Good spirits restored by his odd encounter with Abby, Tony sprinted up the stairs, ignoring the shooting stab-like pains radiating from his knee, which was getting worse instead of better as the day progressed. Still, the pain was familiar enough to be ignored as long as his mind was occupied.
And currently it was all-too occupied with the whereabouts of one Leroy Jethro Gibbs, who was not at his desk. Not at his desk, not in autopsy, not in Abby's lab, not in the building, apparently. Nor was he answering his – Tony's – phone.
"He left for an appointment, Tony." Wadusky piped up, the lone man in the squad room at the moment.
Shit. The mysterious five o'clock appointment.
"Any idea how long he'll be?"
"Sorry, no clue. Don't even know where he is."
"Does he usually tell you where he goes?"
Rich laughed, prompting a smile from Tony. "Yeah, I guess I should've expected that answer."
"He's really taken to you, though." The agent sounded wistful. "I wish I could clone whatever vibes you're giving off. I just need to last six months."
"Six months?" He decided to ignore the kid's incorrect read on the situation.
"If you can last six months with Gibbs, you can pretty much pick your choice of the open posts. And…" Wadusky leaned towards Tony, lowering his voice, "…There's an FBI agent who has a standing offer. Any NCIS probie who lasts six months with Gibbs can join the FBI, no questions."
Just how big a bastard was Gibbs on an average day? And why would the rookies want to leave NCIS, even if they did want to scramble away from Gibbs' tender ministrations? It seemed like a pretty sweet deal: smaller agency, more autonomy, less bureaucratic bullshit, a mixture of case types. And apparently a looser dress code, he thought, watching a middle-aged agent wearing a Notre Dame sweatshirt and a backwards toupee cross to the elevator. "You don't need the stinkin' FBI. Anything new on Collins' financials?"
"Nothing out of the ordinary. He did have a will set up, any money goes to a cancer foundation. No motive there."
"Did you find anything on the shrink, or ties to the clinic for the other victims?"
"Two of the other names from your list visited the same clinic in the last year, a third if you go back two years. Five total if you go back five years. But they're mostly locals, and none of them saw the same doctors. Mostly they were just using the urgent care for the flu, an ear infection, a sprained wrist. I don't see any connection."
Damn.
"Nothing weird pops for Solas, either."
Double damn.
"His alibi was solid, too," Tony mused. "I already did a search across the victims for the list for common memberships, credit card charges, hangouts, stuff like that. But it wouldn't hurt for you to double check. Maybe your fancy NCIS machines will find something I missed."
"Fancy NCIS machines? Like computers?" Awh, Wadusky was trying to tease. A pathetic result, but nice attempt.
"You and your newfangled words." Tony smiled easily and turned to go back down to autopsy, hoping Ducky could tell him where Gibbs might be.
He stopped when he found an older, composed man watching him from halfway up the stairs that backed Gibbs' team's area. He raised an eyebrow, assuming the stare would stop now that it had been noticed.
It did not.
Altering his body language from quick and purposeful to relaxed and languid, DiNozzo wandered over to the stairs, leaning against the railing. "I know. I can't help but stare at me sometimes, too. Impressive, right?"
A spark of humor entered the pale blue eyes, but the gaze and poise of this new unknown element remained strong. A quietly forceful personality, Tony summed up quickly.
Wadusky hissed loudly from his desk. "Tony, stop."
Ah, a personage of note.
A challenge.
Tony's smile increased and his eyes narrowed slightly as he considered what tactic to take with Important Man. Important Man himself waited calmly, an antithesis to Gibbs' impatient action. Idly, DiNozzo wondered if these two got along.
He started up the stairs.
"People think I must put a lot of time into being so perfect. I mean, there's the hair, and the body, and the overall look. But really, it's just natural to me. No special secrets."
Reaching the platform Important Man stood on, Tony approached him and draped his hands over the railing casually. "Hey, did you buy your suit at Brooks Brothers? I hear they have nice stuff there."
This got a small uptick of the left side of the other man's mouth.
Wadusky put his head down on his desk, hiding ineffectively.
"I've been looking for a pair of loafers just like that! Yours don't have tassels, though. I'm trying to decide if I'm a tassel man. Hey, would it be rude if I asked to try your shoes on?"
Important Man smiled and turned, headed back up the stairs. "Come with me for a moment, Detective DiNozzo."
Tony followed. "You might've gotten your secret decoder ring out of the Cheerios box this morning, but mine got stolen by a Scottish pathologist. You are…?"
They approached a large, secure metal door, at which the other man leaned in for a retinal scan. Leading Tony inside, he offered, "This is MTAC, the main communications hub for NCIS."
