Chapter 8
ooo
Gibbs couldn't afford to show partiality, not towards a team member who was struggling, and not to his team in general, over a case. There was a thin line between taking care of your own, and placing them over the job. After all, justice for the victims he investigated, and the welfare of the families they left behind, or stopping more crimes from happening, were all just as much his duty. In general, it was easy to find a balance. Just keep telling yourself that, and you might actually believe it.
He stepped into the elevator, feeling in a particularly rebellious mood. Yes, he'd rushed through examination of the crime scene, and yes, he'd purposefully hurried back. But he'd been thorough. He wasn't slacking. Besides, Ziva and McGee had been more than willing to wrap things up while he returned.
Perhaps he was over-reacting to all this. Tony didn't need someone, literally, watching his back every minute of the day. He didn't really need a "baby-sitter," especially not here at NCIS, when all he was doing was sitting behind a desk. But still… Maybe it was the way he'd seen zones leave Tony defenseless, or the pain he'd been in during the spike, or just the general foreign ground Gibbs was walking on, trying to solve this. In any case, it made him feel paranoid about keeping DiNozzo in sight. Sandburg would probably be delighted to hear this, likely chalking it up to some kind of Guide's instincts …
He didn't really know what to think about the whole Sentinel-Guide thing, yet, but he watched out for his team members, and that was good enough for now.
His worries, today at any rate, were thankfully unfounded. Tony was right where he'd left him, and in the same condition and state of awareness, typing away conscientiously at his computer. Gibbs arrival was greeted with genuinely happy look and a promptly rattled off stream of information, most of which only confirmed that which was already apparent.
"It's looking like just a suicide, Boss. I got a hold of his psychiatrist…"
"And?"
"I got what I could outta her," Tony answered ruefully. "Which isn't much. Doctor/patient confidentiality and all that. It sounds like Wright was depressed, but to what extent…" He shrugged.
"Keep digging."
"Gottcha, Boss."
Gibbs sank into his own chair and booted up his computer. With any luck, this would turn out to be as cut-and-dried a case as it was shaping up to be. Then they'd all be back to playing catch-up with paperwork, and the contrast between normal and Tony would diminish, if only for a while.
He glanced across at Tony every once in a while, ignoring the sometimes self-mocking internal voice that reminded him every time he did so that he was confirming Sandburg's theories as regarded himself. At least Tony didn't seem to notice that he was under surveillance. Gibbs never saw his attention waver from the computer screen. Not the first time Gibbs looked, or the second, or the third… The fourth time, Gibbs realized he hadn't heard the sound of typing for some time. When a couple repetitions of Tony's name produced no results, Gibbs rose and approached.
"Tony?" Not again… Gibbs cursed the "abilities" that had been thrust upon Tony, not for the first time, and undoubtedly not for the last. Ellison had assured them that he'd zoned a lot at first as well. It got better, Sandburg kept saying. But here DiNozzo was, lost in the mesmerizing pattern that was his computer's screensaver. A screensaver, for crying out loud.
Not caring how Sandburg might have raved over his response—and, really, not knowing if was the right response, but knowing he couldn't just let him sit there and dry his eyes out—Gibbs rounded the desk, bent closer, and gave Tony a light tap across the back of his head.
"DiNozzo, keep daydreaming on the job and you'll be looking at demotion." He said it in a discreet whisper, but a little more loudly repeated, "Demotion."
Gibbs stepped back, with an inward smile, when the effect was almost instantaneous.
Tony looked at him in obvious confusion, then dawning comprehension and embarrassment as he winced and rubbed his temple with a forefinger. "What was that, Boss?"
The phone on Gibbs' desk rang and as he moved to grab it, he shot Tony a, "Back to work" and in succession, to the person on the other end of the phone, "Gibbs." He kept a watchful eye on DiNozzo while listening to the response, ascertaining that Tony was one-hundred-percent back, and not about to topple over. Tony's return to typing answered his first question, but he wasn't completely satisfied as to the second.
"You all right?"
Tony smiled brightly in response. "Yeah, Boss."
Gibbs wasn't entirely convinced, but that would have to wait. The Director wanted to see him. His day had officially just gotten much worse.
"Special Agent Gibbs is waiting, Director."
Jenny looked up at her secretary in surprise. "Waiting?"
"Yes, m'am." The secretary shrugged in equal bemusement. "Not patiently, but he's waiting."
"Well, by all means, send him in before he remembers himself."
Gibbs entered with his usual determined stride, halting before her desk with a nod.
"You truly never cease to surprise me, Jethro. Just when I get used to you popping in on me unexpectedly, you start knocking first."
