AN: Minimum of travelogue – after Fort Erie we're on to places I've never been anyway!

Tony and the Moose

chapter 2

He decided that he wanted to see all of the Great Lakes, and the little one. 'Why?', his friends had asked him as they tucked away a great birthday dinner in a corner of the inn. 'Why not?', he'd asked back.

"I've been to Detroit, but not seen Lake St. Claire. I went to Chicago for a case a couple of times when I was with Peoria PD, but never got anywhere near the lake. You'd think… I mean, it's big enough… never mind." (He'd been too busy the first time, and left in an ambulance the second.) "And I've never been far enough north to look at Lake Superior. What's that look, McFace-pull?"

Tim straightened his grimace, and his shoulders. "I'm kind of wishing I could come with you!"

"Ah." Tony nodded. Tim had explained earlier that he'd finished with the fraud case earlier than expected, when the first suspect to be arrested caved under interrogation, and had told the Director he needed a couple of days break before returning to DC, which was how he'd made it to Ontario for Tony's birthday. (Vance had approved, even though Gibbs was agitating for McGee's return, figuring first that he'd earned it, and then that he'd need it.) "Well, you'll know where to find me. And if you need to explode, and Jimmy's not nearby, call me."

Now it was Tim's turn to nod. "Mmm. You might see me some time if I need an escape. I'm back with Gibbs first thing day after tomorrow, and you did warn me you had no idea what I might find. Neither have I. Let's change the subject..."

They'd drunk enough Canadian beer to be happy, and not enough to stop Tim and Jimmy from walking back to their own hotel. In the early morning they'd returned for breakfast, and headed down to Fort Erie to begin Tony's Lake Viewing quest. After visiting the Fort, counting beautifully maintained Martello towers, and eating Beaver-tails for lunch beside the lake, they parted rather reluctantly, and the two younger men headed back in their rental to Buffalo airport.

Tony waved them off with strangely mixed feelings. It was time to be alone again; he needed it, he had healing to do. But he felt the tug of good friendship, and was deeply grateful for it. Jim and Tim… Tim and Jim… they'd played with it last night as they'd discussed the relative merits of Molson and Kolkanee. They'd come to the conclusion that JimTim rolled off the tongue better than TimJim, and Tony was silently grateful that the two seemed to be well on the way to a firm friendship. Tim would probably need a friend, and he was sad that he could only be one from a distance.

o0o0o

Destina ate up the miles – no, it was kilometres – as Tony meandered through the towns with English and Scottish names - he could tell JimTim he'd been to London! He found it was difficult to get close to Lake St Claire because of residential areas and wildlife reserves, (he didn't want, with his leathers and his USA licence plate, to be noticed as a stranger and thought to be up to no good,) but he found it easier as he travelled further north. Tick off a third lake.

Well, since he was heading north, he decided to go the whole hog. Heading back to highways, he roared up the Bruce Peninsula, to that most Scottish of names, Tobermory, and checked into the motel with still enough evening light to take a walk and admire Lake Huron. There, lake number four.

He scrambled down onto a stretch of stony lake-shore, sat down on a rock, and let his thoughts wander. After a while he realised he was making a checklist, and at first he thought that was a bit of a maudlin thing to do, until he also realised that although it was with regret, it was without the self-pity that he despised. He picked up a pretty white stone from beside his feet.

Kate… We fought like cat and dog – but you stayed with me when I was dying. I loved you… maybe we'd have been in love one day. Not meant to be… he lobbed the pebble gently into the lake. He was surprised at how strong the feeling of comfort was that washed over him, almost as if she'd squeezed his shoulder. He reached down and picked up a handful of pebbles, which took some time as it was a beach of stark, eroded rock, not shingle, but as he gathered them, an idea was forming. Again, he chose the prettiest ones.

Paula… you told me to tell… Jeanne… Loved you both in different ways; that's how I'll remember you. Regret for the one, guilt for the other. Put it behind you. Two pebbles entered the water and left interlinking ripples.

Jenny… you caught me in your web… so the next time, I obeyed orders and didn't get involved… and you died. Dying anyway… would anything I did have made the slightest difference? Let it go… Another pebble.

The plague… well, wasn't that what he was doing here? He found a big chunk of dark rock, stood up and hurled it as hard as he could, taking great satisfaction from the splash as it hit the water.

Kody… Well that one was a positive. He could have got Gibbs blown up, and he couldn't say he'd had much help from anyone, well, Jenny or Ziva, in making sure that didn't happen, but he did it, and saved Kody's life as well. He lobbed a pebble high into the air, so it made a graceful curve before dropping into the lake almost vertically.

