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ncisficathon***Continuation of a Round 4 (2009) Ficathon story***
Title: Ligers and Tigons and Tony, Oh My (9a/?)
Author:![[dreamwidth.org profile]](https://s.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
justhuman![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
justhuman
Written for:spoonyriffic
Prompt: Tony/Gibbs - Supernatural (the genre, not the show) - a series of strange killings in DC leave our favorite NCIS team puzzled, and soon it is revealed that there is something more nefarious behind it all. First Time fic. Rating between R or NC-17, whichever is best for the fic.
Archive: Please ask
Genre: teamfic, adventure, romance
Pairings: Gibbs/DiNozzo, mentions of canon pairings and maybe a surprise
Rating: NC-17 overall, PG this section
Disclaimer: CBS
Word Count: 16,956 this part
Summary: While working a case, Tony runs into a problem with potentially deadly consequences. Now it's up to the team to do what they do best and investigate until they find a solution.
A/N: Many thanks toceruleancat. As always, all mistakes are mine.
LJ/DW - Part 1-Harvest Moon
LJ/DW - Part 2 -After the Harvest Moon
LJ/DW - Part 3 - Hunter's Moon
LJ/DW - Part 4 - Hunter's Dawn
LJ/DW - Part 5 - Drag Hunt
LJ/DW Part 6a - Hunter's Bloodhound
LJ/DW Part 6b - Hunter's Bloodhound
LJ/DW Part 7 - Hunter's Lead
LJ/DW Part 8 - Making Game
Part 9 - Waning Hunter's Moon
***Wednesday Oct 7
- Waning Gibbous with 87% of the Moon's visible disk illuminated. ***
"I don't know, this guy is going to be hard to crack," Cassie said as she observed Morgan through the two-way glass.
"If anyone can crack him, Gibbs can," McGee said.
"Agent McGee, I believe that Agent Yates was speculating on Agent Gibbs' probability of success despite his track record," Vance said.
Tony had smelled shark as soon as the door had opened, and without even thinking about it, had moved a step closer to Cassie and McGee. For a moment he wondered if the move was protective, and if it was, was he protecting them or himself?
Vance continued, "What about you, Agent DiNozzo, are you going to lay any bets?"
Tony looked at him, feeling momentarily lost. Usually he looked forward to this part of the case, watching Gibbs grill a suspect that they had dead to rights. But today it was different. It was like everyone was looking for a missing piece, but Tony had found it hours ago. He had smelled the jar and got the key and … focus.
Tony took a breath, checking in with Cassie and McGee's scents, while blocking the shark and the smell of pepperoni pizza coming off the guy in the back, manning the sound and video. "Psychos can clam up and be perverse – they won't admit to what everyone already knows. I'm still betting that Gibbs gets under his skin and then Morgan will start singing about his own brilliance."
Vance looked at him for a long moment, chewing on his toothpick. Then he nodded. "CO over at Pax River says you smelled the key in the wall."
"I smelled the jar with the finger," Tony said quickly. "Well, technically I smelled the formaldehyde, which was in the jar and maybe had spilled outside the jar. The key just happened to be there. Also, we did not break that mirror."
Gibbs entered the interrogation room, carrying a brown box, drawing everyone's attention.
"We'll see," Vance said.
Tony was watching Gibbs and not watching Gibbs. The first part of an interrogation was like watching the first quarter in a pro-football game. If you knew the teams, you knew the methods. One look at the way the sides lined up against one another told you which strategies they were starting with and because they were pros, would stick with for a while. Gibbs pulled a series of pictures out of the box – each petty officer and a corresponding picture of the man's finger in a jar. Gibbs opening play was direct confrontation with the evidence. Since Tony had spent years studying Gibbs' playbook, he was willing to bet good money that the unidentified finger in the jar that Tony had just found was in Gibbs' brown box.
Tony bit his lip and shifted his weight. He just wasn't feeling right. Nothing was rumbling, so it wasn't anything that he had eaten. It was more like the flu or a nasty headache where the lights were too bright and the noises too loud or maybe not loud enough, except that his head didn't hurt.
Really he just wanted all of this to be over – serial killers creeped him out. He got how con men, mobsters, and dependent spouses thought. Serial killers broke the mold and sometimes broke your brain with their twisted logic. He knew their evidence wasn't solid enough and what they really needed was a confession. Tony was having a hard time putting his brain in gear to figure out their next move.
*
Two hours later, Tony, McGee and Cassie were standing in Vance's office. Tony noted that they had been standing in Vance's office for almost five minutes, and it was only occurring to him now that he could have been trying to glance at the papers on Vance's desk. He was really feeling off and either wanted to crawl into a corner for a nap or run the Marine Corp Marathon.
At least Vance's office was free of the ticks and whirs of the recording equipment in the observation room. Maybe he should just be quiet and try and survive the day unnoticed. Tony had never done well with distractions and that was one of the reasons he was in the habit of sneaking back into to work around midnight to catch up. There were just so many more distractions nowadays – scents and sounds.
"Does anybody buy what Morgan's saying," Tim asked angrily as he planted his hands on the back of one of the guest chairs.
"I think that's the point," Cassie said, smoothing non-existent stray hairs. "He doesn't think we've got enough evidence; he doesn't think he has to make his excuses real."
"That's not far from the truth," Vance said as he came through the door and moved behind his desk. "We're only holding onto this man with pieces of thread."
Tony's brain still wasn't getting it. The guy was guilty, and Tony knew it -- that should be enough. He also knew that you needed harder evidence than his gut. Finally he just blurted out, "I found human body parts in the guy's wall!"
"Do you have proof that he put the jar in the wall, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked, his voice low and calm, as he pushed the door gently closed with only a finger.
"I-"
"I didn't think so," Gibbs said.
Vance sat down and gripped a pen tightly in his fist. "Has Ms. Scuito identified the last victim?"
"She's working on it," Tim said. "A DNA profile may not be possible due to the formaldehyde. As Abby is fond of reminding us, fingerprints solve more cases than DNA, but we've a problem there too. She's run the fingerprint through AFIS, and there's no match. She's trying Interpol. But this means -"
"The victim was never in the military or arrested," Cassie said. "All the prior victims were Navy."
"We have other ways of nailing this guy and his partner," Gibbs said determination showing in his voice.
Tony's eyes shot over to Gibbs and saw nothing but resolve. Tony imitated him, not because he fully felt it, but because it was obviously the right thing to do.
"And by we, you do mean more than this team," Vance said.
Gibbs turned his head ever so slightly and slowly exhaled.
It was Cassie that took half a step forward. "Sir, we may not have got a confession, but-"
"Stand down," Gibbs said, leaning against the wall near the door.
"Boss?" Tony started, but it was Vance that answered.
"Agents, I know you've got your teeth into this one, and I know the lengths you'll go to get your man." He cast a glance at Gibbs that implied that comment wasn't entirely praise. "However, I think you're focusing so hard on your quarry that you're losing sight of the bigger picture."
Focusing too much? Now Tony was becoming very confused.
"Director Vance, we can nail this, this dirtbag," McGee said.
Tony looked at McGee with approval - way to use the words, McWriter! It was convenient too, because Tony's words seemed to be lost.
"I know you can -- every last damn one of you. I just think that sifting through a decade of records and tracking down witnesses spread out across the entire US Navy is going to take longer than the situation demands. Agents, we have a dead sailor in Norfolk, and we can only delay so long in publishing the facts and the charges." Vance pushed himself out of his chair and paced like a caged animal behind his desk before continuing.
"Facts that I will discuss with SecNav later today, because we need to work out who is going to go to the families of every one of those victims and tell them that their son, their brother, their father didn't die in a tragic accident. Oh, and by the way once this case is done, we'll have something else for you to bury."
Vance let his pen fall to the desk. "You have all done an exceptional job, but I can't have a major response team spend the next six months digging for records that may not exist, because we don't have those six months." Vance gave a short laugh. "Besides, I have more important things for you to do, especially if you know how to smell a killer."
Vance was looking right at Tony, and Tony wanted to defend his territory. There really shouldn't be such a thing as land sharks. But he schooled his face, going for innocence, because after all, nothing he did was wrong.
"Tony didn't actually, that is to say that none of us really-" Tim started to babble
"Mc-Gee," Gibbs said.
