WARNINGS! PLEASE READ: Chapter includes consideration of actions that could be construed as suicidal as well as the carrying out of actions that could be considered such.
And a request: Read to the end. Whatever happens, just read all the way to the end.
In hindsight, Tony was pretty sure the reason Vance had sent the first three replacements their way was because he wanted to get rid of them and didn't have the grounds to fire them.
Vance was lucky they didn't turn up dead. Martin had nearly shot Gibbs when his trigger finger got twitchy, Shelby had accidentally crashed Tim's computer, and Reubens had bullied Palmer mercilessly due to his status as a ghost.
Bishop was nice, he had to admit, and she wasn't hopelessly stupid. This could work.
Provided they got around the snack issue, that is.
Gibbs snatched the bag of chips out of her hand. "No food in the bullpen, Bishop."
Tony hastily shoved the last of his salt free pizza in his mouth and slid the box under his desk.
"But - "
Gibbs ignored her protest. "And go wash your hands. Techs get mad if there's grease on the computers."
"I'll clean it up later! I food associate, Gibbs, I need it!"
Gibbs didn't even look up. "Wash. Now."
She looked around for support. Tony held up his hands in mock helplessness.
He did slip her one of his ghost friendly chocolate bars after lunch, but if she was going to work with them, she was going to have to cut down on her salt intake.
Taking down the Calling hadn't been the worst case of his career, but it was definitely in the top ten. They were still doing mop-up work a month later, and Gibbs was heartily sick of it.
"I'm going for coffee," he announced, pushing himself back from his desk. Tony and Bishop looked up and nodded from their positions on the telephones. Tim kept working at his computer.
"Should have something for you by the time you get back, Boss."
Good. He wanted this over with.
It was raining hard out there, hard enough to keep most people indoors, but Gibbs needed coffee, and despite what Vance claimed, there wasn't any in NCIS headquarters. Brown stuff claiming to be coffee, yes. Actual coffee, no.
He ordered his usual from the coffee shop and stopped just outside it to take a quick sip. He wasn't as young as he used to be. He needed a bit more energy to keep him going.
In his peripheral vision, he noticed a white van pulling to a stop beside the sidewalk. Instinct made him look around quickly.
Just not quite quickly enough.
Tim finished tracing the money he'd been following and readied the information to be put up on the screen. "Ready, Boss."
When no answer came, he looked up to see that Gibbs had not yet made it back to the bullpen. He glanced at the time. That was odd. It had taken him a little longer than he'd thought to find the source of the funds. Gibbs should have been back by now.
Tony glanced up from his own work. "Did you say something, McGoo?"
Tim frowned. "Where's Gibbs?"
Tony looked around the bullpen like he was just now realizing he wasn't back. "Bishop?"
She shrugged. "Maybe he wanted to wait out the worst of the rain?"
"Gibbs?" Tony and Tim demanded simultaneously.
Tony looked at the clock again. "Let's give him ten more minutes. If he's not back by then, I'll go make sure he hasn't decided to save time by moving into the coffee shop."
The next ten minutes were spent watching the clock and the elevator more than they were on actual work. There could be a good reason for all this, Tim managed to convince himself. Maybe he ran into Ziva and was trying to convince her to come home.
Maybe he ran into Ziva and she'd lost the last of her self control.
Exactly ten minutes later, Tony hopped to his feet. "Right. I'm going to go check on him."
Tim half rose. "Want me to come too?"
Tony shook his head. "Don't worry about it, McGeek. It's not like we're going to investigate a crime scene."
Tim gulped. Tony gave a reassuring smile to both of them and disappeared into the elevator.
Bishop chewed on her lip. "What if he doesn't come back either?"
"Don't joke about that."
Tony thanked the lady behind the counter and called McWorrywart before he could get himself too worked up. "Has Gibbs shown up yet?"
"No. What'd you find?"
