Merely a few days later on a cheery and chilly Saturday, Tony and Gibbs sits on the team leader's porch. They recline in the old, hand-built rocking chairs as they drink bourbon mixed with coffee. Somehow, the bourbon takes the edge off the coffee or maybe it's the coffee taking the bite out of the bourbon. Or maybe, Tony developed Stockholm Syndrome because in the end, he might be acquiring a taste for bourbon.
Tony takes another swig as he savors the sensation of the hot liquid over his tongue. It might not be disgusting.
We aren't on call this weekend. Thank G-d.
Gibbs clutches his mug to his chest, his watchful gaze soaking up a neighbor wrestling with an inflatable Christmas decoration. It bobs and weaves as the man tries to pin it to the ground with a stake. It's a man-sized version of Rudolph complete with light-up nose. Gibbs glares at it as if the neighborhood would be better off should it blow away.
"'We'll have to outfit the fiend with our superior intelligence,'" Tony says.
"Rudolph is Hank's problem," Gibbs mutters and that's the end of it.
Tony pulls another sip of bourbon coffee, watching as Rudolph rolls onto his side. Gibbs' unfortunate neighbor tackles the Christmas decoration as he tries to wrangle it into submission. As he watches the show, Tony understands why Gibbs likes to spend the time on his porch. There is a certain solace that comes from watching others live their lives. Even though Gibbs' life might be forever on pause, he can still live through the others in the neighborhood. He can be a fixture in their lives just like he is in Tony's.
Tony still can't believe how time got away from him. It slipped past so quickly until there is only a few weeks left until the holidays now. He hasn't done his shopping yet. He hasn't even tried.
I don't have a lot of people to shop for. Gibbs, McGee, Brahe and if she's in town for the holiday, maybe I'll get Sasha a little something we'll both enjoy.
When he leans back in his rocking chair, it creaks under his weight. He and Gibbs are bundled up against the frigid air in heavy coat and gloves and hats snuggled under thick, crocheted blankets. Tony wanted to ask who would make Gibbs a blanket, but he decided against it. He didn't want to ruin the moment because it was probably some ex-wife that Tony doesn't know about.
He exhales loudly. His breath comes in a huge, white puff that rises toward the porch ceiling.
Across the street, Rudolph is now on top of Gibbs' neighbor.
"Something on your mind, Tony," Gibbs says. A statement, not a question.
Tony nods. "Yeah, boss. A lot."
Gibbs inhales sharply. Takes a longer than normal sip of his bourbon coffee. It's the closest thing that Tony will get to an actual invitation. He clutches the mug tighter as though he could leech the heat through his leather gloves.
"Why didn't Ziva plead out?" Tony asks.
Gibbs merely shrugs. "She probably thought her father could…would help her. I wish she had."
"It would've been easier on all of us." After a moment, Tony adds: "McGee isn't taking it well."
"You expect him to?"
When Gibbs looks over, there is a protective fire raging in his eyes. Of course, Tony hadn't expected Tim to take it well. The junior agent had been threatened and harassed—that's the word Tony chose to use, harassed—by a Mossad operative who was supposed to be his teammate. All while keeping up appearances that life was continuing like normal. Not many people can keep up that kind of act long term. Tony managed it once when he had to date the daughter of a weapons dealer during an undercover assignment. The stress nearly put him in the ground.
Tony takes a sip of his bourbon coffee. Today, it's going straight to his head. He feels restless and twitchy like he could take on the world as soon as he can be bothered to get up. His eyes glide across the street when Gibbs' neighbor is now trying to force Rudolph to stand again. A sudden wind blows, and the Christmas decoration flips over again.
"Go Rudolph," Tony mutters. "You show him."
Gibbs ignores him. "How are you taking it, Tony?"
And there it is again, Gibbs being all nice. He just isn't himself when he is nice. And yet, maybe that is what Tony needs right now. Maybe after the secrets and the lies and the betrayals, Tony needs kindness and compassion and humanity. All those things that Leroy Jethro Gibbs is not. Right now, Tony still feels like his world is upside down and he is trying to climb a cliff face with no safety harness. With Gibbs being nice, he might as well have a five-hundred-pound weight strapped to his back.
What he needs is a headslap. A reality check. An ass-kicking. Something to bring him back to reality.
"I'm taking it just fine," Tony lies.
When Gibbs stares at the side of his head, Tony merely watches the neighbor and Rudolph fight to the death. Tony is still rooting for Rudolph just like he did in Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. The neighbor disappears unnder Rudolph again as the inflatable nearly blows away. For some reason, the neighbor decided to inflate the thing before securing it to the ground.
