Semper Fidelis part 2
Nov. 5th, 2008 09:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
scarlettdreamOn to the second part
the story is too big to post in one go
see the first part for spoilers, rating and disclaimers.
The soft touch on his wrist startled him back to the present and he jerked away, catching his hand against the side of the boat. “Fuck! Oh God.” The whispered words and the moan of pain slipped from him involuntarily as the deep throb of agony burned bright again, where his hand had made contact with the wood.
“What is it? Oh God, Boss, what did you do?” Tony was gentle but firm as he pulled Gibbs' hand down and into the light where he could see it. “Shit, Gibbs, man you've made a real mess of this.”
“It's fine.”
“I don't think so, it looks like you've busted something.”
“I'll ice it. It'll be fine.”
“Believe me, I've had a few broken bones, in my hand and other places, and this is not going to be fine with just some ice. Let's get you out of here.” Tony reached in and tried to help Gibbs up.
“Just leave it, DiNozzo!”
“Ah Boss, don't be like that.” Tony continued to manoeuvre the older man, good-naturedly ignoring the bite in the comment, until he finally had him sitting up.
“I hate this, you know that, DiNozzo?” Gibbs felt ancient, grey, old, and in pain in a way that was actually worrying him more than he wanted to admit.
"What do you hate?"
Gibbs looked down as Tony reached past him into the space beneath the boat to grab the glass. The younger man turned his face aside as his hand brushed and finally grasped the glass of drink.
Tony had turned his face up a little more as he spoke. and from that angle Gibbs could see the hint of a smile, he could see the fond amusement that lit the younger man’s eyes, and he was struck by the intimacy of the moment. Tony kneeling at his feet, almost touching him, so close Gibbs could imagine he felt a scud of hot breath across his skin. He realised how easy it was to let Tony this close, how easy it would be to let him closer. How effortless it would be to simply slide his hand into Tony‘s hair and turn the moment in to something else.
Gibbs knew how much he relied on DiNozzo now. At first when he had been in Mexico his recollections of DiNozzo had been simple, usually prompted by a rambling tale Mike would be telling in the Cantina about a case they’d worked. Gibbs would recall some detail, maybe working a crime scene with Tony, perhaps an interrogation where they’d double teamed a suspect, or some dreary motel they’d been stuck in overnight when they’d travelled out of state.
As he remembered more, the memories became more personal: the way Tony had fooled about when they’d been on Airforce One, the time Tony had stayed at Gibbs house when his building was being fumigated, the way he incessantly chased women he had no hope of catching, the second time he stayed with Gibbs when his heating and hot water system had broken down, the way he and Kate had bickered like children, the endless movie references that Gibbs sometimes misunderstood on purpose, the jokes the younger man made which Gibbs often found funny, but had inexplicably begun to pretended he didn’t.
There was always a strange conflict of emotions when he thought of DiNozzo, amusement and happiness sometimes, but then anger and even an icy rage on occasion. He hadn’t understood where these feelings had come from as his memory was still patchy. But here in the basement he suddenly began to realise how charming and good looking the younger man really was. And he realised that he had always responded to Tony on a very physical level.
He would stand close to him, he would touch him, maybe to hold him back in some situations, or to urge him forward in others. And often when he'd pass by him en route to somewhere else, it was close enough for their shoulders or arms to touch.
Tony was frozen in place at his feet, their eyes met for a second and Gibbs suddenly understood. He recognised that this nearness made him feel the same roller-coaster of joy and misery he'd felt with Shannon. It was that simple. It was totally fucked up. It wasn't some thing he could face sober.
“God-damn-it, I need a drink.” The spell was broken. Tony moved, bringing the glass of bourbon with him and Gibbs grabbed it, remembering this time to use his left hand.
“Hey! You shouldn't be drinking that if we're going to the Emergency Room.”
“I should be drinking this, DiNozzo, because we are not going to the Emergency Room.”
“You're going to need an X-ray at the very least, Boss.” Tony was kneeling up again staring at Gibbs hand. There was a pained expression on his face.
Gibbs was finally beginning to feel the effects from his third measure of liquor as warm comfort settled in his belly, and his mind at last focused on something besides himself. He knocked the empty glass gently against Tony's forehead. “What's the matter, DiNozzo? Why are you here this late?”
Tony glanced up then back down at Gibbs' injured hand. “It's not late, not really.”
“Answer the question, DiNozzo.” But he softened the order with another gentle tap-tap-tap against the younger man's head with his empty glass.
