Disclaimer: NCIS characters and situations borrowed; the original story and scenario from "Believe Again" by Montana-Rosalie, FFN story ID #5047152 .
A/N: Continuing thanks to M-R for the original idea and letting me play in her AU and to Mari 83 for reading and offering encouragement.
Explanatory A/N: Chapters 1-7 center on how each chapter's title character reacts to Tony's injury and all that it means for the team, for Tony, and for the future. They have more than one character each, but focus on the named character.
From here, Chapter 8 (and beyond?) will be written as duets between Tony with another character, as he moves past his physical recovery and on back into his life, as he now finds it.
CHRONOLOGY WARNING: as before, installments are not in the AU's chronological order. If you prefer reading in order of how events occurred, Ziva's, (Ch. 1), runs the full range of this chronology. The others run in order from Ducky (Ch. 5), to Abby (Ch. 3), McGee, (Ch. 4), Tony (Ch.6), Gibbs (Ch. 2) this one, with Tony and Abby (ch.8) and finally, Vance (Ch. 7).
Many thanks for reading (even with the weird posting order). Reviews and comments of any sort welcome...
Believing Still
I.
The sounds of Abby's lab could often tell those who knew her what kind of mood she was in before they stepped one foot inside – the volume, the choice of performer, or even an absence of sound gave one an idea what to expect. These days, it also gave Tony a head start he didn't have in the rest of NCIS: music = Abby's in. And one of the most awkward and bothersome things he'd found on his return to the world outside the rehab center and his own little apartment – on his return to work, actually – was popping up in an office or department and not always knowing for sure if anyone was there. He'd already had a small taste of that in the hospital and at the rehab facility, and while it occurred to him such cluelessness would have been agonizing on a case, he'd convinced himself that it should be no big deal since he wasn't in the field. Uncomfortable, certainly, but after the first time or two he wouldn't even notice. He'd thought.
It wasn't like it was on purpose. But if someone was sitting and reading quietly, not moving – working, and therefore focused on the task and not on accommodating some shot-up cop back from medical leave and still figuring out which end was up – they would be as invisible to him as if they were some fleeing felon bad guy, hiding to ambush him. His new co-workers – he couldn't bring himself to think of them as "teammates," no matter how welcoming and genuinely nice they'd been – just hadn't started thinking about being noisy in his behalf, and he shouldn't expect them to – but even Gibbs had begun offering auditory cues, and many times before the scents of sawdust and Tide had reached him. And he hadn't caught onto the schedules yet, the rhythms, of his new post, as he had, unconsciously, with Gibbs' team, when one would go for more coffee or another would wander off for a snack, or when Darren – his new boss – new supervisor, he corrected; no 'boss' was named Darren – would head up to the Director's office for the overnights from Europe or to MTAC for the daily feed from Homeland Security.
It would come, he knew. He would know more what to listen for and find auditory clues in what now seemed to be senseless noise. Maybe, even, they would have picked up a clue as his old team had and remember to speak as soon as they saw him coming – just to help out an old buddy.
But he hadn't yet, and they hadn't. And by Day 3, he was finding his new placement exhausting and unchallenging, all at once. He knew enough not to give up just yet, knew that new fits took time – but knew that he'd never fallen into a rhythm and comfort zone faster than he had with Gibbs, on his team, in the field, ten years before. The thought led as it always did to thinking about his team going out without him, and how it still jangled – they've been doing it for months now without me, all that time I was still under, and then after, in the hospital and after ... Tim had been good enough to tell him it wasn't the same without him, that no one was the same without him, and with his words, and Ziva's, and Gibbs,' he'd actually started to believe it.
But same or not, they were doing their jobs just fine without him, same closure rate, same skilled investigation. And here on Day 3 for him, up with the other analysts, the morning that had started so quietly for Gibbs' team was suddenly swept up in a race to find a killer with access to a deadly biotoxin. He wouldn't let Ziva apologize for breaking their lunch plans as she called on the run, and wouldn't let her hear how painful it was to hear Gibbs – and McGee, Gibbs' not-so-new senior field agent – shouting orders in the background while he sat in a climate-controlled, government-issue cubicle. "Just find the bastard, Ziva," he growled his encouragement. "Tell him you have better things to do than watch him mess with the Navy."
II.
The music wasn't infallible. Still, in all of NCIS, it was only Abby who set up road signs to what he'd find ahead, before entering her domain. And this time, he heard energetic, bouncy, and loud – as in, "good mood Abby." Sadly, though, it usually meant super-busy Abby, too...
