Chapter 11: Visiting the Dead

Gibbs walked slowly into autopsy; the lighting was dim, not quite completely off but almost. He didn't try to change it; it suited his mood. He limped slightly as he made his way over to the bank of drawers that covered one side of the room, locating and pulling open the one he wanted in one swift easy movement. He took a small step backwards and to the side, adjusting his position before looking down at the body.

Jeffrey White looked somehow younger without his glasses, his features smoothed in death, so that he finally lost that air of anxiety that he couldn't quite shake in life. Was it that that had made him seem like a geek? Was it his physical appearance, his heavily rimmed glasses and poorly chosen clothes, or was it something in the way that he projected himself that screamed 'failure' to the world? Whatever it was, it was not evident now. White simply looked peaceful and Gibbs hated him for that.

He didn't deserve peace, not after butchering four people, not after almost killing Tony. He didn't deserve such a quick end. Ducky had already given him a summary of the autopsy report. Tony's first bullet had ruptured White's Aorta, he had been dead from the moment it hit, the other two bullets redundant, merely splattering the blood of a man who was already dead around the interior of the car, but Tony hadn't known that, had needed to fire more than once as he had been trained, to be sure, to save his own life.

He shook his head and let out a breath. White shouldn't have died like that, shouldn't have died by Tony's hand, because Gibbs knew that was what was threatening to destroy the younger agent. All he didn't know was why? It kept coming back to that, and if he knew the answer then he might be able to help.

He cursed for the millionth time that night, and wished that he'd gotten there soon enough to finish the man himself. If he could have brought him back to life there and then, he would have killed him again, for what he'd tried to do to Tony, for what he had done to Tony. He clenched his fists by his side as he resisted the urge to smash them down on Jeffrey's head.

"Defiling a body is a serious offence Jethro." Ducky's voice was soft, almost melodic in tone.

Gibbs didn't turn; he just continued to stare, controlling his breathing, not even thinking of questioning how Ducky knew what he was thinking or the fact that he was there. He hadn't noticed him enter, or maybe he'd been there all along.

"Although one of the tribes of the Javiro Indians of South America used to cut off the heads of their enemies after death and shrink them in a rather fascinating process that involved. . .

"Ducky!"

Ducky had made it round to the opposite side of the drawer to face Gibbs. He raised his eyes from the body. "Of course that was mainly because they believed they needed protection from the soul of their victim, and I'm afraid that the soul of our friend here has long since departed."

"He's nobody's friend," Gibbs ground out, objecting to Ducky's phrasing even though he knew that it was merely a figure of speech on the older man's part.

There was silence for a moment. Ducky looked down at White's body once more. "Maybe Tony's," he said quietly, his head lifting to meet Gibbs' surprised gaze.

Gibbs' eyes narrowed slightly as he considered the suggestion. "He only knew him a day," he protested.

Ducky held eye contact. "Of course, silly me, I was forgetting how long it normally takes young Anthony to form attachments."

Gibbs stared for a moment. "Sarcasm doesn't suit you Duck."

"No, but it does sometimes serve a purpose."

Gibbs gave a slight nod and looked down at White once more. Tony's words returning, 'I really liked him.' The phrase echoed in his head. "So do you think that's what's wrong with Dinozzo?" He looked up again, slightly sceptically, knowing himself that it had to be more than that. "He thinks he killed a friend?"

"I think it's a combination of things," Ducky stated, letting out a sigh. " Psychiatry wasn't one of the fields I studied. Outside my area of expertise I'm afraid."

"But if you had to guess?"

Ducky took off his glasses, cleaning them absently before putting them back on. "Then I'd have to say that part of the cause of Anthony's reaction was the proximity. It's a lot harder to kill someone when they're right next to you." His tone became a little softer. "You know that," he paused for the briefest of moments, his voice strengthening again. "And the Marine core trained you for it. Police training I fear is a little less rigorous when it comes to such matters."

Gibbs gave another slight nod of acknowledgement, swallowing as he remembered the few occasions he'd had to take a life up close and personal. You would have to be psychotic not to react to that, but even that was not enough. "And?" he asked.

"Part of it is undoubtedly because he had formed some sort of emotional bond with Mr. White"

Gibbs felt slightly cheated by the answer, Ducky had already said as much with his earlier comments, but there was more. "And?"

Ducky focussed for the first time on the cut above Gibbs eye. "You know you really should let me take a look at that."

"Ducky?" Gibbs' tone was barely removed from a growl, frustrated by his friend's avoidance.

Ducky ignored him. "And the ankle too, that's quite a limp you've got. I'll just get my bag. Sit yourself down.

Gibbs watched silently as Ducky moved away. There were very few people he would let get away with treating him like this, but he knew that if he wanted any chance of his question being answered he would have to comply. Reluctantly he moved over to take a seat.

"So what happened?" Ducky asked as he removed a suturing kit.

"Nothing." Gibbs tried.

"'Nothing's do not generally require stitches," Ducky stated cleaning the area gently, "and this is going to require at least three." He paused and looked down. "So what happened?"