“I couldn't sleep, felt like there was something wrong. I've done something I shouldn't have, and I felt like maybe it was all going to come down on me, like I was in real trouble. And I knew your door would be open, and even if you weren't here I could come down, sit with the boat, drink some of your disgusting bourbon, and maybe I'd work out the right thing to do. But I got here and it's not me that's in trouble, it's you, Boss.”
“I'm not in trouble DiNozzo.” Gibbs wondered if the lie sounded as blatant as it felt, but Tony didn't react to the deception hidden in the words.
“You're hurt.”
“This?” Gibbs held up his hand. It was just a sullen mass of dull agony now, and he could almost see the pain throbbing bright red in time with his heartbeat, like a cartoon injury. “I can barely feel it.”
“Okay, we all know what a tough guy you are, but we need you in good shape, and this is your shooting hand. How are you gonna shoot the bad guys with a busted paw?”
“Very funny. Just get me some ice, DiNozzo. It's upstairs, in the icebox.”
“I know where you keep the ice, Boss.”
“Then why are you still here?” Tony got to his feet and slowly walked back to the stairs, he turned back as if he wanted to say something else, but Gibbs cut him off quick. “Ice! DiNozzo.”
“On it, Boss.”
Once he was alone he got to his feet, the ache from his hand seemed to have spread through his body like poison, all his joints seemed hot and stiff. He stood at the workbench and poured another glass of bourbon. Normally he'd stop at two, on a really bad night he'd have three, but tonight he wondered if he'd stop at all.
He briefly thought about pouring some of the liquor over his injured hand. It would kill any infection, and it was something he'd done before, plenty of times. Unfortunately, he knew the pain would be beyond what he could endure quietly so he'd likely make some noise, and when it was over there'd be tears on his face from the agony. While he wouldn't mind that if he was alone, he didn't want the younger man to see him like that, ever. So he waited for the ice, sipping his fourth glass of Old Crow, thinking about what Tony had just said and about all the things he'd revealed as well in those few sentences. He was worried about what it was that DiNozzo had done, and what trouble he thought he was in.
He knew now it had to do with the undercover work Jenny had given him, the thing with La Grenouille. He knew Jenny's brand of undercover; he had finally remembered some of his experiences with her, intimately. And he remembered he'd been burned, too. He knew instinctively that Tony would never go too deep, would never loose sight of the fact he was using other people, innocents, to get to a target. But with Jenny pulling the strings Tony had been pushed into something he'd never do under other circumstances.
He hadn't been aware enough of what was going on around him when he’d first come back, too conscious of his own shortcomings to see that Tony was struggling. He understood now that he'd let the younger man down, badly. He realised he should have protected him better from Jenny. He was angry that he had lost sight of just how much of a politician she really was, that for her it always came down to the same thing again, politics and politicians. With Jenny the most important thing was always going to be the mission. In her world there were only degrees of guilt, everyone had some degree of culpability. And in the worst case if someone outside the mission was caught in the crossfire, well there was always an acceptable level of collateral damage that could be born.
He didn't see things that way and he recalled a couple of times when that had been the cause of friction with his bosses. He knew that he and Jenny had worked together in the field for a long time and, while he didn't remember everything, he imagined he might have tried to show her that there was another way to see things, another way to function. Unfortunately he also figured he might not have had much effect on her point of view, given how quickly she must have risen through the ranks, because here she was, director of the Agency and here he was still the working man.
He seemed to remember that they had spoken of it once, maybe when they were over. He was sure he remembered her telling him about a five point plan or a five year plan. He didn't know what it was, exactly, but he guessed it must have worked out how she wanted given where she ended up. He obviously he hadn't figured in it.
When the younger man returned Gibbs had no real idea of how long he'd been upstairs, but it seemed longer than it would take just to get some ice. The younger man had his hands full and when Gibbs peered closer he saw his old first aid kit as well as a towel and a plastic bag, presumably filled with ice. He also realised Tony was talking to someone. It took a moment to register the fact that no one else was in the house, so Tony must be using his cell phone hands free.
Sometimes little things had been the hardest for Gibbs to come to terms with since he'd woken from his second coma. He still felt like all his frame of reference was back in 1992, that was still familiar territory, that world he understood. And the thing was, most things still looked pretty much the same on the surface. People dressed much like they always had as far as he could see. Cars looked, maybe a little different but not so much really, people sounded the same for the most part. Then, suddenly, there would be one thing, maybe only something small, that looked completely alien, and he'd feel like he'd woken up in an episode of The Twilight Zone. One of the strangest was the way people were wired up to their phones now, little earpieces, looking like something out of Star Trek.
“Yeah I'll send it through in a moment... yes don't worry... soon as I get it... yes, Bye.”
