Title: Facing Forward
Author: CSIGeekFan
Rating: T (mild language)
Beta: Seattlecsifan
Disclaimer: In my dreams, I sometimes own the show. Then I wake up, look around, and my dreams are crushed.
Author's Note: Reviews are appreciated. I hope you enjoy.

X X X

How he managed to land in the Norfolk area by noon still stunned Tony. By the time he'd returned from telling the girls he needed to head out of town for a couple days, a chopper had landed on the emergency helipad at the edge of town. A quick hop to Bangor had Tony boarding a flight south.

The edge of fear in Curt's voice kept creeping up the entire flight, making Tony squirm with worry, until he tamped it back down and tried to focus on relaxing. The last thing he needed was panic shadowing his every move. As it was, he'd taken a call (no, he hadn't turned off his cell phone), and the stewardess who had been cordial and understanding at the beginning of the flight had turned mutinous. Not that she acted on it. She'd made sure he got off the plane in record time, all the while giving him the cold shoulder. Then again, carrying a badge and gun often opened doors normally closed to the average commuter.

Unfortunately, at this point Tony had another problem. The call on the plane had been from Tammy.

Curt hadn't shown up for duty the night before, nor for his morning calisthenics. In fact, no one had seen him since before he'd called Tony on his cell phone. That same phone now went directly to voice mail, leaving Tony with little to do but worry.

Tammy had spoken to damn near everyone on the base. And who she hadn't interviewed, Ian had. Any hope of this being a serious misunderstanding had flown out the window, leaving Tony with only one option. The final option.

He had to talk to Gibbs.

X X X

The bullpen still hummed with activity when Tony emerged from the elevator. He hadn't called ahead, primarily out of trepidation. He could admit that he was more than a little afraid of walking back into the place he'd abandoned. Of course, he wouldn't admit it out loud, but who would? The day he'd walked away from the job had been the lowest point in his life. His world had been spiraling out of control, finally taking too much of a toll. In the end, he'd barely saved a shred of sanity.

Now he was back.

It had taken all the charm he had to get past the aging security guard at the front desk – luckily, he and George had always been friendly. So the grandfatherly man had smiled, said, "It'll be nice to pull one over on Gibbs," and handed the former agent a visitor's badge.

While Tony was positive his former boss, Major Case Response Team leader Leroy Jethro Gibbs would have taken his call, he hadn't wanted his first communication in nearly six years to be over the phone.

Actually, he hadn't wanted it to happen at all; but that wasn't meant to be.

Hiding quaking nerves, he sauntered nonchalantly past a team of agents, noting the double-takes. He responded with a nod and Cheshire grin. Might as well give them what they expected. He'd been such a fixture in this place, with a reputation for the absurd, that it actually felt good to know that even after all this time he was remembered. How could he not be, though? Most NCIS agents didn't survive the things he had – the plague, being framed for murder (twice), being blown up (a few too many times for comfort), rescuing his partner from Somalia… and the list went on.

So he used the distraction to the best of his ability, almost forgetting the worst was yet to come, until he rounded the corner and stopped in his tracks in front of the wall of tall, cross-hatched windows.

Gibbs sat at his desk sipping coffee and reading a report. Senior field agent Tim McGee sat at Tony's old desk, tapping away on his keyboard. And special agent Ziva David sat directly across from McGee, examining something on her monitor. McGee's old desk, near Gibbs, sat empty and looked to house a plethora of techno-geek stuff.

Subtle changes may have occurred over time, but Tony found himself breathless with the sameness of it all.

And I'm stalling, he thought. Wasting time. A precious commodity. One he didn't have nearly enough of. Time to start the show.

Stepping forward to stand directly between Ziva and McGee's desks, he waited with bated breath until one of them looked up. At Ziva's barely audible gasp, he finally let that breath out, because Gibbs attention turned at her small sound.

"Hello, Gibbs," he quietly said. "I need your help."

He doubted his former boss would ever know just how much that admission cost him.

X X X

They ended up in a conference room, which was fine by Tony. It could have just as easily been an interrogation room; and he'd seen enough of those to last him a lifetime.

On the table lay a file of all of Private Curtis Matthews' pertinent information – from his Eagle Scout status to his accomplishments in the Marine Corp. All those things in which Tony took pride lay sprawled for the trio of NCIS agents to review.

They'd just listened Curt's message and read his records. Absolutely nothing seemed out of place, and it frustrated Tony to no end. So he dug back into the questions that he would ask, and started answering them himself.

Standing up, he paced to the window and flipped up the blinds to look out over the Navy Yard buildings. Funny, he'd never done that before – never just pulled the drawstring.

"He was scared," he said, because it needed to be said. "More than that, he called me. Not his commanding officer."

"Does Private Matthews have an issue with trust?" Ziva asked from her position behind him, and he shook his head.

"Naw. Curt's pretty open. Small town life can do that to you, when everyone knows everything about everyone."

Tony turned to face Gibbs, frowned, and then tried to find the best words to explain the young man. Eventually, he looked at Gibbs to say, "When his parents died, the entire town stepped in. Each and every person helped in some way, whether big or small, and in that important time, he learned to trust completely. The people around him never let him or his sisters down."

"Sounds like a nice place," McGee said, garnering Tony's attention. "Like Mayberry."

Barking a laugh in response, Tony grinned and replied, "No… more along the lines of Wings. You know, that sitcom about two brothers who run a Nantucket airport? All of the characters are just a little off-balanced. We've got a bartender I deputize in emergencies – so he survives up drinks and then tosses his patrons in the tank. Walter, down at the post office has six girlfriends who know about each other. Should I mention the man's seventy two and shoulda retired years ago? You ought to meet our judge. He likes to spend his time down at what we lovingly call the skateboard park, because he competes on the amateur circuit."