"I went to the gym for a workout, but the punch bag wasn't enough." He allowed a small smile. "So I ended up sparring with two Marines who'd also had a bad day." He met Ducky's gaze. "Al threw us all out of the ring for being too violent."

"Good job too from the look of this eye." Ducky stated, not even offering the anaesthetic that he knew Gibbs would refuse, before applying the first stitch.

"Yeah well you should see the other guys." Gibbs managed to get the phrase out before clenching his jaw against the sharp prick of the entering needle.

"Cliché's Jethro? Things must be worse than I thought."

"Yeah, well they're petty bad."

The air thickened at the comment. Ducky worked silently as Gibbs clenched his fists tightly; the only outward sign that he felt anything at all as the thread pulled his skin back together.

"Kate's already been for her own little chat with our dead friend over there," Ducky nodded in his direction, trying to ignore Gibbs' reaction again to his use of the word 'friend,' but no matter what a person had done in life, he couldn't bring himself to treat a body with anything less than respect, it wasn't in him. "She told me what happened at the hospital."

Gibbs sighed. "I was pretty hard on him. What if I'm wrong?"

Ducky had finished the last stitch and turned to his bag once more, he stopped mid action. It was so rare to hear Gibbs second guess himself that it deserved his full attention. He studied Gibbs' expression, considering his response carefully. "You did what you thought was most likely to pull him through. How can that be wrong?"

Gibbs stared for a moment. "It's wrong if it doesn't work," he stated with a quiet intensity.

Ducky exhaled deeply at the comment, at the possibilities it allowed. "All we can do is our best Jethro, the rest is up to time and God." He turned to his bag once more, sweeping aside the tension that pervaded the atmosphere around them. "Now take your shoe off, I want to get a look at that ankle."

NCISNCIS

Kate pulled the DVD from the Blockbuster box and dropped it onto the open tray of the player. She'd managed to get a copy in the first store she'd gone to, which since the movie was produced in 1958 was testament to the fact that it was either a classic film, or perhaps a reflection of the enduring popularity of the two leads. She hoped it was the former. She picked up one of the cartons of takeaway from the table, and settled herself back as the FBI warning faded and the menu screen appeared, hoping that the promise she had made to Tony wouldn't be too arduous. She clicked on 'play movie' and dropped the remote.

It had taken her a while to get any sort of response at all after Gibbs had left. Tony seemed to have shrunk back in on himself, as though he wasn't connecting with the outside world at all. By the time he did speak to her, she would probably have been prepared to promise him anything not to lose him again.

"Will you do me a favour Kate?" he'd asked, his voice seemed thin, lacking in any depth.

Normally she would have needed more information before agreeing to such an open question but there was no way she was going to refuse the lost little boy who stared out through Tony's eyes. "If I can."

"Rent a movie for me." He gave a sad smile. "I'd tell you about it but I don't think I could do it justice. So I want you to watch it."

"OK, which one?"

"It's called The Defiant Ones. It's an MGM classic, 1958 directed by Stanley Kubrick and. . ." He trailed the sentence off. "But you don't need to know that, just watch it for me and then maybe you'll. . ." again the sentence trailed. He looked her directly in the eye; the lost boy look was gone to be replaced by a haunted one that spoke of dark experience beyond his years. The contrast was so striking it made her give a slight gasp. "You said you wanted to understand."

And she had, in an extended monologue earlier, when she hadn't really thought he'd been listening to her. She'd asked him to try to tell her what was wrong, why this was so hard for him. She'd asked him to help her understand.

"Watch the movie, ask yourself if Sydney Poitier could've shot Tony Curtis, despite what he was, how he behaved."

She studied him for a moment. "Tony if you're trying to tell me you identify with Sydney Poitier then I have something to tell you. You're not black." She tried to introduce a little levity, hoping to see something other than defeat in her partner.

It didn't work, Tony's eyes clouded a little more. "That's what Jeffrey said," he stated, letting his head roll back so that he was staring at the ceiling. The silence stretched. Kate could swear that she could hear the second hand on the clock moving. He turned to look back at her. "Just rent the movie," he said quietly.

She nodded, suddenly struck by how tired he looked. "I'll let you get some rest," she said, "I'll call back tomorrow."

He gave her a barely perceptible nod, anything more would hurt, anything more would require some energy. He let his head move back to stare at the ceiling. Not sure what he was more afraid of. The spiralling images that would fill his head while awake or the nightmares that would haunt him in sleep, somehow tomorrow seemed an impossibly long time away.

That was how she'd ended up sitting here watching a film, not something she did very often. She could never understand Tony's fascination with the media. Watching TV to her was something you did when you were too sick to do anything else, and then she'd probably end up reading instead, and she couldn't remember the last movie she'd been to see at a theatre.

The open cartons of takeaway sat forgotten and cold on the table in front of her, long discarded as more and more of her attention had been captured by the intense relationship that was being played out on the screen. She watched as the end credits began to roll, trying to ignore the tear that rolled down her cheek knowing that it wasn't just a reaction to what she'd seen on the screen. "Oh Tony," she whispered softly.