Jeffrey White… being framed for murder… Renny… so many memories...the pebbles dropped into the water like drops of rain as he let things go. Gibbs' dead eyes as he pulled him out of the submerged car…

Gibbs… he didn't think he had a rock big enough.He found he was still holding a small, black pebble, and he thought of Abby's dark lipstick. He laid the stone back on the ground; he wasn't going to throw Abby away. Sure, she loved Gibbs more than she loved him; but hadn't he always known it? He was glad that his ex-boss had someone to love him so unequivocally, since the old bastard made it so damn difficult for anyone to care for him at all. He left Gibbs in Abby's hands.

He was still surprised at how much better he felt. He took a deep breath, catching the slight whiff of marine diesel on the air, and was reminded why he'd chosen the mountains, not the coast. He'd leave tomorrow. Leave all the stuff he'd sunk in the lake, and head on out.

The next day he took the ferry to Manitoulin Island, two hours of sailing past beautiful scenery in beautiful weather, and spent the day pottering about, then over bridges to the mainland, more of the same, stunning thing. He was heading, ultimately, for Wyoming, intending to visit two old friends he'd always kept in touch with, and the easiest way back into the USA was via Sault Ste. Marie. He didn't want to do the city twice, so he spent two days chugging around local roads, heading inland, drinking in the scenery, before turning west to the coast again. He fancied that Destina's low-rev – well, comparatively low-rev purring meant that she was happy to be with him, adding to the previous adventures he knew nothing about. All he did know, from the salesman, was that she had belonged to a couple from Anapolis, in their late fifties, and both medical professionals, who'd reluctantly decided that they should get 'a means of transport with four corners and a roof'.

Lake Superior, lake number five; vast, blue and breathtaking… another break spent walking by the water, on a sandy spit, thinking about Gibbs. This was the one thing he couldn't completely lay to rest, no matter what he told himself. He knew what had started the rot; working for Jenny and not telling Gibbs when he returned. No choice. Jenny's death. Not his fault. He was right to leave; Gibbs was his own problem, his health was his. He was good with all of that.

But… he hadn't been able to do anything to put it right. Round the circle again… he'd accepted he never would, and that was when he'd left. But he still wanted to. Watching the lapping water, he found a compromise. He couldn't do anything now, but he would one day. He would, one day.

He was walking slowly back towards his leathers, folded neatly on a rock nearby, when he heard a scream. He knew it well, and he swerved and left his gear, to run barefoot up the beach and back to the pull-over where he'd left Destina, as his bike screamed, in Abby's voice, "Tony! Tony! Someone's trying to steal me! Help!" He knew what he'd find, and as he watched the two young men's backs as they fled up the road on a rickety scooter, he wished he'd been closer, to see their faces.

He stuck his hand in his pocket to stop the sound with the remote on his key-fob, and checked that nothing had actually been tampered with, as a young couple with a toddler wandered over from their car, to say that they didn't really think they were going to try to steal anything, "But hey, they really should have known better than to touch anything!" the dad said.

They watched Destina for him while he jogged back to collect his kit, thankful that nobody had stolen that! Well, the choice between the clothing and the bike was a no-brainer, really.

He grimaced… he'd wanted to use his amazing alarm, that Abby had installed to work with the movement sensor of the immobiliser; well, he'd have to get used to hearing her voice and thinking of his old life.

He headed south, back into the United States, and down Highway 75, heading for Mackinac. There was a five kilometre long bridge at the narrowest point over the Straits, where the waters of Lake Huron and Lake Michigan joined, and he wanted to see that, even though it was a toll bridge, and he'd have to cross twice. Who cared… he was on vacation! He stopped at a place labelled Bridge View Park, obligingly viewed the bridge, and ticked off the last lake, then drove slowly across, thinking of a poem he'd learned in school. The Meeting of the Waters… he remembered the last two lines. 'Where the storms that we feel in this cold world should cease, and our hearts like thy waters be mingled in peace'… get a grip, DiNozzo.

He found a place to stay with ease, and planned an early start tomorrow. He was restless, and no matter how he acknowledged that he would sometimes, and things were better, he'd prefer that the peaceful periods were longer and the restless ones less frequent! He set out at first light; he supposed he was still used to early starts after so many years as a cop, and headed back across the bridge – and that was when things got weird.

There was the occasional vehicle heading south; it had been raining although it had stopped, and headlights reflected in pools of water on the opposite lanes, as well as his own. Even though this was the only traffic artery running due south, it was the wrong time of day for anything but the occasional truck. Maybe that was why he'd set out early.

He was across the suspension bridge, coming to where the ends of the cables were anchored down, and maybe a kilometre from land, when something pale caught his eye in the lamp light to his right. Somehow, he knew what it was at once – again, the years of being a law officer, and he groaned. He'd been here before… more than once. He coasted Destina to a stop, as close to the edge as possible, put his hazard lights on (this was so dangerous,) took his helmet off, and approached with caution.

