My grin grew. "Yes," I said. "You're my grumpy bastard."

Gibbs leaned over and kissed me then. "I'm ok with that," he said.

"But don't you miss all of your friends?" I asked. He and I both noticed that I did not refer to them as my friends.

Gibbs was quiet for a while. "I miss the way things were when things were good," he finally said.

"Before the explosion," I said quietly.

Gibbs nodded tightly. I know he still harbored some guilt over all of that. "That seemed to be the event that set…everything else into motion."

"It's not your fault," I murmured, kissing him softly.

"Not yours either," he said, pulling me close and returning the affection.

xxx

I think I told you earlier that we live 30 miles from a store. Let me be more specific. We live 30 miles from ANYWHERE. The nearest town to us is Red Lodge, Montana. The road we live off of is a long and winding road that turns off of the Beartooth Front Scenic Highway. Our 200 acre paradise is tucked back in the woods that surround our property. It's nearly impossible to find our driveway if you don't know what it looks like.

We are pretty self sufficient where we live. Gibbs wasn't lying when he told me there's a river near our home. Some days Gibbs and I go fishing. The river has wonderful trout and bass in it. Gibbs and I have a huge vegetable garden in it. We are able to grow most of our produce there. We have a well that supplies us with water and we have several large generators to give us power in the winter or during a bad storm. By having all of these great resources at our disposal, it cuts down on the number of trips we have to make to town.

I hate going to town. After everything that happened…being around people makes me really nervous. And I don't think it's just because I am afraid of something happening. The biggest thing for me is the fact that I look different. I had some surgery to repair my ears and my nose. The doctor could not do anything to fix the cuts on my face though—whoever did the slicing apparently knew what they were doing—they cut across the major lines in my face, making it impossible to repair them. If we tried to do plastic surgery to fix them, the resulting scars would be even worse than what I have now.

My hands…God, my hands…My hands are covered in bright red, angry looking scars. The doctors were able to partially repair them, but…I didn't want any more surgeries then. I still don't. The idea of being rendered unconscious and left at the mercy of the world with no way to protect myself…it's just too frightening. My hands are still slightly deformed—bones have not healed back properly in some places, causing hard, painful knots to jut out. By the time Gibbs found me, the bones in my hands were already starting to knit back together. Because of the infections I had in my knee and my shoulder, they couldn't be too invasive and thorough during the first surgery. Once the infection was healed—nearly two months later—I was too horrified, too traumatized to trust anyone with unconsciousness. The only person I trusted was Gibbs. The doctors, so far, have not been willing to entertain the idea of letting Gibbs into the operating theater. I explained myself to Gibbs and he understands. But, nevertheless, my hands and arms look bad. We found some gloves that are a light beige color. They cut down on the distraction for people—plus they help keep my hands warm. My hands ache terribly when they get cold.

In addition to my hands, thanks to the infection in my knee where I was shot, cut open, and then cauterized, I have developed a permanent limp. Physical therapy was a horrible experience for me because working one on one with someone whose motto—well intentioned—is "One more! One more! Push harder! Try again!" actually ended up destroying what was left of the cartilage in my knee. I couldn't stop myself from doing what the PT said, and we didn't realize the damage being done…Gibbs was so pissed when he realized what happened. I think he blames himself. I know the PT felt like shit. More MRIs and x-rays revealed that irreparable damage had been done. The limp is permanent. And so is the pain.

So all of that stuff put together paints the portrait of a man who is pretty frightening to look at. Small children shy away from me and women look at me with guarded stares. Teenage boys watch me with expressions saying they'd love nothing more than to jump me and rough me up in the parking lot. When we go to town I stay very close to Gibbs. We are careful to not be overly affectionate with each other—not because we are afraid, but we don't want to draw even more attention to ourselves.

As time passed, word spread quickly about Gibbs and his furniture making skills. We decided it would be ok to open our out-building as a shop on Saturdays during the Summer months. People could come and make more specialized orders, and could see and pick out the wood, and choose pieces that were unfinished.

It actually worked very well for a while. We would get customers—often travelers or tourists—who would stop in. Gibbs was making even more money this way and I just took care to try and stay out of sight.

One day we had some visitors from town. I recognized a couple of them and quickly felt myself withdrawing. They were some of the "good ole boys"—you know, the grown up versions of the teenage boys in the parking lots I was telling you about.

I was in the out-building with Gibbs on this particular day. I'd had a pretty wicked nightmare the night before and wasn't feeling very safe being alone with my thoughts. I looked at Gibbs and he nodded. He understood. "I'm gonna go work in the garden," I told him, heading for the door.

I walked down the path to the garden. We have a small shed down there for us to keep our tools stored in. I opened the door and stepped inside, hoping to find the basket and spade (the one with the thicker, adapted handle) that I was looking for.

"Well, well, well," a voice said from behind me. "Would ya lookie what we have here!"

I turned slowly, trying to force down the panic. I was wearing a t-shirt with short sleeves and I didn't have my gloves on. I'd not planned to see anyone but Jethro on this particular day so I was not wearing as many clothes to hide myself with. I never feel the need to hide with Gibbs. There were two men standing in the doorway to the shed, blocking my exit, with devious expressions on their faces.

