CHAPTER 3 - A Waste of Talent

Now, with Gibbs a couple of feet away and glaring at him, Tony was pissed enough to glare right back. "Are you asking if I want to run my own team? I've seriously considered it, and I've had offers, but I like where I am right now. And I don't need to be a team leader. I like working for you…" The word 'like' seemed so inadequate for what he was feeling. Tony let out a huff of breath, and said, "I love my job, but right now I need some sign from you that we can fix whatever this is, because it seems like you're trying really hard to push me out of the nest. If you want me gone, just say so." What was he thinking, putting that idea in Gibbs' head, saying it aloud? He raised his chin and said firmly, "I thought we were more than colleagues… friends. Look, I deserve to know what the hell is going on, and what your problem is with me."

When those blue eyes, the ones that Tony had fallen for, all those years ago, narrowed in displeasure, he knew he was in deep trouble.

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When he first started working with Gibbs, Tony had a hard-on every time his boss so much as breathed in his direction. He'd had to take a cold shower every day, both before and after work, and sometimes in between. Yeah, he'd had the hots for his boss for years now, but one thing for sure, he'd never wanted to be Gibbs. Tony had been exactly where he wanted to be, by Gibbs' side – until recently, that was.

Now the man barely gave him the time of day, and when he did look at him, it was with a disdainful expression, or maybe it was disappointment, or… was that dislike he was seeing? It was hard to interpret those glares sometimes, but it was clear he was on Gibbs' shit list. Being left behind when the MCRT was called out on a case, being passed over or outright ignored…. Tony had told himself he could take it, that Gibbs was going through some phase, something to do with his recovery after getting shot. He told himself he would tough it out, and he gave Gibbs considerable leeway. It sure as hell hadn't been easy though, after years of being his right-hand man. Now he felt like he was a zero – and it wasn't a good feeling to have.

Every day Gibbs' cold front only got chillier, until finally, Tony had had enough. This time he wasn't going to let it roll off his back. This time he was going to demand to know what the hell was going on, and he wasn't going to budge until he got an answer.

◊ • ◊ • ◊ •

Despite what Gibbs thought of him, Tony had given serious consideration to offers to run his own team, but whenever an opportunity had arisen at NCIS, or in other law enforcement agencies – and there had been several good job offers the past couple of years – they were always in far-flung locations. The FBI had offered him a great position in Salt Lake City, and if he didn't like that, they needed someone with his skills in Anchorage, they'd said – but, no way! Besides, working for the Fibbies? Mmm… nope.

NCIS had an opening a few months ago in Los Angeles (the traffic, the people, the wildfires, his lungs – not going there!), and even though NCIS was forming another team in New Orleans, Tony couldn't deal with the humidity and bugs and local wildlife. Besides, with Gibbs' best bud Special Agent Pride in charge, it would be like working with your in-laws. Open positions in NCIS field offices overseas, in Japan and Bahrain, hadn't enticed him, either.

There had been some tempting opportunities from the private sector that came with very lucrative packages, but Tony always found some reason to say 'thanks, but no thanks.' But now things between him and Gibbs had gotten so bad he was reconsidering approaching one of the companies who had tried to hire him in the past. Working as head of intelligence for an international group was starting to look better by the minute, and there was that billion-dollar biometrics company seeking a lead investigator in New York. The job came with a high salary and lots of perks including use of the company jet.

But was that what he really wanted? (Well, yeah, free flights on a Lear?) Problem was, Tony was certain he'd regret such a move almost as soon as he made it. He didn't want to – couldn't lose – the only family he'd ever known. Okay, so the people he cared about weren't really his family, but leaving NCIS meant leaving not only Gibbs, but Tim and Delilah, and Abby, Jimmy and Breena, and Ducky, too. Hell, he'd even miss Vance. Sort of.

Sure, they'd say they'd visit him, or meet up for holidays – and they would probably mean it – but even now, Tony and his friends rarely had time to catch a beer together, much less a meal. He knew in his heart he wanted to remain where he was, at NCIS. But before he made any rash decision, Tony knew he had to talk to Gibbs. Whatever the problem was, surely they could figure out a way to co-exist.

◊ • ◊ • ◊ •

When he was a kid, Tony's parents had, for the most part, ignored or rejected him, and half the time his dad acted like he was an unwelcome bastard at the family reunion. And, unfortunately, sometimes the very people who were supposed to take care of you treated you very, very badly. Some things you never recovered from, not completely, but Tony had proven that if you avoided thinking about them, they had no power over you.

