One Less - Part 19

by joykatleen

Tony spent a restless night aboard the Roosevelt, remembering all the things he hated about being afloat. The raging storm rocked the big ship in her moorings, throwing up a constant metal-on-metal clanging from her anchor lines. Every joint in the thousand-foot-long aircraft carrier creaked and groaned as she rode the wake. Even deep inside her hull, Tony was kept awake by the noise and the uneven motion.

Fredrick was already asleep and snoring slightly when Tony returned from talking with Holbrook. He slept like the dead all night. Every time Tony rolled over and peered down from the upper rack, he saw Fredrick lying on his left side facing the back of the compartment, feet pressed against one end of the space, his arms over his head and not quite touching the other. He'd lived here, in this room, for almost 10 years, and was obviously in his comfort zone despite the presence of a stranger. DiNozzo was almost sorry it was all about to end for him. Of course, if he was involved in this thing, he deserved to lose his career and he'd be lucky if he managed to stay out of prison.

DiNozzo used more than his share of hot water in the junior officers' showers the next morning, trying to wake up. He had to get moving on this thing, or he was going to end up afloat again, for real. As he leaned his head against the shower wall and let the water pour down his back, DiNozzo tried to come up with something.

"Hey DiNardo, you sleep alright?" came a voice through the steam. DiNozzo opened his eyes and saw Fredrick entering the shower.

"Like a baby," DiNozzo lied. He stood upright and stuck his face under the spray. The water had a slightly metallic taste. The result of too much time in holding tanks, DiNozzo knew.

"You were up awfully late," Fredrick said. He adjusted the taps on the shower one down from Tony.

"Looking for some action," DiNozzo said.

"Not much of that around here after dark," Fredrick said. DiNozzo searched for something to say about that.

"So I noticed," he said after a second. He poured some shampoo into his hand and soaped up his hair. He had a thought. "I figured there'd at least be a poker game somewhere."

"Not while we're in port," Frederick said. "We usually let it slide when we're at sea, if the stakes aren't too high, but there's too many eyes on us here."

"Too bad." Tony rinsed his head. Beside him, Fredrick was already almost done, doing proud the tradition of a Navy shower.

"You got anything planned for today?" DiNozzo asked.

"Paperwork, some cases to file. I've got a meet with JAG this afternoon. You?"

"More files to review." Tony finished up, intending to be ready to head for breakfast with Fredrick.

"You haven't found what you're looking for yet?" Fredrick asked, and spun the faucet off.

"Not looking for anything," Tony said. Fredrick huffed.

"Right," he said. Fredrick didn't seem upset, merely disbelieving. He grabbed his towel and wrapped it around his hips. Tony shut off his own water and followed the agent afloat into the locker room. They dressed in silence.

"So what do you think I'm looking for?" Tony asked as they headed for the mess. Fredrick shook his head.

"Something to cause me grief. I think that bastard Gibbs has got a hard-on for me because I didn't file the missing report on Ferrara on Sunday. Funny, I don't remember seeing his name anywhere in my chain of command. He wasn't here, and hindsight is always perfect. Like the man's never made a mistake." Fredrick's tone was tight. He was annoyed, but keeping it under control as they moved through the passageways.

"So why didn't you?" DiNozzo asked, with what he hoped was a tone of off-hand curiosity. "File the report," DiNozzo continued when Fredrick looked confused.

Fredrick sighed. "I don't know. I've been asking myself that since he turned up dead." They joined the line for trays.

They held off on further conversation until they had gathered their food and were seated across from each other at one end of a long table. The mess was busy, but not crowded. Breakfast time was more casual than the other meals on ship: with night watches ending and day ones beginning at varied times, people came and went steadily through the four-hour offering. Lunch, dinner, and third shift meal stayed out only two hours each. Even so, there was a buzzing of dozens of conversations bouncing off the metal walls, making the big room sound a lot like a huge cocktail party. No one's voice particularly stood out, and you could almost guarantee that no one would notice what you were saying, as long as you kept your voice down and chose your words carefully.

"He wasn't happy, you know," Fredrick said as he forked a piece of sausage into his mouth.

"No?" Tony said. He was ready to follow this wherever it went.

"He fought pretty hard to come back after his accident, and for awhile it was good. But lately, I think he'd been regretting it." Fredrick stopped, considered for a second, then dug into his scrambled eggs.

"You knew him?" DiNozzo asked. That wasn't the impression they'd gotten.

"Not really. It was just, word around, you know? Capt. McNally only brought him into the executive office because the Navy wasn't going to let him back otherwise and the Captain had history with the family. Scuttlebutt had it that the kid was getting tired of being a secretary. When he didn't come back from liberty, I figured he just walked away."