Only Gibbs could look so self-assured about barging in—and now vaguely embarrassed for having acknowledged etiquette.
Jen decided some mercy was in order for the display of civility. "I asked to see you, but I have a feeling you want to talk to me, too." She tilted her head, and revised self-deprecatingly, "No, of course you don't want to talk to me, but you need to." Gibbs would take a seat of he wanted one, and would only give her that look if she actually offered one, so she didn't bother. They were both to-the-point people. "Something's up with DiNozzo, I hear."
"From whom?" Gibbs' voice was deceptively casual.
"Does it matter?"
The hard set of Gibbs' eyes said it did. Her past experience said it was key to several peoples' health that identities remain anonymous.
"You can just tell me what's going on with him willingly…"
"Or?"
He always liked to dare her to state her intentions, testing the limits of their often tenuous loyalties. "Well I'm not talking about torture, but I assure you I'd rather have you tell me without compulsion." She sighed. "You know I need to be kept aware of any problems."
"I know."
"So, are you going to make this easy? You could trust me, just occasionally." Well, technically, he did sometimes. But there was trusting because you had to, and there was trusting because you chose to. She knew Gibbs didn't offer the second type lightly. "If Tony is in some kind of trouble…"
"Yeah, Jen, he is. But we're handling it."
"Care to elaborate?"
"It's complicated."
That classic stonewall was of the kind that drove her mad, especially from him. If he was going to evade giving an answer, he could at least bother to come up with something original. But this time, there was something troubled in his tone that kept a sharp retort at bay. She knew Gibbs' protective streak was unlimited with the members of his team, and particularly where it concerned Tony, and the knowledge softened her response. "The reports I've heard say DiNozzo is behaving…strangely." She smiled a little. "Even for him."
"I can't tell you now."
"Jethro…" It was supposed to be warning, but came out vaguely pleading. He was definitely worried by whatever was going on. Although she knew they'd never share the relationship she'd once hoped they would, she had far more personal feelings towards him than was strictly professional. She just wished he would stop treating her like the enemy in these kinds of situations. She was the face that represented many distasteful but necessary decisions, but she was not the enemy.
She waited patiently for a response of any kind, not in the mood to press him, hoping against hope that he might be just a modicum less stubborn than usual.
"I can't tell you now," Gibbs insisted, doggedly, but with a hint of weariness. "I will tell you willingly… But it is complicated. And, I think it would be better presented by someone else."
Someone else? Doctors? That made no sense. "Jethro, if this is concerns Tony's health—if some medical condition is impeding his ability to do his job—whether it's physical or mental, we'll—"
Anger unexpectedly flared in Gibbs' eyes. "There is nothing wrong with DiNozzo's mind."
"I didn't say there was." Why, why, did he always have to misread her? Jen supposed it was only fair to some degree, considering she seemed to spend enough of her own time saying the wrong thing. "I was going to say, whatever the problem is…we'll have to find a way to work with it." She could say that with confidence, because she knew Gibbs already was. Maybe, just maybe, she could be on his good side for once. DiNozzo was a good agent, that was for sure.
Gibbs, miraculously, relented slightly. "It's not a health problem…exactly."
Try to hold back on the sarcasm, Jen… "Then what?"
"It's nothing you'd be familiar with. Trust me, this is something you need to hear from someone who knows what they're talking about."
She studied him for a minute, and sighed. "Very well. But I want this someone telling me before the week is out. Deal?"
"Deal."
ooo
"Don't I get my own desk?" When the quip—quite witty and sufficiently aggravating in Tony's opinion—failed to elicit much of a reaction, he tried again. Abby and Ducky were in chairs pulled in from the dining room. Ziva and McGee were on the couch, while Sandburg and Ellison mirrored the arrangements on the second couch opposite. The seat remaining for Tony was next to his ex-Mossad co-worker. "Aww, Boss, do I have to sit next to her?"
Gibbs expression was little more satisfactory this time, though he didn't move to swat him. Leaning on wall directly behind the couch his team was seated on, he seemed to want to have a vantage from which to keep on eye on the three of them, and prowl at will. It probably hadn't escaped Ziva or McGee that Gibbs' position was ideal for accessing the backs of their heads, as well. Tony knew it hadn't escaped him. He resisted the urge to sink low enough in his seat to shield himself with the back of the couch.
Sandburg had no sooner sat down than he was rising again, noting that his audience was waiting. Tony found his bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, combined with the way he was rubbing his hands together, disturbingly gleeful-looking and ominous.
The anthropologist had several books, along with a notebook, spread out in front of him on the coffee table.