Vance pulled out a toothpick from his pocket and put it between his teeth. "You people have a hard time accepting a compliment. I know you're good investigators and every time I think I've found you're limits, you come up with something new. Tomorrow, I want to see what your leadership skills are like. Dismissed."
Tony noticed that as a unit, they looked at Gibbs, but he had opened the door and was heading down into the bullpen. Once they were down the stairs and in the false security of their space, Cassie and McGee started asking questions and Tony just watched.
Gibbs whistled them into silence. "We have been given the use of all NCIS' resources and agents to end this case. No doubt you'll be digging for evidence, but your primary assignment is to make sure everyone else is doing the same."
"Really?" McGee asked.
"Gibbs, with that kind of support we'll have this tied up in no time," Cassie said.
"You better," Gibbs said. "Go home."
Everyone was staring at the Boss.
Gibbs went to his desk, and took his weapon and badge from the drawer. "Go home. He wasn't lying about a job well done. He's curious about how we managed to pull off as much as we did, but we made an impression."
Cassie and McGee made a path as Gibbs stepped between them and made his way to the elevator, stabbing the button with his finger. Without turning to look at them, he said, "Did I mention this might be the last chance you get to sleep for the rest of the month?"
As if the elevator was cued by Gibbs' voice, the doors opened and Gibbs stepped in. For a moment - well, it was probably a moment, Tony wasn't sure; they stood just looking at the closed elevator doors.
"See you tomorrow," Cassie said, putting on her jacket.
McGee's fingers flew across his keyboard, backpack already on his shoulder. "Abby probably already knows, but I'm going to tell her and then go and get some sleep."
Tony stepped behind his desk, mostly to avoid the rushed traffic of his colleagues. He wasn't tired, and he hadn't expected Gibbs to let them have a break.
Cassie had gone for the elevator but spun around before she could press the button and made a beeline for McGee and the stairs. "Better not go that way -- Gibbs might come back!"
McGee laughed and held the door for her.
"Foolish mortals," Tony muttered as he sat down. "Just because the last place you saw Gibbs was in the elevator doesn't mean that's where he'd reappear. The man is Leroy Jethro Gibbs; he could materialize out of thin air if he needed to."
Tony wished that Gibbs would appear right in front of him and was almost surprised that he hadn’t. Chewing on his lower lip, he said to no one in particular, "It's a fine night for a bottle of bourbon and a boat. Not that anyone has to worry about spending too much time in a basement." He forced a chuckle out and then turned around quickly and then back again. He spun 360 degrees in his chair. No Gibbs.
An involuntary shiver coursed through him. This is what it had felt like when Gibbs said he was quitting and going to Mexico. Gibbs wasn't going away this time, but he apparently wasn't coming back to the office today. Maybe it was time to go home, but Tony wasn't sure where that was.
***Early Wednesday Evening***
Jethro came through the front door and headed across the living room to the lock box on the bookshelf. Before he made it half way across the room, he heard something coming from the basement and that made him pause. Just because he never locked the door didn't mean that everyone was invited in.
Since his visitors ranged the gambit from friends and co-workers to assassins and ex-wives, it was better to stay armed. Turning away from the lock box, Jethro headed toward the basement stairs. He didn’t even consider putting down the brown paper sack containing a new bottle of bourbon. He was going to need it no matter who was down there.
As he went down the stairs, the sound of the TV became clearer – baseball. That probably narrowed his potential guest list to a former brother-in-arms from the Corp, Fornell, or Tony. There were fast food bags and wrappers all over the workbench, eliminating Fornell, who insisted his gut couldn't handle burger joints any longer. Since the door to the secret room was propped open, he really hoped that it was Tony. He didn’t need anyone quizzing him on the brand new cage and speculating on what new interrogation techniques he might be using.
"Seven to two. Time to pack it in and head back to Minnesota!"
Tony. When he looked into the secret room, Tony's full attention was on the screen as he bounced a broom up and down over the toes of his shoes
"Hey, Gibbs, I didn't hear you come in." Tony said, not moving his eyes from the TV.
"Then how do you know I was here?"
"Smelled you." There was something casual about the way Tony said it, like it was just a natural way to do things.
Jethro wasn't going to let on how it made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. "You should come up with a code word for your sense of smell. How far away was I?" he asked. When he didn't get an answer or even eye contact, he snapped his fingers to get Tony's full attention.
"Huh?"
"How far away was I when you smelled me?"
"Oh, top of the basement stairs, but if I hadn't been checking out the game and heard you at the door, I think I could have smelled you there. But, you know, not through the door or on the second floor or anything."
"Oh, that's comforting," Jethro said, letting out some well-deserved sarcasm. At least DiNozzo was acting more like himself, losing some of the fatalism that he had had for the last month. The downside was that shiny objects, like the TV, were more easily distracting him. Jethro wasn't in the mood for that tonight. "This was the best place you could come up with to watch the Yankee game?"
"Oh, well…" Tony looked around and then focused back on Jethro. "As you may know, I'm not a fan of cleaning, but I thought that the whole..." Tony wavered as he pointed to the sand box in the back corner of the cage. "Well, Abby calls it a wolf box."
Jethro said nothing.
Tony went on. "That's a good term for it because only people in werewolf form would consider using it for what it has become. I was just thinking that it might lead to unwanted odors and that maybe I should do something... Uhm, and should that something be flushing?"
Jethro sighed. He should be happy that Tony was trying to take some control and responsibility over his condition. "The sand or that litter stuff, whatever it is, will clog the plumbing. I suppose most people just put it in a garbage bag."
Tony took a few steps forward and lowered his voice. "Not that anyone should be going through the trash, but there's a size difference between a cat and a werewolf." Tony cleared his throat.
This really wasn't the conversation that Jethro was planning on after the previous week of werewolves and serial killers. Hell, he was looking forward to no conversations, no television and no people. "Just double bag it."
Jethro turned back to the door, wanting to just go and relax, except that he planned to do that in the basement. He stopped, scratched at the back of his head and slowly turned back. "Are you planning on staying long?"
"Well, I had the cleaning to do in here, so I picked up some take out. There are a couple of cheeseburgers out there for you. I figured that you might want to watch another playoff game." Tony pointed at the TV. "This one's almost over, but there's a west coast game around nine - Dodgers and the Rockies. I promise to stay awake for that one and not fall asleep on the couch. Boy, that being up for ninety-six hours minus catnaps, really takes it out of you when the adrenaline rush dies back. Hey, do you think we should call those wolf naps?" Tony looked at his feet and bounced the broom up and down.
The adrenaline rush easing off might be a matter of opinion, Jethro thought. "We've got a night off," he said. "Maybe you should take advantage of that, get some sleep. I bet you have packing to do at home."
"Yeah, the packing is just - I don't know, hectic isn't the right word. It's just that I go to the apartment, and it kind of feels all wrong now. And it's not like I can just pick up a box and move it over here. Not here, here," Tony pointed at the floor and the cage.
"But upstairs here, because I still have some painting to do. Oh! Abby said she'd come over and help me with the wallpaper, because I figured, because we figured that maybe you wouldn't want to..." Tony pushed his fingers through his hair. "Yeah, that."
He might have appreciated Tony's attempts at circumspection more if they were actually circumspect. "Tony, go home."
As soon as he said it, he regretted it. As much as he wanted some down time away from people, he appreciated Tony as a guest. Over the years, Tony had come over for a steak or shown up in the basement looking for company or solace or some things that Jethro didn't even know about. But Tony got how to blend in. No, that wasn't quite right. Blending in implied taking on a role, like going undercover. Tony knew how to step out of those fancy Italian shoes and step into other shoes. He put on his cleats at Ohio State and stopped being a rich kid from Long Island. He put on a Baltimore Police Badge and defended his blue collar like he had been born that way.
When he stepped into Jethro's basement, he stepped into Jethro's life – yeah, Tony didn't fully get it all, because Jethro was bad about sharing, but he figured out how to belong. Tony limited the number of annoying questions. He drank bourbon without any of the unnecessary commentary Jethro got from everyone else. Tony might ramble on, but he didn't actually expect an answer. Jethro liked all that, missed it sometimes, and that's when he'd invite Tony over to share a steak. And sometimes he wanted to do more than just listen to that voice.