“Who was that? Do we have a job?”
“Give me a second, Boss, let me just …” Tony managed to clear some space on the workbench for the stuff he was holding. He laid the rolled up towel on the bench and then gently reached for Gibbs injured hand and placed it over the towel so it was supported. He rummaged in the first aid box for a moment, eventually coming up with a small bottle. He peered at the contents suspiciously but then shook his head and opened it.
“I'm gonna clean this up now, Boss, sorry ...” He quickly poured some of the fluid from the bottle over Gibbs injured knuckles, not giving him a chance to tense up or pull his hand away. “ ... if it hurts.”
Gibbs really didn't feel it much beyond it a kind of stinging cold, so he just shook his head.
“Now I just need this ...” Tony was fiddling with his phone again and there was a flash.
“Hey! What are you doing?”
Tony turned away quickly and walked back up the basement stairs to the top, stood there for a moment keying in some numbers and then waited a few more seconds before he came back down again. “You have terrible wireless reception here Gibbs.”
“Good. What did you just do?”
“Sent a picture of your injury for a second opinion. If Ducky says you need to go to the Hospital, then you go, capische?”
“Very funny wise guy, but don't do that again.”
“Do what?”
“That thing with your phone, I don't like it.”
“It was only an email, Boss. Now let me get some ice on this while we wait for Ducky.”
“That was one of the reasons I stayed so long in Mexico.”
Tony was busy soothing the ice across Gibbs swollen hand, but he turned slightly and he went still, wanting to hear. “What was that?”
“Mexico hasn't changed. Everything was the same, just like I remember it when I went fishing that time with Mike. Here everything is different, even when it looks the same it isn't. On the surface it might be familiar, but underneath it's all changed. I didn't cope very well with that.”
“Hey! Boss! You did enough, you remembered in time. No one could have done more.”
“And it made no difference, Tony. But I stayed in Mexico too long, I understand that now. I should have been here. That might have made a difference.”
“Oh I don't know, things have a habit of turning out the way they should no matter what. You know, like Karma? If you believe in that kind of thing.”
“You're talking to a lapsed Catholic here. DiNozzo, I don't think I believe in anything now.”
“Except Semper Fi.”
But Gibbs didn't answer, because maybe that was his problem. Even that one simple creed had proved impossible to live up to in the end.
In his past, he'd felt betrayed by the ones he’d loved most. They had deserted him instead of staying faithful. To his grieving mind it hadn’t mattered that they had no choice, that only death had been able to take them away from him. Once he’d lost them, nothing had ever mattered quite so much again. No one had ever owned him that way again.
And when it came to the people he should have been thinking about, the people who were supposed to matter to him now, Abby and Ducky, Tony and Tim, even Ziva and Jenny, the people he owed his faith to now, he had forgotten them almost completely. Instead of trying to find his place with them, he'd run away. Then when he'd come back, he hadn't, not fully. He hadn't made it right with any of them.
The consequences were that Ducky was distant, and actually very angry with him, Tim seemed like he was on edge all the time, and while Abby said there had been nothing to forgive, he knew things were still strained, that the easy fondness between them had gone. Things with Jen were just awkward all round. He hated that she had seen him at his worst, and she didn’t seem to know what to make of him. Strangely the person he felt most comfortable with was Ziva. She seemed to be at ease with him, not expecting more than he was able to give.
Then there was Tony, who still acted the part of the playboy, who still pretend to be happy-go-lucky, who still laughed and made inappropriate comments. But Gibbs understood now that something had died in Tony, something he never even knew was there until it's absence left a dark empty place in the younger man. He had no doubt that absence was down to Jenny. And to him.
He remembered enough of Jenny, and of Tony, to understand how her seemingly brittle fragility would play on the younger man's innate kindness. He knew she would have used that to the full, played on whatever emotions served her best. Whatever it took to complete the mission. He didn't blame her for it, that was just the way she operated, he understood that. Maybe it was the only way she could negotiate the world she walked through now, a beautiful woman of a certain age had to use whatever she could in a world dominated by men. But he was pretty sure Tony didn't have a clue, not about that.
Now the younger man was in trouble and he was blaming himself for the situation. Instead of helping him, Gibbs had been oblivious until it was mostly too late. When Tony had needed Gibbs to be at his best he was useless, drowning in his past mistakes, and wishing for things he had lost long ago.
So maybe it was time he finally made a choice. The past had shown him that if he wasn't on his game then he made mistakes and other people paid the price. And finally he'd learned a fundemental truth about himself: that if he was here for anything it was to protect his people. It wasn't revenge, or even justice that was the most important thing, it was knowing that he'd never lose another person on his watch. That if anyone was coming for them they'd have to go through him first, and that he'd rather die trying than fail.