"If you're looking for Gibbs' workshop it's up at the top of the hill," I said pleasantly, offering a smile to hide my growing panic.

"Nah," one of the guys said. "I've found what I'm looking for," he smiled and I felt a chill run up my spine.

"What's that?" I asked, trying to keep my tone light and maintain my self-control. I could feel my panic rising.

"You," the first guy hissed, and he stepped inside the shed. "I gotta message for you."

The smell of juicy tobacco was nauseating and I swallowed hard. I narrowed my eyes, really not liking where this was going. "I'm listening," I said evenly.

"We don't like people like you here," the man sneered, giving me a hard shove backwards. My bad knee buckled and I slammed my back hard against the workbench. I swallowed a gasp as pain tore up my leg. I refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing he'd made me hurt.

"I think you need to leave," I said with as much iron as I could put into my voice. I wish I still had my gun. Hell, I wish I could still hold my gun.

"I think I'm not finished talkin' to you asshole," the man said, taking another step forward. "We don't like your kind here."

"What kind?" I asked.

"Anybody I say it is—and you—" he snorted, "You're different." He spit on me. "We don't. like. different."

Before I could say anything to respond, a hand grabbed the man by his collar and jerked him back. "Get your ass off my property," Gibbs said. The shot gun in his other hand solidified the unspoken threat. "Leave and don't come back until you learn some fucking respect."

"Respect?!" the man sputtered. "For that—that—crippled—animal! We don't want any people with any afflictions like this in our town!"

I flinched at the words, but Gibbs didn't even blink. "Funny," he smirked. "That bumper sticker on your truck says SUPPORT OUT TROOPS. I'd have thought you'd have more respect for a Special Ops POW."

The man froze and his facial expression morphed from haughtiness to shame. He suddenly straightened, turned and faced me, and snapped to a sharp salute. "I'm so sorry sir," he said. "I had…we didn't know."

Gibbs developed the story about the 'Special Ops POW' as a cover for my injuries. There was no question in Gibbs' mind that I had been a prisoner of war. There was a war on crime and a war on terror and Gibbs proclaimed that I am a veteran of both wars. I had fought in both, was a veteran in both—was in the shape I am in because of both. I didn't know if I truly bought into Gibbs' logic or not, but for now I was relieved that he'd managed to turn the situation around.

"You didn't really give me the chance to explain," I told the man quietly. My hands were beginning to shake and I could feel the panic settling in now. Gibbs noticed.

"I think we're closed for the day," Gibbs said softly.

The man who'd wanted nothing better than to beat me to a pulp nodded, his facial expression contrite. "I'm very sorry," he said. "We uh…thank you…sir. For your service. We uh…we're proud to have you as a citizen of our town."

"Oh and one other thing," Gibbs said. "If you're gonna salute, do it right, ya sloppy bastards. Now get the hell off my land."

I didn't respond. There was no way to force words around the excruciating lump in my throat. Without another word, the man and his buddies turned and went back to their truck. Gibbs and I stood shoulder to shoulder until the truck was out of sight. Once they were gone, Gibbs turned to me and I sagged against him, leaning into his embrace, shuddering hard.

"Are you alright?" Gibbs asked me quietly. He put his hands on my shoulders and looked at me carefully before pulling me back into a safe embrace. I could feel his hands on my back and I trembled even harder.

"I'm ok," I whispered. "I'm…I'm ok…I'm…oh God Gibbs," I whispered. "I'm going to be sick."

Gibbs practically dragged me out of the shed where I promptly lost my breakfast in the grass.

"Ok it's ok you're alright," Gibbs murmured in my ear. "I've got you, you're safe. We're ok. Wanna go back inside?"

I nodded and Gibbs hooked his hand on my good elbow and helped me up. We headed for the house slowly. The more we walked the more I fell apart. We got back to the house and I went straight to bed and stayed there for most of the day. I woke up later on that night and sat up slowly in bed, groaning softly when I moved. I could hear Gibbs speaking. He was on the phone with his dad.

"I'm worried," he was saying. "We thought opening the shop up…we thought it was a good idea." Jethro's voice sounded odd, like he might cry or throw up. His voice was much gruffer than usual. "I don't want him to feel like…he feels like he's holding me back on everything, and I don't know how to prove to him that he isn't—he's my whole life Dad!"

I blinked heavily, trying to hear what was being said without getting up, but knowing Jethro he was pacing. He always paced when he got upset. In fact, if I had a bet to make, he'd been pacing for most of the day. Eventually I couldn't hear him anymore and I had to push myself out of bed. I wanted to know what was on Gibbs' mind. I needed to know. And I needed Gibbs to be unedited.

"No Dad," Gibbs was saying. "He's not fragile at all—I know you weren't calling him fragile either Dad—but Tony…Tony's the strongest man I know. Hands down. I have never met anyone like him. As strong as Shannon was with this kind of thing…God Tony, he's just…he's like the heavyweight champion of having the world on his shoulders. And I'm worried about him. I'm scared to death that something's going to happen. Those guys today—they came here with the only purpose of roughing Tony up. IN HIS OWN HOME!"