With a nod, Tony propped the broom against the wall, almost reluctantly. Jethro's gut ached. If you put Tony in the right circumstances, he was damn graceful. The sudden quiet and deliberate care with the broom was out of place in the basement. Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs had seen this kind of juxtaposition one too many times in the aftermath of a fire fight.
"Tony, are you OK?"
There was a look of surprise on Tony's face, as he looked at him, obviously thinking about the question. "I don't know, Gibbs."
Jethro moved, because that was what training and instinct told him to do. When you had a guy on edge, you didn't make him feel like he was under a microscope – you also checked if he was armed. Jethro crossed in front of Tony to the other side of the room and picked up a blanket from the old mattress. Tony's shoulder holster was empty – the weapon was on the table that Ducky used for medical equipment. Verifying that there wasn't an immediate physical threat, he started folding the blanket. "That probably means you're not OK."
"Yeah, that's probably right."
"Talk," Jethro said and slowly straightened the things in the corner, pretending not to be watching Tony.
"It's been weird all day. My nose and ears are telling me all these things –like what people had for lunch, hours after the food is gone. I don't need that information; there's nothing I can do with it."
Gibbs shook his head. "Six months ago, if I wanted to know what everyone in the building had for lunch, you'd be the person I'd talk to. You notice that kind of thing all the time. Memorize it, categorize it, whatever. Try again."
"I don't-"
"You do."
Tony screwed up his face into a thoughtful frown. "Okay, maybe I do, but this is different. I noticed things before. Now it's like everything is jumping in front of me demanding that I notice it. Everything is pinging like it's some kind of clue, but there's no mystery to solve. I feel like something's going to happen at any moment."
"Like you put on your battle gear and are just standing around?" Jethro knew how to deal with those kinds of emotions. It's what he did for his team whether his team was a bunch of Marine privates or NCIS investigators. This kind of battle edginess wasn't very like Tony, who was already a seasoned veteran when Gibbs found him in Baltimore. No, when Tony got bored waiting for something to happen, he didn't lose his balance - he got creative.
"Something like that," Tony said. "With an extra dash of thinking that every noise is the enemy."
"When we were at Pax River?" Jethro asked.
"No," Tony said, bending his head to scratch at the side of his neck. "We were on the case in Pax River. We were … hunting the bad guy. It made sense to be paying attention to everything to be suspicious. But the Navy Yard shouldn't feel that way. Don't get me wrong, I don't feel that way when I'm checking in with the team. If I could smell McGee or Cassie, I knew I was in the right place. Abby's lab and autopsy were kind of homey."
Jethro nodded. "What about here?"
"Here? Here's good, Gibbs, as much sense as that makes. I mean we're standing next to a homemade jail cell in a suburban basement, which should be setting off all kinds of alarm bells, but it's your basement. The scents-"
Gibbs looked up, and Tony immediately turned away. He picked up the broom and started moving dust around in circles. Gibbs had been waiting to hear what he smelled like to Tony. Dragonflies and sweat socks -the rest of the team were all visceral and colorful. Despite himself, Jethro wanted to know what Tony thought of him, and despite the carefully maintained distance that Jethro maintained between them, he wanted it to be something more than Tony had labeled the others.
"So you're good when you're on the hunt and with your team, but not so good in the office?" Jethro let out a little laugh. "I feel the same way most days, Tony."
Tony laughed. "Yeah, I'm pretty much a fan of action, too. Should I have jumped him? It's dramatic, but maybe I should have gone into interrogation and leapt across the table and forced a confession out of Morgan."
That made Jethro miss a beat in his folding and then he just tossed the blanket down. Tony wasn't just off his game; he really was walking on the edge. It was his job to pull Tony back in. He walked over and put his hands on either side of Tony's face so he could look into his eyes. They were clear.
"I'm okay." Tony leaned back, worry suddenly overcoming his expression "Did I just break out in fur or spots or stripes or something?" Tony's hand flew to his face.
Jethro grabbed his wrist and pulled it down. "You look like you. Now, what the hell is the matter? Why do you think you should have jumped a guy we had in custody?"
"I don't know!" Tony said with the pent-up frustration finally coming out in his voice. "I chased Johnson and caught him and that made sense. I cornered Morgan, sort of, but it was like I was chasing him and never got him. Wow, doesn't that sound creepy?"
"Stop thinking about it and tell me. Do you want to pin him to a wall, bite him, claw him? What's your gut saying?" Gibbs demanded.
Hopefully it wasn't a wolf's gut. A few days earlier, when Tony had been filled with too much energy that was making him think about animal behavior, he assumed that it might get worse during the wolf time, but he had also assumed it would get better after it was done.
"No!" Tony said, his face screwing up in consternation. "Morgan is one of those guys that plays you, and he's dangerous as all hell. I just want to put him away and, all the rules we have to play by are getting in the way!"
Jethro understood that – he felt it himself with this case. "We've both faced this before. It's the case you have to solve before someone else gets hurt and if anything ever deserved justice this is it. One step away from becoming obsessed."
"Hey! I'm not about to become Ahab!" Tony had held up both hands and took a step back like he needed space between them. Then he paused, dropped his hands and smiled, sort of. "And maybe that Ahab crack when we were chasing Ari was a little off." Tony cleared his throat. "But maybe not by much."
Jethro wondered why the hell he had to put up with this in his own basement. "Yeah, I get it; you don't want to be me. The question we're trying to answer is what's wrong with you!"
"I don't –"
"Not good enough." Gibbs grabbed him by the shoulders and held on. Letting out a breath, he brought his volume back under control. "This isn't like you. Put it together for me. What's different about you?"
"I can't turn it off. I'm usually good at turning it off - stepping out of the office, stepping out of the case. Okay, that's not true, because there are always these little wheels turning in the back of my head, but the front of my head can usually focus on having a beer and cracking jokes with the bartender or flirting with whoever's around and cute."
Gibbs let one hand drop, but gently pushed Tony toward the wall with the other. He pointed toward the mattress and they both sat down. "Keep going."
"All these big things are happening in my head. I'm starting to get used to smelling and hearing everything, but if I don't want to get lost in space, I have to keep paying attention to them, sorting them. The thing is that none of them are helping us solve the case now. They're just getting in the way. Why the hell didn't they leave with the fur and the fangs?"
"Well, they didn't, and it's something you're just going to have to figure out how to deal with. You're sick, and I've seen you work sick."
"This is not a cold, Boss."
Gibbs nodded, trying to figure out how to get through to Tony. "It's more like an injury you have to work around. How's this different than breaking a bone or getting a concussion?"
Tony shrugged. "I guess that when you do those things some doctor tells you that you'll be back to normal in a week or in six weeks. You can count down the days on the calendar. I'm terminal."
"You're not terminal," Gibbs said, staring at the cinder block wall across from them. "You're not going to die - it's the wrong word."
"I'm stuck with this forever."
"You don't know that! Jesus, give your team a chance. Do you think there is anyone out there who has a better chance of solving your problem? Do you think there's anyone out there more motivated?"
"Well-"
Tony was appropriately cut off by the glare Jethro gave him.
"We want you to get better. And if we can't figure out how to do that, you're still not terminal. Your – I don’t' know. What do they call it when someone's got diabetes?"
"Chronic," Tony said. "But a diabetic can't infect someone else. It's more like herpes or AIDS or pick some other sexually transmitted disease."
"Does everything with you automatically lead back to sex?" Jethro snapped, but Tony suddenly had a smile on his face. The Baltimore effect - that's what Gibbs privately called it. Someone dumps a load of crap on Tony and for no good reason he smiles. Jethro felt his insides melting into a pile of putty, just like every other time.
Tony had been working at NCIS for about a week and the two of them had been having a pissing contest over an interrogation. Tony had asked, 'Why'd you hire me?' and Gibbs had mustered all the sarcasm he could and replied, 'Because you smiled.' It had shut him up, but Tony to this day told people that's why Gibbs had hired him. It was part of why Jethro had hired him and part of why Jethro kept him. Tony could take a lot of shit and call Jethro on his – all that and he didn't seem to suffer the stomach ulcers like some of Gibbs' previous partners had.
It probably wasn't a good idea that they were sitting next to each other on a mattress. It gave Jethro all sorts of ideas that he shouldn't act on. Yelling was a crappy method of self-preservation, but he did it anyway.
"Listen, Typhoid Tony, you're sick; it sucks; and I get that. We all get that. Your team – your friends are busting ass to try and help you. Consider sucking it up for a couple of months and letting them try."