He'd also understood his anger at last, seen it for what it was. A refuge and a smoke screen. He'd used it as a tool, something that allowed him to carry on even through the unthinkable. Since he'd returned from Mexico that white hot anger seemed at last to have drained out of him. He had finally seen that as much as it protected him it also blinded him. That it was anger that had lead to some of his greatest mistakes.
Tony was still applying the cooling ice, his hand warm and strong where he held onto Gibbs' wrist, but his touch gentle on the heated flesh. It was an intimate feeling, the way the younger man was taking such good care of him and Gibbs knew he could build it up in his mind into something more, something significant,. He also knew he couldn't afford the distraction.
So while it was a sweet feeling imagining having that kind of closeness again, thinking about letting some one in, he knew it wasn't going to fly in his world. He could have a kind of family with Abby and Ducky, he could have friendship with Tim and Ziva and Tony, and that would have to be enough. Because he knew that he did his best work alone. He needed the solitude and the quiet to focus on the important thing, keeping all his people safe.
He needed something different to focus his mind on, otherwise he'd sit there all night and let DiNozzo take care of him. So if he didn't have his anger to protect him from the kindness of his friend then the only other thing he had to work with was pain . Pain was reliable too, a sharp reminder of where his head ought to be at.
Gibbs flexed the fingers on his injured hand.
“Boss! Don't!”
The pain was awful but it was welcome too. It burned through all the useless emotion leaving just white hot agony, a numbing flood of reality to fill his mind.
“It's fine, DiNozzo! Leave it.” Gibbs stood up. He was absolutely steady on his feet, pain was always a sure-fire cure for the hazy effects of bourbon. “I've got things to do now. You can get along home. I'll be fine.”
“But ...”
“DiNozzo! I'll see you Monday.”
“Ducky will … ”
“I'll deal with Ducky. You go home now.”
“I ... ”
“Listen, Tony, I know, okay? I know there's something you need to talk about. I know you have some concerns. And we will talk. First thing Monday.”
“Maybe it's too late.”
“It's not too late. Never too late.”
“If you say so, Boss.”
“Listen, I know I'm a bastard sometimes, but I do understand the chain of command, remember? I know who's responsible. I told you that before. And I also understand you can loose sight of what's real when you go undercover. That's why it's the job of the person on the outside to keep things in perspective for you, when you can't. Now go home and get some sleep and we'll talk more on Monday.”
“What's the matter, Boss? You're trying to get rid of me all of a sudden. You got some hot redhead coming over for the weekend and you forgot about it?” Tony tried hard, it probably didn't sound as light as he'd meant it to, but Gibbs appreciated the effort.
“Yeah, something like that, Dinozzo.”
Tony tried to put up more of a fight, but Gibbs seemed to know instinctively how to close him off, shut him down. He never realised before just how hard it was to keep the younger man at arms length. But, in the end he was alone, and he turned the key, uncharacteristicly barring the door that was normally always open. He wanted to get ready and get out before anyone else had the chance to show up and delay him. He had knew the bare bones of what had gone on but he needed to hear the full story. He wanted to get there before the hour really was too late for callers.
Ten minutes was all he needed. He'd showered off the stink of sawdust and pain and bourbon and sweat. He'd bandaged his hand so it just looked like a careless woodwork accident, and he'd dry swallowed two Tylenol. He dressed for work in his unofficial uniform, slacks and polo shirt with a sport coat.
In his car he sipped hot black coffee, four heaped spoons of strong instant espresso and boiling water, no sugar, no cream. It wasn't the best coffee in the world but it would do to counter the effects of too much booze. To be honest, he often thought that the softening effect of bourbon actually improved his driving style. Normally he’d be driving on the edge of the envelope, teetering on the brink of road rage. It was enough to make his passengers pale and clinch their seatbelts into place with unusual haste. But the effects of the alcohol made him more cautious, slowed him down some and softened his edge. Made him less inclined to be angry with all the idiots in his way who clearly didn’t have the capacity to be in charge of a shopping cart, never mind a motor vehicle.
link to Semper Fidelis part 3
the story is too big to post in one go
see the first part for spoilers, rating and disclaimers.
The soft touch on his wrist startled him back to the present and he jerked away, catching his hand against the side of the boat. “Fuck! Oh God.” The whispered words and the moan of pain slipped from him involuntarily as the deep throb of agony burned bright again, where his hand had made contact with the wood.