He stepped inside and tried not to wince at the volume. "Hey, Abs," he called – for her attention, not just to see if she was there, he noted again, gratefully – and heard a happy little gasp.
"Tony!" In only a heartbeat, the volume dropped drastically and her platform clad feet quick-clomped over to him, where he opened his arms for the expected hug. "You came down to see me!"
"Like I wouldn't," he grinned. "I told you I would."
She pulled back enough to look at him as she insisted, "I know, but you know how like when people move, they promise they'll stay in touch and they don't, or they send e-mail and just end up talking about the weather, and then you're like, 'how am I gonna go home for Christmas and not run into them because it's just weird now...'" Abby looked at the former field agent, still as surprised as when she saw him on Monday, back here at home on the Navy Yard, that by inevitable comparison to last year, in suit and tie, Tony was still handsome as ever ... and almost still as thin as when he went to rehab. She took a breath. He was smiling his "happy to see her" smile, but around the edges he looked a little shell-shocked, a little haunted. Her brow wrinkled in protective concern, and she threw her arms around him again. "I'm just so glad you're finally back here with us," she urged.
She felt him relax a little from some tension she hadn't sensed until he let it go. "Me too, Abs," he murmured. After a moment, though, it was his turn to pull away, and, their arms still loosely around each other, he asked wistfully, "but I caught you in the middle of fifteen different projects for Gibbs."
"Sorry – but yeah, and he's calling every five minutes for results, too. But you can stay and talk to me," she turned further and let her hand trail along his arm as she slipped from his arm. "It's not thinking work yet, really, just lots of sample prep and set up stuff. Or," he heard her stop and snap back around to him, her voice spiking up hopefully, "did you have something for me, too? 'Cos I can work it in; you know I promised you if you needed ..."
He smiled, shaking his head. "Not yet – just came to say hi, and..." He wavered; unlike Tony, he paused, thought better of it, and shrugged, not finishing the thought. "Just passin' through."
Abby just knew Gibbs would be calling in with additional info needed or something for her to run any second, and would be frustrated with her if she didn't have her head one hundred percent in this case. She knew probably better than they did that they were running against time to locate the source and make-up of an apparent bio-weapon discovered in the homes of two of the Navy's intelligence specialists, killing one and bringing the other close to it. The lab techs at Bethesda weren't working fast enough to suit Gibbs, and he was determined to find what she needed to get her eyes on it, too.
But this was Tony, and she couldn't do much more for Gibbs until she had more information, and Tony still looked as if he was a kindergartner on his first day of school, even if it was his third day back – and even as much as he tried to hide it, he looked a little lost. A little lonely...
That's it, she knew. A glance at the clock solidified it for her. 11:50.
She clomped back the several steps into his personal space and put her hand on his arm. "Tony." She sighed, sadly, and said, "you know, when I first started here and there were those times when everyone went out on a case and it had been slow and I didn't have a lot to do – it would get so quiet, and I'd feel like I wasn't being any help, so I'd wander around and see if there wasn't someone who could use me. Not long after that Gibbs got me permission to start my own cold case files, so I could have something to do when that happened." She rubbed his arm supportively. "It won't be long before you'll have your own version of cold case files too, whatever you call 'em up there."
He swallowed, and the little smirk she saw from him was sad. "Shows, huh?
"It wouldn't if I hadn't heard Ziva tell McGee on her way out that she had to call you to cancel lunch." Abby looked guiltily at the former field agent and said, "Tony, if I didn't have Gibbs and a possible serial terrorist-killer on my hands, I would totally go for lunch with you, drag you there, but I..."
"I know, Abs; I just thought I'd check in with you. I figured you'd probably be busy, too." He shrugged again, his smile smaller but more genuine, with just enough comfort in it that Abby knew he understood.
"They're fine, Tony," she said softly.
His "I'm fine" grin was back, and he laughed too airily. "I know. Why wouldn't they be?"
"Because..." she began ... and her phone trilled. "...sorry! Gibbs," she whispered to him, then punched the speaker button and said in a wholly different tone, "Gibbs!"
"Abby, we found some powder at Commander Deaver's house – we called a tech out to collect it and bring it back to you. I need you to ..."
"Check to see if it's the same; got it, Gibbs. Was it loose or in the same kind of container?"
"Both."
"Both? So maybe he's...?"
"We're sweeping the area now, Abs – no reason to think that he was involved until now, but if there's any indication that he manufactured it..."