"Suck-" Tony let out a breath and allowed his head to fall back against the wall. "Gibbs, I don't know how to suck this one up. I can't shake the feeling that I don't know where I should be."
"Where do you think you should be, Tony?"
"I don't know," Tony said too fast.
"Tony…"
"Someplace where I can bury myself on a couch and watch old movies and maybe go play some ball." Tony frowned. "Geez, I want to be in my college frat house?"
With a sense of relief, Jethro felt his lips curve up a little. "Maybe you want to dance or chase dragonflies?"
"Yeah that would work and…" Tony cleared his throat, and leaned away from Gibbs. "Other stuff."
Jethro found himself being much too fascinated by the idea of other stuff. He didn't know what was more asinine – the idea that he had just invited all this temptation to live with him or the fact that he wanted to do something about it, and he wasn't going to.
"But I wouldn't catch dragonflies!" Tony practically shouted.
Jethro knew he wouldn't. He was also relived that they were back to talking about Tony's condition.
"I wouldn't eat them either. Not that I make it a habit to eat bugs!"
"But maybe you would in wolf form?"
Tony blinked at him. "I'm given the impression that there's not much that I wouldn't eat in wolf form."
"What else?" Jethro asked.
Confusion, excitement and caution ran across Tony's face before he said. "I just kind of described the team, didn't I?"
"Uh-huh," Jethro said.
"It's home – they're home," Tony said with a fierce look on his face like he was afraid that Jethro would challenge him on that revelation. Jethro put a look of approval on his face. That was exactly what his team was to him and should be to each other.
Tony nodded. "And while I don't want to get into a puppy pile with everyone, especially McGee, I feel like I've been bobbing in the ocean all day. We caught the killer, except that we're not done. I felt like I should have been doing something, but we were already doing everything, and then when you said we could go home…" Tony shrugged.
Jethro wanted Tony here in his house. This part had always been his life - taking care of his team, and there was no doubt that Tony was special to him. But they couldn't just sit and watch a ballgame. Jethro had to get Tony moving again. Fighting the lure of Tony's warmth, Jethro pushed himself up and started walking toward the secret door.
"I'm going to take some measurements in the kitchen. Come upstairs when you're done dealing with the box," he said and headed toward the secret door.
"Really, you're not going to throw me out after all that?"
Jethro paused and half turned back. "Nope. I'm throwing us out."
Tony turned his head sideways.
Jethro didn't want to dwell on how endearing Tony could look when he was confused. "We're going to your place to watch a playoff game while you pack."
Practically launching himself off the mattress, Tony said, "Really, Gibbs? You're going to help me pack?"
With a smile Jethro turned and headed out of the secret room. "Hell no. I'm going to drink your beer and watch you pack."
"Of course, Boss. Say, do you think that we could head straight there and leave the wolf box for another night?"
Jethro shook his head and headed upstairs to measure the kitchen.
*** An hour later ***
Tony pushed open his apartment door and shifted the pile of empty boxes in his arms, before walking in. "You were right, Boss, the liquor store had a ton of empty boxes. Did you figure that out from you're vast experience with –" He cut himself off, not wanting to wreck the easy air Gibbs had taken on since their conversation in the basement.
"With my vast experience with what, DiNozzo?"
Maybe Tony wasn't going to get that lucky. "With your keen observations of human behavior in an urban setting, honed as a very special NCIS agent."
"That was the best you could do?" Gibbs said, as he passed a wincing Tony on his way to getting a glass out of the cupboard. "It's from my vast experience of breaking down cardboard boxes at my Dad's store. They multiplied in the back room, but the bar down the street always had a bigger pile." He poured himself a couple of fingers of bourbon and took a sip. "So what channel is the game on?"
Gibbs had walked into the living room and was frowning at the spot where the TV used to be. Tony pulled a six-pack out of his empty boxes and put them in the fridge, taking one for himself. "Yeah, we're not going to be able to watch it in here. The bedroom TV works. I suppose I could pack up my closet. We could bring in a dining room chair, if you want."
With a nod, Gibbs headed into Tony's bedroom, kicked off his shoes, and made himself comfortable on Tony's side of the bed. He adjusted the pillows behind his back and grabbed the remote control, kinda like he owned the place. That more than kinda turned Tony on.
Gibbs presence meant that Tony's place didn't feel quite as alien as it had the last time he had been there. Gibbs coming along for the ride was the backup he needed to face not only the mess in his apartment, but also the changes in his life. Maybe his senses, instincts, and energy were all different and continuously changing, but Tony was prepared to do what Gibb said – suck it up and get used to it.
"You actually have to put things in boxes to pack," Gibbs said.
Tony blinked. "Right, Boss! I'm packing."
Pulling out suitcases and putting them next to the empty boxes had been hard for a moment or two, but the sound of the game was a soothing background that went well with the scent of Gibbs. What was more disturbing were the contents of his closet.
Tony had moved so frequently in his early career that he had never had a buildup of worn out clothes or things that didn't fit him. In Peoria he made a vow that he would only take what fit into the suitcases and sporting equipment. Back in those days he had rented rooms with rented furniture.
Something changed after Baltimore. Becoming a federal agent gave him a sense of permanency that he had never had before. It was strange if he thought about it, because NCIS was more likely to ship him to a remote post, and in the early days, he was pretty sure that Gibbs was going to fire him at any moment.
Now he had a closet with almost a decade full of history. Out of style suits right next to T-shirts and sweats that looked like they had survived the last wolf attack but were the kinds of things he bummed around in on a Sunday afternoon. His new closet was going to be a lot smaller, so he should really get rid of a bunch of stuff, but it felt too much like giving up on his life in Washington and at NCIS.
"What's the problem? Gibbs asked. He said it from the bed, but it practically sounded like Gibbs was growling it in his ear. Then the man was on the move and Tony could call out the distance between them without even looking, based on the sounds and the scent.
"I just…I guess I'm just used to doing this when it's time to move on to a new job."
Gibbs made a noise of acknowledgement and he was right next to Tony. "You're not that lucky; you're stuck with me."
The part of Tony that liked the close quarters was warring with the three brain cells that thought he should be acting more independently and impressing Gibbs with his decisiveness. There actually wasn't a cell in Tony's body that wanted to be away from Gibbs; it was simply a question of method.
"You want help?" Gibbs asked.
The three brain cells overruled the rest of the brain by restating an important fact – Gibbs shopped at Sears. Tony smiled. "Yeah, I got this one. And I thought that when you moved to the suburbs you were supposed to get more closet space?"
Taking a half-step back from Tony, Gibbs snapped open a black plastic garbage bag. "Trash." After he put it down on the floor, he opened another. "Donations." Then he shoved an empty box into Tony's hand. "Try and balance things out, closets are small in my part of the suburbs."
Tony looked at the perfectly reasonable arrangement of containers. "That's very organized for a guy that's lived in the same place for decades."
"DIY and HGTV," Gibbs said as he went back to his spot on the bed.
"What?
"Home and garden TV. In between the shows about new tools and man caves they've got organizing shows that tell you how to get the lead out of your life."
Tony looked into his closet. "Lead?"
"Yeah, all the stuff that gets in the way of moving on," Gibbs said.
Gibbs was the finest example Tony had of someone who had no clue how to move on. He was about to call Gibbs on it when the crowd on TV went wild over a base hit, which made them both focus on the instant replay. It was nice as far as Tony was concerned. He took his oldest suit out of the closet and folded it into the donation bag. Maybe it was a night for doing what Gibbs said and not arguing with him about pots and kettles.
*** A Few Hours Later ***
It was a little too cozy a fantasy. Sure he had imagined Gibbs in his bed before, but those fantasies usually involved more action and a lot more naked. This was different. He kind of liked it. There were things that he would have liked more, but he was unlikely to get them.
It was just that Gibbs' coming over had made the visit to his apartment tolerable. Even though they hadn't talked, and Gibbs hadn't lifted a finger to help him, the man's presence made the apartment feel homier. That wasn't quite right – the apartment was never going to feel like home again. It was more like he could be less paranoid, knowing that Gibbs had his six.
At the base the other day, among all those armed and trained sailors and Marines, Tony had been the most dangerous. Not only was he armed and trained, he was running on hyped-up senses and keen instinct. Even then, he wanted his team nearby. Tonight, going to Gibbs' house after work was the only right thing to do.