“What is it? Oh God, Boss, what did you do?” Tony was gentle but firm as he pulled Gibbs' hand down and into the light where he could see it. “Shit, Gibbs, man you've made a real mess of this.”
“It's fine.”
“I don't think so, it looks like you've busted something.”
“I'll ice it. It'll be fine.”
“Believe me, I've had a few broken bones, in my hand and other places, and this is not going to be fine with just some ice. Let's get you out of here.” Tony reached in and tried to help Gibbs up.
“Just leave it, DiNozzo!”
“Ah Boss, don't be like that.” Tony continued to manoeuvre the older man, good-naturedly ignoring the bite in the comment, until he finally had him sitting up.
“I hate this, you know that, DiNozzo?” Gibbs felt ancient, grey, old, and in pain in a way that was actually worrying him more than he wanted to admit.
"What do you hate?"
Gibbs looked down as Tony reached past him into the space beneath the boat to grab the glass. The younger man turned his face aside as his hand brushed and finally grasped the glass of drink.
Tony had turned his face up a little more as he spoke. and from that angle Gibbs could see the hint of a smile, he could see the fond amusement that lit the younger man’s eyes, and he was struck by the intimacy of the moment. Tony kneeling at his feet, almost touching him, so close Gibbs could imagine he felt a scud of hot breath across his skin. He realised how easy it was to let Tony this close, how easy it would be to let him closer. How effortless it would be to simply slide his hand into Tony‘s hair and turn the moment in to something else.
Gibbs knew how much he relied on DiNozzo now. At first when he had been in Mexico his recollections of DiNozzo had been simple, usually prompted by a rambling tale Mike would be telling in the Cantina about a case they’d worked. Gibbs would recall some detail, maybe working a crime scene with Tony, perhaps an interrogation where they’d double teamed a suspect, or some dreary motel they’d been stuck in overnight when they’d travelled out of state.
As he remembered more, the memories became more personal: the way Tony had fooled about when they’d been on Airforce One, the time Tony had stayed at Gibbs house when his building was being fumigated, the way he incessantly chased women he had no hope of catching, the second time he stayed with Gibbs when his heating and hot water system had broken down, the way he and Kate had bickered like children, the endless movie references that Gibbs sometimes misunderstood on purpose, the jokes the younger man made which Gibbs often found funny, but had inexplicably begun to pretended he didn’t.
There was always a strange conflict of emotions when he thought of DiNozzo, amusement and happiness sometimes, but then anger and even an icy rage on occasion. He hadn’t understood where these feelings had come from as his memory was still patchy. But here in the basement he suddenly began to realise how charming and good looking the younger man really was. And he realised that he had always responded to Tony on a very physical level.
He would stand close to him, he would touch him, maybe to hold him back in some situations, or to urge him forward in others. And often when he'd pass by him en route to somewhere else, it was close enough for their shoulders or arms to touch.
Tony was frozen in place at his feet, their eyes met for a second and Gibbs suddenly understood. He recognised that this nearness made him feel the same roller-coaster of joy and misery he'd felt with Shannon. It was that simple. It was totally fucked up. It wasn't some thing he could face sober.
“God-damn-it, I need a drink.” The spell was broken. Tony moved, bringing the glass of bourbon with him and Gibbs grabbed it, remembering this time to use his left hand.
“Hey! You shouldn't be drinking that if we're going to the Emergency Room.”
“I should be drinking this, DiNozzo, because we are not going to the Emergency Room.”
“You're going to need an X-ray at the very least, Boss.” Tony was kneeling up again staring at Gibbs hand. There was a pained expression on his face.
Gibbs was finally beginning to feel the effects from his third measure of liquor as warm comfort settled in his belly, and his mind at last focused on something besides himself. He knocked the empty glass gently against Tony's forehead. “What's the matter, DiNozzo? Why are you here this late?”
Tony glanced up then back down at Gibbs' injured hand. “It's not late, not really.”
“Answer the question, DiNozzo.” But he softened the order with another gentle tap-tap-tap against the younger man's head with his empty glass.
“I couldn't sleep, felt like there was something wrong. I've done something I shouldn't have, and I felt like maybe it was all going to come down on me, like I was in real trouble. And I knew your door would be open, and even if you weren't here I could come down, sit with the boat, drink some of your disgusting bourbon, and maybe I'd work out the right thing to do. But I got here and it's not me that's in trouble, it's you, Boss.”
“I'm not in trouble DiNozzo.” Gibbs wondered if the lie sounded as blatant as it felt, but Tony didn't react to the deception hidden in the words.
“You're hurt.”
