Part 4
Apologies for any confusion caused by failing to point out at the beginning of this story that this is set fairly early on if looking at a timeline of the series and after Kate's death.
(Warning: language)
The chill in the air hinted at rain and as the clouds scudded across the slate grey sky, the ME cast his eyes up to the heavens wondering if he would make it to the cabin with his charge before the skies opened. By his estimation, they were still a good twenty minutes away, but he took consolation from the scenery, for even on such a gloomy day, it was breathtaking with the snow covered mountains providing a dramatic backdrop to the road he now traversed.
He glanced at his passenger, frowning as he recalled how normally he could have expected to be entertained by the usually talkative agent who now sat huddled over in his seat. But not on this occasion.
Bartok music had accompanied their hour long drive, and other than a weary reply to his few questions concerning his comfort, Tony had remained silent and impassive throughout the journey, his head turned away for the most part so that Ducky was unable to read any expression on his face.
The M.E. decided to try again; he was never one for giving up too easily.
"Just a short while longer and then we'll be there; I believe the lakeside air will be an excellent tonic towards your recuperation, Anthony."
With no acknowledgement, Ducky gave a silent sigh and plunged on.
"Are you at all familiar with this area? I came here many years ago when I was visiting..."
His words trailed away as he realised his companion had purposely zoned out and was as unaware of his presence as he was of his words. He sighed softly and decided to change tack.
"You do know that talking usually helps?"
Perhaps it had been the tone he'd used, but the slight tensing alerted Ducky to the fact that his words had at last made an impression. And when Tony sighed, Ducky held his breath, waiting for something, anything that might give him the opening he needed to try and reach the young man.
"Did Gibbs tell you I've resigned?"
Ducky exhaled in silent frustration, only now realising he'd been holding his breath. "No, he did not and I can't believe he would allow--."
"It's not his decision to make."
The words were spoken with so much weariness that the M.E. wanted to pull over, stop the car and have it out with his passenger. Wounded or not, the young agent was in need of a serious talking to. But he knew it would do no good. Someone else needed to deal with this particular problem and in another fifteen minutes or so he could start the process rolling, but he wasn't the one who had to finish it. So holding his tongue, he made do with shaking his head, his disappointment clear for the other man to see. But it appeared to make no difference to the tired passenger, who simply closed his eyes and attempted to nod off. When he had been a very young boy, Tony had seen it all before and such body language no longer had the power, as it once had, to cut him to the quick.
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The cabin's interior was simple yet welcoming; the pine floors and walls emanating warmth that welcomed any visitor. Tribal rugs from Turkey and Iran littered the floors adding bursts of colour which were pleasing to the eye. And though the cabin had heating, it still boasted a good fireplace which could make good use of the copious blocks of wood which were stacked neatly at the rear ready to be chopped into kindling.
Having been given the necessary instructions from Ducky, Gibbs had stowed his gear, put the heating on, made up the two beds and stocked the fridge by the time he heard the unmistakeable sound of the M.E.'s beloved Morgan pull up in front of the cabin. Grabbing his coffee, he went onto the deck and watched as the ME alighted from the car. It took much longer for his passenger to exit, and then he appeared to stumble, grabbing hold of the car door for support and wincing until he'd regained his balance. Gibbs stood completely still as he watched his senior field agent, who kept his head lowered as he walked side by side with Ducky.
"You just made it."
And true to his word, the inclement heavens took that very moment to open with a deluge that would have had the two arriving soaked to the skin no matter the short distance to cover, had it not been for Ducky reaching back into the rear of his car and quickly throwing a blanket over his charge. And equally armed with a huge golfing umbrella, the older man chivvied the suddenly less than eager young agent across the grass and up the stairs, paying no heed to the fact that Tony seemed in no haste to make it under cover.
It was clear to Gibbs that as his voice penetrated Tony's dazed thoughts, the ailing agent had faltered, his chin jerking up to reveal how stunned he was. He clearly did not want to continue on, pouring rain or not. But he'd had little choice in the matter when his bicep was gripped firmly and he was tugged carefully along, up the steps, past an unreadable Gibbs and into the cabin.
Whipping the damp blanket away, the M.E. ushered a shivering Tony to the comfortable leather sofa and encouraged him to sit down before he fell down. Yet all the while he was aware that Tony had refused to meet anyone's gaze as he sat glaring at the floor.
Wondering for a moment if he'd done the right thing, Ducky rubbed his hands together to rid the chill from them. "I think a nice cup of tea would do us all the world of good. Thank you for offering, Jethro."