Now he was facing the big decision of the night. The couch had been wrecked a month ago during the first transformation, which basically left the sleeping options as the floor or the other side of the bed. It was a big bed and the floor was hard, so it should have been an easy decision. Should have been, except for the part where Gibbs knew the exact amount of force to apply to snap Tony's neck. So ultimately, it was a hard decision.
Now if he just happened to sit on the other side of the bed to watch TV and happened to fall asleep… Tony liked that plan and left the TV on for plausible deniability later as he turned off the light and lay down on the wrong side of the bed with the spare pillow.
A deep breath filled him with the scent of Gibbs. Power - power in every sense of the word from leadership to sexuality. No matter where this man led, Tony would be at his side. Then again, these were things that Tony had always known about Gibbs. It wasn't as poetic as touch-football games or dragonflies, but he never needed that from Gibbs.
"About time you went to sleep," Gibbs murmured.
Tony felt his eyes open wider as he fought off a moment of panic.
"DiNozzo, if you're going to leave that window open, I'm keeping all the blankets."
"Okay," Tony said and then cleared his throat given how he had choked the word out. To be truthful, he was a tad on the warm side, like the way the heat of summer day sometimes lingered too long into the night. "I promise not to turn on the air conditioning."
Gibbs grunted.
"Goodnight, Boss."
***Thursday October 8
- Waning gibbous with 79% of the Moon's visible disk illuminated***
Tony was at work and glad to be alive. When the alarm had gone off, he was wrapped around his pillow, the one that Gibbs had been using. And, god, it smelled gloriously of Gibbs. Gibbs himself was nowhere, so Tony assumed that he had gone back to his own place sometime in the night or the early morning.
What Tony wasn't sure about was whether Gibbs had woken up on his own or if he had woken up because Tony had inched his way across the mattress and got too familiar. Tony decided that he wasn't going to question that further and just be happy to be alive.
Cassie and Tim had rolled in a few minutes ago and did look better than they had the night before, although they both still looked kind of tired. Tony debated quizzing them about it, but then Gibbs came through the squad room carrying a cup of coffee, with Ducky and Abby in his wake.
"What's the plan?" he asked.
There was a quick exchange of looks among the field agents.
Tim must have been feeling brave because he said, "Boss, we haven't made a plan-"
"Do it. I'll be back in an hour," Gibbs said without stopping, as he headed up the stairs toward Vance's office.
There was a lot of talking all at once, including Tony. The second he realized that people weren't paying attention to him like they should, he shouted, "Campfire!"
Tim shrugged, pushed his chair into the open space and sat down. He got up as soon as he spotted Abby giving him a look and offered her the chair, which she took with a flounce and a smile. Then Tim got Gibbs' chair, and only hesitated a second before giving it to Ducky.
"Will you get settled, McGee?" Tony said, determined to take charge.
Tim opened his mouth, but in the end said nothing and sat on the corner of his own desk.
"We've got eight dead sailors-"
"Seven," Tim said.
"The eighth victim was never in the Navy," Cassie finished.
"The eighth also wasn't an international criminal master mind or person of interest either. Interpol came up empty," Abby said.
"Okay," Tony said. "We've got eight dead people, two serial killers and not enough evidence."
There was a nod or two and absolutely no argument, so Tony went on. "We need to find the evidence."
"Because that's what we do!" Abby said, swooping a fist into the air. They all looked at her. She pulled her hands back into her lap. "Sorry, I usually don't get invited to this part of the case."
Tony went on. "The hard part, and there are several hard parts, is that most of these cases are old."
"And written off as something other than murder," Cassie finished.
"Even if we went back to the scene of the crime, the crime scene may not even be there any longer and the people will be widely dispersed, both in and out of the Navy," Tim added.
"Right, so let's start with what we can get from the physical evidence we have." Tony said.
"Fingers in jars," Abby said.
"And dead bodies," Ducky said.
"Oh," Abby said tapping Ducky's arm. "Now I know why we were invited."
"Abby, can you -" Tony started.
"I can track back the chemicals and the jars themselves. Actually, I already have - they're all too generic to connect them with the killer."
"Ducky, is it worth trying to exhume any of the bodies?" Tim asked.
"Doubtful," Ducky said, but then added, "Unless…"
"We're all ears," Tony said, pointing at the side of his head.
"The fingers. The killer severed them intentionally. It's almost expected that he has a tool that he habitually uses for this task."
"I can look at the fingers and determine if there are similar tool marks, although having the matching evidence from the hand will hold up better in court, especially considering how the fingers have been stored," Abby said.
"I concur," Ducky said.
"McGee! Write that down!" Tony said
"Why do I-"
Tony held up a hand cutting him off. "I was just thinking that the plan would be more impressive on the big screen, but hey, we've got an entire hour."
Tim stood up. "Only because I don't want Gibbs to kill us." He moved behind his desk.
"Good man, McGee."
Tim stood over his keyboard and frowned. "I could use my chair back."
"Mc-" but before Tony could finish, the others were talking.
"The campfire's getting pretty spread out with Tim all the way over there," Cassie said.
"He could never roast a marshmallow from back there, let's move!" Abby said.
Then everyone was sliding around or standing up and pushing chairs toward Tim's desk.
"I could still use a chair," Tim said.
"Here, take mine," Tony said.
"Yours is really uncomfortable to type in," Tim said.
Tony looked at him like he was a two-headed alien - a pathetic two-headed alien.
Cassie stood and extended a hand to Abby who took it and stood up. She then grabbed Tony's chair and held it so that Abby could sit down
Tim grabbed his now free chair and that was when Tony realized he was chair-less.
*
"Do you spy on my people all the time, Leon?" Jethro asked, as they watched the team on the monitor on the wall in Vance's office.
"Are they playing musical chairs?" Vance demanded.
"Didn't answer my question."
"Gibbs, do you know how many cameras there are in this building? I have an entire agency to observe. I was just surprised that you left them on their own, when your team is supposed to be coming up with a plan. I wanted to see what would happen. I'm not filled with a sense of confidence."
Sipping his coffee, Jethro let a slight smile on his face. "You got to give 'em room to spread their wings. Give 'em another five minutes and they'll show you a plan."
"That'll only be a half-hour; I thought you gave them an hour?"
With a shrug, Jethro said. "I'll just tell 'em that you got impatient."
Jethro could see Vance fighting the urge to call him on that, but Vance knew he was right. As soon as the monitor had come on, Gibbs could see that Tony had taken charge of the group and was getting them all to work together, which was all the progress he cared about for the moment. Everything about the way Tony and the others were moving and animatedly talking, looked normal.
On the monitor, Tony smacked Tim on the back of the head and when Tim returned the gesture, Tony dodged away, but ended up tripping.
"Yeah," Vance said. "I can see them spreading their wings."
*
"What do you got?" Gibbs called as he came down the stairs, followed by Vance. The campfire spread out.
Ducky frowned at his watch. "I thought there was an hour?"
Gibbs stood next to his desk.
"No rest for the wicked, Dr. Mallard," Vance said, leaning against Tim's desk. "I'm told there's a plan."
Tony pointed at the big screen and on cue, Tim put up the service photos of two of the victims and a red question mark. With his other hand, Tony pointed at Cassie.
"Petty Officer First Class Miles Diamond. Reported missing from Air Station Atlanta four years ago. While we don't have proof that he's dead, we do have his index finger."
Tony jumped in. "So were not placing bets on our ability to capture him and put him in Leavenworth for desertion."
"But dead bodies tend to get noticed," Cassie said. "Somewhere in Atlanta or the surrounding towns there's a report of a John Doe missing a finger. There might be evidence in a coroner's report."
"McGee!" Tony said.
McGee clicked a button, highlighting the second picture. "Petty Officer First Class Patrick Upland - lost at sea aboard the Reagan. Again we have a finger and basically no hope of finding a body. However, the incident was relatively recent and the crews of carriers tend to re-up. If we reopen the investigation with an eye toward our suspects, we may turn up more evidence or at least witnesses." McGee clicked the button, highlighting the oversized question mark.
"And our mystery finger," Tony said. "Someone who busts the profile. Not only was this victim not in the Navy, his finger wasn't with the rest. This one was in the personal possession of our dominant serial killer. It was special."