"I can tell you that much now, Gibbs; he couldn't have. The stuff you brought me isn't home grown – unless 'home' has some serious, industrial ovens or 500 gallon vats that would have to be vented outside to avoid peeling the paint off the walls. This stuff starts off in liquid form that's deadlier to handle than the powder." Her voice took on the businesslike, focused Abby that Tony hadn't known he'd missed, along with so many other parts of his life that had dropped away. "He's gotten it from somewhere," she went on.
"Who? Where?" Gibbs' voice crackled over the speaker.
"I'll send McGee what I have so far, but in another hour I can narrow that list, depending on what Major Mass Spec finds in his analysis."
"Tell Major Mass Spec he has thirty minutes."
"Gibbs!" Abby complained. "No one can intimidate Major Mass Spec into working faster, not even you!" The abrupt cut off of the call seemed inevitable, and with barely a beat, Abby turned back to Tony and saw that same sadness she'd caught before, but keener now, more immediate. And it hit her then: more than the actual loss of sight and certainly more than missing a lunch with Ziva, at the moment, Tony was devastated by being sidelined while his team was in the field.
She didn't know how much of it was for himself, for the chase and for catching bad guys and for the satisfaction of doing the right thing, but Abby knew he would be crazy with not being there to get Gibbs' six, or to protect Ziva and McGee, whether it was from dirtbags or a surly Gibbs. The why didn't matter. All that mattered was that, even if his new job at NCIS meant he didn't feel totally useless – at least for the moment, it left Tony feeling lost and alone.
"..because..." she picked up her last statement where Gibbs' call had interrupted it. "You should be with them, Tony; they all know it, we all know it – and you know it too, but you haven't had a chance to know it as long as we have." She took a breath and gently touched his chest, over his heart. "Gibbs and Timmy were on their own for a while, and it was so hard, every day, when they were so worried about you and Ziva. Then Ziva came back, desk only for a while, and they all had that and you to figure out. Then Ziva got back in the field with them – and Tim admitted once that it was almost hardest then, when it was most noticeable that the only thing that wasn't right again was that you weren't with them..."
As her words tumbled, Abby wondered if anyone had told Tony this, how much he had meant not just to each of them, as a friend and co-worker, but as an irreplaceable member of the team. "It wasn't like losing Kate, when we knew she was gone, and saw her laid to rest. It wasn't like Ziva, who was hurt and gone for a while – or when you had the plague – when we knew time would get you back." Abby watched Tony's face as he took in her words. "But even with all that ... they still had a job to do, and had to get back on top of things, and McGee had to become senior field agent, and they would never stop going to visit you or missing your being with them ... but they had to keep going. And then, when you woke up, and started getting better and went to rehab, it wasn't as good as having you back on the team, but having you back after so long was so much more important, that it almost didn't matter anymore."
She took a breath, and stepped even closer, her voice dropping a little more. "Tony, you've had only a handful of weeks to get used to not seeing, and another handful of weeks to get your muscles back and get some training ... and only two and a half days to be back here and not get called out with them. Even after months the others still felt it, felt like things weren't right." She paused again. "Not even three whole days yet. That's why."
Tony stood unmoving for the moment, clearly letting her words register, as he imagined what it would have been like ... imagining his teammates actually missing him, despite all the teasing and pestering and joking he did, maybe even understanding why he'd felt compelled to act that way. He felt himself relax a little more, comforted with Abby's assurances that his reaction was okay, and even made sense.
He finally shrugged, and this time his smile, though much smaller than before, was genuine. "They're fine," he agreed. "And," he went on, more of the old Tony coming through, "since I got stood up for lunch and have at least 50 minutes left – can I help?"
Abby grinned and threw herself at him again in a sudden hug, which she dropped just as suddenly to spin back to her work. "Well, you can talk the 'who' and 'where' that Gibbs wants to know with me," she tried.
"Okay." He leaned casually against her work table, back against its edge, ankles crossed and arms folded. "Read me in."
And Abby began chattering away as she quick-clomped between Major Mass Spec and the table, between the samples on the table and her keyboard, and between the small box of additional evidence waiting for her and her microscope, feeling more 'normal' than she had in a year. She knew things would never be the same, but Tony, her Tony, the real Tony, was back in her lab, throwing out ideas and suggestions, sounding just as he had a year ago, and after a silence of nearly that long. And if she closed her eyes really tight – just for a moment – it was as if nothing had changed at all...