"He made it to the coffee shop. He didn't meet anyone here, and he looked fine to the barista." Tony weighed his options for a minute. On the one hand, someone being missing for a little under an hour wasn't near enough time to open an investigation. On the other hand, Gibbs. "I'm going to see if I can get a look at the security camera footage."
Tim sounded relieved. "Good idea. I'll call you if he shows back up."
"You'd better." Tony hung up and slid the phone back into his pocket before turning back to the barista with his most charming smile. "I don't suppose you have any security cameras just outside your store, do you? You do? Perfect. Think I could take a look at the footage?"
Gibbs woke up on a cold concrete floor. Crates of something were stacked up to a high ceiling.
A warehouse. How original.
Someone had slapped a piece of duct tape over his mouth, and more had been used to tie up his arms and legs. They must not have been professionals, though, because they'd tied his arms in front, not back.
He could use that. As soon as the room stopped spinning enough for him to see, he could use that.
Something was beeping nearby. The sound irritated his pounding headache.
He closed his eyes. Get it together, Gunny, he could hear Franks say. This ain't no time for coddling.
"McGee, I've got the security camera footage. I'm bringing it over now for you and Abby to analyze."
Tim was staring at his computer screen. "Please tell me you've got something."
Tony's voice was tight. "I do, but you're not going to like it."
Tim couldn't look away from the picture in his inbox. "Somebody grabbed Gibbs."
There was a pause. "Yeah. How'd you know?"
"They, uh, sent me an email." Gibbs unconscious and bound was bad enough. The bomb ticking away in the corner of the picture was worse.
"Can you trace it?" Tony demanded.
Trace it. Right. He had to trace it. "I'll try." The phone rang. Unknown number. "Give me a second." He set his cellphone down and picked up the desk phone. "Hello?"
"We have your team leader."
A part of Tim panicked at those words. He wasn't the one that was supposed to carry on this kind of talk. That was Gibbs' job. That was Tony's.
The rest of him balanced the phone between his ear and his shoulder so that his fingers were free to fly across the keyboard and begin the trace. "What do you want?"
"Release Daniel Budd from prison and bring him to us in twelve hours, or Gibbs dies."
The Calling, then. They were some of Budd's adult collaborators from the Calling. "It's not that easy. We're going to need more time." It didn't matter how much time they had, they couldn't do it, but he needed to drag this call out.
Although with more time they might could arrange a prison break. That could work.
Tim put that thought on hold.
"Twelve hours," the caller insisted.
He was close. So close.
"Where should we bring him?"
"We will call again when you have him."
"How will you know?"
The man laughed. "We will know." The line clicked off.
Bishop was gripping the edge of his desk. "McGee?"
He looked up at her, grinning. "And that is why you never do an evil laugh."
"You got him?"
"I got him." Tim picked up the phone. "Tony, I've got a location."
"Give it to me and I'll meet you there."
"You don't have a vest!"
"Bring me one." Tony was being Gibbs again. There was no arguing with him when he got like this.
"Fine." Tim rattled off the address before hanging up the phone.
"Something going on I should know about?"
Tim winced. Vance was leaning over the stairway railing. "Er, yes, Director." He rushed through the situation as quickly as he could.
"And you didn't think to tell me before now?" Vance's expression promised there would be words on this later. "You're going to need backup."
"Just as long as they're fast," Bishop said.
Tim's estimation of her went up a few notches.
The warehouse was just outside the city limits. Tony suspected that the building had originally been intended for another purpose because it was surrounded by a frankly ridiculously large parking lot. Not that he could make use of it, seeing as metal gates blocked both the north and south entrances.
He stopped at the south one and got out. He could climb the gate easily enough, or just slip through it if it came to that.
Another car screeched to a stop just behind him. Tony swung around, gun up and ready. "NCIS! Put your hands up!"
The man in the driver's seat raised his eyebrows and carefully drew out his badge with two fingers.
Tony lowered his gun. The man and three team members got out of the car.
They were in uniform. Naturally.
