When Gibbs decided to stay in Alaska in the show, I knew there was no way that his friends and colleagues would just let him become a hermit. So I decided that it would be up to one of them to do something about it. And that's what this story is about.

A disclaimer - I knew nothing about Alaska or salmon fishing (or ice fishing) or snowmobiles, so I read about these types of things, did some quick research, and even watched a video of a man building his own outdoors hot shower. If there is anything glaringly wrong, you can let me know!

Enjoy!

Alone, Together

CHAPTER 1

November - December 2022

It was dark and snowing. And it was freezing, the kind of deep, bone-chilling cold that permeates several layers of arctic-grade clothing, seeps into your core, and renders hand warmers just about useless.

Tony was bundled up against the elements, but as soon as he stepped outside the airport terminal a cold blast of wind hit him like a wall. "Welcome to Alaska," he muttered to himself. It was a far cry from sunny Italy, where he'd been working on the west coast of Tuscany for the past six years, that was for sure. However, he was on a mission, and was determined that it would be a success.

Shortly before getting off the plane, he had checked the time on his Omega Seamaster Planet Ocean (with its rubber strap and cold-resiliency down to minus 67 degrees) and it was either five in the AM, or it got dark mighty early in this neck of the woods. Despite wearing a $5000 watch, he'd long since lost track of time, what with the prolonged flight and several plane changes. Plus, if he remembered correctly, there just might have been an overnight stopover. Although it was possible he was imagining that.

The next leg of his journey was by bus, one of his least favorite modes of transportation. There was only a handful of passengers, so there were plenty of seats available. Tony sat up front where he could benefit from the blast of hot air emanating from a space heater keeping the driver comfortable. He must have dozed, because next thing he knew, he opened his eyes to find the bus stationary. They were parked outside a solitary building that was the only thing alight in the inky black landscape. Its neon sign proclaimed that it was "The Crema de la Crop Café."

It was warm inside the café, and delicious aromas were emanating from the kitchen at the back. Dropping his two bags next to an empty table, Tony removed his coat and down vest, and took a seat. He was served piping hot, strong coffee right away by a server, a woman in her forties with spiky blond hair and a twinkle in her eye.

Pointing to the menu, she said, "Reindeer steak is good. Reindeer sausage is made locally. There's reindeer and leek pie…"

"And the salmon omelet?" Tony asked.

She looked him up and down and replied with a smile, "Not big on meat on the hoof? The salmon is always good."

After placing his order, Tony looked around. There were eight customers scattered around the restaurant among the twenty or so tables. Looked like most of them were enjoying some kind of steak, maybe venison, Tony thought. Or reindeer. It appeared to be dinnertime, so the 8 on the clock meant it was night, after all. The diners looked like lumberjacks, and he wondered if all the men in the state had a beard and dressed in red-and-black plaid shirts and jackets.

Tony rubbed his own beard. It was a few weeks old, past the awkward stage, and dark compared to his light brown hair. His hair was long, longer than he'd ever worn it. He usually combed it back neatly, but he had forgotten to bring his hair gel, which was why it was falling over his forehead, almost in his eyes. Even though the server had given him an appreciative glance, Tony knew he had to get a shave and haircut sometime soon.

His dinner came quickly, and Tony dug in. The food was delicious, and he didn't think it was just because he was famished.

The server, who introduced herself as Celeste, came by to check that his meal was all right. "Really good," Tony said, meaning it. "Are you the chef?"

Celeste replied, "No honey, just the owner," and then asked Tony where he was from and where he was going. When Tony told her where he was headed, she said, "I know it. That's Bob Granger's place. He moved to Florida a couple of years ago so he rents it out. After living right here in Alaska his entire life, suddenly says he can't tolerate the cold." Celeste gave a delicate sniff, as if Bob Granger had been corrupted by the easy life. "I'll make a call for you, honey. Haven's cab is the only one for a hundred miles around. And he's your best chance to get out to Quintuk in this weather. Snow's only going to get worse before it stops."

Looking out the window, Tony could see that the snow was coming down hard. Anxious to get to his destination, he was happy to take whatever mode of transportation would get him there as quickly as possible. By the time he finished eating and paid, Celeste told him his ride was there.

As soon as Tony set eyes on the taxi from the café window, he knew he was in trouble. "You gotta be kidding. It doesn't even have wheels! It's a snowmobile!" he exclaimed, to nobody in particular.

The driver, a burly, red-bearded man, entered the café, removed his goggles and a big fur hat with earflaps and dusted snow off his shoulders. He approached Tony, who was still staring through the window at the large two-person snowmobile parked outside. It had the cab company name emblazoned in a red script across the bright yellow engine cover: Cold Ass Ice Cab Co.

"You the guy that wants to get to Quintuk River?" The driver pulled a heavy mitten off his right hand and stuck it out. "Name's Haven."

"Uh…yeah…" Surely there was another way, Tony thought, as he shook the man's hand. He asked, a hint of desperation in his voice, "A truck, a snowplow? I can't ride on a …snowmobile."

