Title: Facing Forward
Author: CSIGeekFan
Rating: T (mild language)
Disclaimer: Do I own NCIS? Why, no I don't. However, I fantasize about owning it. Is that a problem?
Author's Note: Reviews are appreciated. I hope you enjoy.
X X X
It was funny what sheer exhaustion could do to a man. One minute, Tony thought he might pass out. Then he just got pissed. If his kid did something tragically stupid, like get himself killed, then he'd bring the Marine back to life and feed him to his little sisters. If Tony learned nothing else these last years, he at least learned to be terrified of angry children. Especially his.
Walking down the docks, escorted by Gibbs, he snorted at the cruel humor. He'd been back in the capital for less than two days, and the cynicism he'd left behind had settled in already, like an old friend holding out a sake bomb and shouting, Welcome Home.
"Don't make assumptions," Gibbs said, eying the younger man. "We don't know where your boy is yet."
"Not makin' assumptions, Boss," Tony promptly replied, and winced. Crap, he was falling back into patterns in a bad way. About that time, he realized he'd just followed Gibbs' lead, right to sedan, and asked, "Where are we going?"
"Office. Not much you can do right now," Gibbs replied.
Pushing away darker thoughts, Tony purposefully grinned, noting how even his cheeks hurt, and said, "Sure there is. I can regale you with stories of small town living all the way back to the lab. It's only about an hour, right? I'm sure you'd love that, wouldn't you, Gibbs? Kinda like having me back on the payroll."
This time, he expected the head slap.
X X X
While Gibbs took Tony back to the Navy Yard, Ziva and McGee completed processing the scene. Somewhere along the way, Tony finally fell asleep and managed over half an hour of shuteye before Gibbs shook him awake in the passenger seat of the car.
"I'm up," Tony barked, jolting upright and looking around, totally groggy. Sluggishness wrapped his brain up tight, so he had to seriously concentrate just to ask, "Where are we?"
Amused, Gibbs replied, "We're home, honey."
Within minutes, Tony was led into Abby's lab, and seconds later, he dropped onto the mattress still laid out in her office floor. And then left blessedly alone in the dim room.
"He looks like crap, Gibbs. Fix it," Abby demanded, just within earshot.
"Not much I can do, Abs, except let him sleep a little," the older man mildly responded.
As if on command, Tony's entire brain shut down and he drifted off into dreams. At first, his unconscious mind rendered images of people he'd once known – Kate and Paula being the most prominent. They smiled and talked of inconsequential things, flirting a little and bantering pleasantly. Not that this was new – Tony'd had this dream many times before in one variation or another. More than once, he'd tried to talk them into a little girl-on-girl action, only to have them both slap him awake.
For some strange reason, this led to dreams featuring talking fish. Charlie the Tuna had the body of the cartoon character, and Mary's face, smiling bright. Kind of like the year she played a mermaid in the school play.
Before long, though, his mind turned to all his kids. He was sitting in a football stadium, or at least what resembled a stadium. The one in their town was more like a small set of bleachers lining some grass settled on top of mud. Tony could actually feel the ice cold seat under his butt, and taste the salt air on his tongue. Excitement coursed through every nerve as the play started. Curt threw the ball nearly eighty yards… to no one in particular. All seemed lost, when out of nowhere, little Emily ran out onto the field to jump ten feet high and catch it for a touchdown.
Deafening cheers filled the air, but gradually died down. Out of nowhere, lining the entire field, fishermen and their families sang a sad, melodic tune about death on the high seas, and the sadness of loss. Standing at attention, stiff boat captains applauded ferociously as the victors held up young Emily for all to laud.
And somewhere in his mind, Tony's brain clicked.
Sitting up with a start, he thrashed around and ran out into the lab.
"Where's Gibbs?" he asked a startled Abby.
"Upstairs. What's up?" she asked.
He darted out of the room without responding, leaving the bewildered lab tech to pick up the phone.
X X X
"Ya look like crap, DiNozzo," Gibbs mildly stated from his chair. The older man had leaned back, and been watching Tony pace from the windows to his desk for several minutes. Back and forth. Back and forth.
Instead of responding, Tony used the few minutes to try and clear his head. And eat. As soon as he'd walked into the bullpen, Gibbs had tossed a sandwich at him, and he'd been chewing as he tried to work out everything in his mind. Dreams did that to him. He took them figuratively (because in reality, he'd never get any of the women in his degenerate brain to strip for him).
That kick in the gut the dream had roused had turned to uncertainty as it faded with consciousness. Considering how little sleep he'd had lately, could he have confused a nightmare with an idea? Something had woken him.
"Spit it out," Gibbs commanded, his humor fading with Tony's rapid turns.
"I don't know," he admitted, feeling more than a little moronic. "Had a dream. Seemed important enough at the time."
Gibbs opened his mouth to retort, but instead asked, "You gonna get that?"
Realizing his cell phone was blaring at him, Tony sighed and checked the caller ID.
"What's up, Ian?"
"Just wanted to let you know that Bert's got Coast Guard boats in the water right now," the deputy replied.
"That's the best we can do," Tony said, calming a little. This was the first time Ian had been put in charge of handling the fraying nerves of the loved-ones. He, himself, had been a veteran cop, with well over a decade of experience and found it unnerving at best the first time he'd had to handle the people gathered at The Washout.
"Bob helping?" he asked, referencing the owner and bartender down the street. The man might be gruff, but he stepped up when needed, and without question.
"Yeah," Ian replied with a grateful sigh. "Helped a lot. Been talkin' people down for me." A short pause greeted the police chief before the deputy continued, "Never understood before. Not really. Now I don't want your job. Just your paycheck."
Chuckling, Tony shook his head a little and felt something inside him ease. If Ian felt he could show at least a little humor, the world wasn't about to end back home. One less pound of pressure on his skull.
"Who are the missing captains?" Tony asked, realizing he hadn't inquired before.
"Truman, Goldstein, and… um…"
"Spit it out, Ian," Tony said, as the deputy hesitated. This couldn't be good.
"The third captain's Chamberlain."
Two things happened at once. Actually, three, but Tony never counted hanging up on his deputy an "event" or a "thing" as it was a regular occurrence.
First, at hearing the last captain's name, he felt bile rise in his throat. And second… the dream hit him full force.
Standing there stunned, he let the buzzing in his head die down to a low-grade, irritating hum in his brain. Then he looked straight at Gibbs and said, "I want to cry. I want to laugh. And if I cry until I laugh, it'll be too much like Sleepless In Seattle, and that's not good. Know why, boss?"
Gibbs just gave him a baleful look, until Tony snorted humorously and added, "Because my life isn't a romantic comedy."
"Well, I coulda told you that, Tony," Gibbs replied with a mellow shrug.
"My life is a drama, though," Tony went on to add, ignoring Gibbs altogether. Stuck in his own mind, he let the puzzle pieces fall into place. One by one they did, until he snapped out of the stupor and smiled.
"Any chance I can borrow Ducky?"
"Why?" Gibbs inquired, sitting up and looking more than a little interested.
"Because I think I know where Curt is," Tony replied. He didn't know if he was dead or alive, but he had a clue what had happened after the young Marine had been shot. "If I'm right, I might need some of Ducky's magic."
"Where are you planning on taking him?" Gibbs asked, now standing and sliding into his jacket.
"Maine. I'm going home."