"Sorry," he apologized. "I'm a bit jumpy."
"Understandable. You DiNozzo?"
"Yep," he said tensely. They needed to get going, not stand around chatting.
The man frowned. "They didn't tell you we were coming?"
"They probably had a few other things on their mind." Like Gibbs and a ticking bomb.
The man nodded briskly. "I'm Wilson, that's Fisk, that's Michaels, and that's Gordon. Where's the rest of your team?"
"Good question." He hit the number on his speed dial. "Tim? Where are you?"
"North entrance."
It would be better to even up the numbers, but the video only showed two kidnappers and they needed to cover both sides. "Fine. You take that side, we've got this one."
It meant he didn't have a vest, but he didn't much care. Tony hopped the fence.
Hang on, Gibbs.
He could hear voices echoing somewhere else in the warehouse. They sounded upset about something, but they never got any closer.
The numbers on the timer were too blurry for Gibbs to read them, but the fact that there was a timer at all was enough reason to get out of here. His head had cleared enough for him to remember his knife. He worked it to a position of usability carefully and started sawing at the duct tape around his wrists.
That the best you can do, Gunny? You've got kids counting on you out there.
Gibbs worked faster.
Tim had just settled his comm into his ear when his cell phone rang from inside the car.
It was probably nothing, but his gut said otherwise. He signaled for Bishop to wait and picked it up.
"We just got the news from the prison," a voice snarled in the other end.
"Hey, we're working on it, okay? We've still got time."
"Budd is dead!"
Tim closed his eyes. Of all the days for that to happen, it had to be today. Not yesterday when it could have prevented this. Not tomorrow when it would be over. Today.
Tony could spin some sort of story about this. He could make it work. He could too. He just had to, just had to -
"And now your friend will be too."
"No," he choked out. "Wait, listen, we can still work something out - "
The line went dead. Tim took off running.
The timer had been a nice effect, but the way the bomb was really detonated was through a simple cell phone call. Rousseau and Mathers exited the warehouse. It would best if they could drive off some distance before making the call.
Except there were agents visible at the south entrance to the warehouse. More, presumably, were at the north one.
They hadn't overdone it on the explosives. After all, they were intended to kill only one man. They were probably already in the safe zone.
Mathers pressed the last number on his phone. It made his wounded arm twinge, but he didn't much care.
Tim's panicking voice came in over the comms. "Tony, they're going to kill Gibbs."
Tony saw two figures exit the warehouse. He started running forward. "NCIS! Put your hands up!"
They did. He could hear the others behind him. It was all right. They had gotten the men, they would go in and get Gibbs -
The explosives blew.
The warehouse shook, but it didn't fall. It didn't have to. It didn't take that much to kill one man.
Just one man.
Gibbs.
Gordon's hand was on his shoulder. "DiNozzo! Hey, DiNozzo! You with me?"
Tony stared unseeingly at the warehouse. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the others handcuffing the two men that had come from the warehouse.
He should have shot them when they first came out.
"I have to check," he told Gordon jerkily. "There's a chance - "
Gordon shook his head. "Not until we get someone in here who can tell us if it's safe to go in."
Tony laughed. The sound didn't come out quite right. Safe? Safe? He'd be perfectly fine. He was already dead. And even if there was some sort of salt trap, what did it matter?
Gibbs was gone.
"Tony?" Tim's voice sounded very small over the comm. Bishop was saying something too, but it was too hard to concentrate for him to bother to figure out what.
Gibbs was gone.
That wasn't - He couldn't -
He'd managed to make it to about the middle of the parking lot. The now cuffed criminals were being led towards him and Gordon. They were only a few yards away now.
One of the men - not men, they'd killed Gibbs, they weren't men, they'd stolen Gibbs - had a bandage wrapped around his upper arm. Something must have happened to it. Something recent. A splotch of red had stained the outside of the cloth.
Red.
They were alive and Gibbs wasn't. One of them was smiling, and the other was bleeding.