Tony took another bite. "Anything more than scuttlebutt to back that up?" When Ferrara looked at him strangely, Tony hastily added: "If Gibbs or someone manages to get an investigation launched, they're going to ask."

"When I talked to the brother on Sunday, it seemed like he was hiding something. With what I'd heard about the kid, and knowing he wasn't technically on duty… I don't know. Maybe Gibbs is right. Maybe I should have filed the report sooner."

"So what was the brother hiding?" Tony asked.

"I can guess, but I haven't had a chance to interview him again. Gibbs took over the investigation, and the players are off limits." Fredrick stabbed at a sausage with a little more than necessary force.

"Sounds like Gibbs doesn't have any real reason to complain," Tony said. "I mean, it's your ship, your people. You've been here a long time. You knew the victim by reputation, and you didn't think it warranted a missing person's report so soon."

"Exactly," Fredrick said, but he didn't sound too confident. "I've been on this damn carrier almost 10 years. And now I've got the Skipper pissed at me over some…" he stopped.

"What?" Tony asked. Fredrick looked around, making sure no one was paying them particular attention. He leaned in and spoke softly.

"You know the word, 'ricchione'?"

Tony choked on his eggs, barely managing to get a hand up to catch the bite he'd been chewing. He turned it into a laugh and popped the food back into his mouth.

"Yeah, I know it. You sure?" The word was Italian, a derogatory term for a homosexual. That answers that, DiNozzo thought.

"Yeah."

"Wow. And the Captain kept him in the Navy? He must not have known."

"I'm sure he didn't," Fredrick said.

"So how'd you find out?" DiNozzo asked. Here it was.

"Word around. I did a little checking. It wasn't hard to confirm, once you know."

"You going to tell Gibbs?" Tony asked.

"Why would I?" Fredrick asked.

"Might make a difference in the direction of his investigation if he knew," Tony suggested.

"It might. But if he's such a hotshot, he'll figure it out," Fredrick said. "It's not like he's asking me what I know." He used a piece of toast to clean up his plate.

Tony ate the last of his eggs as he considered his next move. What had Gibbs said, aggressively straight, moderately homophobic, slightly offended at the idea of gays serving in the military?

"The Navy's probably better off without him anyway," Tony said. Fredrick glanced up at him and blinked in surprise. It obviously wasn't what Fredrick had expected him to say.

"I mean, there's a reason policy says they can't be in the service, right?" he backpedaled just a little. He didn't know if Fredrick's startled look had been because Tony had hit the target or was so far off mark as to be way out in left field.

"I guess," Fredrick said. "But despite… that… he wasn't a bad kid, really. A little messed up, making bad choices, obviously. Probably could have used some time away. I really thought he just decided he'd had enough."

Fredrick shook his head, then stood and gathered his tray. "I'm going in. You coming?"

"Yup." Tony moved to follow.

Gibbs's first call was to NCIS's liaison at the Judge Advocate General's office next door. JAG was where the Navy's lawyers did their business: protecting Navy interests against outside legal challenges, and acting as both prosecution and defense when active-duty members of the Navy and Marine Corps ran afoul of the law. Every case that NCIS prepared was run past the liaison officer and checked for water-tightness before a decision on prosecution was made. The current liaison was Will Taylor, one of the few lawyers Gibbs didn't dismiss on spec. The man had been a Marine in Gibbs' company during the early 80s. When the Marine Headquarters in Beirut was bombed in 1983 – killing 220 Marines and 21 others in a single attack – Taylor had had enough. He decided not to reup when his enlistment ended the next year. Gibbs hadn't heard from him again until he'd shown up at the Navy Yard a few years ago, law degree in hand, a Naval reservist who'd taken a full-time civilian job with JAG. They weren't exactly friends, but Gibbs knew he could trust Taylor. Gibbs asked him to pull O'Sullivan's case file and put together a legal opinion on why it had gone down the way it did.

Next he called in a favor at JAG itself. The guy there wasn't happy that Gibbs wanted him to see about potentially overturning a closed case, but after Gibbs told him they'd be even after this – if he found something – he said he'd see what he could do.

Gibbs' third call was to an old friend. They made small talk, exchanged the obligatory insults, then got to the point of the call. Gibbs explained the situation, then asked the friend if he could help. Sure he could. He'd make some calls, do some checking, see what he could confirm. There were a couple of ways he could make it work, one best option and a couple of backups. He'd make the arrangements and call back within the hour.