After Tony's mother died, there was a dark, empty feeling in his chest that just wouldn't go away. He remembered the fear and loneliness that followed him around, and uncertainty about who was going to take care of him now his mom was gone. Time had helped, as did his father's long absences. He got used to being alone, and learned to count on himself, to take precautions and adapt to all sorts of situations. His father remarried, and remarried again, and Tony used humor and charm to win over the latest young, blond trophy wife when they gathered at family dinners or special occasions, but otherwise, he pretty much kept out of their way.

By the time he started high school, Tony was skilled at gauging his father's moods, and was very good at avoiding getting caught for youthful indiscretions – the usual skipping of classes, borrowing a car for a joyride, some petty thievery, staying out until 2 a.m. with a girl who was supposed to be home by ten (which wouldn't have been such a big deal if her dad hadn't been a cop). But one can only duck and roll so many times before you're caught, and even a 15-year-old can get whipped with a belt and sent to his room, bawling like a little kid.

That wasn't so bad, but apparently the penalty for making wife #4 (Janelle, age 27, natural blond, family money) take his side in arguments with Senior was a one-way ticket to a military academy a couple of states away. Out of sight, out of mind. Being ousted from his home turned out to be a good thing; although Tony wouldn't admit it until years later, the discipline at RMA, the supportive teachers, and the strong sports program toned down his attitude and pushed him in the right direction.

The only time Tony had outright defied his father was in his choice of college. Coach favored Ohio State, so that's where Tony decided to go. He fought hard for what he wanted, knowing this was his only chance to escape. He stuck to his guns, and paid for it dearly, because Senior was heavy-handed in those days – but come fall, Tony headed for Ohio with a full sports scholarship and a small loan from his Uncle Clive to tide him over.

College was heaven, with girls and guys and sports galore, and when he was initiated into a fraternity and moved into the Alpha Chi Delta house a block from campus, Tony felt like he had finally found a place where he belonged. It was easy to make connections with people of his own age. Most of them had no ulterior motive and accepted him at face value, which took some getting used to. They actually liked him, the Tony DiNozzo he'd constructed, who wasn't too far from the real thing, just a whole lot better.

He didn't dare show them who he really was, the lonely guy who often wanted to bury his head under his pillows and shut out the world, who stayed up late every night to study, took extra courses to get ahead – the young man who had to go off campus to follow his sexual urges. This Tony let it be known that he didn't excel at any of his courses. He was a stereotypical jock with a rowdy sense of humor, lots of friends, and turned up at every keg party with a popular girl on his arm. He was, simply, an all-round good guy everyone liked to be around.

When he entered the workforce, Tony enjoyed the casual relationships he developed with the cops he worked with in Philly and Baltimore (though for some reason he never got along with the folks in Peoria). He never revealed his true self, or talked about his family, and his police partners, including Danny, accepted Tony as he presented himself.

When he was recruited by Gibbs, and became part of his NCIS team, Tony found something he'd never thought existed: the security of a home and people who became his family. These were people he knew he could count on, who would lay down their lives for him, just as he would for them. Tony opened up a bit, slowly, revealed parts of himself to a select few. Ducky had once called Gibbs' extended team "a clan of non-related people who found strength and an unbreakable bond in numbers." These days, though, Tony wasn't so sure about the unbreakable part.

Getting a promotion wasn't one of Tony's primary goals. It made little difference to him if he was a field agent or a supervisor, so long as he enjoyed his work and could remain close to the people he cared about. Especially Gibbs. Okay, so he still had a thing for the boss. His attraction to the man hadn't diminished over the years; he was just better at dealing with it, knowing nothing would ever happen between them. Tony didn't exactly trust Gibbs, but he believed in him (yeah, he was stupid that way), despite Gibbs' faults. Or he had believed in the boss, until recently.

Tony didn't want to think about what his future might look like if he left NCIS: isolated, lonely, friendless, washing his socks in a basin in the corner of his drab rented room and eating TV dinners while watching pre-Hays Office black-and-white films. Geez, sounded like a repeat of his childhood – and how pitiful was that?

If he got booted out of NCIS, it would probably be best if he left DC altogether. No way could he stand living so close to his old stamping grounds with the constant reminders that he'd failed, had been kicked out for his inadequacies. There was a line in a movie – he couldn't remember which one – where a character stated that prisons were full of dummies who wondered how they'd got there. He had nobody but himself to blame for not having much of a life outside work, and because of that, he knew the loss of his teammates would hit him hard.

He couldn't take any more of the rejection, the feeling that he didn't matter to Gibbs any longer. It cut him to the core, and the worst part was he didn't know what he'd done to deserve such treatment.

◊ • ◊ • ◊ •

"Day I joined NIS, all I had was a reason," Gibbs said vehemently. "Things change but the reason stays the same. It's always with me. Never leaves. Shannon and Kelly. Either you got a reason or you don't."