Gibbs had never, not once, thought of them as monsters.
But Gibbs, Gibbs was gone, and he couldn't help but remember that if you had enough blood, it got really hard to think.
DiNozzo didn't so much rip out of his grasp as slide through his hand. Gordon jerked back.
One second DiNozzo had been a normal agent. A bit in shock, maybe, but normal.
He wasn't sure what color his eyes had been, but they hadn't been red.
DiNozzo lunged for the bleeding suspect. Wilson pushed the cuffed man out of the way and ripped off a salt pack that he lobbed at him.
Not him. It.
Gordon had never seen a ghost that was quite this far gone.
It recoiled, a strangled scream erupting as the salt touched it, before twisting forward again. It's face had lost some of it's definition. Blurry around the edges now, but sharp and dangerous in its central features.
Particularly the teeth.
"Ghost at the south side!" he yelled into the comm as he threw his own salt pack. How had this happened? "We need you over here, now!"
One of the NCIS agents was shouting something through the comm, but the ghost had turned around to focus on Gordon and he didn't have time to reply. The ghost was flashing in and out, the others still bombarding it with salt, but Gordon still stumbled back. Those eyes -
Tim broke out of his daze and started running again. "Don't salt him!" he yelled through the comm. "I repeat, do NOT salt him!"
Bishop was right behind him. "McGee, what - "
He didn't have time to explain. "Tony, what's going on? Tony!"
He finally came around the corner of the building. He could see the ring of agents surrounding Tony now. The two suspects could have been making a run for it, but they seemed to be transfixed by the scene.
Tony had fallen. He was writhing from the salt they must have been filling him with. His form was shrinking into the child's form, not the agent's, and it was flickering.
Mainly, though, Tim just heard the screams.
Was this what Kate had -
"Don't you dare give up!" he yelled at Tony through the comms. "You don't get to leave. Not now." Not with Kate gone, Ziva gone, Gibbs gone - "You promised mountains of salt, Tony, I'm not seeing any mountains. Just hold on!"
Don't you dare leave me here alone.
But those screams . . .
He realized suddenly that it wasn't just noise ripped from agonized lungs. Tony was calling for Gibbs.
Dead didn't have to mean gone. Maybe Gibbs was about to show up.
But if Gibbs could do anything, he would have already done it, and Tony was looking smaller and smaller.
Tim pulled his gun out, although he wasn't sure what he meant to do with it. "Tony," he begged.
Bishop tugged at his gun hand. "McGee, what is going on?"
He was right behind the backup Vance had insisted on sending. One of them was reaching for another salt pack. McGee grabbed his arm.
Tony was huddled into the concrete, blinking in and out. In and out.
Out.
Out.
Out.
"Tony, please," he whispered.
He could have sworn he heard, "Sorry, McGeek."
The pavement was empty. Two of the men grabbed their suspects. Tim sat down hard on one of the white lines dividing the concrete. The remaining two agents turned on him and Bishop.
Bishop was staring at Tim in horror. "He was a ghost."
Tim just nodded.
Kate. Jackson. Ziva. Gibbs. Tony.
That made him the oldest, so he would have to tell the others. Abby and Ducky and Palmer and yet still just him, just him left, to stare at the concrete and feel tears most scientists agreed were impossible slide down his face.
"You knew," one of the men he didn't know said.
What? Oh. Right. That was a crime. "I did," he said bleakly. Would they salt him too?
"You have the right to remain silent," the same man said, almost kindly.
They didn't know, he realized. He could tell them. He could show them. It might be easier.
Was that what Tony -
He stood and let them cuff him. He could slip out of the cuffs easily, but what would be the point?
He heard someone call for more backup to process the scene. He just stared straight ahead and tried not to think.
He had to hold on until the others knew, he decided. After that, he might as well move on.
Gibbs woke up to the beeping on a monitor. He turned his head to glare at it.
Vance was sitting in a chair beside whatever the beeping machine was.
He was in a hospital. Wonderful.