The young man standing up on the railing, holding on to a suspension cable, turned and looked at him, teetered a bit, and glared at him balefully. "Keep away! I'm going to jump!"

Tony held his hands out placatingly, as he thought fast, looking for an 'in'. "OK… I won't come any nearer. But hey… why don't you sit down?"

"S-sit down?" The dark haired young man looked at him as if he were crazy.

"Sure. You've been here a while, right?"

"How d'you know that?"

"Well, because it stopped raining an hour ago, but you're wet."

"Oh." The young man looked at his light green jacket, darkened in huge patches by rainwater, as if seeing it for the first time.

"So..." Tony said slowly, "you've been here for a while. Means you've not made up your mind. It'd be a shame to decide you want to stick around and then fall in anyway."

"I can swim."

"But can you dive?"

Again, the 'are you mad' look. "What difference does that make?"

"Well," Tony said thoughtfully, "from this height, unless you're a very good diver, you'll hit the water like it's a sheet of concrete. You won't even have to drown!" The young man looked a bit sick. "Look," Tony went on, "what's your name?

"Oliver."

"Not Ollie?"

"No. Oliver."

"Well, Oliver, I'm Tony, and I'm going to sit down here. Why don't you sit down too." Tony sat down on the railing, with his feet firmly on the road. Very slowly, Oliver sat down, but with his legs dangling out over the water. Tony was relieved to see though, that he kept a firm hold of the cable. The young man was tall, but of skinny build, and shivering a little with cold. A puff of wind, as they say, like the slipstream of a truck, could blow him away. "That's good," the Italian said approvingly. "What if a truck comes by? Have you heard those air horns from close up? Don't want them startling you into the lake!"

"Why did you stop?"

"Are you really asking? I see someone thinking about jumping -"

"I'm – I'm going to!"

"OK… going to jump, and I just ride on by? How did you get here? Why didn't the toll keepers see you?"

"I walked out along the rocks, and then climbed up."

"Well, that shows initiative… so, Oliver, why do you want to jump? How old are you?"

"Twenty. And don't tell me I've got my whole life ahead of me – I've lost everything!"

Tony offered up a silent prayer that he was reading the young man right. A bit dramatic, maybe? If he was wrong, and this wasn't simply a highly-strung way of dealing with a bad situation, the boy could still jump.

"Everything? So… what counts as everything at twenty years old?"

"My girl! She betrayed me! She was only after one thing! She took it, and now I've lost everything!"

This was getting stranger. Don't jump to conclusions, DiNozzo. "So tell me about it then…"

It tumbled out so fast that Tony could hardly keep up. Oliver had invented a process for sorting recyclable materials based on suction, which didn't clog up when coping with soft plastics, as some systems did. His college tutor had advised him to patent it, as it could do well for him. He had the papers, but hadn't completed them yet. Donna, who he thought loved him, to whom he'd proudly shown the papers, who'd flattered him and told him how clever he was, had stuck a USB in his laptop and downloaded them. He hadn't seen her since.

"Have you filed an intent to patent?"

"Yes, but anyone can do that."

"OK… you know there's such a thing as forensic IT, don't you?"

"No… I'm not that much into computers… engineering's my thing."

"A good geek -"

"I'm a geek! I thought she loved me even though I'm a geek! I thought… she said... -"

"Nothing wrong with being a geek – people who aren't are just jealous of the brains - oh shit, Oliver, hang on!"

The truck whose engine had been faint in the distance, whose headlights hadn't seemed that bright in the dawn until it was on top of them, howled past, horns blaring just as Tony had warned. Oliver clung to the cable, screwing up his eyes, as the rig roared by, the shout of 'Moron!' lingering on the turbulent air behind it.

The young man whimpered, and opened his eyes again.

Tony opted for a bit heavier approach. "Oliver, you should have thought this through. Now, I'm pretty sure I'm not allowed to stop on this bridge, and I'm also pretty sure that that truck driver will report this when he gets to the toll booths. So, I bet the cops will be here soon, and I need you to decide you're not going to take a dive off this bridge before they get here, or they'll close the bridge, cause chaos on both sides of the lake – hey, which lake? We're on the right side, so I guess it's Lake Huron you're thinking of jumping into -" He paused slightly, to see if Oliver would state his intention again, but he didn't. Tony hoped that was a good thing. He pressed ahead with whatever advantage that might mean.

"OK… what I was trying to tell you is, a good forensic IT specialist could tell quite easily when you first put your plans up, and exactly when they were downloaded, and know you did the work before she took it -"

"They could?"

