Title: Facing Forward
Author:CSIGeekFan
Rating:T (mild language)
Disclaimer:I don't own NCIS. I'd like it for Christmas, though.
Author's Note: I want to thank everyone for their kind words over the course of this story. There's just a couple more chapters left. Please let me know what you think with a review. Thanks.

X X X

For the past several hours, Tony DiNozzo had studiously avoided anyone of the female persuasion by feigning fatigue on the living room couch. He'd been pretty damn successful, too; for he'd finally achieved a little peace and quiet. Then Gibbs had walked into the expansive room overlooking the vast sea, and settled into a nearby chair.

Both men had ended up staring at each other as a thick silence weighed down on them. For half a second, it seemed like Gibbs might actually talk to Tony, but then Emily had walked into the room, tugged on the NCIS agent's hand, and Gibbs had gone off to play with a restless child. That had been half an hour ago.

So finally, Tony found himself blissfully alone.

"You're a coward," Curt said from the doorway, leaning against the arched opening, with his arms crossed.

The tell-tale grin on the young man's face made Tony roll his eyes and attempt to ignore the kid; but Curt didn't have the same idea. Instead of taking the hint, the clean-shaven Marine slowly made his way into the room and settled into the chair Gibbs had just vacated.

"Tryin' to sleep here," Tony muttered and closed his eyes. "Doctor's orders. I'm supposed to rest."

Curt snorted a laugh and replied, "Uh huh. You never listen to doctors, so why would you start now?" He paused before restating, "You're a coward."

"How do you come up with that?" Tony asked without bothering to open his eyes. He could practically hear his kid shrug prior to launching into the explanation.

"First, I haven't seen you say more than half a dozen words at a time to the man," the young Marine said. "I've never known you to be silent for anything."

"Second, more than once you closed your eyes just as Gibbs walked into the room," Curt sardonically added. "If that doesn't scream coward, nothing does. You're afraid to talk to him."

"And third?" Tony glumly asked. "There's always a third."

"Actually, I just got those two," the Marine smartly replied. "That's enough proof for me – and for Mike."

"Since when did you talk to Michaela about me?" Tony darkly asked, sitting up. Even after being home, his chest still ached, and probably would for several weeks longer. It irritated him to no end, and what was left of his mood took a nosedive.

"Pops, Mike and I worry about you," Curt softly said, all humor gone from his expression.

Swinging his legs over the edge of the couch and patting the seat next to him, the older man watched as the young man moved over. For several moments, the two men studied one another, until Tony said, "I'm okay, and so are you."

Holding up a hand to stave off Curt's comments, the police chief continued, "I've got a good life. I've got three great kids, companionship, and a town full of people that I've grown attached to in a dysfunctional kind of way. There's nothing to worry about."

"Yeah, there is," the young Marine contradicted. Sadly, he added, "There's always been something missing – something Mary, Emily and I could never give you. I've always seen it in your eyes."

"Curt-"

"No, let me finish," Curt interrupted. "I always thought maybe you missed your own family – your parents. You never talk about them. All we know is that your dad's still alive, but your mother died when you were a kid. And the look in your eyes sometimes… it's like you're missing your family. I know the girls and I get the same look sometimes."

Tony watched with pride as the younger man sat up straight, shook off the sadness of his own loss and finally said, "I get missing family. It is what it is. I just never realized your parents weren't your family."

"Then who is my family?" Tony asked, amused by the young man's theory.

"You left 'em at the Navy Yard," Curt solemnly replied. "Don't let them walk out of here. Don't lose them again."

As the young man rose and walked out of the room, Tony felt… a cross between embarrassed at being told off by a kid, and proud that the kid was his. Staring off into space, he didn't realize he wasn't alone until the other occupant cleared his throat.

"That's what you did, y'know… left us behind. You ran away from home," Gibbs said.

Tony's cheeks flushed in embarrassment, not only at the comment from his former partner, but at how close to the mark the man had come to the truth – at least part of it. And that it was all being vocalized. There was a big difference between admitting something to yourself and having it tossed verbally in your face. He hated feeling that way. Hell, he was middle-aged, and still felt like a wayward child in the eyes of the former Marine.

The feeling should be familiar, though, considering his father often made him feel the same.

