I thought some of your awesome reviews needed personal answers this time...

Trivette: The letter's gonna have to wait for the sequel, I'm afraid.

Dolphinsiren: Actually I'm nearly 21 now, but thanks for the compliments.

Sirabella: I completely agree with you. This is the penultimate chapter.

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Chapter 17: Denial, Revisited.

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Gibbs was still working at his desk in the bullpen well after midnight, the room empty and dark around him. It had become a regular occurrence; boatbuilding had lost its appeal and he needed a distraction from thinking about Tony. At least Morrow had stopped mentioning a replacement; much to Gibbs' relief.

Gibbs still saw the younger man everywhere he looked. The desk across from his was Tony's, down to the healthy coating of green mould living in the bottom of his coffee mug. Every single day, he still found himself waiting for an irreverent 'on your six, boss'; for movie references or a squeal from Kate as he made a particularly sexist comment.

The brush of soft hair through his fingers as he smacked Tony on the head…

Gibbs gave in and unlocked the top drawer of his desk. Inside were his own badge and gun, and a small, lockable wooden box he'd made himself. Almost reverently, Gibbs opened it. He pulled out the mangled piece of metal that had been Tony's service weapon, stroking his fingers over it gently. Then he reached in again to pull out Tony's charred leather ID wallet and badge. He flipped it open carefully; a fond smile twitching at his lips. The picture had never done Tony justice; he'd definitely belonged in Technicolor, 3D and surround sound. The smile left his face as he remembered why he was holding it.

He closed the wallet up and put it and the weapon away with the utmost care, before locking it up again, safe and secure, like Tony should have been. And then from underneath the box he pulled out Tony's case file.

Gibbs didn't know why, but his gut told him something wasn't quite right about Tony's death. It just felt too neat; every question had an obvious, reasonable explanation. And the one thing DiNozzo had never been was tidy.

Still, the others didn't need to know about his suspicions. All of them were grieving; and introducing question marks over Tony's death wasn't going to help anyone; until he had something concrete, at least. And if it turned out he was wrong, there'd be no pitying looks, no whispers that maybe the mighty Gibbs was losing it. Work was the only distraction he had; he couldn't afford to lose his job.

Gibbs opened the file and began to read, for what felt like the millionth time. He could almost recite the text from memory by now. The words began to swim on the page; he pulled off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. Contrary to NCIS legend, even he couldn't run on coffee indefinitely. He just needed to close his eyes for a few minutes…

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"Three am's a little late even for you when there's no active cases, boss," came a very familiar voice, waking Gibbs from his impromptu nap. "Anyone'd think you didn't have a home to go to."

"Then what are you doing here, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked, scrubbing a hand through his hair… and then remembered. His head shot up, fixing his gaze on the tall figure leaning casually against his desk.

"They made you think I was dead, I know," Tony said conversationally.

"Who did?" Managed Gibbs, when he'd remembered how to speak.

"Ari and his buddies; they wanted you pulled from active cases for a while. The FBI raided their bat cave and rescued me; not on purpose, of course. They didn't even know who Ari was working for, let alone that he had a Federal Agent tied up in his basement."

"You're ok? They didn't hurt you?"

"Nope. Chloroform. Ari was planning on using me as a human shield and bargaining chip later on. It was surprisingly easy for them to fake my death; they only had to hack into our computers and change my DNA records. So how're things around here? Coping without me?"

Gibbs got to his feet and rounded the desk to cup Tony's face in his hands. When he spoke, he couldn't control the slight tremble in his voice.

"Don't you ever, ever do that to me again, DiNozzo," he said, pulling Tony into a brief, hard hug. Gibbs just allowed himself to hold him for a moment, relishing his warmth, his weight, his smell; his sheer thereness.

"Wow, boss," said Tony when he let go, his own voice shaky. "Guess you must have missed me."

"I've told you before, Tony," said Gibbs, a true smile forming on his features for the first time in weeks. "As far as I'm concerned, you are irreplaceable."

"With a welcome like this to look forward to, I'll have to die more often." As they had both known it would, Gibbs' hand came up to smack the back of Tony's head.

"Didn't I just tell you not to do that?" He demanded, trying to sound annoyed.

Tony's biggest grin had taken over his face as Gibbs' hand connected. "Yeah, but I missed getting headslapped," he said, then frowned. "Should I be worried?"

"I don't think anyone could call your thought processes normal, DiNozzo," Gibbs teased warmly.

A gunshot shattered the air around them.

Tony collapsed onto Gibbs, bringing both of them to the ground. Gibbs sat up as best he could under his weight and reached for his weapon while he twisted around to scan for the shooter.

Ari stood casually in the middle of the bullpen, gun still outstretched.

"You never could protect the ones you love, Gibbs," he said. "I would've thought you'd learned that the first time." The terrorist turned and walked away, leaving the two agents alone on the cheap industrial carpeting.

Gibbs took Tony's shoulder gently, turning him over. "Tony? Tony, can you hear me?"

There was a large red stain growing rapidly on his chest, right over his heart. Even as he watched, Gibbs saw the brilliant eyes glaze over.

"No…" he managed. "No, Tony, not you… please, not you… please…" He gathered the young man into his arms and held him close, rocking gently as the first tear burned its way down his cheek. "Tony…"

Gibbs jerked awake, disorientated and distressed, almost falling out of his chair before his surroundings registered. He'd fallen asleep at his desk again, the bullpen empty around him. He ran shaking hands through his silver hair, took a few deep breaths and then rose, turning off the computer and putting away his paperwork. He glanced at the clock, lips twisting into a wry smile as he saw that it was indeed 3am. Apparently Tony was still watching his six, even from beyond the grave.

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It wasn't until he was almost home that it hit him. Tony had given him the answer, with his usual eccentric logic; even as an imaginary dream character, he was still a great field agent. And there was a way he could prove it…

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Will Gibbs' dream hold the answer? Or is it just another symptom of his grief? Only one chapter left...