Many thanks to the mighty Audioslave for the title; and of course, to my faithful reviewers.

/\/\/\

Chapter 11: Nothing Left To Say But Goodbye

/\/\/\

Gibbs stood alone on the wide, golden sands, watching the sun rise over the ocean. The deep blue of the water was gilded with golden highlights as the dawn kissed the wave tops. The breeze tugged at his clothes as an unusually large wave splashed over his sneakers. The chunk of driftwood that he had used as a windbreak for his picnics with Shannon and Kelly had long since been broken up and swept away, but he could have found his way back to this spot blindfolded.

In his hands were the box containing Tony's ashes and his letter.

He hadn't opened it yet. Every time he looked at the plain white envelope something deep inside stopped him. Maybe he just wasn't ready to face another breakdown yet. Or maybe, a traitorous voice whispered, he kept it sealed in the hope that he could eventually give it back.

The past week had been hell. Gibbs had just done his best to keep busy; it was the only way he knew to distract himself from his pain. The funeral itself hadn't taken a lot of work. Tony had requested no fuss and he'd gone by his wishes. Gibbs hadn't told anyone that the expenses had come from his own account, not Tony's. There were better uses for that.

It turned out Tony had left all his money to the Harbour Lights Basketball program. When Gibbs had gone over to hand them the cheque, he found out that Tony had been helping out for almost two years. Apparently he had some coaching qualifications from college that had proved invaluable; and if there was one group of people Tony knew who to relate to, it was troubled teens. The volunteers had told him all the kids would miss 'Ritchie Rich,' as they had nicknamed him.

They weren't the only ones. Abby had been calling almost hourly to check on him and Ducky and Fornell seemed to have set up a visiting schedule to make sure he wasn't having a noticeable nervous breakdown. He appreciated what they were doing; but the continual coddling wasn't what he needed.

It was appropriate that he had returned here, for the first time since joining NCIS. Gibbs had sat unmoving in this very spot, gun in his hands, trying to decide if he could ever go on with his life; and now here he was again, feeling much the same.

Sometimes, Gibbs wondered why it was that Tony alone of all the agents he'd ever worked with brought out his paternal instincts so strongly. After all, about fifty percent of the time he actually worked at being a pain in the ass. But even when he was joking around teasing Kate or McGee there was always that hunger, in the back of his eyes. It told Gibbs that all Tony really wanted was to be liked, to be noticed by the people around him. It was in his every thought, every action.

Oddly, his co workers seemed oblivious, taking him at face value; Gibbs was sure only himself, Abby and probably Ducky knew that there was a lot more to him than the frat boy persona. Tony acted like a jock because it made him feel safe, accepted. Belong at something, for the first time in his life. His father was clearly a cold hearted workaholic asshole who'd never had much interest in him; although he did wonder if it had always been that way. The family photograph appeared in his mind's eye; it couldn'tve been taken long before the death of Tony's mother. Gibbs wondered idly if she, at least, had been a worthy parent; perhaps it was even her loss that had changed Dominic into the monster he was today.

Then again, he doubted it. Tony's inability to relate to small children and generally sceptical view of women, especially married women, hinted that she had been equally incapable of caring for their son. It made him want to beat them into the ground in rage that they had borne a child and then not been able to love and cherish him as he deserved. As all children deserve.

For a long time, teaching Tony had been the thing that kept Gibbs going. He'd watched the bright, undisciplined young detective mature into a top notch investigator under his careful guidance; seen the changes his leadership had brought in him. And all along, Gibbs had tried to be the father figure Tony needed. He'd worried about him, done his best to keep him safe, torn a strip off him when he'd put himself in unnecessary danger, smacked him on the had when he got distracted.

All for nothing. Now, he'd never have the satisfaction of watching him receive his first team lead, his first Agent of the Year award, his first big case won from the FBI.

All he had to do was open the box and let Tony's ashes blow away into the water. But every time he tried, his fingers tightened on the box until his knuckles went white. He couldn't bring himself to let go.

It had been the same with Tony's stuff. Most of his week had been taken up by sorting through it. The apartment was let furnished, but he'd carefully packed up all the things that were Tony's, from designer clothes and DVDs to his toothbrush and razor. All of it was in storage in his spare room, where Tony had stayed over a few times. He'd even paid to have Ms Dorset's marinara steam cleaned out of the carpet.

Somehow Gibbs couldn't bear to throw away the last evidence of Tony's existence. All he had left were memories, and a handful of ash. No warm, laughing Tony; no brilliant eyes and dumb jokes. No one to call him on the carpet for putting his life in danger or dare to stand up to him when he was being unreasonably obsessive.

No Tony.

/\/\/\

And a return to angst. The next chap will probably not be up until at least the weekend; I have sooo much work to do this week.