DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Belongs to THEM.
Authors Note: As you can see, any rumors of my passing are totally erroneous. I'm thinking the writers didn't put Tony and Ziva in that elevator for shits and giggles. Maybe they're going to move things along….NAH. I figure it's all a big tease. Ahyhoo, enjoy this. It took me longer than I'd like, but RL has a habit of doing that.
Spoilers: For the season finale (if you've read this far you'd know that). Still gonna be some bad language, so be prepared for that.
"Good friends we have had, oh, good friends we have lost along the way. In this bright future, you can't forget your past. Dry your tears I say… No woman no cry, No woman no cry."- "No Woman No Cry", Bob Marley, 1974
Charlies Bar, Saturday 1210hrs. Present Day
Four days after Seamus Dolan returned from Boston, the FBI apprehended Harper Dearing at an airport in Southeast Texas. Dearing was about to leave on a Lear jet. The plane's flight plan listed Miami as its destination. In reality, it was bound for Havana Cuba. The arrest was not without incident. Three of Dearing's security detail were killed and two FBI agents were seriously wounded.
When announcing the arrest, an FBI spokesperson cited 'confidential information developed during the course of the investigation' as the way the Bureau found Dearing. Three days after the arrest, Seamus was working his usual Saturday shift. A couple of customers drifted in and out since he opened at ten. Currently the bar was empty. Dolan had the bar radio tuned to WEAA from Baltimore, a college radio station that plays jazz. Miles Davis was halfway thru 'Move'. Darnell the cook, Tommy the swamper and a couple of busboys were in the back, getting lunch organized. Seamus was midway down the bar with the NY Times crossword puzzle in front of him. The Daily Racing Form held no possibles, so Dolan was doing the crossword. When he lived in Boston Seamus did the puzzle in the Globe. Once he retired and moved to Florida, he couldn't always get the Globe, so he switched to the Times, which was more readily available. He usually kept the section the puzzle was in and tossed the rest. He was not a big fan of 'the Paper of Record'.
20 Across, 'basic tenet of democracy', eleven letters, third letter an 'L', seventh letter an 'O'.
Dolan heard the door open and the candle in front of the memorial wall flickered with the change in air pressure. NCIS Senior Supervisory Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs walked into sight holding himself carefully. Seamus recognized the gait, having had broken ribs himself a time or two. Gibbs moved around the bar until he could sit facing the door. Then he stopped and sat, lowering himself gingerly onto the stool. Dolan walked up, placing a coaster in front of the agent and raised an eyebrow.
"Black Label Dolan."
Seamus got down the bottle of Jim Beam and poured the drink. He set it in front of Jethro.
"You really shouldn't be drinkin' with your pain meds ya know."
Gibbs looked at Seamus.
"This is my pain meds."
Dolan chuckled.
"Silly me, of course it is. What brings you to our humble establishment this fine Saturday?"
"Got bored sitting around my house."
"No wood working projects?"
"Not currently."
Seamus nodded.
"And how are the rest then?"
"Well, Abby's out too, with a walking cast on her ankle. They're still picking glass shards out of McGee, but he'll be out soon. Tony and Ziva are out of ICU and in private rooms. Ducky's still in the Cardiac Care Unit in the hospital down in Florida."
"At least everybody's alive."
"Yeah, it was touch and go with Ducky, but everybody else should be right back after some rest and rehab."
"And ya got Dearing."
Gibbs grimaced.
"The FBI got Dearing. 'Cause we got banged up, the Director turned the job over to them. Morrow or Jenny never would have done that. Crawford's team coulda taken it."
Dolan shrugged.
"At least somebody got him."
Gibbs sighed.
"It still shoulda been us."
Jethro drained his drink and Seamus got him another.
"Thanks Dolan. You're from Boston aren't you?"
"Aye, as you well know."
Gibbs smiled.
"Right. My friend was the lead investigator for the Bureau on this. He sent me over the file. I've been reading it for a couple of days."
Seamus nodded.
I wonder where he's going with this.
Jethro took a sip of his drink.
"They found Dearing's bomb maker dead in a motel in North Jersey. He was duct taped to a chair with a bullet in his right foot and one between his eyes. Next to him was a legal pad with what looked like all the info this guy knew or guessed about Dearing."
"That so?"
"Uh huh. Looks like he was interrogated 'persuaded' with the shot to the foot and then killed after he gave everything up."
Gibbs sipped some more bourbon.
"This guy, the bomber was from your neck of the woods, Boston."
"Really."
"Yup. About your age too. Name of Frank Donovan. Ring any bells?"
Oh boy.
"There's a lot of Donovan's in Boston."
"Apparently he grew up in Charlestown. That's where you're from isn't it?"
Knowing that like any good investigator Gibbs would never ask a question like that unless he already knew the answer, Seamus nodded.
"Yes, I grew up in 'the Town'. Knew some Donovan's too. His name doesn't ring any bells."
"Yeah, that's what I figured. The Bureau was happy to get the info the guy left behind. Also they were able to clear a case for the Brits. Apparently this guy blew up six soldiers from the Parachute Regiment for the Provisional IRA."