"Very James Bond," Tony complimented, checking out the security features, the massive screen, the techs doing techie things scattered about the outskirts of the room. "Stadium seating! You should screen movies here when it's not busy."
"I'll take that under consideration," Important Man said, as though he actually might.
Dropping most of his affected braggart personality traits, DiNozzo looked curiously at his new acquaintance and tried a more straightforward method. He stuck his right hand out. "Detective Anthony DiNozzo, Baltimore Homicide. And you are?"
"Director Tom Morrow, NCIS." The two shook hands briefly, but firmly. A good measure of a man.
"Soooo…you don't mean deputy director? Assistant director?"
"Just straight director." Morrow sat in the first row of seats, half-watching an op take place in what looked like Istanbul.
Tony paused a second, then shrugged. The man wasn't asking him to bow and scrape, so why bother? "I guess that's a no on trying on your shoes, then?"
He got a small chuckle back. It sounded rusty. Didn't they joke around in this place at all? Some days a well-placed bit of banter or friendly razzing was all that kept him going.
The director answered, "Not right now, anyway. Who knows, one day you might be a candidate to be in my shoes."
Whoa. What? "You mean…like, you're gonna have a garage sale?" Deliberately obtuse rarely steered him wrong when he had no idea what was going on.
"You're an interesting man, detective. What is it you're looking for?"
"A serial killer, sir."
"Not what I meant, but point well taken. 'Sir' trips off your tongue more easily than I would have expected given your…flippancy."
"I never saw the point in hating authority figures for being in a position of authority. If you give them long enough, generally they'll give you a real reason for disappointment to latch on to." Tony grinned cheekily.
"So you have no problems taking orders?"
"Depends on the order. And who's giving them. That upset you? That I won't follow blindly?"
"I think you might surprise yourself on that front if you found the right situation, detective. But no, it does not upset me. On the contrary. It's refreshing to find someone who can walk the line of obedience and irreverence. Your ability to follow a command and your ability to challenge one when you feel the need to are both important tools when dealing with Gibbs. I'm impressed you managed to retain these qualities despite your current situation."
"I have a situation? Somebody forgot to tell me."
"I was referring to working under Mallace."
"Gibbs told you about Mallace?" Tony asked incredulously. Why bother? When had there even been time?
"No, he didn't."
"But you know Mallace."
"I've never met the man. I have…contacts…within your organization."
"Let me get this straight." Tony plopped down into a chair next to Morrow. "The director of a federal law enforcement agency is keeping an eye on one particular precinct of the Baltimore police department?"
"That is not entirely untrue."
"So…you're watching me?"
"No, not at all. Merely getting some information from an acquaintance from time to time. I wasn't aware of you until I started getting reports that Gibbs was actually working with a local detective. I made some inquiries about you then. My contact is impressed by you, on every front."
This was weird Big Brother is watching you, conspiracies are everywhere, the truth is out there shit.
On the massive screen in front of them, a boat blew up. Morrow grunted.
Screw this, it wasn't getting him anywhere but confused. "Look, you seem like an interesting guy and all, and I'm real interested in your footwear, but I don't have time to play right now. I've gotta catch the bad guy."
Morrow stood. "Certainly. I'll walk you down."
And the director of NCIS did just that. He graciously escorted his guest out of MTAC, and led him down the stairs.
This place was odd. Really not ordinary.
Ducky was conversing with Greene in the bullpen, and looked up to greet the arrival of Morrow and Tony together with no surprise at all. "Ah, Anthony. I'm happy to see you again so soon. To what do we owe the pleasure?"
"Looking for Gibbs. Any clue where he is?"
"Ah. Yes. Well, unfortunately I do. But it's a personal matter, I'm afraid it wouldn't be right to divulge."
"Do you know how long his meeting will last?"
"Not very, so far as I know. An hour, perhaps."
"Good, maybe he'll come back to the office."
"On any other night you'd be correct. But tonight, he may head straight home."
"I'll just go there, then." Tony would not be dissuaded. It was his damn phone, and he wanted it. The more Ducky tried to talk him out of seeing Gibbs tonight, the more he stubbornly wanted to. They were on a case. A serial killer case. As in the killer killed serially, and could add to his numbers any day now. Any minute.
"He's liable to be in a worse mood than normal, I wouldn't recommend it."
DiNozzo smiled. "Sounds like fun."
The internal elevator behind him dinged, and he had the quick warning of, "Tony!" before a be-pigtailed scientist rocketed into him from behind, arms wrapping around his stomach.
Thankfully he had good balance, and didn't smash directly into Morrow or Ducky, who both greeted the new addition as though this were normal for her.
