— I own only this story and any original characters. —
Just one of those small things in my head, which I decided to write and then share. You can find this also on my ao3.
Leo
...
"Give up, Hernandez! It's over!"
The man in question showed his teeth and held his head proudly. Either it was the ugliest smirk ever, or it was a sneer. It was becoming clear how this was going to end, which Hernandez proved true by pulling out a second weapon. That was all the answer the agents surrounding him needed as they opened the fire. Some may call it overkill, but this man had been running from the law and justice for years and the longer he'd been out there, the more people had lost their lives or their lives had been destroyed.
The silence that followed was deafening. Finally, it was broken by their people taking over the scene; one of those actions included making sure Hernandez was dead. Even with all the new holes in him, you never knew...
At some point, one of the younger agents asked his boss, "Boss, you think we're ever going to find out the full body count he left behind?" Things had calmed down by then, but the amount of people on the scene had increased, as the evidence had to be collected, the bodies moved and the wounded taken care of.
"Doubtful. Let's give Ducky room to work."
They watched as another car stopped at the scene. Doctor Mallard, their Medical Examiner, stepped out. He had a grim look on his face, which you didn't see him wear that often. In spite of his age, he walked briskly to the boss and his agents, looking hopeful. "Anthony. Did you get him?"
"We got him, Ducky. It's finally over." Tony nodded his head toward the body of Hernandez, and the old man sighed, looking like the world had been lifted from his shoulders. All those bodies left behind by Hernandez and his underlings, too many of them going through his morgue, both young and old. They could finally put an end to this chapter in their lives.
"Thank heavens... Well done, my boy. Well done." Ducky patted Tony's arm, and then he walked toward the bloody scene—more like a battle scene—waiting for him and not looking one bit unnerved by it. "Come along, Gerald. We have work to do," he called after the younger man who came there with him.
"Good luck." Tony smirked at Ducky's assistant.
Gerald Jackson rolled his eyes and ran after Ducky. Because there were other dead besides Pedro Hernandez, they would have their hands full for the rest of the week. Tony did not envy their share of the job. Busy as he and the other agents were, most of the work on their end was over. He could do without the mountain of paperwork waiting for them, however...
Tony clapped his hands together to get his team's attention. "Let's finish things here, and we might still get some sleep for a couple of hours."
"On it, boss!" his SFA answered with a tired, wide smile. They'd been working almost nonstop for a couple of weeks on this war against the Mexican drug dealers, namely Hernandez, but it was all worth it now that they had one scumbag off the streets.
"Yes, boss," his Junior Agent answered, too tired to look cheerful, but even he had a small smile on his face.
"Right away, Agent DiNozzo." Their probie was the most eager of them all. This being her first and possibly the biggest case for some time.
With a soft laughter, Tony saw the way his Junior Agent was about to fall asleep on his feet. Deciding that it would be the best thing for them all, he sent him to get some coffee. "Watch your six!"
"I'm going to buy coffee, boss."
"I know. Watch your six."
He too wanted to go to sleep, and not leave his bed for a week or two, but Tony knew his agents would be looking at him as their example, so he willed the sleepiness away and went back to work. Sleep could wait, their work wouldn't.
...
...
"Good work, Agent DiNozzo."
Tony stood in the Director's office and hid his smile at the compliment. "You're not going to tell me anything about how we could have tried to bring him in alive?"
The Director looked up from the report and glared. "I said good work, Agent." It meant, take it or leave it if you know what's good for you.
"Thank you, sir."
Leon Vance grunted his reply. It was true. Normally, they would've had a long talk about how he should have brought the man in alive and not in a body bag, but truthfully, this was easier for them all. People like Hernandez usually found a way out, or a way to act out their criminal activities even in prison. Somehow, they always seemed to find a way. Well, the worst ones did. Looking up, he saw that his Agent was still standing there, something like amusement glimmering in the eyes. "Go home, you and your team. Take the rest of the week off, unless something just as urgent comes up."
"There are still some reports—"
"Those can wait. Not everyone can 'work smarter and not harder ', Agent."
"Aye aye, sir." Tony smirked and left the office.
Leon shook his head. It was such a shame that the man was the head of their best team... and kept proving his worth. You didn't replace men like that easily, much as he'd like to, unless he wanted people to start breathing down his own neck and chair, which he liked very much.
...
...
Instead of going home for some much-needed rest, Tony found himself sitting in his car, staring at the house that looked so much like the house his wife wanted them to buy, but he knew all too well how many of such nice looking things were just an illusion. He probably was overly cautious, but it was all thanks to his long career in law enforcement that he had a hard time finding comfort in the idea of raising a family in a place like that. Then again, he also didn't want to live in a mansion. There had to be the perfect middle ground somewhere.
