Title: Facing Forward
Author: CSIGeekFan
Rating: T (mild language)
Beta: Seattlecsifan
Disclaimer: If I owned NCIS, then the writers wouldn't writing Tony like he's a moron. Since I don't, I have no control over what the idiots do.
Author's Note: Reviews are appreciated. I hope you enjoy.
X X X
Tony couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so damn tired. He ached with it.
Not only did he have the worry about Curt at the forefront, but the concern about the boats on the water. It had become standard practice that after major sea storms, each vessel checked in with the police station, via a Coast Guard patch. The arrangement had become a routine, and a welcome one, when he'd become the police chief. In the back of his mind, he knew he'd left Ian and Tammy with a lot to handle. Frantic wives and children could wear on the soul faster than anything.
No matter where his mind turned, Tony found his stomach churning. So the entire drive to Gibbs' house, he attempted to clear his mind, only to have the leaded weights on his limbs pull harder.
He settled on a heavy sigh, which had Gibbs giving him a pointed look.
"Sorry," he muttered, stifling a yawn. "Haven't slept in awhile. Kinda wish I was an action hero. Batman never gets tired."
Pulling to a stop in front of the house, Gibbs said, "You're no Batman."
That tone of the older man's voice dug under Tony's skin, and he found himself clenching his jaw.
"Not everyone's as mighty as the Great Gibbs," Tony fumed, before throwing open the car door and stepping out. Then he kicked himself, because he'd proven to his former boss that he still acted like a child at times.
Following Gibbs into the house, Tony noted that not much had changed. The paint looked fresh, although it was the same color. The older man might not care much about stuff, but he took care of what he had. Tony just wondered when Gibbs would move into the twenty first century, because that looked like the same non-working television in the living room.
"Blankets and pillows are-" Gibbs started.
"Hall linen closet," Tony finished. "I know."
"Then you can settle yourself in," the NCIS agent said with a shrug as he headed toward the back of the house.
Alone in the living room, Tony rubbed his eyes, retrieved the bedding from the hall, and grabbed some shorts and t-shirt out of his bag. Too tired to even bother with evening ablutions, he laid down, expecting to nod off in a flash. So twenty minutes later, as he lay there in the dark, he finally heaved a frustrated breath and rose.
He found Gibbs in the basement, sanding a rocking horse.
"That for the growing Palmer family?" Tony asked as he descended.
"Yep," Gibbs replied.
Rolling his eyes at the lack of words, Tony stepped over to examine the smooth wooden creature. The toy had been well formed with a wide seat for a small child to sit easily.
"Hard to believe the autopsy gremlin's all grown up… havin' his own gremlin," Tony said with a grin. While he'd never been around many babies (his youngest had been five when she became his ward – and soon to be his daughter, once the girls' adoption was finalized), he knew the fun the young man would have with fatherhood. Nothing else compared.
When Gibbs didn't reply, Tony shrugged and added, "He's patient. He'll be a good dad."
The grunting response once again had Tony rolling his eyes… and thinking of his own father. Fathers. He hadn't seen Senior since long before moving to Maine, and he was surprisingly okay with it. That he hadn't seen Gibbs, though, did bother him. For the first couple of years, he'd wanted to call up his mentor and ask for advice. So much had changed, and the challenges were unique. In the end, though, Tony's pride had stopped any communication.
"Family's important," he said, trying to broach a painful subject.
"Yeah. It is," Gibbs gruffly replied. From the tone of his former boss's voice, it was obvious that the older man expected Tony to drop the subject.
Too much frustration and emotion from the last couple days surfaced instead. Running a hand through his hair, he blew out a loud, hard breath, and said, "Look, I know I should've at least called."
"Yeah. You should've," Gibbs sharply said, dropping any pretense of work.
Staring straight into steel blue eyes, Tony opened his mouth to retort, only to be interrupted by the chirping of Gibbs' cell phone. With one last look, the older man flipped open the phone and barked, "Whaddya got?"
