Silent Misery R & R - Chapter 24

by Hiding In Sight

Almost an hour after Tobias left, Jethro finally crawled out of bed. He went to the bathroom, standing for a full minute staring at himself in the mirror. He looked about the same as he had this morning. But he felt far worse. A little dizzy, a lot unstable. It was different from the ARV side effects he'd felt before. More in his head than his stomach. He was loathe to consider too closely – but not stupid enough to ignore – the possibility that it really was in his head.

It had certainly been emotion behind the incident on the way home. The more his mind tried to reconcile the fact that he'd almost shot Tony, the more his stomach had rebelled. He'd been professionally armed since he was 18 and this was the closest he had ever come to a friendly fire incident. As the shooter, anyway.

He'd spent the day drifting in and out of sleep in short cycles. He'd slip away only to be jerked awake by dreams. Sometimes it was the assault. Sometimes it was him shooting Tony. Or Tony shooting him. Or him shooting Tobias. Or the other way around. Sometimes it was old deaths and terrors from years ago, sharpened and brightened like dreams were wont to do. All of it kept him from getting any actual rest. He was exhausted. A sleeping pill would get him through the night. He wasn't at all certain he wanted to be that… asleep… while he was alone in the house.

He'd considered and once again rejected the Vicodin. He was hurting, more than he had in a couple days. But he didn't want to take it. How could he even think about being pain free when…

Cutting off that line of thought, Gibbs moved carefully down to the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of juice and drank deeply. There was a pot of soup in the fridge he briefly considered before closing the door again. He'd promised Tobias he'd try to eat something. He'd had nothing but toast and soda crackers in at least two days, but he wasn't that hungry. And he certainly didn't want to eat. Anything. His stomach was unstable, but it was more than that. Like with the pain killer, he just didn't want to. He was thirsty, though. That's what had finally driven him out of bed.

After draining a second glass, Gibbs left the empty on the counter and moved into the living room, looking out the front window. The street was quiet, not unusual for a Saturday night, or any other. His neighbors were mostly older folks who – like him – had lived on the street for a generation or more. He would occasionally see grandchildren riding bikes on the sidewalks, or older couples out walking. There were a few younger couples here and there, and the house on the corner was owned by a single woman who had grown tired of waiting for Mr. Right to come along and jump start her life. Last year, a lesbian couple had moved in three houses down on the other side of the street. After a period of initial awkwardness was mostly resolved during a Fourth of July block party, the neighborhood had welcomed them. They'd had a baby two months before, and Gibbs had presented the newborn's moms with a stuffed teddy bear Abby had picked out and a wooden rattle he'd carved over a long weekend. If he got home early enough, he would routinely see the ladies walking together with the baby in a stroller. But most of the time, the neighborhood was quiet. Gibbs liked it that way.

A sudden movement across the street caught his attention. He squinted to see what it was. He saw nothing. Gibbs stared, feeling an unexpected surge of adrenalin. He took a step back, retreating out of the pool of street light coming through the windows. The motion came again. Something moving through the shadows next to the house across the street. Gibbs caught his breath. His hands curled into fists. The hair on the back of his neck rose, and he felt a cold sweat spring onto his brow as he strained to see…

A large cat stepped out from under a bush and slinked across the lawn toward the sidewalk. It stopped under the streetlight, looked for all the world like it was checking for traffic, then sauntered across the road on a diagonal away from Gibbs' house.

Letting out the breath, Gibbs almost laughed. He would have laughed if his brain wasn't still busy trying to convince his body he wasn't under attack.

"A damn cat," he murmured to himself and turned away from the window. The knowledge that it had been nothing didn't decrease his feeling of exposure.

A sudden compulsion made him cross quickly to the front door and check the deadbolt. Locked. He pulled the blinds over the door's window and the windows in the foyer. With his heart still pounding, he made the rounds of the first floor, checking every window and the back door. Secure. He pulled all the blinds, staying out of the light, creeping through his own house like a burglar. His desire for the comforting weight of his Sig in his hand was overwhelming.

At the top of the basement stairs, the Navy man paused. He really wanted to go down and check the windows. After a moment, he pulled the door shut and turned the thumb lock. He had to fuss with it a bit; it had been years since he'd used the lock. Gibbs chose not to think about why he was using it now.