“This?” Gibbs held up his hand. It was just a sullen mass of dull agony now, and he could almost see the pain throbbing bright red in time with his heartbeat, like a cartoon injury. “I can barely feel it.”
“Okay, we all know what a tough guy you are, but we need you in good shape, and this is your shooting hand. How are you gonna shoot the bad guys with a busted paw?”
“Very funny. Just get me some ice, DiNozzo. It's upstairs, in the icebox.”
“I know where you keep the ice, Boss.”
“Then why are you still here?” Tony got to his feet and slowly walked back to the stairs, he turned back as if he wanted to say something else, but Gibbs cut him off quick. “Ice! DiNozzo.”
“On it, Boss.”
Once he was alone he got to his feet, the ache from his hand seemed to have spread through his body like poison, all his joints seemed hot and stiff. He stood at the workbench and poured another glass of bourbon. Normally he'd stop at two, on a really bad night he'd have three, but tonight he wondered if he'd stop at all.
He briefly thought about pouring some of the liquor over his injured hand. It would kill any infection, and it was something he'd done before, plenty of times. Unfortunately, he knew the pain would be beyond what he could endure quietly so he'd likely make some noise, and when it was over there'd be tears on his face from the agony. While he wouldn't mind that if he was alone, he didn't want the younger man to see him like that, ever. So he waited for the ice, sipping his fourth glass of Old Crow, thinking about what Tony had just said and about all the things he'd revealed as well in those few sentences. He was worried about what it was that DiNozzo had done, and what trouble he thought he was in.
He knew now it had to do with the undercover work Jenny had given him, the thing with La Grenouille. He knew Jenny's brand of undercover; he had finally remembered some of his experiences with her, intimately. And he remembered he'd been burned, too. He knew instinctively that Tony would never go too deep, would never loose sight of the fact he was using other people, innocents, to get to a target. But with Jenny pulling the strings Tony had been pushed into something he'd never do under other circumstances.
He hadn't been aware enough of what was going on around him when he’d first come back, too conscious of his own shortcomings to see that Tony was struggling. He understood now that he'd let the younger man down, badly. He realised he should have protected him better from Jenny. He was angry that he had lost sight of just how much of a politician she really was, that for her it always came down to the same thing again, politics and politicians. With Jenny the most important thing was always going to be the mission. In her world there were only degrees of guilt, everyone had some degree of culpability. And in the worst case if someone outside the mission was caught in the crossfire, well there was always an acceptable level of collateral damage that could be born.
He didn't see things that way and he recalled a couple of times when that had been the cause of friction with his bosses. He knew that he and Jenny had worked together in the field for a long time and, while he didn't remember everything, he imagined he might have tried to show her that there was another way to see things, another way to function. Unfortunately he also figured he might not have had much effect on her point of view, given how quickly she must have risen through the ranks, because here she was, director of the Agency and here he was still the working man.
He seemed to remember that they had spoken of it once, maybe when they were over. He was sure he remembered her telling him about a five point plan or a five year plan. He didn't know what it was, exactly, but he guessed it must have worked out how she wanted given where she ended up. He obviously he hadn't figured in it.
When the younger man returned Gibbs had no real idea of how long he'd been upstairs, but it seemed longer than it would take just to get some ice. The younger man had his hands full and when Gibbs peered closer he saw his old first aid kit as well as a towel and a plastic bag, presumably filled with ice. He also realised Tony was talking to someone. It took a moment to register the fact that no one else was in the house, so Tony must be using his cell phone hands free.
Sometimes little things had been the hardest for Gibbs to come to terms with since he'd woken from his second coma. He still felt like all his frame of reference was back in 1992, that was still familiar territory, that world he understood. And the thing was, most things still looked pretty much the same on the surface. People dressed much like they always had as far as he could see. Cars looked, maybe a little different but not so much really, people sounded the same for the most part. Then, suddenly, there would be one thing, maybe only something small, that looked completely alien, and he'd feel like he'd woken up in an episode of The Twilight Zone. One of the strangest was the way people were wired up to their phones now, little earpieces, looking like something out of Star Trek.
“Yeah I'll send it through in a moment... yes don't worry... soon as I get it... yes, Bye.”
“Who was that? Do we have a job?”
“Give me a second, Boss, let me just …” Tony managed to clear some space on the workbench for the stuff he was holding. He laid the rolled up towel on the bench and then gently reached for Gibbs injured hand and placed it over the towel so it was supported. He rummaged in the first aid box for a moment, eventually coming up with a small bottle. He peered at the contents suspiciously but then shook his head and opened it.