"Did he now?"
"Yes. They've been looking for him since '72."
Gibbs drained his drink and stood carefully, throwing some money on the bar.
"The Bureau is gonna close the file. They figure Dearing and this Donovan had a falling out. Dearing is denying it of course. My buddy figures it's not worth the resources to follow it up. Whoever did the deed was good. Left no usable physical evidence. Think I'll head home. See ya around Dolan."
With that, Jethro walked carefully out of the bar. Seamus watched him go.
I wonder…
Seamus' next visitor showed up around one fifteen. Abby Sciuto limped into the bar, a walking cast on her foot and a skull capped walking staff in hand. Dolan came out from behind the bar and spread his arms wide.
"Good to see ya Abby darlin'."
Abby limped up and Seamus gave her a careful hug, mindful of her bruised ribs.
"Good to be seen Seamus."
Dolan returned to his side of the bar and Abby sat.
"What can I get ya?"
"Coffee will be fine."
"Comin' right up."
Dolan brought back the cup and Abby took a sip.
"You make the best coffee."
"Thanks kiddo. How's Timothy?"
"He'll be getting out in a couple of days. He caught a lot of glass. Luckily his arms covered his eyes."
"Good, good. How are you?"
"I'm good. The ankle hurts a little, but nothin' I can't handle."
Abby sipped her coffee, all the while looking a Seamus. Finally he raised an eyebrow.
"What?"
"Are you and Ziva doing the nasty?"
"Say what?"
"You heard me."
"Why do you ask?"
"She asked me to ask you to come see her."
"So that means we're 'doing the nasty'?"
"Well are you?"
"What did she say?"
"She says 'no', but her body language said 'yes'."
Dolan shrugged.
"Then I guess you can take that as your answer."
Abby grinned mischievously.
"Which, yes or no?"
Seamus grinned back.
"You're the forensic scientist, you figure it out."
"Oh, don't you worry buddy boy, I will."
After failing to get any more out of Seamus, Abby finished her coffee and left. At four o'clock, Steve arrived and took over the bar. Dolan went up to his apartment, showered, changed into khakis and a polo shirt, grabbed his car keys and headed out.
The National Naval Medical Center commonly known as Bethesda Naval Hospital is about a half hour from Washington. In 2005 the National Naval Medical Center and Walter Reed Army Medical Center were merged and are now properly called the Walter Reed National Military Medical Center. Everybody in the Navy still calls it Bethesda.
Seamus wheeled his '68 red Pontiac GTO off Rockville Pike onto Wood Rd. There was a small staff parking lot there. The last time he visited someone, he'd got the guard to let him park his car there. The guy was into cars and all it took was some car talk and letting the guy check out the GTO. Luckily the guy was working and Dolan wheeled into the lot and parked. Seamus walked to the main building, showed his VA ID, went thru security and found out Ziva's room number. When he got to her room, he hesitated for a few seconds and then eased in. Ziva was sitting up in bed wearing a grey NCIS t-shirt. Her eyes were closed and there was an IV bag hooked up to her left hand. Seamus made for a chair that was on the right side of the bed. Suddenly Ziva's eyes snapped open. They were unfocused for a second, but then cleared.
"Seamus."
"Hello Zee."
"I was dozing."
"Probably a good thing. How are you?"
"According to my doctor, I should be able to go home on Friday."
"That's great kiddo."
Seamus moved to the bed and took hold of Ziva's right hand.
"Abby came to the bar and said you wanted to see me."
Ziva looked guilty.
"Ah, yes I did."
Dolan smiled.
"C'mon Zee, I'm a big boy. What is it?"
"Remember when you said you'd hang around until I found the right one?"
Seamus nodded.
"Uh huh, and then I'd bow out."
"I think I found him."
Dolan grinned.
"DiNozzo?"
"Yes."
"About time he got his head out of his ass. That's great Zee."
Ziva looked glum.
"Then how come I feel so bad?"
"Because despite what you think of yourself, you're a good person. So you feel bad for me. Don't. I'm really happy for you Zee. You deserve this. And if he hurts you, I'll kick his ass."
Ziva smiled.
"I believe you would."
Seamus leaned forward and kissed her cheek.
"Count on it. Good luck Ziva David. Be well."
And with that Seamus got out of there before he said or did something stupid. For the next seven days Dolan was not very good company. As a matter of fact, the word 'asshole' was used by friends and co-workers, but not within his hearing. On day eight, he woke up at his customary 0530, put on his running gear and pushed out two and a half miles. It was not easy. When he got back to his apartment, he made up a workout schedule. Time to get to work.
Crowell's Gym, two months later, Monday 1130hrs.
Seamus Dolan was hitting the heavy bag. Sticking and moving, throwing combinations. Three minute rounds.
Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.
"Hey Dolan, you've got a phone call."
Seamus stopped punching and looked over his shoulder. Jimmy Crowell stood in the doorway to his office.
"Who is it?"
"Damned if I know. Got an accent like yours though."
Well, it's not my brother. He'd of said.
Seamus pulled off his bag gloves and unwrapped his hands. He walked into Jimmy's office and picked up the phone.