Back in the kitchen, he stopped again, listening to the house. Silent, as it should be. He was alone. He was certain of it. Yet…

He took a deep breath, trying to force calm. It was fine. He was fine. There was no one in the house, there was no threat. He couldn't stop his hands from shaking.

"Get a grip, Jethro," he said to himself.

Maybe some coffee would help. He hadn't had any since morning. He dumped the used grounds and placed a new filter before reaching for the airtight container where he kept his beans. His hand slipped and he fumbled the jar, barely managing to catch it before it hit the counter. He set it down and took another deep breath. He closed his eyes for a second.

A sudden sound made him spin away, and he grabbed at the counter as the lightness in his head made him momentarily lose his balance. He kept his feet, barely. Even as he stabilized Gibbs identified the sound: The compressor in the refrigerator kicking on. That's all.

"Enough!" he said firmly. With a small growl, he jerked open the coffee container and pulled over the electric grinder. He measured the beans, jumping only slightly when the grinder started up. With hands still noticeably shaking, he poured the grind into the coffee maker, added water, and started it up. He stood watching it brew, his back to the house, holding the edge of the counter with both hands. He would be fine.

He knew what was happening. It had happened before, though it had been many years. He was skirting the edge of a full-blown panic attack. If Ducky was here, he'd probably explain in great detail the interaction of physical weakness and stress and brain chemistry and why exactly this was happening. Gibbs didn't need to know any of that to know it was ridiculous. Perhaps reasonable given the circumstances, but still ridiculous. There was nothing to be afraid of, yet the fear was real. He also knew there was no quick way through it. Except maybe getting drunk. Tobias hadn't left him that option, either. So he stood in the kitchen, holding the counter, trying to impose mind over... mind.

When the drip finished, Gibbs filled a mug and took it to the table. He carefully sat and wrapped both hands around the mug. The warmth felt good. After a minute, he took a sip, held it in his mouth for a second, then swallowed and let out a breath. Nice.

His cell phone rang in his pocket, making his hands jerk. A little coffee sloshed out over the rim of the cup. He hissed at the small burn as he set the mug down. Sucking at the spot, he pulled out the phone and flipped it open. DiNozzo.

"Tony. You okay?"

"Boss. Checking in, as ordered."

"How do you feel?"

"Okay. Still sore, but okay."

"You talk to Brian?"

"For a while," DiNozzo said.

"Good," Gibbs said. "My voice still the loudest?"

DiNozzo snorted a little. "Yes," he said.

"You eat anything?"

"Yes. Ziva cooked dinner."

"Good," Gibbs repeated.

"Have you heard from McGee?" DiNozzo asked.

"No. You?"

"Not yet." There was a pause. "Are you alright, Boss?"

Gibbs took a breath. "I'm okay," he said. "Little sick, nothing serious."

"Are you sure?" DiNozzo asked quietly.

Jethro understood the risk DiNozzo believed he was taking by asking, and gave it the consideration it was due.

"Yes. The meds I'm taking are kicking my ass. Head's a little sideways. It'll resolve."

He could almost see DiNozzo nodding. "Okay. Is Fornell still there?"

Gibbs paused. DiNozzo would ask that. He supposed he could lie: Telling the truth would just give his Second something more to obsess about. Better to avoid the question. "I'm fine. Call me in the morning," he instructed.

A sigh on the other end. "I will."

"Let me talk to Ziva." Sounds of the phone being transferred, then: "He is doing much better, Gibbs."

Gibbs actually smiled to himself. "What'd you make for dinner?"

"Spaghetti with meat sauce," she said. "He said it was better than his mother used to make."

Gibbs grunted. "His mother didn't cook. He sleep today?"

"Some, but only on the couch. We watched several movies. He seems much more… settled."

"Good. Keep me posted." Gibbs snapped the phone shut and slipped it back into his pocket.

He sat for a few minutes, sipping at his coffee and trying to find calm. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so rattled. And over what? There was nothing to fear here, in his own house.

Pushing himself to his feet, Gibbs topped off his mug and went to the living room. He considered for a moment before choosing the easy chair. He ignored the shaded windows next him and put his coffee down on the end table, picking up the TV remote. He'd installed cable for Tobias, but he wasn't too big to admit he occasionally blew off an evening watching a commercial-free movie. He randomly chose one of the movie channels and returned the remote to the table. He took several deep breaths, letting them out slowly through pursed lips.

