HOME TRUTHS
Tony stared at the man he'd known for nearly two decades now, a man who, despite it all, he had admired more than he had anyone else close to him. And now that Gibbs was here, appearing in Tony's rental right on cue, for that first moment Tony felt the overwhelming relief he had felt all those times, back when his Boss was there to get his back, and he knew he could trust things to work out alright. In the next moment, it occurred to Tony that he had not thought beyond this very moment, so had no clue as to how things should go. He had no idea what to do or say. And having been caught sitting there, on Gibbs' house, it dawned on him that things could sour even further between them so very quickly ...
Gulping down all the uncertainty and emotion of the moment, Tony managed a grin and said quickly, "hey Boss."
TWO
"Not your..." Gibbs began, but his words died quietly, his sharp eyes taking in the man before him.
The silence in the car was electric, as moments ticked by, and even in the limited light Tony could see his mentor taking stock. The younger man was overwhelmed by the feeling that it had been years since Gibbs had really looked at him. Was it a trick of the light, or jet lag, or just his own, needy hope, that his expression carried a long absent look of concern he used to have for him, sometimes?
Gibbs finally drew a slow, steadying breath, and, as he spoke again, softly, Tony suddenly remembered when Gibbs spoke like this not only to victims needing his assurance, but to those entrusted to him on the job. "What are you doing here, DiNozzo?
Ever since the events of last May, Gibbs found himself marking time now as before or after. The weeks leading up to it all had been brutal, and the weeks and months after – after the explosion, and Orli's stunning news, and DiNozzo's departure – came in waves. Less work, more work, they had all pressed forward. Half of them had been numb, he knew now, himself included, and as he slowly emerged from the anesthetic of denial and refusal to face reality, he found it was mid-summer, and the team of whom he had been so proud was reconstituted into a patchwork of skilled individuals who gave him a hard day's work but no more. And Tony was gone.
"The glue," Abby once called DiNozzo. "The wild card," Tony reportedly told Saleem. "His faithful St. Bernard," Gibbs himself had thrown out to him, mockingly. Always deflecting, always underestimated. Always there to have his back, to be his voice of reason, to come up with answers no one else saw, to diffuse the wrath he hurled at the team during a tense case. Tony had been gone before, even for weeks at a time, but always when Gibbs knew he was coming back. To Gibbs' chagrin as he thought about it now, he'd even taunted and badgered DiNozzo to leave, in the rougher recent times, thinking he meant it, but knowing deep down the man would not leave.
He'd always liked to think it was the Marines who invented "never leave a man behind." Turns out it was DiNozzo.
When he'd surfaced from the losses of that spring, Gibbs found that his team was fractured into two parts: those who knew Ziva and had worked with Tony almost as long as he had, and those who didn't. Tim, Abby, Duck and Palmer all gave him their best, every day, but clearly were still suffering the loss of both Ziva and Tony, and were struggling to get through the day without the buffer of DiNozzo's antics or insight or entertainment to ease the ire of a hot-headed Senior Agent, the daily, grisly reminders of the worst in people, or the long hours and truncated social lives. Worse, the newbies seemed clueless as to the impact and import Tony had on the team; they waved off his absence as if an email or quick Skype would put Abby right, or get Ducky back to business. And Bishop - she was an island, half in and half out, never having known DiNozzo in his full, unstifled glory but appreciative of his advice in the field.
They returned to duty after Thanksgiving and the team was still running on three legs, gamely trying but not there yet. McGee worked harder than ever, and fought to find his own way as a Senior Field Agent. Clearly taking some of Tony's examples to heart, he also had the good sense to use his own smarts and training, and never tried to just imitate the last SFA. He was efficient, dedicated, and responsible.
It wasn't McGee's fault that he wasn't DiNozzo, Gibbs reminded himself again.
Coming out of the elevator Gibbs looked around to see an empty bullpen, his team not due in for an hour. This week had him unsettled more and more, and he wasn't sure why. Even over the holiday he'd started feeling restless, like his gut was trying to tell him something. When his team all appeared in the bullpen the next Monday, safe and healthy, the feeling had not gone away, and Gibbs wondered if it was their lack of cohesion that was telling him he needed to step up and do something about it.
When he was honest with himself, Gibbs wasn't sure how to train a group like he had now to become a unit, without the endless drilling of a boot camp or the touchy-feely activities HR used to try forcing on them. None of the others had years of team experience that Tim had with him and DiNozzo, and even now his new additions fell back into old patterns that Gibbs had hoped would right themselves with being part of this team. It wasn't like they didn't have experience and training, but beyond the basics each had when they first signed on, they'd each worked solo in the field, and it was less investigation and more counter-intel.
They came in just as Ziva had.
But so had Bishop, Gibbs frowned to himself. The others didn't take this long to get with the program, did they? Granted, Ziva had come onto a strong team, and found her place with their experienced, efficient example firmly in place. But she had learned early that investigation was different, and that she needed to step up to keep up - which she did. Since Tony left, and Bishop was with Gibbs more than she had been before, Gibbs found himself bugged by her, never quite confident that he could rely on her to get his six, or that her reflexes and instincts would ever be more than about 80%. Given some of the really hare-brained choices she'd made since joining the team, he wondered why he hadn't pressed Vance to reassign her.
Gibbs threw empty his coffee cup at his wastebasket, hard, and recognized he was pissed at his team and himself and his gut – something was up; something was off; and he couldn't tell what it was. Well, yeah, his team was off, but that wasn't what had his gut twinging. And he didn't know how to force the agents on his team to be a team if he didn't have one to show them. Even that wasn't fool-proof, since Bishop had been on the team when Tony was still there and she hadn't picked up on the signals. If she hadn't when Tony was there to coach her, Gibbs doubted that she would now.
She should go back to riding a desk, Gibbs growled to himself yet again. Or better yet – the damn floor.
Tony blinked back at Gibbs, wondering if he had heard his tone right, and trying to think of what he could say not to ruin things if he had. "It's Christmas," he finally shrugged. "I realized that I hadn't been anywhere else but here for Christmas since I moved here from Baltimore, and ..." He tried for casual, but his eyes were searching Gibbs' face for a clue to what was going on inside the man's head. "I thought you might be here, too."
The DiNozzo before him was thinner than he'd been when Gibbs had last seen him, in May; he looked tired and, though it might have been the effect of the streetlight, paler than usual. His smile hadn't faded, but it hadn't reached his eyes, either. He wasn't lying, but wasn't telling the whole truth. Bottom line, though, Gibbs realized, feeling an odd lump in his throat, DiNozzo was here, trying to get his six. Gibbs saw some uncertainty in Tony's eyes now, too. Understandable, given the way things had gone the last dozen times or so that his SFA had shown up here, trying to figure out what was going on with his boss. Apparently, too, DiNozzo hadn't expected him to just plop down in his passenger seat.
Gibbs suddenly grunted softly as it finally dawned on him. "Shoulda known," he said ruefully, watching Tony's surprise increase at his response. "My gut's been actin' up for weeks. First time it stopped was when I got in this car."
He watched the younger man's expression move through question, and even further surprise, and understanding, before finally relaxing into a more genuine, hopeful smile. "Then I'm glad I came, Boss."
Gibbs nodded, more to himself than to Tony as he found himself more centered than he had been since he could remember. Looking his former agent in the eye, said truthfully, "me, too. I'm glad you're here, Tony."