Where were the others?
"You awake, Gibbs?"
Gibbs rubbed at his head. "Where's my team?"
Vance didn't answer. "Do you remember what happened?"
Gibbs shook his head impatiently. "Someone knocked me out on my way back from a coffee run. I woke up tied up in a warehouse next to a bomb. Used my knife to get loose and tried to get out of there. Guess I didn't get far enough."
Vance half smiled. "Rule nine," he muttered. "You've got a concussion, some abrasions, and some very abused ribs, but otherwise you're fine." He settled back in his chair. "It took us a while to find you. We weren't sure we were going to find you at all."
"And my team?" Gibbs insisted.
Vance shifted uncomfortably. "Bishop's fine. They're asking her a few questions, but it's pretty apparent she doesn't know anything. McGee could be in some real trouble, though."
"Trouble for what?" Gibbs growled. "And where's DiNozzo?"
Vance leaned forward. "Your doctors don't want me to tell you this, but I know you, and I know what you'll do if I don't." He took a deep breath. "DiNozzo's dead."
Gibbs froze.
"He has been for some time. We found the grave, and he was never the man you thought you knew. He just pretended to be."
"You found the grave," Gibbs repeated.
"He came back as a ghost. We've salted the main apparition, and I've sent agents to take care of the bones - "
Gibbs pushed himself up out of the bed and grabbed his cell phone and keys from the table beside him.
"Gibbs - " Vance grabbed for his arm.
"Call them off," Gibbs demanded.
"You know I can't do that."
Gibbs ripped his arm free and was out the door.
Vance was smart enough to call for the nurses and get a hospital wide alert going. It didn't stop Gibbs, but it did slow him down enough to force him to find some clothes so he wouldn't be so conspicuous. He punched numbers into his phone as he went. "Ducky, I need you at the hospital now. Bring blood."
"Er, this is Palmer, actually. They've called Dr. Mallard in for questioning about - "
Gibbs growled. "Then you get it to me, Palmer!"
"I'm already outside," Palmer stuttered. "Dr. Mallard wanted me out of there just in case, and he wanted someone to check on you, so - "
Gibbs cut him off again. "Do you have blood?"
"In the back with the other equipment." Palmer took a deep breath. "Is it true that Tony's gone?"
"Not yet." He slammed his phone shut and pushed his way out the hospital doors. Palmer had managed to get a spot near the front. He waved from the window.
Gibbs ran for the door to the driver's seat. Palmer figured out what he was doing just in time and pushed himself to the side. Gibbs threw himself in and slammed on the gas.
If he had gotten to Kate's grave a minute earlier, he could have saved her. He wouldn't be making the same mistake twice.
"Call this number," he ordered Palmer. "It'll get you the caretaker to the cemetery. Tell him not to let anyone near Tony's grave but me."
Palmer punched in the number with shaking fingers. "Will he do it?"
"He's an old friend." Gibbs whipped through traffic. Tim needed him too, but he had to take care of this first. First Tony, then Tim, then he could see if there was anything he could do for Ziva.
And Ducky and Abby. They could be implicated in this mess too, and it was his job to get him out of it.
"The caretaker says he'll do his best but that there are federal agents being really pushy," Palmer reported nervously.
"Not good enough," Gibbs growled. There was a red light up ahead. Gibbs ignored it. Horns honked behind him. He really couldn't care less.
Gibbs' phone buzzed. Probably Vance. Gibbs ignored it. The cemetery was just up ahead.
He squeezed the van into a space it really shouldn't have fit into and jumped out. "Get me blood from the back," he ordered and ran for the gate.
The rain from earlier had stopped, leaving the day grey and the ground wet. On a clear day, the cemetery was peaceful, even beautiful. Today, it felt bleak and oppressive.
There was a huddle of people and equipment around a very familiar grave.
Not again. Not this. Not Tony. Please, not again.