Smirking, he added, "That's us. A dysfunctional comedy routine that somehow works."

"And somewhere in the middle, you've got a chief of police that inherits three kids and doesn't think twice," Gibbs said from his position at the head of the table.

"No one local could take 'em all. I could, and I didn't want 'em split up. End of story," Tony replied, sinking into the seat at the table's end nearest the window. "A kid I've known for six years – a kid I raised the last few years – called me up, scared. No one's heard from him. No one's seen him."

Blowing out a long breath, he steeled himself and said, "Curt's a good kid. His old man served as a Marine right out of high school. Curt wanted to do the same."

Tony paused, thinking about the young, handsome man with light brown hair and blue eyes as crystal clear blue as his sisters'. He'd been nervous and excited when he'd joined the Corp. Tony had taken him to Bangor, and watched with more than a little pride as when the kid had signed the papers of intent. Curt could've gone to college. Gotten a degree, like he wanted. Instead he'd chosen to serve his country.

"He's the kind of man the Marines look for," Tony added. "He believes in God, country, and the Corp. At no point would he willingly walk away."

"So he wouldn't just go AWOL," McGee supplied.

"No, he wouldn't," Tony agreed. "And he'd follow the chain of command. So the only thing I can think is that he's afraid of following that chain. Or something happened before he could. It's possible he was calling for me to tell him what to do."

Because in some ways, the young man was still a kid, new to the outside world. So Tony murmured, "He may not have known what to do. Who to talk to."

Looking directly at Gibbs and holding the older man's gaze, he said, "He's just disappeared. So I came here."

It felt oddly calming when Gibbs quietly said, "That was a smart move."

X X X

At some point in his tenure as police chief, local sports coach, and town rock, Tony had calmed. Not to say that he put away his childish ways. Why do that, when they provided such fun? However, in the midst of the new responsibilities, he'd adjust his priorities.

Knowing the pulse of the fishing community became vital, as did getting to know the people. In emergencies, they came to him at their lowest, and a sense of humor was often not appreciated. However, when their football team came in dead last, the "Losers Party" had been a big hit. Over two hundred people, besides just the players and their families, had shown up with treats and soda. The bash had gone well into the night, and the merriment relived throughout the long, harsh winter.

Have I lost my edge? Tony wondered as he stepped into the elevator and punched a familiar button. When Ziva slipped between the doors before they could close, he couldn't help himself when he said, "You know, I'm still willing to get a hotel room with you."

"You would sleep with a chimpanzee," she retorted.

"That's not what you said in Paris," he replied, waggling his brows at her. "Or in the copy room."

"And then you left," she said, flipping the emergency switch on the elevator panel.

As the lift shuddered to a stop, Tony raised his brow and studied the woman in front of him. Ziva's features had softened these last six years, making her appear a little softer, maybe a little more approachable. Then again, the years had changed him, as well.

He might be able to pass as lecherous right now (if he tried hard), but he'd stopped bouncing from woman to woman even before he left NCIS. For the most part, his celibate lifestyle came out of lack of interest. Maybe outright fatigue. Then time passed, and he'd grown accustomed to being alone. And found himself surprisingly comfortable with himself in the process.

Yeah, some women in town flirted with him, and he flirted back, but not with any meaning. He was the Chief, and always approachable. They also left him alone when it came to his choice of companions - whether from the desire to see him stay or out of simple respect. Not that they didn't gossip. People in his town just made damn sure it never made it back to his ears. He vaguely wondered what they'd think if they could hear how hard his heart pounded watching the Israeli-American woman in front of him.

"You left," she said, and the fire in her eyes reminded him of why he used to be afraid of her upon occasion… and quite frequently turned on. Boy, oh boy, she could be a spitfire. One of the things he'd fallen for. When he just stared, she tossed her hands up and yelled, "Are you going to say anything?"

Questions like this always left him leery. With no right or wrong answer, it was a crap shoot whether or not he'd be able to put it into words the way she needed to hear it. So he gave himself a mental shrug and thought, Screw it. Just say it straight. Don't fall back into what you'd been, you moron.

"I may have loved you," he quietly replied.

Tensions seeped like a slow-moving liquid, filling up the space with its suffocating volume, until the two occupants moved as far into opposite corners as they could and leaned back hard. Barely breathing.

"You never said," Ziva replied.

"You never knew," Tony fired back. "I loved you – first as a partner, then as my family, and eventually I started falling for you as a woman. The woman. You never saw it."

"You left because of me?" she asked, her voice nearly indignant. Her incredulous face screamed how dare you blame me?

He didn't blame her though, and shook his head. Instead, his face softened and he calmly explained, "Do you understand that by the end, I couldn't really talk at all? I'd been this carefree man who used wordplay for one-upmanship. I used my vocabulary to get what I wanted. Yet in the end, I couldn't even tell you that I loved you. I couldn't explain my leaving. Not to you. Not even to myself."

The last part, said quietly, left Ziva silent.

With a shrug, Tony turned back to the panel and softly said to the woman behind him, "I was drowning in my words and no one tossed me a lifejacket," before punching the emergency button and sending the elevator back down toward Abby's lab.

He still had to slay that dragon, he mused. The last time he'd seen Abigail Scuito, forensic specialist extraordinaire and Goth girl, she'd punched him in the face.