"Nope, afraid not. Storm is coming in."

Tony looked outside at the snow falling in heavy flakes. "Looks like it's already here."

From somewhere behind him, one of the diners snorted.

"Well… you can stay at the hotel just down the road, but you won't be able to get through to the cabin for days," Haven said wearily, as if he'd said the same thing to previous customers more times than he could count. "And, just so you know, it's a called a snow machine."

Tony had a feeling that the hotel was a four-room affair with no bar, no hot water and a troublesome toilet, paper-thin walls and drafty hallways. No thanks. "This is really the only way?"

"Yup."

"You're sure? This isn't some jerk-the-visitor-around, ha ha, fool him, is it?"

The corner of Haven's mouth twitched. "You want to get there tonight, this is the only way." He leaned closer to Tony, and said kindly, "I've lived here all my life, and I know my way around. I have never lost a passenger yet, and, I promise you, I will get you there in one piece. Okay?"

Tony looked into Haven's eyes and his gut said to trust him. "Okay." Conceding defeat, Tony paid his bill, pulled on the clothing he'd removed upon coming into the café (a down vest, lined jacket, a balaclava he'd bought at the airport, plus a scarf and gloves), and went outside. Haven tied Tony's two bags on the back, and mounted his machine like a cowboy settling on a bull at the county rodeo. Tony straddled the snowmobile (snow machine) behind the driver, and wondered if taking what passed for a taxi in this snowy wasteland that rivaled the ice planet Hoth was the craziest thing he'd ever done.

"Put these on," Haven ordered, handing Tony a pair of goggles and a helmet. He donned his own pair of goggles, tied down his fur hat and started the machine. "What's your name?" he shouted over the noise of the engine.

"Tony," he replied, settling the goggles over his eyes.

"Well Tony, you'd better hug me tighter than a bear in mating season."

Tony wrapped his arms around the big man, and before he could say 'okay,' they were off.

They sped at a frightening pace through the dark for ten minutes before they came to a town. Haven drove his machine down a recently plowed main street lined with stores, now closed and dark. Haven pointed at a rambling three-story Victorian house with a fancy roof, a big porch and lots of lights, and shouted something to Tony. Although his words were lost in the wind and loud buzz of their vehicle, Tony figured it had to be the hotel. He saw a couple of people carrying armfuls of wood inside. Looked like everyone was hunkering down for the incoming blizzard.

Haven continued out of town, and onto an unplowed road. He followed the ruts in the deep snow made by other snowmobilers who had passed earlier, but soon veered west, cutting his own trail. They sped across the uninhabited expanse. The terrain grew rough and several times the snow machine bucked wildly, almost unseating Tony. He couldn't see anything but snow rushing towards the headlight, but he had to trust that Haven knew where he was going.

Tony had been clinging to Haven (unsure if that was the man's first or last name) for what felt like an eternity. The pervasive, aching chill made his teeth chatter, and the snow flying in his face felt like burning needles on his cheeks, despite the helmet, goggles and arctic-weight balaclava that covered most of his face. His arms were aching badly from clinging to the driver's girth, and he was getting a serious cramp in his right shoulder.

Please, Tony thought, please, just let this snowmobile ride from hell be fucking over soon, before he turned into a popsicle and fell into a snowdrift. Ducky had once told him that feeling cold was good, because in the later stages of hypothermia you felt so warm you stripped naked and laid down in the snow and most likely died. Just as Tony was thinking that wouldn't be the worst way to go, he spotted a light ahead. Finally, the cabin! They had made it!

After dismounting in an ungainly manner, and removing his headgear, Tony paid the cab driver cash for delivering him safely. He took possession of his two bags and slogged his way through the snowdrifts to the cabin's porch. Leaning into the wind, he thought that even if he was met with a hostile reception, he was not getting back on that snowmobile.

Haven called to him, "You want me to wait?"

Tony replied, "Thanks, but no need." He climbed the steps to the porch steps and just as he reached the front door and pulled the balaclava off, the door opened. Tony was met with what had to be the sweetest sight he'd ever seen: Jethro Gibbs, wearing a bulky sweater, baggy jeans and heavy wool socks, his unforgettable blue eyes wide with surprise.

Tony promptly forgot the speech he'd planned, something about an impromptu reunion and wanting to see this corner of the world. He licked his chapped lips and smiled through cold-induced tears. "Hey, Boss, long time, no see."

Without warning, Gibbs reached out and pulled him into a big hug, muttering in his ear, "What the hell, DiNozzo?"

Robbed of words, all Tony could do was hug Gibbs back, take in his ever-present piney scent, and do his best not to cry with relief. He hadn't realized until that very moment how scared he'd been that Gibbs would outright reject him, and tell him he didn't want to see him, that he should take a hike.

Drawing Tony into the warmth of the cabin, Gibbs beckoned to the taxi driver. Apparently, Haven wanted to hit the trail, because he roared off after Gibbs closed the cabin door, shutting out the storm.

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