Tony blurted, "Of course I've got a reason! It may not be as painful as yours, but… Look, I joined NCIS because it offered me a chance – as cheesy as it may sound – to help people, to make a difference, but I stayed because of you. And you made a difference, taught me, showed me… you made me a better man. You must know that, Boss. Don't you?"

Gibbs was frowning at him as if he didn't quite believe what he was hearing. "You should've taken the job in Rota."

"How could I? You were still recovering from getting blown up. Hell, you couldn't even keep our names straight; it was obvious you were flying by the seat of your pants. I wasn't about to leave you hanging, Boss. Besides," Tony said with a dismissive shrug, "the Rota job was a set-up. The director wanted me to be her point man in Spain, part of her scheme to take down la Grenouille, even though she knew he was running CIA-sanctioned guns to Africa. Jenny would have done anything to get him, including interfering with CIA operations, which we both know can mean you'll end up buried in the desert somewhere, with the people back home asking, 'Gee, I wonder whatever happened to good old Tony?'"

"She was willing to sacrifice you?" From Gibbs' angry expression, it looked as though he hadn't known the full extent of what Jenny had been up to.

"Well, yeah. Let's put it this way, if I hadn't gotten into the Frog's limo that day, that would've been me fried to a crisp in my car," Tony reminded him. "Look, it's old news." La Grenouille was dead, as was Director Shepard. And he didn't even think about Jeanne anymore. Not often, anyway. Kort though, he was out there somewhere, probably pulling the wings off flies and planning to take over the world. Him, Tony thought about.

Gibbs stared at Tony long enough to make him nervous, before saying, "Tom Morrow… he came sniffing around last week, asking questions about you."

That came out of left field. "Deputy Director Morrow? Am I in trouble?" In reality, Tony liked Morrow. He'd been the director of NCIS during Tony's first four years working there.

Gibbs made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "He thinks he can come in here and poach my people just because he's Homeland."

Tony couldn't help smiling. "You mean Morrow wants me to work for him? Does the job come with an expense account and a corner office?"

"Is that what you want?" Gibbs demanded, an angry flush creeping up his neck.

"You gotta admit DHS is a hell of a lot better prospect than the FBI."

"You want to be on the Emergency Response Team? Is that it? Not enough action around here for you, DiNozzo?"

"Well no, there isn't. You keep preventing me from going out in the field," Tony countered hotly.

Gibbs said tersely, "Then next time someone offers you a job, maybe you'd better take it!"

Tony said indignantly, "I don't need your advice. And besides, since when did you become my career counselor?"

"Since you won't take a hint!"

A hint about what? That he should leave? Yeah, he got that hint loud and clear. "Then maybe you should speak up, in plain words, so I understand exactly what you're getting at, because I gotta tell you, Boss, I don't know what you want out of me any more. You're pissed that Morrow might want me to work for him, yet here you are, shoving me into his arms. Which is it with you?" Tony paused, then asked, "What happened to us? We used to work so well together. I knew what you wanted before you even said a word. But now… now you're like a stranger, and a mean one, at that." He shook his head in bemusement.

Gibbs stood before Tony, lips compressed in a taut, unforgiving line, narrowed eyes looking at him as if he were prey. He seemed ready to burst and having a hard time holding back whatever was on his mind, but still, he said nothing.

Tony shook his head, but he wasn't done yet. "I gotta tell you, Boss, not everyone's cut out to be a leader, taking on all the responsibility, taking the blame whenever things go south." He snorted. "Hell, look at you. You've refused multiple offers to climb the ladder. I mean, why aren't you sitting in the fancy office upstairs, running the whole show?"

Gibbs made a derogatory sound. "Hell, I never wanted that!"

"Exactly! You like the investigations, solving peoples' problems. You like working with a small unit of people you can trust, who anticipate your every move, who do your bidding without ever questioning you." Tony paused as a thought struck him. "Except, me and McGee… these days, we're used to making our own decisions. We managed to deal while you were on sick leave, and Bishop and Carney stepped up when I was running down Budd."

With Gibbs on medical leave, Tony had shared running the MCRT with McGee, answering to Director Vance. They'd been ordered not to stress Gibbs with any work-related news. Despite being busy, they had all taken time to drop in on Gibbs while he was recuperating, to sit and talk to him (a one-sided conversation), to mow his lawn or bring him groceries. Gibbs had begrudgingly thanked them, but it was clear he'd resented them being there, hated that he was sidelined.

With Bishop, and Dale Carney, a seasoned agent they had borrowed from another team, things had run smoothly at NCIS, for the most part. Carney was old school, wore his hair in a flat-top crew cut, wrote everything down in small notepads with a stubby pencil, and was known to say, "Just need the facts." He was fifty, with a lot of field experience. He might not run as fast as the younger agents, but he could tell when a suspect was bullshitting them in two seconds flat, kept the most thorough case notes ever, and was as tough as Gibbs.