"It was," Ducky said, turning from Vance to Gibbs. "I'd lay money that this was from the first victim."
Tony nodded at Tim who nodded back and put up a map of Missouri. "We think that we need to investigate our killers' lives before the Navy for mysterious deaths." Tony let the silence envelope his pronouncement.
"Is that it?" Gibbs asked.
"It was only a half-hour, Gibbs." Abby said. "Which is why we all deserve Caff-Pow, because we are not done! McGee!" Abby pointed at the screen.
Tim turned it off. "We do have more, but we're out of graphics."
"Essentially, we've picked out the specific cases that have the most potential to yield additional evidence." Cassie said. "Other than the investigation in Norfolk, most of these cases are so old that it will be difficult tracking down people and there's almost no hope of further physical evidence from the crime scenes."
"Which doesn't mean we won't try to get that," Tony quickly added. "With the Atlanta case, we can at least go through records for a body found with a missing finger. There might be evidence there. Speaking of which, Ducky and Abby want to exhume bodies. So our second line of investigation-"
"Wait!" Vance held up a hand and swept the team with his eyes before glaring at Gibbs. Then he turned back to the team. "I think your order of attacking this has potential, but you've got to do some serious talking to convince me there's any evidence left on those bodies."
"Tool marks," Abby said.
"It's probable that the killers used the same tool to sever the fingers," Ducky said.
"That's the kind of forensics that sells a jury," Gibbs said.
Vance gave something that looked like a nod. "You kept saying, 'we', so what's your management plan?"
"I've been following up on the Atlanta case," Cassie said.
Tony immediately added, "And I know my way around the Reagan, while Tim-"
Vance held up a hand as Tim was opening his mouth. He looked down at Gibbs.
Gibbs waved a finger back and forth from Tony to Tim. "Which one of them do you want?"
"McGee," Vance said without hesitation as he headed back to the stairs. Tony didn't know what Tim just got, but he was pretty sure he wanted it.
"Boss?" Tim said.
"McGee, you're going to coordinate with Agents…" Gibbs squinted at a sheaf of papers filled with names. "Singer and Mercer from San Diego." Gibbs tossed the papers on his desk. "The three of you will accompany the Director as he personally visits all the families of the victims. Singer and Mercer will focus on the protection detail, giving you the opportunity to question the families and look for potential leads. Your last stop can be Missouri."
Tim blinked and then made his way across the aisle to pick up the paper. "On it, Boss!"
"Gibbs, was there a reason that I wasn't in the running for that assignment?" Cassie demanded.
"Yes there was, Yates." Gibbs held out a folder. "You better have your seabag packed, because you're leaving Saturday, 0300 for the Reagan.
Tony turned from McGee to point open mouthed at Cassie's folder. "Wai-"
"Gibbs, how did you know that we were going to pick the Reagan and Missouri to investigate first?" Cassie asked.
"Because Gibbs knows everything," Abby said.
"Ducky," Gibbs called, ignoring both Cassie and Abby. "McGee will get you the signatures for the bodies when he visits the families." He opened the bottom drawer of his desk.
Ducky nodded and turned toward the elevator. "Yes, that would seem to be the most expedient method."
Tony held up an open hand, but Ducky didn't seem inclined to fill it with anything.
Gibbs started, "Abby-"
"I have fingers to work on, but I have to say that I like it better when you visit me, because when you visit me-" she gasped, as Gibbs handed her a Caff-Pow from out of his desk.
Tony pointed at the Caff-Pow and then Gibbs desk and back again. Opening his mouth, he was cut off by Tim.
"Ah, Boss, I realize how important the Director's personal visits are, but are we sure that's the best time to ask the families for permission to exhume their loved ones? And, what if I can't convince them?" McGee asked.
"Then DiNozzo will get the court order to exhume."
Finally, something about him! Wait- "Boss, you want me to do paperwork?"
"I want you to find enough evidence to give both of these dirtbags the death penalty."
"Yeah!" Tony rushed up to the edge of Gibbs' desk. "Boss, that's what I'm trying to do. I get why I didn't get picked for the Director's protection detail. Again. But I know the Reagan and -"
"Yeah, and Cassie needs to learn a carrier from stem to stern. The Director wants to test your sea legs, Yates."
"She has great legs; you don't need to test them!" Tony turned quickly around. "Not that I'm staring at your legs, Cassie."
Cassie shook her head.
"DiNozzo!"
Tony turned back to Gibbs who was slapping the paper with the list of agents into his chest. "Agent Whitaker, in Atlanta. He'll be expecting your call."
"I don't even get to go to Atlanta to look for the missing body?"
"Whitaker's got twenty years of experience and three agents. I think he can look for a body in the coroner's reports."
"Boss, is this-" Tony clammed up realizing what he was just about to say out loud. Stepping into Gibbs personal space, he whispered. "Maybe this is better asked in the elevator, but am I grounded because of…" Tony let his eyes open wide, and he lifted his chin.
Gibbs poked Tony in the chest, through the sheaf of papers. "DiNozzo, who do you think all those people are going to report to?" He lifted his head all the way back as he drained his coffee.
After a moment of mulling, Tony said, "I'm in charge? I'm in charge!"
The smile went up on one side of Gibbs' face as he reached out and gave Tony a relatively gentle headslap. More of a head-tap, Tony thought from his perspective as a connoisseur. "You're in charge!"
Gibbs smiled shaking his head.
Tony turned first to McGee and then to Cassie. "Gibbs is in charge." Then he took a step forward. "Boss, since you're in charge, and I’m not heading out into the field, that makes me…"
"My senior agent."
Then Tony smiled for real.
Continued here
Title: Ligers and Tigons and Tony, Oh My (9a/?)
Author:
justhumanjusthumanWritten for:
spoonyrifficPrompt: Tony/Gibbs - Supernatural (the genre, not the show) - a series of strange killings in DC leave our favorite NCIS team puzzled, and soon it is revealed that there is something more nefarious behind it all. First Time fic. Rating between R or NC-17, whichever is best for the fic.
Archive: Please ask
Genre: teamfic, adventure, romance
Pairings: Gibbs/DiNozzo, mentions of canon pairings and maybe a surprise
Rating: NC-17 overall, PG this section
Disclaimer: CBS
Word Count: 16,956 this part
Summary: While working a case, Tony runs into a problem with potentially deadly consequences. Now it's up to the team to do what they do best and investigate until they find a solution.
A/N: Many thanks to
ceruleancat. As always, all mistakes are mine.LJ/DW - Part 1-Harvest Moon
LJ/DW - Part 2 -After the Harvest Moon
LJ/DW - Part 3 - Hunter's Moon
LJ/DW - Part 4 - Hunter's Dawn
LJ/DW - Part 5 - Drag Hunt
LJ/DW Part 6a - Hunter's Bloodhound
LJ/DW Part 6b - Hunter's Bloodhound
LJ/DW Part 7 - Hunter's Lead
LJ/DW Part 8 - Making Game
Part 9 - Waning Hunter's Moon
***Wednesday Oct 7
- Waning Gibbous with 87% of the Moon's visible disk illuminated. ***
"I don't know, this guy is going to be hard to crack," Cassie said as she observed Morgan through the two-way glass.
"If anyone can crack him, Gibbs can," McGee said.
"Agent McGee, I believe that Agent Yates was speculating on Agent Gibbs' probability of success despite his track record," Vance said.
Tony had smelled shark as soon as the door had opened, and without even thinking about it, had moved a step closer to Cassie and McGee. For a moment he wondered if the move was protective, and if it was, was he protecting them or himself?
Vance continued, "What about you, Agent DiNozzo, are you going to lay any bets?"
Tony looked at him, feeling momentarily lost. Usually he looked forward to this part of the case, watching Gibbs grill a suspect that they had dead to rights. But today it was different. It was like everyone was looking for a missing piece, but Tony had found it hours ago. He had smelled the jar and got the key and … focus.
Tony took a breath, checking in with Cassie and McGee's scents, while blocking the shark and the smell of pepperoni pizza coming off the guy in the back, manning the sound and video. "Psychos can clam up and be perverse – they won't admit to what everyone already knows. I'm still betting that Gibbs gets under his skin and then Morgan will start singing about his own brilliance."
Vance looked at him for a long moment, chewing on his toothpick. Then he nodded. "CO over at Pax River says you smelled the key in the wall."