"Hi Abby."
"You're still here!"
"It's only been twenty minutes. Where'd you think I'd be?"
"After Gibbs, of course. Isn't that why you came?"
"Don't suppose you know where he is."
"Not officially. But I could guess. Are you going over to his house?"
"Looks like. Wanna come with?"
"Can't, I've got too much evidence to process. I was just taking a caffeine break. But if you go over there, don't let him push you around, you hear?"
"Wasn't planning on it." With a sharp smile, Tony shifted Abby around to his side and steered them both towards the elevator that would take him back to the lobby, and out to his car. Over his shoulder he tossed, "Nice meeting you, director. Hope that secret spy stuff works out for you."
As the elevator doors closed, Morrow and Ducky stepped away from the young agents to the nearby window for a modicum of privacy.
"Apparently Abby's over her reservations," Morrow remarked dryly.
"Apparently." Ducky agreed with a wide smile. "Should we have tried harder to warn him off, do you think?"
"I think Gibbs is better experienced than explained. Do you think he can pull it off?"
"The young detective, you mean? I think if anyone can, he can. It's an interesting dynamic. There may yet be an explosion, but I can't say which side is more likely blow."
"Cross your fingers, doctor. He needs this to work."
"Anthony or Jethro?"
"Yes."
Tony pulled up in front of Gibbs' house and parked. Abby had delayed him longer than expected with rapid-fire information about the varying attributes of various caffeinated beverages, but he still left NCIS headquarters by 5:30. Unsure how long the mysterious meeting would last, Tony drove around until he found a greasy-looking pizza place and a liquor store.
Balancing two pies and two six packs of cold beer, he approached Gibbs' front door. Hesitation would only cause trepidation and second thoughts, so he banged on the door full force. "Gibbs! Food!" What man didn't come to that call?
Stupid question. Gibbs didn't come to any call.
He glanced around, debating if he should try the back or a window. Just to be sure the effort was necessary, he tried turning the doorknob of the front door first.
It opened.
Well, damn.
Sliding the boxes and cans onto the nearest table, Tony shifted silently, hand on his now loosened weapon, sliding through the room.
No signs of a struggle.
The place was fairly spartan, with homey touches here and there that looked like they'd been in place for a long time. Clean but not often lived-in.
The life of a cop. Or special agent.
He moved through the dining room, into the kitchen. Still no mess, no sign of a struggle. But why had the door been unlocked? A motor pool-looking car was in the drive, so he expected Gibbs had made it home from his meeting. Maybe he was just so upset from whatever it was he forgot to lock it?
Tony snorted. Fat chance. More likely the bastard was too cocky to think anyone would dare barge in.
Time for him to learn differently.
Hand still on his weapon, Tony padded up the carpeted steps, having left his shoes next to several neat sets of others on a mat by the front door. Three open doors, one closed. Ghosting into the two bedrooms and one bath that were easily accessible, he found no one. He tried the knob on the closed door but it was locked. With a slight frown, Tony placed his ear to the door.
No noise.
It smelled faintly like cotton candy, though. Strange.
Padding back down to the first floor, he heard something crash in the basement. Alert and prepared, weapon in hand, he nudged the old creaky wooden door open and slowly descended into a dim room full of lumber and unrecognizable tools.
And Gibbs.
Alone Gibbs.
Not in danger Gibbs.
Drunk Gibbs?
At least drinking Gibbs. The man was taking large swallows out of a small, dirty-looking glass.
Tony went down two more steps before he hit a squeak. Gibbs spun around, weapon steady as it pointed straight at his head. Tony felt the urge to jump into a pissing match return full force, but he made himself to calmly holster his gun and level an inquiring gaze at Gibbs' gun, still aimed.
Shrugging, DiNozzo said, "I've had worse greetings," and slowly started down the rest of the stairs.
His mind flashing through all the different tacts he could take in this conversation, his body tensed and slightly turned to make a play for his gun again – just in case – he was out of position and too slow to compensate when his knee finally gave out.
He fell down the rest of the stairs, landing in a tangled heap on a hard cement floor.
Gibbs was drunk.
He wasn't shit-faced drunk. He didn't believe in it; not only could he get a call into work at any moment, if he got truly shit-faced drunk he might not even be in top shape for tomorrow's workday.
He didn't feel a drink or too at night did him any harm, but he rarely had more, despite Ducky's fears.
However.
There were certain days he felt warranted a little more than one drink. Days he was injured, or someone on his command was. Days after they finished working on a case involving kids. Days when someone he knew, from the service or from NCIS, were killed in action. And Divorce Days.