Slowly turning his head to look at his friend, the grey-haired marine nodded dryly whilst making little attempt to conceal his irritation.
The only thing Ducky wasn't sure about was whether it was caused by his own rather hasty demand for a hot drink or whether from Tony's attitude. Either way, it didn't bode well for the coming proceedings so automatically he prepared to move into calming-stormy-atmosphere mode, except that Tony interrupted him.
Raising his head his blue eyes fixed on Gibbs as he asked softly, "What are you doing here?"
The question was flat and most definitely to Ducky's delicate ear not conducive in encouraging the kind of conversation he was clearly hoping for. Intervention was required.
"Actually, dear boy, I asked Jethro to join us. It appears that my presence is requisite for a particularly sensitive case and so, rather than allow you to miss the opportunity for some R and R in the country, I asked him to do the honours and keep you company."
The young agent's countenance was decidedly dropping towards the glacier-chill factor as Tony never broke eye contact with his own team leader.
"Well, that's really nice of you, Ducky, I...I appreciate your concern, but I think I'll pass on the country life experience for the time being; I'm more a town boy, so I'll--."
But Leroy Jethro Gibbs could rise to most challenges and Tony's sarcasm was met equally with a sharp retort thrown back as he interrupted with a biting, "Missing your frat buddies already, are you, DiNozzo?"
The dig struck home as Tony looked sharply away, the knuckles on his right hand turning white as he gripped the arm of the sofa.
Right on cue, Ducky interjected, "I hope you've got the water boiling hot, Jethro. It's the only way to make a perfect cup of tea. I'll have Earl Grey, if you please." And turning to Tony, he enquired, "And what can we tempt you with, Anthony?"
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They were, Mallard observed wryly, acting like two strangers in a railway carriage both equally put out by the other's presence and if the situation hadn't been so dismal he might have been tempted to recount a most amusing anecdote which took place many years earlier, when he had been a young intern back in Scotland and travelling to Inverness, but one look at Gibbs' closed features told the M.E. that now wasn't the time for such pleasantries.
Casting a practiced eye over his young charge, he watched him toy with the mug that Gibbs had thrust into his hands.
The young agent, his head hung low, seemed to be staring into the depths of his drink, searching for the mysteries of the universe; his body language conveying clearly how deeply unhappy he was.
Ducky coughed.
"So you found this place without difficulty, Jethro."
Gibbs met his gaze, unblinking. "Just as you said, Ducky; follow the highway, keep the mountains ahead of me all the way and I'd hit the town."
"I'm sorry you aren't seeing this place in the best of circumstances - the rain makes it all but impossible to see the glorious view I normally have, but no doubt in the next week the two of you will have plenty of opportunities to see why I chose this particular cabin as my escape to the country."
As Tony's desperate gaze fell on him, silently pleading for an escape route, Mallard had a brief moment of disquiet when he began to consider that this might not be the most prudent of arrangements, but stifling the doubt, he turned a reassuring smile on the younger man.
"I'll be phoning every day for a status report on your health and I expect to hear that you are following my orders to the letter, dear boy. Now, before I leave I'd like to do one last check, so if you would allow me to show you to your room..."
Showing no inclination to do as he'd been asked, Tony sat unresponsive. When Gibbs looked ready to intervene, a gentle shake of the M.E.'s head had the former marine's inclination to ream the indifferent attitude of his senior field agent brought under check. Instead, he stood up and made his way to the deck, leaving Ducky and the patient alone.
"Anthony, do you require my assistance?"
Eyes full of unhappiness met his own steadfast gaze, and Tony whispered, "I want to go back with you." He sounded like a lost, little boy and the elderly man had to steel his own resolve.
"This is for your own good, Anthony, believe me. You and Jethro are going to spend what you young ones refer to as 'quality time' together."
The irreverent snort that followed told the M.E. exactly what the younger man thought of that pronouncement, but Ducky would not be dissuaded from the course of action he had planned so carefully, and with an insistent tug on Tony's arm, he had the patient up and moving without further resistance.
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At his own insistence, Tony took care of his own dressing after his check-up, allowing Ducky to join Gibbs on the deck.
Looking out over the large lake, he gave a quiet sigh of satisfaction.
The grey columns of rain had softened to a fine drizzle, spreading a distant haze over the water and overhead, a group of birds winged, undecided whether to make a landing or not.
"This view never fails to raise my spirits, even in this sort of weather. I wish I could stay and keep you company."