Will Taylor appeared in the squad room 20 minutes after Gibbs called him. After introducing Acosta, Gibbs asked him what he'd found.

"It doesn't look like it was supposed to be anything big. The case agent recommended JAG treat it as a simple fight. No prosecution, penalty to be determined at Captain's Mast."

"So what happened?" Gibbs asked.

"The Abu Ghraib scandal changed things for all of us," Taylor said. He leaned back against McGee's empty desk. "When the accused were returned to their home bases, different divisions of JAG were handling the cases, making conflicting decisions on who to prosecute and what to charge. Some of the bit players were getting felony charges and BCD's. Some people who should have gone down hard were never even looked at. SecDef was taking a lot of heat, so he put out a standing order to all military justice units late in 2003: Follow the letter of the UCMJ in all prosecution decisions until further notice. It caught a lot of people who might have otherwise skated. For better or for worse.

"Things eventually balanced out, and the new guy rescinded the order, but it was left to individual commands to decide where to go from there. Some backed way off, some stayed the course. Most prosecute according to the spirit of the law with sole discretion to the Officer in Charge. Norfolk is one of those still following the letter of the law in virtually every case."

"And the letter of the law says battery leading to serious injury, intentional or not, gets felony charges," Gibbs summed up.

"Yup."

"Why didn't I hear about the policy change?" Gibbs asked.

"Easy, Gibbs," Taylor said with a laugh. "Everyone you send to JAG for prosecution is guilty as sin with the evidence to back it up. You don't send them borderline cases where they have to decide whether or not to prosecute. If there's any discretion exercised, it gets done at your level."

Gibbs nodded, conceding the point. "So who's going to complain if he gets an appeal, or a sentence reduction?"

"Probably no one. Maybe the victim's family, but likely not. Case file says they declined the standard invitation to speak at sentencing. They believed it was an accident."

"What about at the Norfolk office?"

"First you're going to have to find someone willing to take a second look at a closed case," Taylor said.

"Done," Gibbs said. Taylor looked at him curiously, then huffed a small laugh.

"Of course it is. I suppose as long as the case wasn't anyone's baby, they're not going to object too much. A win is a win. I wouldn't suggest trying to challenge it on grounds of incompetent counsel, and do your best to avoid getting anyone's back up. In other words, send a diplomat, don't do it yourself."

Gibbs gave him a sarcastic smile, and Taylor grinned.

"Seriously, your best bet is probably to seek a judicial intervention on compassionate grounds. If you can get the victim's family to speak on his behalf, you could probably pull off an early discharge if nothing else."

"Alright. Thanks."

"Anytime," Taylor said and went back to his own office.

"So what now?" Acosta asked when he was gone.

Gibbs thought about it. "Does O'Sullivan trust you?" he asked.

Acosta shrugged. "I suppose. I don't know, really."

"Have you given him any reason not to trust you?" Gibbs said, and watched Acosta as he thought of his answer.

"No," the Marine said after several seconds. Gibbs wasn't sure if Acosta's hesitation had been because he was making something up or just thinking his answer through, so he asked the question another way.

"You treat him alright?"

Acosta cocked his head and looked at Gibbs curiously.

"I treat him fair. Show him respect, give him the privileges he earns. Cut him slack where I can." Acosta gave a half smile. "Just like you taught me. Why?"

"Can you convince him to trust me?" Gibbs asked.

"I can try. But again, why?"

"This case is dragging out too long. I need him to give me what I want now and trust that I'll do what I can for him later."

Acosta thought about that, then shook his head.

"I don't know, Gunny. He doesn't have much left to lose, and he probably sees this as his one shot at bargaining for something better. He's not likely to give it up without a guarantee." Acosta paused. "But I'll see what I can do."

Gibbs ushered Acosta into interrogation ahead of him. O'Sullivan had returned to his writing. When the door opened, he glanced up, saw who it was, and in one smooth move put his pen down, stood at attention, and snapped off a salute.

"At ease, Marine," Acosta said and before O'Sullivan could get to parade rest, followed it up with: "Have a seat." O'Sullivan sat, folded his hands in front of himself and watched attentively as Gibbs took the chair across from him and Acosta pulled a third chair up to the end of the table. Gibbs was impressed with the difference in O'Sullivan's responses between when Gibbs had entered the first time and when Acosta entered now. O'Sullivan clearly knew who had the power to make his life better and who didn't.

"Your daughter. How's she doing?" Gibbs asked. O'Sullivan glanced at Acosta, then back at Gibbs.