"Oh yes. I know a good guy – McGee his name is, we call him McGeek, and that's a compliment, he's so good. I can ask him if you like. But I figure anyone who knows what they're doing could prove you had the idea first. And don't you think your tutor will witness for you?" He took a deep breath. "Oliver, is it the loss of the work that's worse? Or the loss of the girl? Are you sure this isn't just a big, broken heart thing? Are you going to jump over a deceitful little thief?"

New tears began to trickle down Oliver's face, through the tracks of old ones. "I guess not… I thought she loved me..."

"Not the first, you won't be the last," the former agent told him, sounding calculatedly heartless. "My girl ditched me the day before the wedding, and I'm still here."

Oliver looked curious, and Tony really didn't want to explain, but he would if he had to. He was saved, as a police vehicle came barrelling down the opposite carriageway, and did an awkward, bouncing u-turn over the low central reservation. As it came to a stop, lights flashing, just behind Destina, the former agent held out a warning hand towards the driver, then turned his attention back to Oliver.

"Come on, Oliver. Get your legs back over this way." Behind him, he heard the car door open, and two sets of footsteps approaching, but slowly, and without fuss.

"I can't. I'll fall."

"No, you won't. Hang on with one hand, and give me the other. No, don't look down at the water. This side is where you want to be. Come on. Come on now, hand."

A moment later a shivering hand was firmly grasped by his leather gauntlet, and two long legs in soaking wet drainpipe jeans were back on the road. Oliver looked pretty close to collapse, and as the officers approached, he almost shrank behind Tony.

The two policemen were about the same age, experienced men, and they looked Tony up and down. He knew he wasn't lacking in an air of authority any more than they were, but even so, he was surprised. "You carrying, Sir?"

"No. I can, but I'm not."

"Huh. Somebody want to explain?" Oliver nodded dumbly at Tony; the consequences of his actions were beginning to become clear to him.

Tony took pity on him and did explain, and the cop nodded, as his partner waved the occasional curious driver past. "First things first. Let's get off this bridge. We'll take Mr. -"

"W-w-ward."

"Mr. Ward. There's an admin building on the right by the booths; follow us and pull in there." He didn't say 'and don't attempt to drive off', but Tony heard it loud and clear.

"Sure," he said easily, not intimidated. If he were going to get a ticket for a moving traffic violation, fine.

Oliver looked petrified at the thought of going in the police car, but Tony said "Go on, it'll be warm. I'll be right behind." The young man nodded vehemently and did as he was bidden.

There was already an ambulance waiting in the parking lot as they pulled up, and Oliver stumbled off with the paramedics, without protest, to be checked over. The cop came over to Tony as he removed his helmet again.

"Fed, huh?"

Tony gave him another easy smile. "Retired. You'll have checked out my license plate – you'll know all about me by now, officer."

"Special Agent. Retired aged thirty-nine." It was phrased as a statement, but it was a question.

"Lung damage. I run like a girl these days. Taking some time and a road trip, to unwind."

The cop nodded understandingly. He looked towards the ambulance with a dry laugh. "Seems you've found yourself back on duty pretty damn quick!" He jerked his thumb towards the building. "I need you to make a statement. We can get coffee in there if you like." Tony hesitated, and looked towards the ambulance. "It's OK, his Mom's on her way. We won't let him go without suggesting he thanks you."

"You'll make sure his mental state's checked over?"

"And get the forensic thing done. With any luck we'll get the girlfriend too." By now they were in the toll-keepers' break room, and the officer was making coffee. He handed Tony a mug, with a bunch of sugar sticks and a creamer pack.

"Thanks. Are you charging him?"

"I shouldn't think so. Not charging you, either."

"Well, hell, thanks again. You want to write my statement, or shall I?"

It took two minutes, and they headed outside again, and Tony found himself having to endure the effusive thanks of Oliver's mother, until an unsteady voice called from the back of the ambulance. He turned to where Oliver perched on the edge of a gurney.

"They want to keep me overnight… just to make sure I don't catch pneumonia." He looked at his knees, and laughed in embarrassment. "I think they want to check I'm not crazy."

"And are you?"

"No," Oliver said in a small voice. "And I won't do it again."

"That's all I need to know, then. Good luck with your invention." He patted the boy's shoulder, and headed back towards Destina.

The cop stuck out a meaty hand. "That was a good thing you did… maybe he wouldn't have jumped, maybe he would have fallen… maybe he'd have gotten flattened by a truck. Have a safe journey. Where to now?"

"Wyoming," Tony said. "Take me a few days. A week. Whatever."

"You going to look at Old Faithful?"

"Oh yeah. And looking forward to meeting up with a couple of old friends out there."

AN: Wonder who Tony's meeting in Wyoming? You'll know them.