"Man, I never thought I'd be teaching a class like this," Sandburg began, sounding a bit jittery.
"He means he never thought he'd have a willing audience for a class like this," Jim teased, much more casual and laidback, even while he watched his friend attentively.
Blair laughed. "Heh. Thanks for the encouragement, there, Jim. All right… Sentinels 101."
"Why not Sentinels for Dummies?" Tony suggested, with a meaningful glance in McGee's direction, receiving a sarcastic "thanks" in response. Tony decided to let that be his obligatory smart-aleck response for the time being. He'd undoubtedly have cause to lighten a great deal of moments ahead with inapt humor, but for now he'd be a good pupil and listen.
He was a little distracted and surprised, too, when he saw out of the corner of his eye that both Ziva and McGee actually had notepads and pens out. Honestly—notes? It all seemed a bit like overkill to him, but also reassuring to think they weren't entirely hostile to this impromptu and ridiculous "class." Of course, Gibbs might very well have made note-taking compulsory… He wouldn't have been surprised at that, considering that so far Gibbs was treating this learning-how-to-care-for-your-Sentinel thing pretty seriously.
"Well," Blair was saying. "This is really more of crash course than anything. There's so much to cover, I probably even won't even have time to touch on the basics. But…here's to trying, at any rate." He picked up one of the books, flipping through the first couple of pages. He began by reviewing much of what Abby had already explained briefly when she'd first tried convincing them of her theory. Sandburg showed them a picture of an "ancient" Sentinel…and Tony, really, really wished he hadn't. He was going to get enough teasing as it was, once the initial worry the whole situation engendered died down a bit.
The dark-skinned man in the picture looked imposing enough, and he packed some good muscle. He was also wearing little more than a loin cloth. Yup, the whole "primal man" thing definitely made sense in light of that image of Sentinels.
Ziva smirked, tilting her head. "I can see the resemblance."
Abby admiringly pointed out the muscle aspect, and ingeniously claimed he definitely looked "hot."
Sandburg quickly got the hint from the un-amused looks on the faces of the two present Sentinels, and moved on. Unfortunately, his next topic wasn't too much more comfortable for Tony. Zones. Spikes. They were words he cringed at the mere thought of. Living through Sandburg's detailed overview of the subject, however, made him feel a strong connection with Jim. Every now and then, their purposefully distracted gazes would meet, but instead of averting it as Tony felt the need to do with the rest, he and Ellison shared several empathetic looks.
Everyone "got" zones pretty quickly, but the phenomenon known as spiking seemed to need more explanation. At least for everyone in the room besides Tony, and his fellow sufferer. Tony didn't need a definition. Oh, he didn't know exactly why they happened, but he knew what they were, and he never wanted to feel one again.
"…they're hard to define, but you need to be aware of them, guys, 'cause believe me…these things are not pretty when they hit." Sandburg said it all like he meant it—almost as if he'd experienced the pain himself. "It can be especially bad when more than one sense is involved. With sight, even the smallest things can suddenly become too much—the sun, obviously during the day, but things like car lights, too, at night. Hearing, obviously, can be particularly bad in the city. Way too much stimulation there. Sirens, cars, music… With touch, things come in to play you'd probably never think about if you weren't a Sentinel. Sun on your skin, rain, a 'pleasant' breeze, even the texture things like paper towels can feel like sandpaper… When a Sentinel's senses spike—"
"Ah, Chief? Do think we could maybe…skim over the detailed descriptions, maybe?"
Noting Jim and Tony's faintly pained expressions, Blair was instantly cooperative to Jim's suggestion, wincing in self-reprimand. "Yeah, hey, sorry about that." He cleared his throat. "I'd just like to add a specific warning for something that Jim learned the hard way. Avoid SenQuil at any costs."
Ziva looked up from her studious note-taking. "SenQuil?"
"Yeah, I'm talking about the stuff for colds. Definitely not Sentinel-compatible. It has the painful side-effect of heightening a Sentinel's abilities, not too dissimilar from a spike."
Abby was biting her lower lip. "What can we give him if he gets a cold?"
Blair considered. "You know, I think it'd probably be a good idea if we got you guys some kind of list of what Jim's had bad reactions to so far. For all we know, Tony could be completely different as far as what causes problems for him, but at least it'll give you some guidelines, things to watch out for."
"I would appreciate anything you have discovered, especially medically speaking," Ducky said, frowning. "It would have been terrible indeed to have to have treated him completely by trial and error…"
"Here, here," Tony seconded.
"Yeah, I wish," Jim added wryly.
"My dear boy, it must have been dreadful," Ducky sympathized. "I appreciate how you've paved the way for us."