"Dolan."
"Call me."
"It'll be about twenty minutes."
"I'll be at the number I gave you."
After thanking Crowell for taking the call, Dolan headed for the locker room and a steam and a shower. He wondered what bad news Sean Flynn had for him. After leaving the gym Seamus found a working payphone and fed it a bunch of quarters. The line rang twice.
"Yeah?"
"It's me."
"Remember that thing from a couple of months ago?"
"Sure."
"Well, some reporter from the Herald is looking into it. Ya know, 'local boy does bad'."
"And?"
"And she's nosing around the neighborhood."
"She?"
"Yeah, Janice Stone. She got my name somehow as knowing the guy and came to see me."
"That must have been interesting."
"I told her to get bent."
"I bet that discouraged her." said Seamus drily.
"Nah, she's still snooping around. Now I heard she got your name from somewhere."
"So?"
"So? So, she's gonna find out we all went to school together and eventually she'll be down to talk to you."
"Well, it's not like I'm going to say anything to her."
"Yeah, but I'd feel a lot better if she couldn't find you to talk to in the first place."
Dolan laughed.
"So what are you gonna do? Send Blondie down to clip me?"
"Very funny asshole. No, I was thinking you could take a little vacation. Maybe to that place I have south of you."
Flynn owned a place on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. Seamus visited him there once.
"When do you think I should take this trip?"
"You get off Sunday right? You could leave then, take two weeks. I'll have somebody you know drop off the keys and like that to ya on Saturday."
Just like that?"
"Yeah, and maybe while you're down there ya can do me a favor."
"Which is?"
"My deck needs to be waterproofed."
"You mean that deck that looks like it belongs on an aircraft carrier, that deck?"
Seamus could sense the laugh in Flynn's voice.
"Yeah, that one. Whatta ya say?"
"Alright, no prob."
"That's my buddy."
"Yeah sure. You do know the definition of the word 'buddy' right?"
"Uh-huh, you told me. How'd that thing with the girl work out? Maybe she could go with ya."
"She has found 'Mr. Right'."
"Jeez, sorry man."
"Ah, it's all right. Lucky at cards, unlucky at love."
"But you suck at cards."
It was true. Dolan couldn't play poker to save his life.
"Oh yeah, that's right. Easy come, easy go?"
"Whatever. I'll send that stuff down."
Dolan hung up and went home. Getting the two weeks was easy. He had plenty of time riding on the books. Flynn's house was in Salvo North Carolina, right on the beach. It was about five and a half hours from DC. Saturday before work, Seamus packed his old sea bag with two week's worth of clothing. In his AWOL bag, he put his Dopp kit, a bunch of CD's and two books from his 'To Be Read' pile. They were 'Good bye Darkness' by William Manchester and 'The Walking Drum' by Louis L'Amour. About an hour before quitting time, the blonde from Flynn's office walked in. Today he was dressed in a white linen suit over a black t-shirt. He took a stool facing the door and pulling an envelope from his pocket, slid it over to Dolan.
"Don't talk much do ya?"
The blond stared back for a second. His grey eyes were unreadable. When he spoke his voice had an Eastern European sound.
"My English is not so good."
Dolan nodded.
"Would you prefer Russian?"
The blonde's face brightened.
"You speak Russian!"
"Yes, I spent some time living with a woman from Minsk."
"I am from St. Petersburg. My name is Gregor."
"Nice to meet you Gregor. Drink?"
"Vodka."
Seamus opened a small freezer under the bar and pulled out a bottle of Russian Standard and poured Gregor a shot. The Russian picked it up and drained it. Seamus poured another and it followed the first. Dolan re-stowed the bottle in the freezer. Gregor reached for his wallet. Dolan waved him off.
"On me."
"Thank you."
"Welcome. Did you drive down?"
"No, I took the train."
"Do you need a ride back to Union Station?"
"I will take a cab back."
The Russian stood.
"Thank you again for the drinks."
"My pleasure."
Gregor left gliding easily out of the bar. Seamus after getting out of work cleaned his apartment and went to bed early. He awoke the next morning two minutes before the alarm. It didn't take long to load the Pontiac with his sea bag, AWOL bag and a case of Sam Adams summer lager. He'd stop in Nags Head for groceries. Seamus fired up the GTO and left the parking lot a little after six. When he got on 495 he worked thru the gears and the throaty growl of the 410 caused him to sigh. It had been a while since he'd stretched the GTO out. It was good to be on the open road.
Maybe this was a good idea after all.
A/N: I know I said this was gonna be it. But this chapter kinda grew up. Plus I saw the trailer for the season opener. I want to see how the writers play the Tony/Ziva thing. I have two ways this next chapter can go. On another note, about the trailer, did anyone else catch the fact that McGee wasn't in it? Interesting. Also, while I totally buy into 'the suspension of disbelief' that watching TV entails, there is no way the amount of plastique that was in the Director's SUV did as little damage as is pictured in the trailer. And the injuries sustained or should I say the lack of injuries, please. Okay, enough ranting. Hope ya enjoyed it. How about a review or 10? Come on, don't ya think I deserve it?