"I smelled the jar with the finger," Tony said quickly. "Well, technically I smelled the formaldehyde, which was in the jar and maybe had spilled outside the jar. The key just happened to be there. Also, we did not break that mirror."
Gibbs entered the interrogation room, carrying a brown box, drawing everyone's attention.
"We'll see," Vance said.
Tony was watching Gibbs and not watching Gibbs. The first part of an interrogation was like watching the first quarter in a pro-football game. If you knew the teams, you knew the methods. One look at the way the sides lined up against one another told you which strategies they were starting with and because they were pros, would stick with for a while. Gibbs pulled a series of pictures out of the box – each petty officer and a corresponding picture of the man's finger in a jar. Gibbs opening play was direct confrontation with the evidence. Since Tony had spent years studying Gibbs' playbook, he was willing to bet good money that the unidentified finger in the jar that Tony had just found was in Gibbs' brown box.
Tony bit his lip and shifted his weight. He just wasn't feeling right. Nothing was rumbling, so it wasn't anything that he had eaten. It was more like the flu or a nasty headache where the lights were too bright and the noises too loud or maybe not loud enough, except that his head didn't hurt.
Really he just wanted all of this to be over – serial killers creeped him out. He got how con men, mobsters, and dependent spouses thought. Serial killers broke the mold and sometimes broke your brain with their twisted logic. He knew their evidence wasn't solid enough and what they really needed was a confession. Tony was having a hard time putting his brain in gear to figure out their next move.
*
Two hours later, Tony, McGee and Cassie were standing in Vance's office. Tony noted that they had been standing in Vance's office for almost five minutes, and it was only occurring to him now that he could have been trying to glance at the papers on Vance's desk. He was really feeling off and either wanted to crawl into a corner for a nap or run the Marine Corp Marathon.
At least Vance's office was free of the ticks and whirs of the recording equipment in the observation room. Maybe he should just be quiet and try and survive the day unnoticed. Tony had never done well with distractions and that was one of the reasons he was in the habit of sneaking back into to work around midnight to catch up. There were just so many more distractions nowadays – scents and sounds.
"Does anybody buy what Morgan's saying," Tim asked angrily as he planted his hands on the back of one of the guest chairs.
"I think that's the point," Cassie said, smoothing non-existent stray hairs. "He doesn't think we've got enough evidence; he doesn't think he has to make his excuses real."
"That's not far from the truth," Vance said as he came through the door and moved behind his desk. "We're only holding onto this man with pieces of thread."
Tony's brain still wasn't getting it. The guy was guilty, and Tony knew it -- that should be enough. He also knew that you needed harder evidence than his gut. Finally he just blurted out, "I found human body parts in the guy's wall!"
"Do you have proof that he put the jar in the wall, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked, his voice low and calm, as he pushed the door gently closed with only a finger.
"I-"
"I didn't think so," Gibbs said.
Vance sat down and gripped a pen tightly in his fist. "Has Ms. Scuito identified the last victim?"
"She's working on it," Tim said. "A DNA profile may not be possible due to the formaldehyde. As Abby is fond of reminding us, fingerprints solve more cases than DNA, but we've a problem there too. She's run the fingerprint through AFIS, and there's no match. She's trying Interpol. But this means -"
"The victim was never in the military or arrested," Cassie said. "All the prior victims were Navy."
"We have other ways of nailing this guy and his partner," Gibbs said determination showing in his voice.
Tony's eyes shot over to Gibbs and saw nothing but resolve. Tony imitated him, not because he fully felt it, but because it was obviously the right thing to do.
"And by we, you do mean more than this team," Vance said.
Gibbs turned his head ever so slightly and slowly exhaled.
It was Cassie that took half a step forward. "Sir, we may not have got a confession, but-"
"Stand down," Gibbs said, leaning against the wall near the door.
"Boss?" Tony started, but it was Vance that answered.
"Agents, I know you've got your teeth into this one, and I know the lengths you'll go to get your man." He cast a glance at Gibbs that implied that comment wasn't entirely praise. "However, I think you're focusing so hard on your quarry that you're losing sight of the bigger picture."
Focusing too much? Now Tony was becoming very confused.
"Director Vance, we can nail this, this dirtbag," McGee said.
Tony looked at McGee with approval - way to use the words, McWriter! It was convenient too, because Tony's words seemed to be lost.
"I know you can -- every last damn one of you. I just think that sifting through a decade of records and tracking down witnesses spread out across the entire US Navy is going to take longer than the situation demands. Agents, we have a dead sailor in Norfolk, and we can only delay so long in publishing the facts and the charges." Vance pushed himself out of his chair and paced like a caged animal behind his desk before continuing.
"Facts that I will discuss with SecNav later today, because we need to work out who is going to go to the families of every one of those victims and tell them that their son, their brother, their father didn't die in a tragic accident. Oh, and by the way once this case is done, we'll have something else for you to bury."
Vance let his pen fall to the desk. "You have all done an exceptional job, but I can't have a major response team spend the next six months digging for records that may not exist, because we don't have those six months." Vance gave a short laugh. "Besides, I have more important things for you to do, especially if you know how to smell a killer."
Vance was looking right at Tony, and Tony wanted to defend his territory. There really shouldn't be such a thing as land sharks. But he schooled his face, going for innocence, because after all, nothing he did was wrong.
"Tony didn't actually, that is to say that none of us really-" Tim started to babble
"Mc-Gee," Gibbs said.
Vance pulled out a toothpick from his pocket and put it between his teeth. "You people have a hard time accepting a compliment. I know you're good investigators and every time I think I've found you're limits, you come up with something new. Tomorrow, I want to see what your leadership skills are like. Dismissed."
Tony noticed that as a unit, they looked at Gibbs, but he had opened the door and was heading down into the bullpen. Once they were down the stairs and in the false security of their space, Cassie and McGee started asking questions and Tony just watched.
Gibbs whistled them into silence. "We have been given the use of all NCIS' resources and agents to end this case. No doubt you'll be digging for evidence, but your primary assignment is to make sure everyone else is doing the same."
"Really?" McGee asked.
"Gibbs, with that kind of support we'll have this tied up in no time," Cassie said.
"You better," Gibbs said. "Go home."
Everyone was staring at the Boss.
Gibbs went to his desk, and took his weapon and badge from the drawer. "Go home. He wasn't lying about a job well done. He's curious about how we managed to pull off as much as we did, but we made an impression."
Cassie and McGee made a path as Gibbs stepped between them and made his way to the elevator, stabbing the button with his finger. Without turning to look at them, he said, "Did I mention this might be the last chance you get to sleep for the rest of the month?"
As if the elevator was cued by Gibbs' voice, the doors opened and Gibbs stepped in. For a moment - well, it was probably a moment, Tony wasn't sure; they stood just looking at the closed elevator doors.
"See you tomorrow," Cassie said, putting on her jacket.
McGee's fingers flew across his keyboard, backpack already on his shoulder. "Abby probably already knows, but I'm going to tell her and then go and get some sleep."
Tony stepped behind his desk, mostly to avoid the rushed traffic of his colleagues. He wasn't tired, and he hadn't expected Gibbs to let them have a break.
Cassie had gone for the elevator but spun around before she could press the button and made a beeline for McGee and the stairs. "Better not go that way -- Gibbs might come back!"
McGee laughed and held the door for her.
"Foolish mortals," Tony muttered as he sat down. "Just because the last place you saw Gibbs was in the elevator doesn't mean that's where he'd reappear. The man is Leroy Jethro Gibbs; he could materialize out of thin air if he needed to."
Tony wished that Gibbs would appear right in front of him and was almost surprised that he hadn’t. Chewing on his lower lip, he said to no one in particular, "It's a fine night for a bottle of bourbon and a boat. Not that anyone has to worry about spending too much time in a basement." He forced a chuckle out and then turned around quickly and then back again. He spun 360 degrees in his chair. No Gibbs.
An involuntary shiver coursed through him. This is what it had felt like when Gibbs said he was quitting and going to Mexico. Gibbs wasn't going away this time, but he apparently wasn't coming back to the office today. Maybe it was time to go home, but Tony wasn't sure where that was.
***Early Wednesday Evening***
Jethro came through the front door and headed across the living room to the lock box on the bookshelf. Before he made it half way across the room, he heard something coming from the basement and that made him pause. Just because he never locked the door didn't mean that everyone was invited in.
