Tony placed his hand on the polished door knob and, after a moment's hesitation, turned it. It opened easily and he walked in, his whole body sickeningly tense. Moving into the kitchen, the alien possessions cluttering the hallway were replaced with the familiar belongings of his beloved boss. He blinked, his eyes welling over with tears, and the vivid, ghostly objects morphed back into the very real unknown possessions of the living owner.
He paused in the kitchen doorway, staring at the floor. The tiles were identical to the ones on which he had broken down in a sobbing mess while supposed to be calmly clearing out Gibbs's things. Like all things to do with Gibbs, he had failed in the simple task.
His eyes flickered towards the boxy TV sitting on the sideboard. That sight – the iconic object of Gibbs's death – twisted his stomach. He fell back and leant heavily on the wall. Closing his eyes, he could hear McGee's hysterical voice shouting over the crackling phone line.
'He's got Gibbs! They've driven off with him! Tony! I'm so sorry!'
Tony struggled to stay in control of the situation. Without Gibbs, he was now the lead on the investigation. He had to save Gibbs and, to do that; he needed to keep a logical, distanced perspective.
'Where are you?'
There was a pause before McGee spoke again: 'They went east from the old NCIS building.'
Tony's breath caught in his chest. He was completely out of his depth. Gibbs had obviously known something about the case which he had refrained from sharing. And now Gibbs was gone.
'We're coming,' Tony assured McGee, hanging up.
He spun round and found Ziva directly behind him, just like old times.
'What's happened?' she demanded.
'Bates has got Gibbs,' he replied tersely.
Ziva's eyebrows shot up and her mouth fell open. 'Wha–?' she stammered.
Ziva drove to the building, and they were skidding up outside within minutes. The front bumper tapped the back of McGee's car, but, as they noticed while running past, the tyres were slashed anyway.
They found McGee in a back room, staring at a small patch of fresh blood. Tony patted his friend's shoulder. 'It isn't your fault,' he said simply.
McGee looked up. 'I missed them, I tried to shoot at them but I missed them, if I'd hit them, Gibbs would be here still,' he said, the words tumbling out of his mouth.
'Even Ziva wouldn't be able to hit a speeding car, Elflord' Tony replied.
McGee looked utterly miserable. 'That was the last thing he said to me,' he mumbled. 'He called me Elflord.'
Tony smiled sadly and spun round, jumping into business. 'What do we know?'
Ziva twisted her fingers in front of her stomach. 'Sidney Latimer's mother was killed by an NCIS agent in a shootout. She was an innocent bystander. That was seven years ago. A year later, he went to prison for murder. He was sentenced to ten years but only served six of them. He killed three marines after he got out and now he's got Gibbs,' she recited.
Tony sighed. 'We don't know much but Gibbs was onto something. He knew to come here.' He frowned. 'Why here? This wasn't the building six years ago. We worked at NCIS six years ago.'
Ziva walked up beside him. 'Maybe he remembers the incident. And something about that reminded him of some connection with this place.'
'Read up on the shootout,' Tony instructed quickly. Ziva nodded and hurried out of the room. Tony turned back to McGee, fighting not to look down at the blood stain which had captivated McGee's attention.
Tony swallowed and stood up, collecting his senses before going down the stairs to join the gathering in the basement. He was an FBI agent. A rogue one, it was true, but an agent of the state nonetheless. It was his duty to help Jimmy's children even if he didn't particularly want to. The faster they found them, he reasoned, the sooner that he could return home and attend the poker game.
He sat down as far away from Ziva as possible. As he pulled the stool closer to the table, he caught her eye. She was plaintive. He could see that she needed to talk to him about some unknown subject which was obviously eating her from the inside out. And he definitely wanted to speak to her. But, he knew that it would only end in tears. Her tears, to be exact. He was no good for anyone nowadays. That was reason that he spoon-fed himself, anyway.