Today was Divorce Day #3. So, he was drunk. He preferred to be drunk and grumpy in solitude, so the arrival of the damn detective annoyed him. He intended to order the man far away, was prepared to fire a warning shot if it seemed like it'd do any good. It wouldn't be the first time a gun had been fired in this basement.
But watching him fall down the stairs was just pathetic. At first Gibbs was sure it was some kind of prank, a pratfall to throw him off guard. Stupid kid was trying to get him to laugh, or at least put his gun down. No way in hell that would work.
When DiNozzo failed to bounce back up right away, he reconsidered. Put his gun on the worktable. Walked over to the crumpled body on the ground. Kicked Tony – in the side, not the knee, as he wasn't that big of a bastard.
A strained voice came from the floor. "Thank you, that was immensely helpful."
Maybe he wasn't drunk enough to deal with this. He wandered back over to his worktable and took another swallow, eyeing the still-unmoving detective.
He wished he didn't know what it felt like to have a knee give out unexpectedly, make you feel weak. The pain any bodily movement could cause in the injured, swollen joint. How hard it was to get up again, especially on your own.
Surly at these thoughts, Gibbs stalked – tried to stalk, he wasn't drunk enough to wobble, but stalking was getting hard – back to the base of the steps and braced his hand on the railing for balance, then used his left foot to detangle DiNozzo's limbs, until all four were more-or-less where you'd expect them to be. He bent down and put his own glass to the man's lips. "Open."
Eyes still closed, Tony complied and did open his mouth. He gagged a little, either from the strong liquor or the attempt to drink lying down, but managed to swallow most of it. Green eyes slowly blinked open, wary, emitting an alien intelligence Gibbs still didn't understand. Like a damn cat. Gibbs wasn't overly fond of cats for just that reason.
He mostly-stalked back to the worktable and poured himself another drink. Scowled at DiNozzo. "You leaving soon?"
"Thought I'd stick around." The voice was strong and nonchalant, though the body still hadn't moved on its own.
"Don't recall inviting you."
"Don't recall saying you could take my phone."
Gibbs started guiltily. Not because he'd taken the phone. Because he'd forgotten whose phone he had when he doused it in paint thinner. "What's the matter, too weak to get up?" He said it cruelly. He knew he did. But he wanted to be left alone, goddammit.
With a truly intimidating look on his face, Detective Anthony DiNozzo forced himself into a sitting position. Then propped himself against the wall. Then slowly pushed up against the wall until his good leg and the friendly wall were holding him mostly upright. Then he stood on his own.
Assuming the knee was truly blown, and this wasn't some elaborate ruse, Gibbs knew how painful that must have been. But other than some minor face contortions, DiNozzo gave no acknowledgement to the pain. He made not a sound. And his eyes never left Gibbs the entire time he struggled upright.
"Nah, I'm peachy. Just don't feel like leaving," he dared.
Gibbs was drunk. He reminded himself of this. He didn't get verbose, or particularly morose, when he drank. He didn't get friendly or sleepy. He just…lost a little common sense, a little of his control. Or, more accurately, his desire to use that control.
He struggled now. He had no problem being a bastard, but he didn't want to be responsible for causing permanent injury. Though he really, really wanted to punch something. Something that would hurt.
He channeled all of his anger and frustration from the going-nowhere case, the divorce proceedings, the foiled desire to be alone, and from revelations made by this very detective earlier in the day, revelations he could do nothing about, into words.
Gibbs didn't channel his energies into words very often. When he did, in a mood like this, they tended to be…mean.
"I guess you had to learn to stand up for yourself when you wanted something. Since no one wanted you around to begin with."
"That was subpar, Gibbs. You can do better." Tony angled himself further into the room, though he didn't move much from his current position. Possibly he couldn't.
"Get out." That was it. The last of his self control. If the boy didn't follow that command…
Alert, bright eyes swept the room. "Nah. I don't think so." The eyes came back to his. "I want to know why you're here."
"In my basement?"
"Yeah, in your basement. Not working on the case. Drunk off your ass, indulging yourself, not working the case."
He dared? He dared to question Gibbs' commitment to this job? Rage flashed. "I know why I'm here. This is my damn house. Why are you here? Do you need a babysitter? Do you need someone to hold your hand? Someone to help you up? Someone to tell you you're doing a good job?" Each new insult was delivered more scornfully, but DiNozzo hadn't even blinked.
Gibbs snarled. He upped his game.