One good thing had come from working together while Gibbs was recuperating: Tony and McGee had become more attuned to each other. They didn't snipe at each other like they used to, instead treating each other like equals, and work had seemed positively civilized without the specter of Gibbs always hovering in the background.

"I trust you to be able to think for yourselves, and work as a team," Gibbs allowed.

Tony asked, "Then why are you trying to make me quit? You've had enough of me, that's obvious. Are you planning to replace me with a pliable little probie who hangs on every word you speak, who follows everything you do, right or wrong, and chases after you like you're the closest thing to God?" He shook his head. "Man, to think that's what I used to do."

Gibbs quickly countered, "You've got it all wrong, DiNozzo!"

"Have I? Then explain why you're trying to push me out! You betting on whether I'll quit before you get the balls to fire me?"

"I'm not…! God damn it, I'm not firing you, DiNozzo!" Gibbs shouted.

"Well, you could've fooled me!" Tony frowned at his boss, trying to figure out what the fuck his problem was. Whatever was going on in the dark recesses of Gibbs' mind was not revealed in his expression; he seemed more pissed off than anything. If this wasn't about Gibbs being tired of him, it had to be about Iraq. Tony said slowly, "Oh… I get it. Iraq. You were stuck in a hospital bed while I was going after Budd. Yeah…you can't stand that you weren't front and center to capture him, and you're triple-pissed that I killed that fucker who got little kids to do his dirty work, and, what's more, that I did it without any help from you. Must've made you feel pretty useless," Tony said, not caring that it was a pretty low blow.

"I don't care who killed him," Gibbs said from between clenched teeth, his eyes flashing with anger, annoyance… something else. "You and your CIA pal, you did all the grunt work, tracking him down. You deserved the kill."

Tony studied Gibbs for a minute. The man looked his age, with tired eyes and lines on his face from stress and pain. His knee still hurt, Tony could tell, even though he did his damnedest to hide it. Constant pain was enough to grind some men down, make them mean and irrational. "Ever since you were hurt…you've changed. You treat me like you don't even know me at times. Just tell me, are you tired of me?" Gibbs gave an abrupt shake of his head, but Tony thought he was getting closer to the truth. He said thoughtfully, "Maybe we've become too… familiar with each other. It has been 14 years, after all." Tony gave a crooked smile, and said, in an attempt at humor, "Time we got a divorce, don't you think? You got to admit we both deserve a medal; this relationship has lasted longer than all your marriages combined."

"I'm your boss, DiNozzo, not…" Gibbs didn't finish the sentence, and he looked uncomfortable.

Tony felt disheartened. "I saw the way you worked with Mitchell… You liked mentoring him, and that's good. As much as we'd like things to stay the same, we can't stop the world from changing. It's time you teamed up with some younger people," he said, nodding as if he agreed with what he was saying. "I'm getting too old for you, right? I am 44, after all, practically retirement age," he said sarcastically.

And if he was aging, so was Gibbs, who was breaching the mandatory field agent retirement age this year. With a forced laugh, Tony said, "You don't have to worry though. I hear SecNav has given you a special dispensation, so you can work here until you drop." He mused, "You know, I heard the FBI has raised the agency head's retirement age to 65. Looks like if I play my cards right and make a move to a supervisory position, I'll have a good 20 years of crime-fighting ahead of me! Just think of that."

"You are not going to the FBI," Gibbs declared, seemingly alarmed at that idea.

"Why not? A minute ago you were willing to send me off to Homeland!"

"The FBI is by-the-book. You'll hate it. It'll suck the life out of you before the year is out. You'll get bored and do something stupid, and Fornell sure as hell isn't going to be on your six to pull you out of whatever trouble you get into." Gibbs scowled, and said, as if this was his final word, "They'll waste your talents."

"Wow, you admit I have some worthwhile talents? Funny, because apparently I'm not good enough to remain at NCIS. Good enough for Homeland, though." He crossed his arms and asked, "Why, all of a sudden, are you trying to get rid of me?"

"I'm not, I'm…" Gibbs started. "You've got it all wrong."

Tony raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "Have I? Because I've been getting that vibe from you, loud and clear, for weeks now. But, you know what? I'm going to make this easy for you, Gibbs. You don't have the right to rule my life, to tell me what to do, or to question my motives. Not anymore, you don't! Because I've had enough! I quit! There, that make you happy?"

◊ • ◊

Note: [… you'll end up buried in the desert somewhere, with the people back home asking, 'Gee, I wonder whatever happened to good old Tony?'"] is a reference to a line in Dances with Wolves (1990)

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