Speaking of Tobias… Gibbs retrieved his phone again and dialed Fornell's number. He didn't press 'send,' just sat there holding the phone and drinking coffee while the movie played. He could feel himself calming. He would get through this like he got through most things: Through sheer force of will.

Footsteps on the porch and four sharp knocks on the door made Gibbs freeze with his almost-empty cup half way to his mouth. He held his breath. It was late, too late for casual visitors. It wasn't anyone on his team, or anyone who really knew him; they wouldn't have bothered knocking. He tried to convince himself it wasn't anyone threatening; threats didn't usually knock. Nonetheless, he sat unmoving, adrenalin pumping, fear spiking.

The knock repeated. "Jethro! You in there? It's Sam Carver."

Sam. One of the young marrieds up the block. Gibbs released the breath. It was Sam. His neighbor. That's all. Except that his timing sucked and Gibbs really wasn't up for visiting tonight.

Moving like a man half again his age, Gibbs set his mug and his still-open cell phone on the table and got to his feet. Neighbors knocked, threats didn't. Before he could reach the door, Sam knocked again, harder.

"You down in the basement again?" he called. Gibbs could see him trying to peek around the shade.

Gibbs steeled himself, flipped on the foyer light and turned the deadbolt. "Sam," he said.

"Whoa, you don't look so good," Sam said as soon as he got a look at Gibbs. Suddenly self-conscious, Gibbs rubbed at his neck.

"Rough week at work," Gibbs said. "What brings you by so late?"

"Yeah, sorry about that. I need to borrow a pipe wrench," Sam said. "Lily dropped her wedding ring down the kitchen sink. She's beside herself. I told her it would still be there in the morning long as she didn't run the water, but she insisted I get it out of there. Like, right now."

Gibbs nodded and forced a smile. "I'm sure she did. Come on in." He pulled the door the rest of the way open and invited the younger man in. Gibbs had to force himself to turn his back on Sam and lead the way through the living room. His skin was crawling and he once again found himself making fists to keep his hands from shaking.

"You really don't look good, neighbor. You sure you should be alone?" Sam asked as Gibbs fumbled at the basement door lock. He managed to get the door open and stepped out of the way.

"Go on down. Third drawer in the tool chest," he said.

With a sideways look, Sam slipped past him and moved down the stairs. It only took a minute while Gibbs stood in the laundry room waiting, trying to calm. Sam bounded back up the stairs, red wrench in hand.

"Thanks," Sam said as he reemerged. "You want me to bring it back tonight?"

"Tomorrow's fine," Gibbs said. They moved back to the foyer.

"You sure you shouldn't call one of your posse to come over?" Sam asked.

"Posse?" Gibbs asked.

Sam grinned. "That's what Mama Luna calls them." When Gibbs' face showed confusion, Sam went on.

"You know Lily's mother spends most of her day sitting in the front window watching the neighborhood," he started.

"Yeah," Gibbs said. He often saw the elderly woman in her easy chair when he left the neighborhood in their direction. He always waved, and she always gave him a big smile and a wave in return.

"She loves to talk about who's been around, when and for how long, everything she can imagine they've been up to. She's assigned everyone a code name, like she's running some kind of spy ring or something."

For a second, Gibbs' expression showed a small flash of anxiety. Had she noticed how often Fornell had spent the night lately?

If Sam saw anything, he said nothing. "The folks you work with, she calls them your posse. There's GQ, MIT, the Brazilian Ninja, Batgirl, 'That Older Gentleman' and Mr. Grumpy."

"Israeli," Gibbs said absently. DiNozzo, McGee, David, Abby, Ducky. And Fornell. Mama Luna certainly read people well.

"Pardon?" Sam asked. Gibbs refocused.

"She's not Brazilian, she's Israeli."

"Oh. I'll let Mama know. Anyway, you should call one of them to come over."

Gibbs sighed a little. "Appreciate your concern, Sam. You need anything else, give me a call."

"Okay. Thanks again." He opened the front door and stepped through.

"What's Mama Luna call me?" Gibbs asked out of curiosity. The casual conversation was doing a lot to ease the tension.

"Handsome," Sam said and laughed. "Take care of yourself, Jethro. Call me if I can help. I'll bring it back tomorrow."

Gibbs closed the door behind him. He hesitated with his hand on the lock. It didn't need to be locked. There was no threat. He bit at his lip, cursed lightly under his breath, and locked it anyway.