"Better than the doctors expected, sir. She's a fighter," O'Sullivan said. Gibbs decided not to comment on his return to the honorific. It was the required address for prisoners when speaking to civilians and anyone in authority over them, and O'Sullivan would have no way of knowing that Acosta had earlier heard Gibbs release him from the requirement.

"She's at CHOC?" Gibbs said.

"Yes, sir." If O'Sullivan was surprised Gibbs knew the acronym by which Children's Hospital Orange County was known nationwide, he didn't show it.

"Good hospital," Gibbs said.

"Yes sir," O'Sullivan said again.

"Why's she there?" Gibbs asked, then on seeing O'Sullivan's confusion, elaborated: "Why not Lejeune, or here at National?"

"CHOC's near my parents' house, so they can be with her."

"Makes sense," Gibbs said, like he didn't know that already. "What's going to happen to her once you're discharged?"

Again, the glance at Acosta first. "I've got a plan," he said.

"Mind sharing?"

"I'd rather not. I can't see how that's any of the Navy's business."

Gibbs nodded. "Fair enough. The way I see it, there's only a couple of possibilities anyway: You find a job with benefits, which isn't likely to happen. Not a lot of call for a small arms specialist with a felony conviction. Or, you sign her up for welfare medicine, let the state decide what treatment she gets and where. But I hear they're kind of strapped for cash right now, so they're not likely to offer her anything more than the minimum."

Gibbs paused for a second, watching O'Sullivan across the table. The young Marine was stone-faced.

"I suppose you could give her up for adoption, let some rich family with great insurance raise her." That got a reaction. O'Sullivan's jaw clenched and his knuckles turned white. But he didn't speak. Gibbs continued.

"Maybe your parents can adopt her. They still work. If they're her legal parents, she can get on their health plan. Of course, they won't be working for many more years. And even then, you'd have to give up all parental rights, meaning you'd have no further legal say in her future."

"Is there a point to this, Sir?" O'Sullivan interrupted.

"Or, there's another option," Gibbs continued without answering him. "You can tell me everything I want to know right now, answer my questions truthfully and hold nothing back, and I'll see to it that your daughter gets all the care she needs for as long as she needs it, at no cost to you."

At the end of the table, Acosta's eyes widened. Across from Gibbs, O'Sullivan's face showed a rapidly shifting range of emotion: confusion, suspicion, cautious hope. There were several moments of silence before O'Sullivan finally spoke.

"How can you do that?" he asked softly.

"I called in a favor," Gibbs said. "You give me what I want and Chloe will get the treatment she needs to reach her full potential."

Another long pause. "You'd do that? For a simple assault that's already more than three years gone?"

"And for all the others," Gibbs said.

"I don't know anything about the others," O'Sullivan said. "I mean, I only know what I've heard, I don't know anything first hand."

"I think you know enough. But if you really don't, it's my loss."

Gibbs could see O'Sullivan really wanted to believe. The young Marine searched Gibbs' face. He looked at Acosta. He looked down at his hands. He squeezed the knuckles of each hand with the other, then looked up sharply.

"What if I can't give you what you want? If I tell you everything I know and it's not enough? How do I know you're not making this all up, just to get me to talk?"

"Tadhg," Acosta said quietly. He pronounced it like 'tiger' without the 'er' and Gibbs filed that away for future reference. O'Sullivan turned to look at Acosta. Gibbs could see the fear of hope in O'Sullivan's eyes.

"I know him. You can trust him. His word is good. If he says it, he'll do it."

Silence filled the small room. Gibbs let it build.

"Why?" O'Sullivan asked finally. He looked back at Gibbs, and continued. "I'm government property. Surplus government property. You've got all the power. You could force me to talk and give me nothing in return. So why are doing this for me? For my little girl? You don't even know us."

Gibbs considered his answer. He knew exactly where the truth lay: Like O'Sullivan's daughter, his own little girl had been the victim of something that had nothing to do with her. Kelly had been killed because her mother wanted to do the right thing, to fulfill her duty as a citizen and the wife of a United States Marine. Shannon had been trying to set a good example for their daughter, and it had cost both their lives. Gibbs hadn't been there to save them. He knew the pain O'Sullivan was feeling. He'd felt it himself, day in and day out for 18 years. He knew the root of his soft spot for kids was that he had this secret, wild hope that maybe by helping someone else's child, he could ease the pain of losing his own.

But as much as Gibbs knew the truth of that, he also knew he would never share it. That truth was his alone.

"I have my reasons. You gonna make the deal, or not? I need to get moving on this."

O'Sullivan stared at him as if trying to decide whether or not to trust him. With one more glance at Acosta – which was met with a small nod – he agreed.

to be continued...