Disclaimer: I own nothing but the typos. If you recognize it, it isn't mine.
Author's Note: This story has companion art over on AO3. The artist said it didn't feel complete with the original ending, so I added this. I think it helps really give the story the closure that it needed.
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EPILOGUE TWO: (A FEW MONTHS LATER)
When Tim and the team return from yet another jaunt to Manitoba for yet another dead Marine, the air on Whidbey Island looms heavy with the threat of winter. It hangs, cool and crisp with a salty bite of ocean air, like it used to before the first snowfall in DC. Desperately, Tim tries not to imagine how enjoyable their next dead Marine will be. In Manitoba. In the dead of winter.
While Manitoba boasts a beautiful natural landscape, Tim has seen enough of the province to last a lifetime. Sure, he scratched a few items off his bucket list: pet a moose, ski the Canadian Rockies, and hike through pristine, untouched wildness…on his way to retrieve a body. He even developed an undying love for poutine and when in Manitoba, he can't eat enough. Much to the chagrin—and disgust—of Tony and Lake, who have watched him scarf his weight in gravy, French fries and cheese curds. Even though the poutine is better in Canada, Tim is always thankful to return to their little office in the middle of nowhere.
Yet, today feels different. Tim didn't understand when he woke up this morning, but there is a sinking pit in his stomach that he can't quite place. If he believed in gut feelings—Tony does, Tim certainly doesn't—he would think something big was about to happen. But that's the illogical reasoning that LEOs use for subconsciously piecing together data points to form a rational conclusion. There's no such thing as hunches, just your brain processing information to form a working theory.
Since it's late afternoon on a Sunday, their parking lot should be empty except for their cars and the long agency vehicle. Except, by the entrance, Tim notices a brand new, white Ford. All shiny and freshly washed and waxed, it looks out of place on the island.
Rental vehicle probably from Seattle. One of the neighbors must be using our parking lot again.
Tim leads the way back to their agency building, a forensics kit in one hand and his two laptops secured in their bag against his back. Behind him, Tony and Lake are actively discussing his new DVD acquisition. It's something decades older than any of them and one Lake—and Tim—have never heard of. Over the past months, Tony slowly assimilated Lake into his black and white genres while she lures him deeper into the 1980s with cult classics and little-known films. Tim will forever remain the odd man out with his burgeoning collection of books.
They move across the parking lot, loose stones grinding under their shoes, until Tim catches the sight of a familiar figure slumped on the bench by the entrance. The bench is something Tony installed shortly after their arrival. He likes to take his first cup of coffee there while clearing his head before the day officially begins. Lake uses it to sneak the odd cigarette when she thinks no one is looking—they're always looking. Tim hides out there while he's searching the movie du jour on his phone.
Leroy Jethro Gibbs looks so out of place on their bench.
He waits patiently, clear eyes scanning the parking lot as they draw closer. His hair is greyer and longer than Tim remembers, his face still raw from what must have been a bad sunburn. He wears a ratty old USMC sweatshirt and battered jeans to combat the ever-present chill in the island air. Even if asked directly, Tim would never admit Gibbs now looks like an old man. Yet, he still thinks it.
It takes Tim's brain several long seconds to make the connection.
He stops dead in his tracks. His bags suddenly feel as though they weigh a thousand pounds. The forensics bag slips from his grip, hitting the ground with a thwump. He draws a sharp inhale. He blinks as though Gibbs could be a hallucination brought on by too much poutine.
Not paying attention, Tony plows straight into Tim's back. The computers slam directly into his spine and he manages to catch himself before faceplanting into the asphalt.
"What gives, McGee?" Tony asks.
Wordlessly, Tim gestures in the direction of the bench.
Leroy Jethro Gibbs speaks for himself.
Tony's eyes slip from Tim's face to the building. As soon as he catches sight of Gibbs, his mouth draws into a small o. The color evaporates from his cheeks. Tony looks like he might run for the Canadian border. Tim doesn't know whether he should stop Tony or follow him.
Lake must not notice because she continues their conversation: "So, Tony, what movie should I start to become Cary Grant's biggest fan?"
Tony offers a barely audible: "Um…"
Lake genuinely laughs. "I don't think I know that one."
Once she realizes no one else joined her, she tilts her head. Both Tim and Tony stare at Gibbs like they just saw a ghost. With a hand on her hip, she surveys the men.
Sidling beside Tim, Lake whispers: "Is that who I think it is?"
Tim's nod is barely perceptible. "Oh yeah..."
Gibbs jerks his chin at them, telling them they've been spotted. None of them move because they are clearly unsure what they should do. Gibbs stands stock still, beside the building entrance. The decision is theirs to make. If they wanted, they could slip right by him and pretend they never even saw him. They could pretend that Gibbs never made the thousand-mile trip up from his Mexican beach and go about their lives here on the island. And Gibbs, he would slip away like the island's early morning fog.
Tim already knows he won't. Despite their falling out, Gibbs was still an important part of Tim's fledging career as an agent. He was the only one to give Tim a chance to be something more than a case agent. Sure, Tony helped meld him into the agent he is today, but without Gibbs, Tim would never have had the chance. Without Gibbs, Tim wouldn't be here with Tony. So Tim already knows he'll take Gibbs sight-seeing and talk to him about his life here. Show him all those different boats docked at the Marina not far from Tim's apartment. All the things Tim can't do with his own father.