Gibbs raised an eyebrow in full mocking mode.
"You're well out of it, Ducky. I doubt you'll want to be anywhere near when the fireworks go off."
"Are you so sure it will come to that?"
Gibbs gave him a solid stare, and sighing heavily, the medical man warned gently, "Now, now, Jethro. The poor boy doesn't need any more excitement in his life; he's supposed to be here to recuperate."
"Not going to get in the way of that as long as he does as he's told."
"Hmmmm." The medical practitioner looked suitably dubious. "I expect to find that young man in a better state than I'm leaving him. That means no bruises."
"Can't promise that."
"He's still sick."
"That wasn't my doing."
It was the M.E.'s turn to stare pointedly until Gibbs nodded his head resignedly.
Watching a lone bird wading in the reeds, he asked softly, "So how is he?"
Shrugging lightly, the M.E. answered carefully, "He assured me that he's fine, but I'm not sure I trust that assessment."
Snorting disdainfully, Gibbs scoffed, "Hell, Ducky I only trust him as far as I can see him!"
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Entering the main room in time to hear Gibbs' last cutting statement, a look of unutterable misery rippled over Tony's gaunt features. His whole body seemed to shrink into itself and he was forced to put his hand out to grab onto the wall so unsettled was he. And as Gibbs' assessment impacted his exhausted mind, he closed his eyes and willed himself to keep a grip, doing what he had become master of - banishing his weakness beneath a stiff mask of concealment, which over the years he'd learned to perfect.
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"If you would be so kind as to lock up and do all the necessaries when you leave, Jethro, I would greatly appreciate it."
Dr. Mallard stood, making his farewells, casting a concerned eye over the supine figure who seemed to have given up trying to persuade the doctor to let him return to the city. Ducky admitted to himself that he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.
"Goodbye, Anthony. Please ensure you take all your medication. It's there to do an important job and you'll cope all the better if you allow it to assist you."
And as Gibbs walked him to his vehicle, Mallard continued to offer encouragement and advice on the care and nurturing of one delicate NCIS agent until the very last moment when he drove away.
That Gibbs couldn't decide whether to ignore or rip into his senior field agent hadn't gone down too well with the M.E., but as Gibbs pointed out so succinctly, Ducky wasn't the one doing the babysitting.
Returning to the cabin, Gibbs found Tony still lying on the sofa looking like he was about to face a firing squad. The ex gunny grimaced - he should be so lucky.
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He jerked at the proximity of the man he hadn't realised was there until a hand grazed his shoulder. Tony stared at the two tablets held almost under his nose in the open palm of Gibbs' hand, willing his pounding heart to slow down.
"Ducky's list indicates you need to take these meds now."
Automatically, without meeting the older man's gaze, Tony mumbled, "I'm fine."
Holding onto his patience with difficulty, Gibbs leaned in close, looming over the reclining man.
"Let's get one thing straight, DiNozzo. I give you your meds then you take them. End of story."
Green eyes flickered up making uncomfortable contact with ice blue eyes before skittering away. Begrudgingly, Tony accepted the tablets, dry swallowing them before chasing them down with the glass of water which accompanied them.
Then without any further conversation, he pushed himself up stiffly and padded barefoot to his bedroom, making sure he closed his door to the outside world in general and to one clearly pissed-off team leader in particular.
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The nights had always been the worst and since the episode in Philly, it had become a nightly occurrence for him to wake from the same nightmare replay, having to watch his former partner, Jimmy, being gunned down, helpless to do a thing. And no matter that the same scenario was played out in an endless loop night after nightmarish night, Tony found himself irretrievably trying to stop the inevitable until at the most terrifying moment he would jerk himself awake, still able to feel his hands covered in blood.
Now, lying in sweat soaked sheets, his heart hammered in his ears, drowning out the night sounds which he had fallen asleep to. Turning his head, he reached to switch on the small bedside lamp and raising his left hand, his watch showed it was almost four fifteen a.m. He sighed knowing there would be no more sleep for him.
Preparing himself for the pain he knew would strike, he pushed himself up, holding his side as if it might ease the stabbing pain. Blowing out through pursed lips, he sat on the edge of the bed, willing the sharp spikes to subside and allow him to concentrate on moving his stiffened muscles. On bare feet, he limped across the room like a man twice his age, opened the door and moved to the open plan kitchen. If he'd known where the alcohol was, he would have gone for that, but right now he had no energy for reaching up to open cupboard after cupboard, so made do with water. Then, before he knew what reason had prompted him, he was limping out the main door, and walking across the short, scratchy grass to stand at the edge of the black lake.