Gibbs seems to be thinking if he stares long enough, he'll be able to read Tony's thoughts.
In the end, Tony relents. "It isn't fair."
Gibbs raises his eyebrows.
Jumping to his feet, Tony sends the blanket flying to the porch floor. The rocking chair creaks ominously behind him. He tosses his cup on the porch railing before swiveling back to face Gibbs. Before he can stop it, the anger bubbles up inside him. It's white hot and pure fire.
"It isn't fair!" Tony barks.
"Life isn't fair," Gibbs replies.
Over the course of his life, Tony heard that phrase more times than he can count. But this time…this time, it's different.
"No, it's not. It's not fair, Boss.." Tony paces around the porch. "Ziva got to pretend to be on our side and we risked our lives to save her. It was all a lie. Everything she did was a lie! She lied to us! She spied on us. She threatened McGee." Tony sets his jaw. Swallows hard. "She hurt McGee, boss. She tried to kill me." Instantly sobering up, he looks at Gibbs helplessly. "She tried to kill me, Boss. As if the rest of it wasn't enough, she wanted me dead."
Those words make Gibbs flinch.
"And then what? She gets to drag us through everything again with a trial?" Tony sets his jaw, shaking his head. "It isn't fair!"
Licking his lips, Tony huddles into himself. He doesn't know if it's from the cold or the reality of the situation suddenly hitting him. He can't even bring himself to remind Gibbs of the axe that Ziva still holds over Tim's neck: that she could pull his freedom whenever she felt inclined to. As if everything they went through was nothing more than a game.
"Give it time," Gibbs offers.
Tony narrows his eyes. "'After all, what is time? A mere tyranny.'"
If there is a suitable response, Gibbs doesn't seem to know. They've already hashed everything out a dozen times before. Gibbs has already said everything he needed to. Yes, Fornell knows about Ziva's play to have Tim arrested if she feels like it. No, Fornell isn't going to let that happen if he can prevent it. Yes, Fornell knows exactly what she was doing, but his boss wants the case closed now. And no, he can't comment on what Schuyler Harris is up to. If Fornell is to be believed, he doesn't know where Schuyler Harris is.
We've had this conversation so many times that I'm just talking to myself now.
Gibbs climbs to his feet to stand beside Tony. When he holds out his coffee mug, Tony takes it. He surveys the black drink that's identical to his own and prepares himself for an alcoholic punch in the face. He takes a deep sip to find that Gibbs' mug contains only coffee.
Tony places it on the porch railing next to his own. Gibbs puts a firm hand on Tony's shoulder and maybe, that's all he needs in the moment. Some kindness and compassion and humanity.
Gibbs lightly touches the nape of Tony's neck. It's the closest thing he'll get to a head slap and that is what Tony needed more than anything.
"You'll be alright," Gibbs murmurs.
Despite himself, Tony nods. "And McGee?"
Gibbs is nodding now. "In time."
"'Time is a crook,'" Tony crows.
Gibbs' lips pinch. "Time is all we have."
The silence stretches between them. For all the times it has been unbearable and discomforting, it is a companion to them, an invited guest now. They watch as Gibbs' neighbor finally manages to stake Rudolph into the yard. He stands, hands raised above his head, grinning victoriously at Tony and Gibbs as though he never expected to be bested by a Christmas decoration. After Gibbs offers a congratulatory wave, the neighbor retreats into his house. Almost as soon as the neighbor's front door closes, a heavy wind roars past. Rudolph does a barrel roll, and his feet turn skyward.
Rudolph's gone belly up.
"Did you know?" Tony asks suddenly.
Gibbs doesn't look over.
"About Vance?" Tony continues. "Did you know that the director isn't Leon Vance?"
Gibbs purses his lips. "Suspected, but never could prove it. What he was called didn't matter much when we were undercover. He always had my six. Even saved my life a few times."
Tony pushes a breath through his teeth.
Gibbs makes a face. "Didn't know it would turn into this mess."
"You never could have known," Tony concedes.
Gibbs places his hand on the back of Tony's neck again. The touch from Gibbs' rough fingertips is reassuring and soothing. When he is used to flinching from the head slaps, Tony now leans into the touch. It's the closest thing to an apology he'll ever receive from Gibbs.
"We'll be alright. Even McGee." Gibbs swallows hard. "Trust me, Tony."
Those words awaken a wisp of something deep inside Tony. After all these years as Gibbs' right-hand man, he has never needed to ask Tony to trust him. He never even needed to think—let alone say—the words. A thread of hope needles into him as it tries to stitch the broken pieces back together.
Tony clutches at that hope like a cross.
Even if it doesn't feel like it, we'll be okay again.
Somewhere, over the rainbow…