It wasn't the neutral tone that set a shiver running down Tony's spine, but the way Gibbs stiffened, and said, "We'll be right there."
Turning to look at Tony, the NCIS team leader said, "Grab your gear. McGee found something."
Hoofing it up the stairs, Tony settled into the passenger seat, securing his badge and gun as he waited for Gibbs. Images of Curt in his Marine Corp. uniform, Emily in her brother's jersey, and Mary's quiet stubbornness flashed through Tony's mind and any fatigue flew out the window.
X X X
"Report, McGee," Gibbs barked, striding up to find McGee reviewing some forms with Major Ross.
"Found something, boss… or rather, didn't find something," McGee replied with a smug grin. The agent felt pretty damn happy about his work that night. When Gibbs stare bore into the agent, though, McGee's expression turned serious and he said, "It's not about what's missing. It's about what's been moved."
"Get to the point," Tony said impatiently.
After studying Tony for a moment, McGee nodded and said, "Come with me."
It took a few minutes of weaving past pallets and warehouse shelving before they arrived at their destination, where several MPs guarded some open crates. Grabbing an Abrams tank shell, McGee held it up and said, "Watch this."
Without preamble, he flipped open the bottom and said, "They're hollow. Not supposed to be hollow."
Gibbs frowned as he picked up one of the open shells.
"We would've never noticed if other tank shells weren't located in another part of the warehouse. These are out of place," McGee explained.
"Whoever put these here did so knowing the cameras don't reach this corner," Ross said, fury evident in the set of his jaw. Clenching his hands, he said, "I've pulled the records of everyone who's had access to the warehouse."
"Ziva's on her way," McGee added. "She's bringing the truck."
Standing back, Tony didn't know whether to be thankful for the lead, or punch something. He didn't leave any room for argument when he said, "I'll sketch the scene."
An argument could've ensued. It might've if Gibbs hadn't sized his former agent up and nodded his approval.
It felt good to be able to do something. Tony found himself pouring every ounce of remaining energy into the task at hand once Ziva arrived. It felt comfortable to work a scene again, and by the time they left, several sets of prints had been successfully lifted.
One shell had traces of cocaine. Whatever bag had been containing it must've developed a leak, because the fine powder dusted the inner walls.
Dawn broke over the horizon as they wound their way into the Navy Yard. With a list of personnel files and Major Ross in tow, Gibbs sent Tony down to Abby, while the three agents and the Marine set to work in the conference room.
"Okay, I've got the prints processing. Major Mass Spec is doing its voodoo on the cocaine. We'll have the chemical composition in a couple hours – almost as good as a fingerprint," Abby said, grasping Tony's elbow and steering him toward her office. Shoving Bert, the farting hippo into the man's arms, she crossed her own and ordered, "Lay down. Sleep. It'll be awhile and you look like a stiff breeze could knock you over. Or maybe just a glare from Gibbs."
"I'm fine," he insisted, only to contradict himself with a wide yawn and a growling stomach.
Frowning, she asked, "When was the last time you ate anything?"
Funny, but he couldn't remember. Not that it was important. His appetite had disappeared the previous morning after a cinnamon roll.
"Maybe I'll lay down for awhile after all," he eventually replied, settling in on the small mattress she kept for just such emergencies.
With a bright smile, she said, "This is the way it should be. You here. Me running tests."
After he put Bert under his head for a pillow and the toy let out a fart, Tony laid it on his chest instead, and grinned up at the raven haired woman. As he drifted off, he thought of the people he'd left behind when he'd bolted from the capital – and felt a deep welling of regret. But they weren't his last thought.
As unconsciousness crept in, making his mind float on an ethereal plane, he wondered if Ian remembered that Mary's big dance was only a couple of days away. Suddenly, spaghetti straps on his teenage daughter's dress didn't matter so much anymore. It just tore at him that he knew in his gut Mary wouldn't go so long as Curt was in trouble.