Searching his former boss's eyes, Tony tried to find a glimmer of something other than the typical stoic reserve. When he didn't see it, he sighed and tried to settle his jumping nerves. At that very, the refrain from a self-help tape ran through his mind, Feelings are the window to the self-recognized soul, and your window is clean.

Snorting a laugh, he tried to cover up his response with a cough. However, when he glanced back at Gibbs, the man's expression had changed.

In place of the stoniness, Tony found a deep scowl. For some strange reason, it made him feel a hell of a lot better. He'd rather deal with a pissed Gibbs over a quiet Gibbs any day.

"I wasn't a petulant kid, boss," Tony replied, half-wondering if he'd get slapped for the response, especially when he added, "and it wasn't like you didn't have a clue it was coming."

The scowl turned fierce when Gibbs ground out, "The hell I didn't. No one saw it coming."

And wasn't that sad? Tony thought. Because Ducky had, and while Tony had been close to the M.E., he'd been closer to the NCIS agent who'd brought him out of Baltimore. For years, Tony had thought of D.C. as his home – a place he might actually fit. Because at the end of the day, the fact that he wasn't the brightest bulb in the box didn't seem to matter. Gibbs had always appreciated his innate ability to read what motivated people.

Sitting up straighter, and pulling in a deep, semi-painful breath, Tony found something he'd been missing for a lot of years. The one thing he'd never been able to give the man who'd meant so much to him.

The words.

"You might be right," he admitted, giving Gibbs a sly grin. "I ran away from home, which is kinda ridiculous, considering I was a grown man."

"Then maybe you should've acted like it," the NCIS agent retorted. Anger vibrated in thick waves from him, and for a moment, Tony wondered if maybe Gibbs would storm away. That had never been the older man's style, though. No… Gibbs tended to hit things head-on; more often than not with a quick smack to the back of the head.

That thought actually settled peacefully inside Tony's clenched stomach and the police chief relaxed. Quietly, he said, "I was doing the only think I knew how to do, Gibbs. The only thing that made sense under the circumstances."

"What circumstances?"

The anger in Gibbs voice matched the man's actions as he paced to the window. With the sea behind him on the other side of the panes, he asked, "What the hell are you talking about, DiNozzo?"

"Do you remember the last case?" Tony quietly asked. He did – he'd never forgotten it.

They'd spent months chasing down murderers, drug dealers, human traffickers. The scum of the earth had become so common to him, he could feel their filth on him no matter how much he tried to wash it away. He really did try to wash it away, too. More than once, he'd scrubbed until his skin hurt in hopes of getting rid of that film of filth. And then one day, it happened. A Marine's little boy had been kidnapped.

"Ethan McCormick," Gibbs replied, his face softening in memory.

They'd fought, tooth and nail; searched high and low. And after all those months of constant work, no breaks, and little or no sleep, all it took was one little boy to bring Tony to the brink.

"We found him," the NCIS agent said, watching the younger man closely.

Under the scrutiny, Tony dropped his gaze to the area rug under the couch and swallowed the rising lump in his throat. Pulling in a deep, calming breath, he nodded and said, "Beautiful. Big brown eyes. His mother cried so hard… I didn't know what to do."

"You did a good thing, being there for her," Gibbs said, slowly approaching and taking the seat next to Tony once again. "But I don't understand. What does Ethan have to do with this?"

Raising his eyes, Tony looked his former boss in the eyes when he replied, "I couldn't take it anymore. I was just too tired."

"Tony, you found that little boy alive. You brought him home."

For a moment, Tony looked beyond Gibbs to the steel seas. Any regret in leaving his friends and family behind in D.C. evaporated as one of Emily's beloved crystals (hung from nearly every room in the house) twisted just enough to catch the light, and his eyes. There he found his answer.

"So much happened all at once. This pressure had been pounding down on me, day after day," he explained. "I knew in my guts I'd lost the respect of everyone around me. Hell, I'd lost respect in myself long ago. When I brought that little boy home, I thought maybe I wasn't such a complete failure after all. For about two hours."

"Why didn't you talk to me?" Gibbs asked. "Why leave?"

For years, Tony had thought his explanation might sound foolish. But as he sat there on the couch, thinking of all his kids had experienced, he realized he'd been as wounded as they when fate had thrown them together. Smiling sadly, he finally replied.

"I tried to, Gibbs. But then something happened, and it was just too much. Call it the final straw."

At the older NCIS agent's questioning look, Tony shrugged, and said, "You locked your door."