“I'm gonna clean this up now, Boss, sorry ...” He quickly poured some of the fluid from the bottle over Gibbs injured knuckles, not giving him a chance to tense up or pull his hand away. “ ... if it hurts.”
Gibbs really didn't feel it much beyond it a kind of stinging cold, so he just shook his head.
“Now I just need this ...” Tony was fiddling with his phone again and there was a flash.
“Hey! What are you doing?”
Tony turned away quickly and walked back up the basement stairs to the top, stood there for a moment keying in some numbers and then waited a few more seconds before he came back down again. “You have terrible wireless reception here Gibbs.”
“Good. What did you just do?”
“Sent a picture of your injury for a second opinion. If Ducky says you need to go to the Hospital, then you go, capische?”
“Very funny wise guy, but don't do that again.”
“Do what?”
“That thing with your phone, I don't like it.”
“It was only an email, Boss. Now let me get some ice on this while we wait for Ducky.”
“That was one of the reasons I stayed so long in Mexico.”
Tony was busy soothing the ice across Gibbs swollen hand, but he turned slightly and he went still, wanting to hear. “What was that?”
“Mexico hasn't changed. Everything was the same, just like I remember it when I went fishing that time with Mike. Here everything is different, even when it looks the same it isn't. On the surface it might be familiar, but underneath it's all changed. I didn't cope very well with that.”
“Hey! Boss! You did enough, you remembered in time. No one could have done more.”
“And it made no difference, Tony. But I stayed in Mexico too long, I understand that now. I should have been here. That might have made a difference.”
“Oh I don't know, things have a habit of turning out the way they should no matter what. You know, like Karma? If you believe in that kind of thing.”
“You're talking to a lapsed Catholic here. DiNozzo, I don't think I believe in anything now.”
“Except Semper Fi.”
But Gibbs didn't answer, because maybe that was his problem. Even that one simple creed had proved impossible to live up to in the end.
In his past, he'd felt betrayed by the ones he’d loved most. They had deserted him instead of staying faithful. To his grieving mind it hadn’t mattered that they had no choice, that only death had been able to take them away from him. Once he’d lost them, nothing had ever mattered quite so much again. No one had ever owned him that way again.
And when it came to the people he should have been thinking about, the people who were supposed to matter to him now, Abby and Ducky, Tony and Tim, even Ziva and Jenny, the people he owed his faith to now, he had forgotten them almost completely. Instead of trying to find his place with them, he'd run away. Then when he'd come back, he hadn't, not fully. He hadn't made it right with any of them.
The consequences were that Ducky was distant, and actually very angry with him, Tim seemed like he was on edge all the time, and while Abby said there had been nothing to forgive, he knew things were still strained, that the easy fondness between them had gone. Things with Jen were just awkward all round. He hated that she had seen him at his worst, and she didn’t seem to know what to make of him. Strangely the person he felt most comfortable with was Ziva. She seemed to be at ease with him, not expecting more than he was able to give.
Then there was Tony, who still acted the part of the playboy, who still pretend to be happy-go-lucky, who still laughed and made inappropriate comments. But Gibbs understood now that something had died in Tony, something he never even knew was there until it's absence left a dark empty place in the younger man. He had no doubt that absence was down to Jenny. And to him.
He remembered enough of Jenny, and of Tony, to understand how her seemingly brittle fragility would play on the younger man's innate kindness. He knew she would have used that to the full, played on whatever emotions served her best. Whatever it took to complete the mission. He didn't blame her for it, that was just the way she operated, he understood that. Maybe it was the only way she could negotiate the world she walked through now, a beautiful woman of a certain age had to use whatever she could in a world dominated by men. But he was pretty sure Tony didn't have a clue, not about that.
Now the younger man was in trouble and he was blaming himself for the situation. Instead of helping him, Gibbs had been oblivious until it was mostly too late. When Tony had needed Gibbs to be at his best he was useless, drowning in his past mistakes, and wishing for things he had lost long ago.
So maybe it was time he finally made a choice. The past had shown him that if he wasn't on his game then he made mistakes and other people paid the price. And finally he'd learned a fundemental truth about himself: that if he was here for anything it was to protect his people. It wasn't revenge, or even justice that was the most important thing, it was knowing that he'd never lose another person on his watch. That if anyone was coming for them they'd have to go through him first, and that he'd rather die trying than fail.
He'd also understood his anger at last, seen it for what it was. A refuge and a smoke screen. He'd used it as a tool, something that allowed him to carry on even through the unthinkable. Since he'd returned from Mexico that white hot anger seemed at last to have drained out of him. He had finally seen that as much as it protected him it also blinded him. That it was anger that had lead to some of his greatest mistakes.