But, he knew why he was really avoiding her. He couldn't look her in the eye anymore without seeing the look that had materialised right after Gibbs's death. He should have protected her from seeing that. He had already seen it; he knew how much it would hurt her but he had allowed her to walk past him regardless. Perhaps he didn't care at that point, was more concerned with his own grief than protecting her from a lifetime of guilt.
Ziva stared at the picture on her computer screen. Her right hand fumbled for her desk phone, while her left hand covered her mouth. 'Tony,' she said not able to take her eyes off the picture. 'I think I know why Gibbs knew where to go.'
'Yeah?' he prompted impatiently.
She blinked and looked once more at the picture of the agent responsible for the shooting. He had peppery white hair, leathery white skin and cold blue eyes. He was the spitting image of Gibbs. Not identical – obviously, this was not one of Tony's films with a secret twin – but similar enough to be instantly recognisable.
Seeing Gibbs, Latimer must have been vividly reminded of his mother's killer. And, with the anger that he had bottled up inside and had proved was more than willing to unleash at the slightest provocation, he was not going to be gentle with their boss.
She relayed this to Tony, who swore softly and thanked her. Then he hung up. Ziva tore her eyes off the picture and shut her computer down, hiding the potentially fatal photo beneath the black veil.
The smog of the rest of the day had been blocked from Tony's memory. He could not remember anything until that phone call from a patrol on the outskirts of Washington. Just hearing the voice replay in his mind constricted his breathing and knotted his stomach.
'We've found a body.'
Tony twisted round on his stool and attempted to lose a breakfast which had not yet been eaten. Acidic saliva dribbled off his chin and he wiped it off with the back of his hand. He was pathetic. When a ghoulish voice could force his stomach up through his throat, he needed to sort out his head.
'We've found a body.'
He had no idea how to even start on dealing with the pain of that day, though. Every night, he was able to build up a Moses-red-sea-style wall of alcohol between him and the banshee which had resided in his mind for twenty-five years.
'We've found a body.'
He turned back to the table and smiled weakly, hiding the inner turmoil from his ancient colleagues. He felt Ziva's keen eyes on him, though. He could never hide his true expression from her, and her penetrating gaze had not weakened with age.
He avoided meeting her stare and looked around the rest of the table instead. They all felt guilty, minus Jimmy perhaps, but only he carried a double burden. The guilt of Gibbs's death and the guilt of dumping more guilt on Ziva. She didn't deserve that, especially since she wasn't in anyway responsible.
'We've found a body.'
Tony forced himself to speak. 'Does it match the description?' He closed his eyes and waited breathlessly for the answer.
'I'm sorry.'
'Where?' he asked sharply. He had to see this for himself before he allowed himself to believe.
He didn't jot down the address. He could never forget where Gibbs's body lay. If it was Gibbs, he corrected himself. There was no need to attend a funeral before the coffin was even filled.
He shouted to McGee and, together, they sprinted to the car and screeched through the streets, driving for dear life towards a dead body.
They leapt out of the car and ran into the drywall warehouse, passing the bored looking uniformed police officers. McGee reached the entrance first and hovered in the doorway, peering through the gloom at the shape in the middle of the building. Tony appeared by his side and, drawing a deep breath, passed his friend and walked towards the prostrate body.
He squeezed his eyes tightly shut before looking down. Even in the dim light, he could make out its identity. It was Gibbs.
Details come tomorrow. I don't mean to drag this out, it just happens. I will definitely update again tomorrow, though, so it won't be a long wait.
And, for all those people who are complaining about the depression (which is the whole point of the story, by the way) I thought I'd give you a little happiness. Tony CARES about the children. Or, at least, he's willing to help.
This story was meant to be more about finding Jimmy's kids and the flashbacks to their life after NCIS but it's turned into a Gibbs's death fiction. For these few chapters at least. I will get back to the point and do some Tiva. I promise. I seem to be making a lot of promises, though.