He could see the coffin sitting beside the upturned earth. It had already been raised from the vault. The small stone jutted out defiantly off to one side of a knot of arguing people.
He should call out, say something, do something, but everything felt trapped and choked in his throat. He didn't even have his gun with him.
The caretaker was standing with his arms crossed in front of the coffin. "I can't let you do any more without a signed agreement from the next of kin," he said stubbornly.
"According to the 1957 Ghost Act, you can," Agent Eames said with fraying patience.
His partner, Agent Roberts turned around and saw Gibbs. "Hey, Gibbs! A little help here?" The digging crew looked up hopefully. They probably just wanted to get this done so they could get out of here.
They hadn't had a chance to salt the body yet.
"I'll take care of this," he told Roberts and Eames. "Why don't the two of you head on back?"
Eames glanced between him and the tombstone uncertainly. "He was on your team, Gibbs. It's against regulations . . . "
"It's my responsibility," Gibbs said firmly. "My team, my mess. Rule 45."
Eames and Roberts looked at each other uncertainly.
"Well," Roberts chewed on her lip. "I mean, if you're sure, Gibbs."
"I need to do this." His tone suggested that was the end of the matter.
Eames nodded hesitantly. "Glad to see you're all right, Gibbs."
Well, his ribs were throbbing in time with his headache and his arm felt like it was on fire, but he was mobile, so that was good enough. He nodded to dismiss them and turned to watch as they slowly walked away.
Eric Magnus, the caretaker, looked over questioningly at Gibbs. "You all right?"
"Fine," Gibbs brushed him off. "Thank you."
"Anytime. I'll be over the way if you need me." He strolled off, whistling.
"Want us to get the top off for you?" one of the digging crew asked.
"Go ahead." He glanced back and saw Palmer hovering uncertainly at the gate. He held up a hand for him to wait.
The digging crew got the lid of the coffin opened easily enough. Gibbs walked over and looked inside.
This part never got any easier. Those bones weren't Tony, not the way he knew him, but at the same time, they were all that were left of him. He looked back up at the digging crew. "The ghost was strong enough to make this one a little tricky. You might want to wait with Magnus. Get something hot to drink."
The digging crew glanced at each other before agreeing and walking after Magnus.
Palmer jogged up behind Gibbs with a spray bottle full of blood. "I've got more in the back if he needs it." He glanced at the tombstone. "Did he pick that out?"
Gibbs' lips twitched despite themselves. "Yep."
Tony DiNozzo. 1968 - 1978. "I'll be back."
- The Terminator was written in smaller letters under the quote. It wasn't the sort of phrasing encouraged on tombstones, but Tony had insisted on a movie quote, and Gibbs had given in.
'Tony' not 'Anthony', because he'd hated his full name. No 'jr.' because after all that had happened he hadn't wanted the connection to his father.
"I'll be back." That had better be true.
Gibbs took the spray bottle from Palmer who for once showed some tact and backed away to a nearby tree to give him some space.
Gibbs got to work.
There was no salt to brush off this time. He just started at the top and worked his way down, just like Ducky had instructed the first time.
Tony would come back. He had to.
When the bottle was halfway empty, he started talking. "Come on, Tony," he growled. "Don't give up on me now. Come on. Come on."
Don't take him. Please don't take him. Don't make me lose anyone else, please. Not him. Not him.
One quarter of a bottle left.
Not Tony. Please not Tony. Let him come back. Don't take him now.
"You don't get to give up. Not like this. We still need you, Tony."
There were two, maybe three sprays left. He hesitated before pulling the trigger. This or nothing, Ducky had said. If these sprays didn't work . . .
But maybe they already had worked. His Sight was weakening. Maybe Tony was already here, and he just couldn't see him.
One.
Nothing.
Two.
Nothing.
A few drops hovered inside.
"Please."
They clung to the nozzle and then dripped onto the rib cage.
Something white curled up faintly like a mist fading as the sun rose.
Gibbs' breath caught. "Tony?" he called, more vulnerable than he could ever remember sounding.