"You look a little sad, DiNozzo. Does it make you sad to know that no one's going to back you up? That you're all alone, again, like you always have been, always will be? Does it make you sad to realize no one cares? You could fall off the end of the earth, and no one would notice? Poor little Tony…"
The detective didn't flinch. If anything, he got steelier. "No, I do not feel sad, Special Agent Gibbs. I feel pissed off. Pissed off that you're wasting my time in your damn basement, when we should be catching the killer. Pissed off that you're keeping information from me. When were you planning on telling me there was no useful information on Collins' laptop? That there was no clinic connection? That Abby didn't find anything in the papers we gave her?"
"Oh, right. Because you're the damn poster boy for sharing information. Were you planning on letting me into your little intrigue in the office? How long has Mallace been under investigation?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," DiNozzo said pleasantly.
"Fuck that. How long have you known Leo is Internal Affairs?"
"I couldn't possibly know that."
"How long?"
"He never told me any such thing."
"Maybe, but you knew it, guessed it, didn't you? You've been feeding him information all along, distracting Mallace from his investigation."
"Really, Gibbs, your imagination is vaster than I gave you credit for." The rapid tone change from anger to mild disinterest only pissed Gibbs off more.
"Leo warned me off of Delilla, you know. He a dirty cop? Were you just going to let me work with a dirty cop if Mallace assigned him to me?"
"I don't know that Delilla's a dirty cop. He has a good case closure rate. Really, Gibbs, you're getting a little worked up here. I'm starting to think I'm not welcome."
Gibbs nearly screamed. Quietly, menacingly, he advanced on the detective. "You are not welcome here. You are not wanted. You are not needed." No wince yet, but at least the man pulled himself taller. It was something, a kind of defense maybe. He pushed harder. "You're not even a distraction." Slowly now, punctuating every word. "You. Are. A. Waste. Of. Time."
Finally, he got it. The flinch he wanted.
Gibbs' eyes registered victory. He had won. He finally won a hand with this damn cocky kid!
Tony turned and started a slow climb up the stairs, making no noise.
Exalted, Gibbs turned and tossed back the rest of his drink. Peace!
Then he realized there had been no sound of the front door opening and closing.
Then he heard the television turn on.
Enraged, he pounded up the stairs to find DiNozzo seated on his couch, eating pizza and watching a baseball game.
So furious he was unsure what he might do, Gibbs took two steps closer.
Tony glanced at him casually. "Oh, hey, Gibbs. This tv is ancient, we should really get you a new one. Want some pizza? I got two different kinds, though I don't remember you being picky about toppings."
Gibbs advanced, hands clenched.
With a little offhand look, Tony quietly said, "I noticed your ring is gone. I guess you got divorced today. That must suck."
Rage drained, and with it, strength. Gibbs dropped onto the opposite end of the couch, staring at DiNozzo.
Tony considered him with a serious face for a moment, then crammed an entire piece of pizza in his mouth and smiled cheekily. Literally.
Gibbs laid back and crossed his arms over his eyes.
Tony sat quietly for a while, eating and watching.
Gibbs' stomach growled.
Tony put a box of pizza on his lap.
Giving in, Gibbs lowered his arms and opened the box. He took out a piece of what looked to be garbage pizza minus the olives – good choice – and took a massive bite. Glanced over at DiNozzo, whose eyes flitted away, back to the boob tube.
Shit. What had he said downstairs, exactly? And why wouldn't this kid leave?
He didn't want to have to apologize. So he did a half-assed job of it. "You're not a waste of time, Tony. You're just supremely irritating sometimes."
He expected a grin in return, maybe a comeback, a change of topic, a sharp retort. He didn't get any of those.
Instead, he got an entirely new facet of DiNozzo. Again.
Serious, mildly disapproving, intense. Tony looked straight at him again, considering. "I don't care what you think right now. Tell me when you're sober, and maybe I'll listen. After we catch the killer."
Gibbs had a bad feeling that the detective expected the explosion of anger from the basement to be the gist of what he'd hear once the case was over, rather than a repeat of the half-wit apology.
DiNozzo's face was drawn tight, and Gibbs was feeling itchy that he'd have to make real amends until he remembered the kid's knee. Abruptly, he dumped his pizza box on the coffee table and went into the kitchen, returning with a bag of frozen peas and a bag of frozen corn.
He placed them gently on DiNozzo's knee, drawing an unexpected reaction of slack-jawed surprise from the younger man. Eyes again locked, Gibbs decided to take the detective's approach to things.
He pulled out another slice and crammed most of it in his mouth.
He was still drunk enough to cross his eyes as he did so.
Delighted, Tony laughed, and the two started an impromptu eating contest, seeing who could finish their box first.
Tony won. But he had an unfair lead. That was Gibbs' story, and he was sticking to it.