Title: Facing Forward
Author: CSIGeekFan
Rating: T (mild language)
Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS. There. I said it. Happy now?
Author's Note: I want to thank everyone for the wonderful reviews. They're very much appreciated. I hope you enjoy this chapter.
X X X
"Anthony, while I am sympathetic with the predicament, pacing is not going to help," Ducky quietly said from his position near the bow.
He'd been waiting in the cove in silence for way too damn long. It had started with a sense of anticipation – and he was honest enough to admit he'd missed the adrenaline rush of cases back in his NCIS days. However, that had given way to tedium, and impatience.
Not much had changed over the years. He still hated waiting.
What had begun to creep up as nagging concern had long ago turned to full-blown worry by the time Ducky found him in the dark.
With only a miniscule amount of moonlight to guide his footsteps, Tony paced a few steps, turned and paced back. Over and over again. Nothing Ducky said in the unsettled night could calm the anxious police chief.
"Most movies have a climax," Tony muttered, before coming to a stop in front of his elderly friend. Blowing out a breath, he muttered, "I don't think I can take just waiting. Something's gotta happen."
Patiently, Ducky smiled, and quietly replied, "That is true, dear boy. And something will happen." Once the older man knew he had Tony's attention, he added, "But rest assured that I have never heard of the hero suffering cardiac arrest while on a stake out."
For the first time in forever, Tony relaxed and smiled at his friend. Even in the dark, when he couldn't even see anything more than a faint outline, Ducky could calm him. Funny how some things never changed.
Thinking back over all the times the old medical examiner had come to his aide, Tony said, "Hey Ducky… Thanks. For everything."
"Ahhh, my dearest Anthony, you are quite welcome." Tony smirked when Ducky rubbed his hands together in the dark and excitedly said, "It's been quite some time since I've been in the midst of the action."
Shaking his head in amusement, Tony turned to lift his face to the breeze and inhale the salty mist in the air.
He laughed when Ducky said, "You know, this reminds me of my time on a freighter in the Atlantic off of the French shoreline. I was but a lad, working with the ship's—"
"Shhh…." Tony interrupted. His ears perked up as he listened intently. He could have sworn he heard the soft rumbling of an engine over the waves crashing against the rocks. But as seconds passed, all he could hear was the whistling of the breeze through the rocks and the crashing waves.
"What is it?" Ducky softly asked, smoothly following to stand near Tony.
Waving an unseen hand in the pitch black, the chief listened intently, before excitedly whispering, "There it is again."
Sure enough, the intermittent coughing and sputtering of an engine sounded, but just barely. Then Tony realized that the moment of truth had arrived. Tapping the elderly medical examiner on the arm, he said, "Stay here," and vaulted for the hatch below.
The light in the back of the small cabin below hit him like a hammer when he bypassed the ladder and landed with a loud thump on the wood floor. At Gibbs' questioning look, he said, "Someone's here."
With a quick turn, he grabbed his shotgun where he'd secured it on the wall, climbed rapidly up top, and headed toward the starboard side. Anyone approaching would have to come straight at him, as Granger's boat occupied the least tumultuous seas within the cove.
"Come on," he murmured to himself, wishing a clearer view of the boat. Part of him wondered just who would be arriving – one of the good guys or a trafficker.
"You ready?" Gibbs asked.
"I was born ready," Tony replied.
Flipping on a handheld spotlight, he swept the beam over the bow of the oncoming vessel. Relief swept through, not because he identified the boat. It was still too damn dark to tell what boat it was, and the torrent of waves upon which it bobbed prevented him from really seeing the markings on the bow. But sweeping the light across the cabin, he caught sight the large antenna shooting out of the top of fishing vessel.
Tony barked a laugh. Because hanging upside down in a sign of distress, someone had hung the American flag.
X X X
Tying a couple of boats together in the midst of tumultuous waters turned out to be a hell of a lot harder than Tony thought it would be. The whirling action kept spinning the oncoming boat's engine compartments too close to Granger's small "retiree" vessel.
But even soaked through, Tony felt like laughing when a metal gang plank was thrust from one boat to another and a small figure launched over, nearly tackling him. Captain Mike took most men by surprise. Half the size of everyone else on the boat, she was strong enough to do more and achieve more than most on her crew. Something in which she took great pride.
"I've picked up some precious cargo," she said as soon as her feet hit the deck of Granger's boat.
X X X
He'd been prepared to see his oldest dead. As much as it pained him to even think about it, he'd known it was a possibility. That Curt was alive had left him stunned with relief, and he'd numbly made his way below-deck to the bunk compartment. Unlike the small boat the retired Captain Granger kept around, Mike's boat was much larger. Walking through the mess hall, he walked on rubbery legs and pushed the small cabin door open to find Curt laying on the bottom bunk. A deck hand rubbed the kid's pale face with a cool cloth, but rose when Tony approached.
"Chief," the rugged man greeted with a gravelly voice as he stepped out of the way.
Tony didn't trust himself to speak, and instead took the stool near Curt and reached out a trembling hand to run his fingertips over a too-warm forehead.
When his boy was seventeen, Curt had gotten a bronchial infection that left him weak and whimpering for two weeks. He'd barely been able to stand, and had hallucinated about his parents' death during the worst of it.
What Tony saw as he sat by the young Marine's side was even worse.
His boy wasn't moving.
X X X
"He kicked me out," Tony sighed as he settled at the table in the larger vessel, across from Ziva and Gibbs. Glancing up at his old boss, he asked, "Granger gone?"
"Yeah. He's heading home to help your deputy coordinate," Gibbs replied. Then he smirked and added, "I think he's missed the action since he retired."
Nodding at the truth of the older man's statement, Tony concurred with the assessment. In reality, it hadn't taken a hell of a lot to convince Granger to give them a night of his time. Not once the old man had understood he'd be a hero.
"So what's the plan?" the chief asked, eyeing his former boss.
After taking a gulp of hot coffee, Gibbs said, "Waiting on you."
It didn't surprise Tony when a small hand squeezed his shoulder, and the woman it belonged to settled into the chair next to him. Studying Michaela, he noted her pallid complexion and the circles under her eyes and sighed. He wasn't the only one running on steam.
"Ducky's with him. Not much I can do," he explained, as he watched the petite woman with curly light brown hair settle next to him. Her deep blue eyes bore into his green, and she ran an index finger down his cheek in response.
"That boy's got a yard o' guts," Michaela softly said, and then smiled. "Not much'll end him. Trust your doc to do his job."
"And I'll do mine. But first I need to know what happened," Tony said, smiling his thanks as a deckhand set a cup of coffee in front of him. Turning back to his lover, he asked, "What happened?"
He didn't miss the way Michaela winced, and couldn't help but roll his eyes before he muttered, "Oh hell. What did you do?"
"Well, ya know that old shell game, where ya hide a pea and shift the shells around? Ya kinda need three shells for a single pea," she said.
After a long pause, where she sipped on her coffee, she smiled tightly and continued, "The boats are the shells."
"And Curt's the pea," Tony concluded for her.
"Naw," she replied. "Curt's not the pea. That would be the bag of drugs Gibbs is sittin' on."