"We'll be sure to make that list, then." Blair sighed. "And it's gonna be a long one. Everything from cold medicine to certain detergents…"
Abby brightened. "I already thought of that one! I found a detergent that seems to be working just fine—at least he hasn't broken out in a rash again. You haven't, have you, Tony?"
Somehow, that didn't seem like the kind of detail he would have chosen to discuss publicly. But, he supposed he should be grateful that, at least, she hadn't mentioned the brand they'd settled on. The brand's logo had not been particularly manly. "I'm good, Abbs."
Blair smiled. "Good, good… You guys are naturals."
Abby beamed. Ziva and McGee took notes. Gibbs was silent and attentive. Tony felt decidedly uncomfortable. They might all be naturals about handling him and his newfound abnormal, unnatural problem—but he was the one who needed to deal with it, and he suspected he wasn't doing a very good job so far.
Blair moved on. "Let's talk about Guides, and their roles…"
Let's not, and say we did… Tony wished Gibbs was in his direct line of sight. He would have liked to have been able to gauge Gibbs' reaction, as Sandburg expounded. As it was, though, he couldn't work up the nerve to do more than cast sidelong looks at the rest of his friends. He didn't want Abby, or any of the rest, to misinterpret him, or think he was looking at them for a reason. Okay, so maybe he was over-thinking this a bit, but no way was he going to saddle one of his co-workers with his pathetic, handicapped self.
"I've never met another Guide, and so have never been able to compare strategies with anyone else who's spent time working with a Sentinel," Blair was saying regretfully. "It would sure be nice to exchange ideas." His mouth quirked a little. "Although, I did see a guy bring a Sentinel out of zone once by smacking him on the back of the head…"
Gibbs amused voice asked, "Oh?"
"Yeah. A bit unconventional, but it did seem to work," Blair mused in consideration.
"Don't even think about it, Sandburg," Jim growled.
"Of course, I'd only recommend it for light zones," Sandburg continued, ignoring Jim. "For deeper zones, hitting would generally not be a good idea…"
Tony thought he really seemed to like the idea—poor Jim, Gibbs was corrupting the guy's Guide.
Blair managed to pull himself back to the point, however, finishing his thought. "Even so, physical contact is one of the best ways to ground a Sentinel when they're zoning, or spiking. That is, of course, assuming touch isn't involved in the problem—if that's the case, any physical contact needs to be handled very carefully, until you get things dialed down a bit." Sandburg ran a hand through his hair. "Oh boy, and I guess I'm probably gonna have to explain more about the 'dials,' too. I think I'll have to save that for another time, though…" He looked down at the notebook on the table. "Right. Okay…" Throughout, he'd laid his suggestions out in a familiar, friendly way, but now he seemed to pull even further away from teacher-mode. He looked specifically at Tony. "Look, man, I know this has all got to be royally freaking you out, especially when your job relies so heavily on you being aware of, and able to respond to, your surroundings. But believe me, it does get better—Jim'll tell you." He didn't seem to want to give Jim a chance to ruin his momentum by not granting that comment a positive response, not pausing to provide him the opportunity. "With a little help, and some practice, man, you'll be…"
"…a human crime lab with organic surveillance equipment," Jim supplied, a hint of a smile belying his sarcasm. He shrugged at Ziva and McGee's curious looks. "Hey, not my words." He indicated Sandburg with a nod.
"Exactly," Blair enthused. "This is about more than controlling your senses, and keeping them from interfering—you can use this stuff to help you."
"Do you think you can convince another critic of that?"
Tony didn't miss the "another" Gibbs used. Not you too, Boss… He didn't know why the realization that Gibbs was convinced about this Sentinel stuff made him feel slightly panicked. After all, even if Gibbs wasn't convinced, something in Tony's gut told him that he himself was convinced. So why shouldn't Gibbs be? But somehow the concrete statement just made the whole thing that much more real. In any case, whether Sentinel or no, he had these abilities, and he was going to have to do something about or—if he listened to Sandburg—with them.
In response to Gibbs, Blair wavered, "Uh…what do you have in mind, exactly?"
Gibbs didn't waver. "An informal presentation for the Director."
"The…Director? Of NCIS?" Blair visibly balked at the thought.
"Yup."
Despite Gibbs' apparent confidence in both the idea, and in Sandburg, McGee and Ziva exchanged perturbed glances.
Tony was taken to whole new heights of uneasiness. The Director. Tony didn't make a habit of being scared of people, even one of the all-mighty powers-that-be. Gibbs was an exception. Jen stood up to Gibbs. Watching that could definitely be, on occasion, considered a scary sight. So, yeah, he had to admit, there was something about Jen that was scary. No…creepy was probably the word. Or maybe she was mostly creepy, in a grating, maddening, irritating way? Whatever. The point was, he should've seen this one coming. But he hadn't.