I stepped into the living room, one hand holding onto my bum shoulder. Gibbs smiled when he saw me and held up one finger. He talked to his dad for another minute before getting off the phone. "My dad says hi," Gibbs said.

I smiled and sank onto the couch. "Hey," I said to no one, and then smiled wider at myself. "Gibbs?"

Gibbs joined me on the couch. "Yeah?" he asked.

"Um…I don't even know how to say this…do you…do you think that…that I've done something in town that…that caused today?" I didn't like the way my voice wobbled when I spoke.

Gibbs gently took hold of my hands and smiled. He took care to never hurt me when he touched me. My hands, as broken as they were, were never hurt when he held them. "I don't think you've done anything to deserve anything you've had done to you," he said quietly.

I leaned into him and he wrapped his arm protectively around my shoulders. "Gibbs?" I asked softly. My voice was still wobbling.

"Yeah Tony?"

"If I ask you to do me a favor will you do it?" he asked.

Gibbs looked at me. My face must have looked funny because his expression turned very serious. "Tony? What is it you want me to do?"

"Will you make me forget everything? I don't want to hurt anymore Jethro. I don't want to live my whole life being afraid. I…Gibbs we have so many things we want to do…and I…I can't…I don't…I just want to forget everything. I don't want to do this anymore," I murmured, staring at my lap.

Gibbs pulled me closer and I felt him sigh. "Tony…I don't think that's the answer," he said quietly.

"Please…Jethro…I never…I don't ask for things like this often…but I just…I'm so tired Gibbs…I just want to have my life back. I want us to have our lives back."

"Let me call Ducky," Gibbs said. "Let me ask him the best way to approach this. Is that ok?"

I nodded. If I said no, Gibbs would refuse. And I trusted Ducky. It'd be ok.

Gibbs nodded. "Ok." He pulled out his phone. After a long conversation with Ducky, Jethro hung up the phone and he looked at me. "Ok here is what Ducky is suggesting. I am not going to eliminate your memories. You need those memories. They're what make you who you are—the man that I love. And from the perspective of someone who lost his memories…I wouldn't do that to you. I couldn't."

I opened my mouth to protest but Jethro held up a hand to stop me. "Do you trust me?" he asked.

I felt tears fill my eyes at his question. "Yes," I whispered. "More than anything. Oh God yes Jethro I trust you," I breathed.

Gibbs brushed the back of his fingers over my cheek. He leaned in and he kissed me gently. "Then close your eyes," he whispered.

My eyes dropped shut.

xxx

I cannot begin to tell you how much better life is. Gibbs saved my life the night he gave me my last orders. He refused to take away my memories, and looking back I see that he was right. I need those memories. What Gibbs took away, was the pain. I don't remember the graphicness of my time being held prisoner in Philadelphia. I don't remember the specifics of the abuse I suffered at the hands of my father, and later Robby. I don't remember the hurtful things that Abby, McGee and Ziva said to me while Gibbs was away trying to get his memory back.

I do remember the good times. I remember having fun with the team. I remember being a brilliant investigator for NCIS and the police departments where I worked. I remember being an honest person, a good cop—I remember all of the important stuff. I remember the lessons I learned from the pain that Gibbs muted.

I can sleep most nights without nightmares now, and the constant panic that had accompanied me since I was abducted has faded into the background. I still have the scars and the physical deformities from when those people hurt me. I remember what I need to. But the details—the details that haunted me every minute of every day? That stuff is all gone.

When we go to town, the people there seem to have a new respect for me. They treat me so much nicer now than they used to. Gibbs and I decided that it might be fun to open a shop up in Red Lodge, rather than to invite them to our property. We will open Gibbs' Fine Wood Furnishings next May.

Our lives are simple. Different from anything either of us could have imagined, but simple and happy. Gibbs and I are together. We are inseparable and together we are truly a strong and unstoppable team. We are making friends and our lives are moving forward together.

And then Gibbs had his best idea yet. After he'd helped me to overcome the pain haunting my memories, he looked at me. He smiled and he pulled me close. "Tony," he said to me. "I'm going to give you one last order. I don't know if it will work, but it's worth a shot." I looked up at him and smiled. I nodded encouragingly, telling him that he had my blessing to do it. Whatever it was, I trusted him. Gibbs took a deep breath.

"Tony," Gibbs murmured in my ear. "You're not compelled to follow orders anymore. You're not an Opsequensotype anymore. You're free."

You know? Being free is a really awesome feeling.

And I have an idea for a new career. I have to go now—have to get my voice recorder. I can't type anymore, but I have this nifty gadget—this digital recorder. Gibbs and I talked about it, and I'm going to have a go at movie screenwriting. I love to tell stories, and you know? I think this one is a good place to start.

I can't wait to see who Hollywood chooses to play me, Tony DiNozzo, the recovering opsequensotype.

The End