The stillness of the waters under the silent dark sky soothed his aching soul, and he welcomed the chill breeze that blew, cooling his burning body. And as his eyes searched the hushed shadows of the night, he felt drawn to the high peaks still in silhouette and slowly, he felt the overwhelming burden of his guilt weigh just that little lighter. He closed his tired eyes, willing that he be left alone by his bitter memories.
Breathing in the autumn air, he exhaled, surprised to see the wisp of his own breath. It really must be cold.
As the minutes ticked by, he gradually began to see more outlines revealed as if reluctantly by the shadows, and a slight greyness to the horizon heralded the start of a new day about to begin. He could see now that the lake was covered far out in a blurred mist. And for just a moment he wondered if he might lose himself in that mist, become something else, something that didn't hurt or bleed or feel like shit.
The rawness of Gibbs' words was still an open wound in his mind '...I trust him only as far as I can see him.' And Tony was in no fit state to deal with that shocking admission now, if ever. He knew Gibbs was beyond furious with him for failing to inform him of the situation that had led him to go off on his own, knew he expected him to talk about the whole sorry mess of Philly, but he had absolutely no intention of doing that. He knew Gibbs would have got everything that he needed to know from the local PD; the DiNozzo version was totally unnecessary. He grimaced. He'd done what he had to do, even when it meant... His jaw stiffened in that stubborn way; his resolve firm.
It was just getting Gibbs to see it that way.
As if sensing something, he turned, half expecting the grey-haired agent to be standing there, but there was no sign of him and Tony shrugged beginning to wonder if he'd simply wanted the team leader's presence. He shook his head wryly at his foolishness. How many times had he longed for just that in the whole sorry mess of trying to take out the dealers without getting his friend implicated? He snorted at that insane idea. It had been a lost cause from the beginning; he knew that deep in his gut, but when Jimmy, his closest friend from his Academy days, had called him, desperate for help, he knew he couldn't ignore the close ties of Academy brotherhood. He'd phoned his frat buddies and cancelled with apologies and a vague promise to join them the next time they had such a get-together. And then he'd gone to help a friend. A friend who was now dead. But it had to mean something that Jimmy's reputation was still as solid as ever, especially with his widow and young son. That surely had to mean something even if his own reputation was shot to pieces.
He sighed miserably as he scrutinized the dark shadows ahead of him, but there was nothing other than the faint outline of pine trees, the tips swaying ever so slightly in the cool breeze. Putting it down to his fevered imagination, he shook his head and returned to the cabin and his twisted bed sheets, to spend the remainder of the early hours of the morning reliving his past when Jimmy was alive and well and no troubles haunted him.
Much later, when he heard Gibbs in the kitchen, he chose to remain in his room, having no inclination to spend breakfast time with someone who clearly felt his presence a burden.
Unfortunately for him, Gibbs had other ideas.
Without so much as a knock, his bedroom door was thrown open and the grey-haired agent's voice rang out,
"Get your butt out here, DiNozzo; breakfast is on the table."
About to decline such an abrasive invitation in no uncertain terms, Gibbs' next words had the younger man swallowing back his reply.
"It's either that or I phone Ducky, who can easily arrange a visit to the local hospital for you to be hooked to an I.V. Your choice."
Your choice? Hah! Fat chance of that anytime this century. With Gibbs there was never a choice Tony thought sullenly. You did what he wanted or...or nothing. You were out. Which was why he had no other option...
Half slumped on the bed, Tony wondered what would happen if he did what he wanted; if he simply dressed, got in Gibbs' truck and left. The idea intrigued him in an insane sort of way and he found himself thinking up suitable scenarios for his escape until the sound of plates being banged down onto the table in the kitchen area broke into his reverie. It was Gibbs' subtle way of telling him he'd better hurry orelse...
At least there was no aroma of frying bacon and eggs for which Tony felt grateful; he was pretty sure that if he set eyes on such food he would promptly throw up, so it was with profound relief that he found toast with honey and some fresh orange juice waiting for him.
Lowering himself carefully onto the seat opposite Gibbs, he proceeded to keep his eyes fixed firmly on the food as he slowly proceeded to eat. Even as his stomach rumbled in hunger, his throat began to tighten in protest at what he was eating. His dilemma, however, must have been obvious to Gibbs because, surprisingly to Tony, no complaint was made about the slow pace of his consumption. But he couldn't help following the mug of freshly percolated coffee that had just been filled, his eyes full of lust.