Gibbs rarely explained things, but he did now, at least somewhat. "She's demanding a reason for DiNozzo's odd behavior."
"Hey—" Tony didn't know what wise-crack he was going to make at that, so it was probably a good thing Gibbs cut him off.
"—And she wants it before the end of the week."
Abby piped up apprehensively, "Are you sure honesty is the best policy this time, Bossman? I mean…I don't know about Jen." She narrowed her eyes in doubt, as if the woman were sitting right there in front of her. "I don't know if I trust her to know about Tony."
"Yeah, Abbs," Gibbs said wearily. There was trusting her, and then there was trusting her to consider the possibility that rules might need to be bent when it came to something like this. "Me neither. But she's not going to let this go, and it looks like we're going to need some time to sort this thing out, so DiNozzo's bound to appear more than usually abnormal for a while. She's going to have to know."
"I don't know, Boss, I'm pretty good in the lying department." Tony craned his head in Gibbs direction, grinning brazenly.
Gibbs muttered something that sounded like "Don't I know it…" but said for the room at large, "She'll see right through you, DiNozzo, even if you don't tangle yourself up hopelessly in a mess of contradictory and ludicrous 'facts' first."
"Hey—" And once again, Tony was ignored, rather mercifully. It was only true to the up-keeping of his good name and character to interrupt when insulted, even glancingly, but again, the wit was proving a bit rusty tonight.
"Think you can do it?" Gibbs asked, eyes on Sandburg.
Sandburg licked his lips, stalling. "I…"
"Hey, look on the bright side, Chief, she's gotta be easier than Simon," Jim encouraged.
Abby, not-so-encouragingly, contradicted, "Oh…no, I doubt it. She can be pretty tough about things."
Blair winced. "Great."
"No worries, Sandburg," Jim persisted offhandedly. "As long as it's not the 'thin blue line' spiel you'll do fine. And we don't even have to convince her you're my cousin."
"Oh, don't you sound so nonchalant, big guy," Blair corrected, gathering resolve. "If I'm doing the presentation, than you get to help out with the show-and-tell."
It was Jim's turn to falter. "Great."
ooo
TBC
A/N: Well, obviously, this story doesn't stop at chapter eight (like I said it would in my profile). A lil' mix up with the chapters (I won't go in to it…), but it's all sorted out now. There'll actually be eleven chapters total, plus an epilogue.
But wow…you guys are STILL keeping up the amazing-ness? Guess I shouldn't have expected less, after this many chapters, and such consistency with the feedback. You're a great crowd—and this isn't my first time posting a multi-chapter fic, so I do have some experience for comparison. ;) In particular, I'm impressed with how many of you, apparently, ARE author's-note-readers. It may seem like a small thing, but as an author I've been through many a frustration when reviewers ask questions I've already addressed at the end of a chapter, or explained in detail right at the start. So thanks for reading through to the end, dear readers, even if you do have to wade through some Ducky-style rambling. *g*
About the timeline: I'm not placing this story (or any following ones) in a strict timeframe. There are just too many complications in trying to, partially because I'm not going case-by-case and explaining how all this Sentinel stuff fits in with the Canon proper. There are, though, certain factors that tie it down a bit. Obviously there's Ziva—so it takes place a while (year or two?) after she's joined the team in place of Kate. Then there's the Director Issue. I started this when the only director I really knew much about was Jen—then, before I was even finished writing, Jen got traded in for the Vance model. I admit, I'm warming to Vance a little more than I ever did to Jen (if "warming" is even a word you use with these directors what with their love-hate relationship with Gibbs =P). But, for this story at least, it's Jen that's in charge. In future stories, I may very subtly (lol) find a way to make the switch to Vance. Unless you guys voice a preference for Jen—which I'm open to, as well. ;)
Last paragraph, I promise. Just...thanks again—and sorry that, as predicted, I didn't get around to responding to all of you. Although I recovered from my cold, it was then my poor comp that wound up sick and in need of the Geek Squad this week (my excuse for not posting sooner). But: Huzzah! I have cheated death! I am alive! :)) I received with much gratitude all the get-well-soons, tissues, and goodies sent me on my death bed. I'm quite sure it was all the lovely reviews pouring that brought about my recovery. Of course…a relapse is always possible, so it's always welcome if you want to send the poor, sickly authoress more reviews post-haste to stave off further illness. *feels (a little) bad for her transparent attempt at manipulation*