He returned to the living room only long enough to snag his cell phone off the end table. He took it through the kitchen to the laundry. Pushing the basement door shut and locking it, he turned to lean against the dryer. He glanced at the phone, noted Tobias's number was still on the screen, and pushed send.

** NCIS ** NCIS ** NCIS **

Fornell and McGee were at a booth in the corner near the back of the restaurant's dining room. The only thing beyond them was the double doors to the kitchen, and a short hallway that lead to the restrooms and a small banquet room. When the host had tried to put them at a table in the middle of the room, McGee had quietly requested the booth. They'd ordered soft drinks and were perusing the menu. The restaurant was open late on the weekends and was fairly busy.

An early trip to the restroom had revealed the banquet room to be empty. None of the hundred or so diners was their target. They had no way to know for sure if Montero had already come and gone, but the dinner hour wasn't yet finished, and unless he'd eaten early and left immediately after, he'd still be here. The plan was to enjoy a leisurely dinner with multiple courses, stretch it out as long as was practicable, and hope he showed up. Fornell had a team on standby, just in case.

Both men were dressed casually, slacks and button down shirts. The clothes had come from the locker room at the Navy Yard: Fornell had borrowed from Gibbs and the fit wasn't perfect, but it was good enough. Like many of the diners, they had their smartphones on the table and occasionally checked them or texted something. They looked like most of the other non-romantic couples having dinner. In the old days, they'd have had to use hidden radios and earwigs. These days, everyone had a smartphone and using it during dinner was nothing out of the ordinary.

The waitress came and they ordered appetizers to start, saying they'd decide on meals after. They would drag this out as long as was practicable. Fornell was texting his contact back at the Hoover Building when his phone started vibrating. Gibbs. He stared at the screen, torn. He had been hoping Jethro wouldn't call while this was going on. He knew he needed to answer, but what was he going to say when Jethro inevitably asked him what he was doing? And if Jethro was in trouble, how was he going to avoid having to leave right now?

"Hi," he started. He shuffled out of the booth, made a 'stand by' motion to McGee, and headed for the exit.

"Hi," Gibbs replied.

"You okay?" Fornell asked.

"Yeah." Fornell slipped out through the front doors and out to the street. He looked left and right, choosing the valet waiting bench.

"Did you eat?" Fornell asked.

"Not hungry," Gibbs replied. Fornell kept an eye on the flow of people arriving at the restaurant and just passing by.

"What've you been doing?" Fornell asked.

"Drinking coffee. Watching a movie."

"Which one?"

"I don't know. Something new. Lots of car chases and really bad shooting."

Fornell smiled. Sounded like most movies these days. A BMW pulled up in front of him and the valet hurried around to meet the driver. While covertly examining the people who got out – not their target – Fornell missed Gibbs' next comment.

"Say again?" Fornell said.

"Where are you?" Gibbs asked. Fornell was pretty sure that wasn't what he'd originally said, but was a reaction to his inattention.

"I was in a meeting. Just stepped outside," Fornell said.

"Huh," Gibbs grunted. "It's really that helpful?" he asked.

Fornell nodded to himself in satisfaction. Gibbs had taken the vague comment exactly as he'd hoped.

"It is. You should try it."

"Maybe," Gibbs said.

"You're okay, though?"

"Yeah." He paused. "My neighbor came over. To borrow a wrench. He saw me and thinks I shouldn't be alone," he said.

"You shouldn't be," Fornell agreed. "You want me to come back? When the meeting's over?"

"No. I'm okay. It was…"

"Weird?" Fornell suggested.

"Harder than it should have been," Gibbs said.

"Yeah," Fornell said. A small group approached the restaurant from the east. Not their target.

"I'm gonna go back to bed," Gibbs said.

"You gonna take a sleeping pill?" Fornell asked.

"Maybe. But…"

"Take it, Jethro. You need to sleep. You know there's no reason not to."

"I know," Gibbs said. He fell silent. Fornell waited, watching the traffic.

"You need to get back in?" Gibbs asked after a moment of silence.

"Probably should," Fornell said.

"Okay." But he didn't hang up. Fornell waited again. Another car pulled up in front, this one a car service Lincoln with a driver who rushed around to open the back door. Three men got out. The first two were just average-looking Hispanic men in suits. The third was Alejandro. Suddenly, Fornell needed Gibbs to keep talking.