Seeing that look, Gibbs put his mug down on the table.
"It's not on the 'to do' list."
Tony frowned, meeting Gibbs' dry stare. "List?"
"Ducky's list of what you can eat, drink and do."
And reaching over, he nudged a mug toward Tony, aware that it had earlier been dismissed with disgust.
"I suppose," stated Tony grimly, his jaw tightening, "that if there's a 'to do' list, I should expect a 'not to do' list as well?"
Examining him over the top of his mug, Gibbs answered, "You know Ducky and it's longer than the first."
Seething, Tony snapped, "So you like doing guard duty?"
Blue eyes seem to rake his skin and Tony worked hard at remaining still.
"I'd say it's more child minding."
Hands clenched tightly, Tony barely held on to his temper.
"Down it, the meds too." It was not a request.
Eyes lowered, Tony noticed the two white pills resting close to the mug.
Seeing the hesitation, Gibbs clamped down on it. "You really don't want to test me on this one, DiNozzo."
Eyeing the liquid suspiciously, Tony demanded, "What is it?"
"Malted milk. It's got extra vitamins important for building you up, so Ducky says. I just hope it helps with the grey cells too, seeing as you seem particularly lacking in that area."
The dig hit its mark, bull's eye, as Tony's cheeks flamed, but he knew he had little option but to obey.
One slice of toast was, however, his limit, at which point Tony pushed away the plate ready for an argument, but it never came. Looking up, he was ready for some show of disappointment or rebuke, yet the jaded expression on Gibbs' face rocked him more than he could imagine and he felt again the heat of colour rise in his face.
Pushing back his chair, unmindful of the pain it caused, Tony's eyes flashed his ire.
"I didn't ask to come here, and by the looks of it, you weren't either. Let's just admit this was a f-cked up idea, lock up and get the hell back to DC. I can just as well recuperate in my own place and you can go find an active case that will have a hell of a better chance of being solved with you on it."
Gibbs' grey head tilted a little to one side and a trace of cynical amusement tugged at one corner of his mouth. But there wasn't a hint of humour in the blue eyes, chilly in their demeanour, which regarded Tony for a length of time that eventually had the younger man squirming.
It was the ringing of Gibbs' cell phone that broke the uneasy moment and Tony exhaled a breath he hadn't realised he was holding.
As usual the older man spoke very little on the phone and only just before he snapped the phone shut did he say crisply, "He's doing fine, Ziva. Oh and tell Abby if she phones me one more time before dinner, I'll have more than words to say to her when I get back."
Trying not to wince at the clear threat and even more at the fact that it had been for Abby, Tony turned to retreat to his own room. If Gibbs was getting short with Abby, things certainly didn't bode well for him.
The solid presence of Gibbs at his back had the younger agent hesitating at his doorway, turning to face his boss, a false smile plastered on his face.
"If you're so sure that this is a f-cked up idea, then what the hell do you call going to Philly?" The silence that followed was all too telling, but still Gibbs wasn't finished with his withering questioning. "And you think cases get cleared up when I'm on them?...Great intuition you've got there, DiNozzo."
Tony was well aware that no commendation was being given him; the scathing tone if nothing else told him all he needed to know on that score and his eyes dropped away as he turned, intending to continue on into his room.
The hand on his arm, spinning him around to face the burning glare of his team leader, wasn't what Tony wanted right now and nor were the words thrown into his face.
"So what the hell happened to that intuition that made you go running off to Philly without backup? What the hell made you think you were so invincible you could take down a whole crime syndicate on your own?"
As icy blue eyes burned into him, the autocratic manner had only one effect on Tony and that was to confront the older man as he found the courage to stand up to Gibbs. And drawing a deep, torn breath, he snapped, "A friend asked for my help, okay? A friend, Gibbs. Can you understand that particular concept?"
Gibbs stilled, fighting the desire to reach out and shake some sense into the obstinate agent.
Fighting to hide his brittle vulnerability behind an inscrutable mask, still Tony trembled with the force of emotion that coursed through him. He backed away, suddenly spine chillingly aware that tangling with Gibbs was highly detrimental to his health at any time, but now particularly so. With fists clenched tight at his sides - the searing memory of hearing the man he admired above all others saying that he didn't trust him - he gave the older man a cool stare and turned away, taking juvenile satisfaction in closing the bedroom door in the older man's face.
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Part 5 to follow