The mist shuddered.
"Palmer, get me more blood!"
Palmer took off running.
"I'm right here, kid. I've got you. We'll have you back up to strength in no time. It'll be all right, kid. It's going to be all right." Tony would be, at least. If he ever found out who had done this, though, they were going to be far, far, from it.
His Sight wasn't very good anymore, but his other senses for the paranormal were fine. He could sense Tony struggling, straddling the fence between life and death even more than normal.
"Just hold on, kid."
The mist flickered, and for the first time, Gibbs considered the possibility that Tony might not want to.
He couldn't hear him, not exactly, but he could sense something from the vague shape curled around the bones. The memory of pain. Confusion. Longing for someone just out of reach.
"Tony . . . "
He needed him here, and he could keep him here, too. If he poured enough blood, if he kept talking, Tony would come back. He knew the kid well enough to know that. He would stay for as long as Gibbs asked him to.
But if he wanted to move on . . .
Tim needed him, Gibbs argued immediately. Abby. Ducky. Palmer. Ziva, wherever she was. It wasn't just Gibbs that wanted him there.
But Palmer was still rummaging through the van, and it was his call to make.
Parenting was never supposed to be about what the parent needed.
He took a deep, shuddering breath. Thirteen years since he'd found Tony. Almost fourteen now. All that time, and he'd given Tony everything he could. Everything except for the one thing Tony was waiting for, the one thing he'd shown but never quite dared to say.
"I love you, kid," he whispered. Not words he threw around lightly. Words that under the circumstance stuck in his throat and came out rough and painful.
True words, though.
The mist shuddered again, and Gibbs had to grip the coffin to stop himself from doing something he'd regret.
Tony's choice, but he wasn't ready. He was never going to be ready.
. . . Except the mist didn't disappear. If anything, it looked . . . clearer? More defined.
Love you too, Gibbs, he heard on the edges of sound.
"Got it!" Palmer yelled. He ran up the hill. "Right here!" He beamed at the coffin. "Hi, Tony! You scared us for a minute."
Gibbs didn't bother with spraying it this time. He just dumped it straight into the coffin.
Tony slowly came into focus until an outline of his true form was clearly visible. He wasn't up to shape-shifting, not yet, but they could work on that.
"I thought you were dead," Tony said accusingly.
Gibbs let out a half-laugh of pure relief. Thank You. Thank You, thank You, thank You. "Not yet."
Tony nodded, accepting that for the moment. "Sorry, Boss," he said sheepishly. "I kind of lost it for a minute."
"Rule six," Gibbs reminded him. "You all right?"
"I think I might need some help," he admitted.
Picking him up wasn't easy, as unsubstantial as he was, but Gibbs managed it. "We'll get some Caff-POW in you," he promised. "You'll be fine."
"McGee's going to tease me for weeks," Tony grumbled, but he curled in closer to Gibbs' borrowed jacket. "He's all right, isn't he?" he added worriedly.
"He will be."
Once he got Tony settled in the car, he'd have to come back and put the lid on the coffin before calling the digging crew in to put it back in the ground. Then he'd either have to find some way to sort this out with Vance or find a way to break everyone out and head for Mexico.
As long as they were all still together, either way suited him fine.
A/N: The reason for the false hope with Kate finally revealed: to provide foreshadowing for this.
It doesn't dovetail with canon at all, but I planned it out before I knew anything more than that Michael Weatherly was leaving, and, well, canon wasn't exactly going to work with this AU.
I apologize for not having a dedicated Bishop chapter, but that first section was all I could think of for her. I had to jam it together with this one.
General references to late S12, early S13.
There's one more chapter still to go. Working title is "This is How It's Going to Be." After that there's the finishing chapters for the spin-offs, and then we'll see.
Oh, and translation for the chapter title is "You bury me." It's an Arabic phrase that means you hope you don't have live without this person. There was a lot of that going on in this chapter, so it seemed appropriate.