Glancing at the time again, Tony wondered once more if he dared to go in there at 1 AM. Normal people would be sleeping. He really should go home and get some sleep himself and come back tomorrow.
As long as he had studied and worked on the case of Hernandez, he had also studied the victims. The man living in that house was one of them who had left the biggest impact on him. Leroy Jethro Gibbs was the man's name. A widower and a Marine sniper. He'd chuckled at the name for a bit, until he'd read how Hernandez had stolen the man's wife and daughter; murdered while the man himself had been away.
Tony didn't even want to imagine how he would feel or what he would do if that ever happened to his family. To lose his wife and children in such a brutal way would probably make him lose his mind. God, he prayed he never had to go through that kind of pain... And he hoped his wife would understand why he wanted them to move to a much more secure place than a normal neighborhood. If it looked too safe and nice to be true, then that's what it usually was. Illusion of perfection. Fragile image of innocence hiding dark and ugly secrets. And not the safest when it came to the outside threats either.
The knocking against his car window snapped Tony out of his thoughts. He saw an irritated looking older man standing there, staring at him. Or more like staring him down. While the man looked much older now than in the picture Tony had seen many times, the sharp blue eyes hadn't changed. He knew he was looking at Jethro Gibbs. Tony rolled down the window. "Yes?"
"What do you mean, 'yes'? You keep sitting here, I'll call the cops if you're lucky! You end up unlucky, I'll just shoot you!"
Tony laughed softly; maybe he was just too tired. The man didn't respond to his amusement. "I'm sorry. I am a cop. Well, Navy cop. NCIS."
"NCIS?"
"Used to be N—"
"I know what it is!" Gibbs snapped. The pure hatred toward the NCIS—or NIS as it used to be—was so obvious, Tony would've had to be blind to not see it. And deaf. Oh boy, he so looked forward to this now...
"Look. I can leave if this is too much for you. It's just, I just have some news I thought you'd want to know as soon as possible, and I was already in the area, but I can call you later or send you a letter or something."
Gibbs stared at him for a while, and then he walked away. When he reached his front door, he turned around. "You coming or not?"
"Sure, I can read your mind," Tony muttered to himself. Leaving his car, he jogged after the older man, wondering if he should call his wife and kids first. Who knew if the man was going to kill him for working for the people he seemed to hate so much.
When he entered the house, he recoiled as he was hit by a wall of something. The smell was so strong and for a while he wasn't sure the source of it was even legal. He hesitated to ask, "What is that?"
"Coffee," Gibbs answered, pointing at the couch in the living room, waiting until Tony was sitting. Then he gave the younger man a cup of what he called coffee.
Eyeing it, Tony began to suspect the man was actually trying to poison him. Just the stench of that black liquid was too much for him. Or maybe it was black goo; it was hard to tell... He decided to hold the cup in his hands and as soon as the man looked away, he'd get rid of it. No way was he going to drink that... He tried to see if there were any potted plants in the room.
"So. Pedro Hernandez."
Gibbs' entire posture changed and something flashed in his eyes. Then, looking defeated, there was a pained look, which Tony felt he wasn't supposed to see, so he looked down awkwardly at his cup of 'coffee'.
"We got him. I'm sorry it comes so late. It's been way too many years."
The older man's hands tightened around his own cup, and he sat down. "How long?"
"I think ever since he—"
"No, I meant how long you've been working on it?"
Tony blinked at him. "Oh. Couple of years, I think." When Gibbs stared at him, he looked away and muttered, "Two years, four months and thirteen days." Never mind those additional hours that he spent working on it at home, but the man didn't need to know that.
Gibbs looked at him with eyes that seemed to see right through him. "For a cold case... that means you worked on that, while working on any other cases you had at the same time, right?"
"Yes."
"Did you..? Is he..?"
"Dead. Fifteen bullets and our Medical Examiner made sure of it."
The clock ticking on the wall and the long silence made him want to squirm, but Tony bit his tongue and prayed silently for a sign that he could leave without seeming rude.
Finally, Gibbs said, "Agent."
"DiNozzo. Anthony DiNozzo."
"Thank you."
Without knowing how, but somehow Tony knew that was the sign he'd been waiting for. Dismissed; he could almost hear the man saying that to him. Standing up, Tony left the cup on the coffee table and with a short goodbye, he left, deciding that he hadn't seen the first tear rolling down the man's face or heard the quiet sound as he tried to hold back his strong emotions. Tony knew better than to try to say anything. There would be no words to ease that kind of pain. Even time couldn't do that. It would only make it easier to get through the day, but the pain would never be truly gone. He hated cases like these, but at least he'd made sure justice was given to the victims, even if it was many years too late.
...
— The End —