"How's DiNozzo tonight?" he asked. The three men paused while Alejandro said something to the driver, then they ducked into the restaurant.

"Ziva says he's more settled. He says he's better."

"Good."

"I'll want to go check on him again in the morning. You available?"

"Of course," Fornell said. His phone vibrated in his hand and he pulled it away from his face long enough to see that McGee had texted him. He, too, had recognized Alejandro.

"Okay then. Guess I'll go," Gibbs said.

"Okay," Fornell said and stood. "Take a pill. I'll see you in the morning."

"Okay."

The line went dead andHe say Fornell slipped the phone into his pocket. He returned to the table, letting his eyes casually pass over Alejandro and his companions at a table for four near the restaurant's front windows.

Their appetizers had arrived, and McGee already had a serving on his plate. Fornell immediately started serving himself.

"Alejandro's here," McGee said casually.

"I saw," Fornell said.

"They're at a table for four," McGee said.

"You think there'll be a fourth?" Fornell asked. He took a bite of filet mignon nachos and had to pause for a moment to enjoy. Wow. He would have to bring Jethro here. Once Montero was in prison and no longer enjoying the fruits of the enterprise.

"Hopefully," McGee said.

It was not that easy. As the two feds finished their appetizer, ordered their meals and dug in 30 minutes later, the three men at the other table did the same. They were clearly not waiting for anyone. Which meant Fornell had to make a decision: Take Alejandro now and risk his capture alerting Montero that they were onto him, or let the junior man go and risk losing him again.

As the waitress returned asking about dessert, Fornell made up his mind. They'd put a federal tail on Alejandro, and hope he lead them to Montero sooner rather than later. Through multiple text messages, Fornell arranged for three of his best agents to start the tail from the restaurant tonight. He'd tag along at a distance for a while, see if Alejandro went home. If they lost him, that would at least give them a base they knew he'd return to.

**NCIS***NCIS***NCIS***

Gibbs hung up and stood by the dryer for a minute. Despite what he'd told Fornell, he wasn't ready to go back to bed, sleeping pill or not. He just wasn't sure he wanted to do anything else, either.

With a sigh, he refilled his mug and returned to the easy chair. The movie was still playing and he settled in again. He'd stay here until he felt tired. Or until morning came, whichever happened first.

An hour passed, the movie ended, another one started. The first coffee pot was emptied, and Gibbs was half way through the second before his phone rang again. He glanced at it: Abby. He was surprised. It was awfully late for her to be calling. Calling him, at least.

"Are you okay?" she asked when he picked up.

"Fine," Gibbs replied.

"Why are you still up?"

"Who says I am?" Gibbs asked. There was a pause.

"Why isn't Agent Fornell with you?"

"He went home," Gibbs said.

"Why?"

"Because I told him to." Gibbs frowned. "Where are you?"

"Um… Silver Spring?" she hedged. Gibbs levered himself to his feet and moved over to the window, peeking around the blind. Sure enough, Abby's car was sitting in front of his house.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. "It's the middle of the night."

"I was on my way home. I… Agent Fornell's car wasn't here… I wanted to be sure…"

"You want to come in?" Gibbs asked.

"Can I?" she said. Gibbs snapped the phone shut and went to the door. He unlocked and opened it. A minute later, she appeared on the porch and he gestured her in. She looked more than a little sheepish.

"What are you doing here?" Gibbs asked again as he closed and locked the door behind her. She moved into the living room ahead of him. As she had been the last time she came over, she was again dressed in jeans and a hoodie. This time, she had her hair in a low ponytail and was wearing a pair of black sneakers with white soles. He thought they were called Chucks.

"I was just checking on you," she said, turning to face him. "Cuz, you know…"

"Have you been driving by here every night?" he asked. Guilty, her expression said.

"I just wanted to be sure you weren't alone," she said.

"I'm a big boy, Abs," he said. "I don't need a babysitter."

"I know you don't," she said firmly. "But what about a friend?"

He smiled a little. "I could always use one of those."

"Great," she said and flopped down on the couch. "Hey, this is a great movie. It's still early, can I watch?

Early? Gibbs thought and glanced at the clock on the mantle. He chuckled a little despite himself. "Sure." He sat down next to her and she immediately snuggled into him. He felt himself stiffen. Abby felt it too. She immediately started to pull away. Gibbs wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her back.

"It's okay," Gibbs said softly. She nodded and focused on the TV.

...to be continued...