Tony was still applying the cooling ice, his hand warm and strong where he held onto Gibbs' wrist, but his touch gentle on the heated flesh. It was an intimate feeling, the way the younger man was taking such good care of him and Gibbs knew he could build it up in his mind into something more, something significant,. He also knew he couldn't afford the distraction.
So while it was a sweet feeling imagining having that kind of closeness again, thinking about letting some one in, he knew it wasn't going to fly in his world. He could have a kind of family with Abby and Ducky, he could have friendship with Tim and Ziva and Tony, and that would have to be enough. Because he knew that he did his best work alone. He needed the solitude and the quiet to focus on the important thing, keeping all his people safe.
He needed something different to focus his mind on, otherwise he'd sit there all night and let DiNozzo take care of him. So if he didn't have his anger to protect him from the kindness of his friend then the only other thing he had to work with was pain . Pain was reliable too, a sharp reminder of where his head ought to be at.
Gibbs flexed the fingers on his injured hand.
“Boss! Don't!”
The pain was awful but it was welcome too. It burned through all the useless emotion leaving just white hot agony, a numbing flood of reality to fill his mind.
“It's fine, DiNozzo! Leave it.” Gibbs stood up. He was absolutely steady on his feet, pain was always a sure-fire cure for the hazy effects of bourbon. “I've got things to do now. You can get along home. I'll be fine.”
“But ...”
“DiNozzo! I'll see you Monday.”
“Ducky will … ”
“I'll deal with Ducky. You go home now.”
“I ... ”
“Listen, Tony, I know, okay? I know there's something you need to talk about. I know you have some concerns. And we will talk. First thing Monday.”
“Maybe it's too late.”
“It's not too late. Never too late.”
“If you say so, Boss.”
“Listen, I know I'm a bastard sometimes, but I do understand the chain of command, remember? I know who's responsible. I told you that before. And I also understand you can loose sight of what's real when you go undercover. That's why it's the job of the person on the outside to keep things in perspective for you, when you can't. Now go home and get some sleep and we'll talk more on Monday.”
“What's the matter, Boss? You're trying to get rid of me all of a sudden. You got some hot redhead coming over for the weekend and you forgot about it?” Tony tried hard, it probably didn't sound as light as he'd meant it to, but Gibbs appreciated the effort.
“Yeah, something like that, Dinozzo.”
Tony tried to put up more of a fight, but Gibbs seemed to know instinctively how to close him off, shut him down. He never realised before just how hard it was to keep the younger man at arms length. But, in the end he was alone, and he turned the key, uncharacteristicly barring the door that was normally always open. He wanted to get ready and get out before anyone else had the chance to show up and delay him. He had knew the bare bones of what had gone on but he needed to hear the full story. He wanted to get there before the hour really was too late for callers.
Ten minutes was all he needed. He'd showered off the stink of sawdust and pain and bourbon and sweat. He'd bandaged his hand so it just looked like a careless woodwork accident, and he'd dry swallowed two Tylenol. He dressed for work in his unofficial uniform, slacks and polo shirt with a sport coat.
In his car he sipped hot black coffee, four heaped spoons of strong instant espresso and boiling water, no sugar, no cream. It wasn't the best coffee in the world but it would do to counter the effects of too much booze. To be honest, he often thought that the softening effect of bourbon actually improved his driving style. Normally he’d be driving on the edge of the envelope, teetering on the brink of road rage. It was enough to make his passengers pale and clinch their seatbelts into place with unusual haste. But the effects of the alcohol made him more cautious, slowed him down some and softened his edge. Made him less inclined to be angry with all the idiots in his way who clearly didn’t have the capacity to be in charge of a shopping cart, never mind a motor vehicle.
link to Semper Fidelis part 3
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-06-18 07:06 pm (UTC)Oh, and may I offer you a slice of the richest dark chocolate cake for this: To be honest, he often thought that the softening effect of bourbon actually improved his driving style. Normally he’d be driving on the edge of the envelope, teetering on the brink of road rage. It was enough to make his passengers pale and clinch their seatbelts into place with unusual haste. But the effects of the alcohol made him more cautious, slowed him down some and softened his edge. Made him less inclined to be angry with all the idiots in his way who clearly didn’t have the capacity to be in charge of a shopping cart, never mind a motor vehicle.
no subject
Date: 2010-06-20 09:31 am (UTC)And thank you for the gorgeous offer of cake because Gibbs' driving style is one of my fave things. How bad he is but they all pretend he isn't....