But I'll let Tony decide what he wants to do first.
Tony still looks like their latest corpse came back to life and followed them home. He scratches at a spot on the back of his neck so hard it'll be raw soon. The last time Tony looked so vulnerable, so uncertain, so open was that day in the bullpen right after their fight. Like Tony himself didn't know what he'd was capable of.
Based on Tony's expression, Tim knows this will be Tony's only chance to talk to Gibbs. If they don't make amends now, Tony will never see him again.
Tony checks with Tim, who offers a raised eyebrows and a decidedly unhelpful smile. He wishes he had advice for his friend, but this isn't Tim's decision to make. Tim already knows he'll try, hey Gibbs, how are ya? Long time, eh? Or maybe did you see all those boats down at the marina? Lots of 'em, eh?
But Tim can't tell Tony whether he should talk to Gibbs or not.
Tony sucks a breath through his teeth, then he's racing across the parking lot. Even Tim doesn't know what he's about to do. When he reaches the building entrance, he stops in front of Gibbs for what feels like a long time. Tony's muscles are coiled and nervous energy, his shoulders are raised and tense.
Gibbs' expression remains impassive.
Tony and Gibbs are immobile while they wait for the other to make the first move.
Tim's skin crawls and he wants—no, he needs—something to happen. Now. He starts towards them, but Lake grabs his hand and wraps her other around his wrist. Her grip is frigid, biting at his flesh through the cuff of his leather jacket and oxford shirt. She slides her fingers underneath the edge of his shirt to touch his forearm. There's something intimate and wonderful about her touch.
His brain kickstarts, trying to understand the new data point being input into his body.
"Oh," he whispers.
He glances down to find her fingers are entwined with his, her other hand still under his shirt. His suddenly mind goes blank. She pulls on his arm, cradling it to her chest. He stumbles a full step backward as she draws him closer. She glances up, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of her lips and her face rested against his shoulder. Whatever he's been feeling, she must be experiencing it too. Raw heat engulfs his face as he flushes from ear to ear.
"Oh," he whispers again.
"Tony can do this on his own," she whispers. "Stay with me."
With a clipped nod, Tim lets her reel him in. His head swims with possibilities as he watches the scene unfold between Tony and Gibbs. Shockingly, Gibbs is the first to move. He holds his arms out, open and ready. Tony nods stoically and lets Gibbs hug him tightly. Tim never knew Gibbs could show signs of affection. Hell, most of the time, he wondered if Gibbs was even human.
Gibbs is talking, a low and guttural rumble like deep thunder. Plaintive and mournful.
The only words Tim catches is Gibbs saying, "I'm sorry, Tony."
Tony's shoulders suddenly hitch, and Tim realizes the older man is getting choked up. Gibbs rubs at a spot on the top of his back, still speaking in elegiac whispers. They stay like this for a long time. Tim feels as though he and Lake are trespassing into a moment that isn't theirs, but they have nowhere else to go. The men block the way into the building and Tony has the keys to the agency car.
Tim and Lake spend the time staring at their entwined hands. He can't help, but wonder when she started to fall for him and how he never saw the signs. For Tim, she had him at "we don't have WiFi."
Whatever comes next—and how it complicates their positions on the team—is for another day.
Lake quietly whistles. "This looks like something out a movie."
"Which one?" Tim whispers.
She makes a show of thinking, lips pressed together and eyes squinted in that way Tim fell in like with.
Eventually, she says: "All of them."
His laugh sounds like he is clearing his throat. That seems to be the signal to Tony and Gibbs that they aren't alone. When the men pull away from each other, Tony glances back at Tim. Despite the easy smile on his face, his eyes are red-rimmed and his cheeks are flushed. He blinks quickly as he looks to the sky.
Tim smiles sheepishly.
"And…." Lake drawls out the word with a flourish "…that's our cue."
Dropping his hand as though it was nothing, Lake races across the parking lot. Tim stares at it, dumbfounded, wondering if he imagined the whole thing. While the moment might be gone, whatever spark Tim felt still burns like fire on his hand. He follows her, still punch drunk and reeling. He watches as Gibbs enthusiastically shakes the hand he was just holding. He wonders if Gibbs feels the same ice-fire he just did.
"You must be Lake." Gibbs' voice is like gravel. "Heard a lot about you. From the e-mails."
When Lake grins at Tim, he loses his breath. Whatever they felt is still there, dancing in her eyes.
"Hey Gibbs, it's nice to see you again." Tim flinches, suddenly feeling awkward. "Did you see all those boats down at the marina? Lots of 'em, eh?"
"Are you turning Canadian now, Tim?" Gibbs asks, laughing.
Tim can't help, but join in. Gibbs' laughter, while completely foreign, is contagious and before long, the entire group is chuckling.
Turning to face Tim, Gibbs wears a relaxed smile. Every emotion Tim thought eluded Gibbs is right there on his face: peace, relaxed, dare he say, happy. Tony claps a hand on both their shoulders, grinning between the two of them like his world might be finally complete.
And Tony's excitement slowly worms its way into Tim's gut like a rising ocean tide. He stands on the precipice, ready to jump into the next great chapter of his life. The one where his past and his future are merged into one, the present and he is exactly where he is supposed to be.
THE END
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Thanks to everyone who read, favorited and followed. Extra big thanks to everyone who reviewed. I appreciate you taking the journey with me. There will be another one...eventually.