Since his visitors ranged the gambit from friends and co-workers to assassins and ex-wives, it was better to stay armed. Turning away from the lock box, Jethro headed toward the basement stairs. He didn’t even consider putting down the brown paper sack containing a new bottle of bourbon. He was going to need it no matter who was down there.
As he went down the stairs, the sound of the TV became clearer – baseball. That probably narrowed his potential guest list to a former brother-in-arms from the Corp, Fornell, or Tony. There were fast food bags and wrappers all over the workbench, eliminating Fornell, who insisted his gut couldn't handle burger joints any longer. Since the door to the secret room was propped open, he really hoped that it was Tony. He didn’t need anyone quizzing him on the brand new cage and speculating on what new interrogation techniques he might be using.
"Seven to two. Time to pack it in and head back to Minnesota!"
Tony. When he looked into the secret room, Tony's full attention was on the screen as he bounced a broom up and down over the toes of his shoes
"Hey, Gibbs, I didn't hear you come in." Tony said, not moving his eyes from the TV.
"Then how do you know I was here?"
"Smelled you." There was something casual about the way Tony said it, like it was just a natural way to do things.
Jethro wasn't going to let on how it made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. "You should come up with a code word for your sense of smell. How far away was I?" he asked. When he didn't get an answer or even eye contact, he snapped his fingers to get Tony's full attention.
"Huh?"
"How far away was I when you smelled me?"
"Oh, top of the basement stairs, but if I hadn't been checking out the game and heard you at the door, I think I could have smelled you there. But, you know, not through the door or on the second floor or anything."
"Oh, that's comforting," Jethro said, letting out some well-deserved sarcasm. At least DiNozzo was acting more like himself, losing some of the fatalism that he had had for the last month. The downside was that shiny objects, like the TV, were more easily distracting him. Jethro wasn't in the mood for that tonight. "This was the best place you could come up with to watch the Yankee game?"
"Oh, well…" Tony looked around and then focused back on Jethro. "As you may know, I'm not a fan of cleaning, but I thought that the whole..." Tony wavered as he pointed to the sand box in the back corner of the cage. "Well, Abby calls it a wolf box."
Jethro said nothing.
Tony went on. "That's a good term for it because only people in werewolf form would consider using it for what it has become. I was just thinking that it might lead to unwanted odors and that maybe I should do something... Uhm, and should that something be flushing?"
Jethro sighed. He should be happy that Tony was trying to take some control and responsibility over his condition. "The sand or that litter stuff, whatever it is, will clog the plumbing. I suppose most people just put it in a garbage bag."
Tony took a few steps forward and lowered his voice. "Not that anyone should be going through the trash, but there's a size difference between a cat and a werewolf." Tony cleared his throat.
This really wasn't the conversation that Jethro was planning on after the previous week of werewolves and serial killers. Hell, he was looking forward to no conversations, no television and no people. "Just double bag it."
Jethro turned back to the door, wanting to just go and relax, except that he planned to do that in the basement. He stopped, scratched at the back of his head and slowly turned back. "Are you planning on staying long?"
"Well, I had the cleaning to do in here, so I picked up some take out. There are a couple of cheeseburgers out there for you. I figured that you might want to watch another playoff game." Tony pointed at the TV. "This one's almost over, but there's a west coast game around nine - Dodgers and the Rockies. I promise to stay awake for that one and not fall asleep on the couch. Boy, that being up for ninety-six hours minus catnaps, really takes it out of you when the adrenaline rush dies back. Hey, do you think we should call those wolf naps?" Tony looked at his feet and bounced the broom up and down.
The adrenaline rush easing off might be a matter of opinion, Jethro thought. "We've got a night off," he said. "Maybe you should take advantage of that, get some sleep. I bet you have packing to do at home."
"Yeah, the packing is just - I don't know, hectic isn't the right word. It's just that I go to the apartment, and it kind of feels all wrong now. And it's not like I can just pick up a box and move it over here. Not here, here," Tony pointed at the floor and the cage.
"But upstairs here, because I still have some painting to do. Oh! Abby said she'd come over and help me with the wallpaper, because I figured, because we figured that maybe you wouldn't want to..." Tony pushed his fingers through his hair. "Yeah, that."
He might have appreciated Tony's attempts at circumspection more if they were actually circumspect. "Tony, go home."
As soon as he said it, he regretted it. As much as he wanted some down time away from people, he appreciated Tony as a guest. Over the years, Tony had come over for a steak or shown up in the basement looking for company or solace or some things that Jethro didn't even know about. But Tony got how to blend in. No, that wasn't quite right. Blending in implied taking on a role, like going undercover. Tony knew how to step out of those fancy Italian shoes and step into other shoes. He put on his cleats at Ohio State and stopped being a rich kid from Long Island. He put on a Baltimore Police Badge and defended his blue collar like he had been born that way.
When he stepped into Jethro's basement, he stepped into Jethro's life – yeah, Tony didn't fully get it all, because Jethro was bad about sharing, but he figured out how to belong. Tony limited the number of annoying questions. He drank bourbon without any of the unnecessary commentary Jethro got from everyone else. Tony might ramble on, but he didn't actually expect an answer. Jethro liked all that, missed it sometimes, and that's when he'd invite Tony over to share a steak. And sometimes he wanted to do more than just listen to that voice.
With a nod, Tony propped the broom against the wall, almost reluctantly. Jethro's gut ached. If you put Tony in the right circumstances, he was damn graceful. The sudden quiet and deliberate care with the broom was out of place in the basement. Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs had seen this kind of juxtaposition one too many times in the aftermath of a fire fight.
"Tony, are you OK?"
There was a look of surprise on Tony's face, as he looked at him, obviously thinking about the question. "I don't know, Gibbs."
Jethro moved, because that was what training and instinct told him to do. When you had a guy on edge, you didn't make him feel like he was under a microscope – you also checked if he was armed. Jethro crossed in front of Tony to the other side of the room and picked up a blanket from the old mattress. Tony's shoulder holster was empty – the weapon was on the table that Ducky used for medical equipment. Verifying that there wasn't an immediate physical threat, he started folding the blanket. "That probably means you're not OK."
"Yeah, that's probably right."
"Talk," Jethro said and slowly straightened the things in the corner, pretending not to be watching Tony.
"It's been weird all day. My nose and ears are telling me all these things –like what people had for lunch, hours after the food is gone. I don't need that information; there's nothing I can do with it."
Gibbs shook his head. "Six months ago, if I wanted to know what everyone in the building had for lunch, you'd be the person I'd talk to. You notice that kind of thing all the time. Memorize it, categorize it, whatever. Try again."
"I don't-"
"You do."
Tony screwed up his face into a thoughtful frown. "Okay, maybe I do, but this is different. I noticed things before. Now it's like everything is jumping in front of me demanding that I notice it. Everything is pinging like it's some kind of clue, but there's no mystery to solve. I feel like something's going to happen at any moment."
"Like you put on your battle gear and are just standing around?" Jethro knew how to deal with those kinds of emotions. It's what he did for his team whether his team was a bunch of Marine privates or NCIS investigators. This kind of battle edginess wasn't very like Tony, who was already a seasoned veteran when Gibbs found him in Baltimore. No, when Tony got bored waiting for something to happen, he didn't lose his balance - he got creative.
"Something like that," Tony said. "With an extra dash of thinking that every noise is the enemy."
"When we were at Pax River?" Jethro asked.
"No," Tony said, bending his head to scratch at the side of his neck. "We were on the case in Pax River. We were … hunting the bad guy. It made sense to be paying attention to everything to be suspicious. But the Navy Yard shouldn't feel that way. Don't get me wrong, I don't feel that way when I'm checking in with the team. If I could smell McGee or Cassie, I knew I was in the right place. Abby's lab and autopsy were kind of homey."
Jethro nodded. "What about here?"
"Here? Here's good, Gibbs, as much sense as that makes. I mean we're standing next to a homemade jail cell in a suburban basement, which should be setting off all kinds of alarm bells, but it's your basement. The scents-"
Gibbs looked up, and Tony immediately turned away. He picked up the broom and started moving dust around in circles. Gibbs had been waiting to hear what he smelled like to Tony. Dragonflies and sweat socks -the rest of the team were all visceral and colorful. Despite himself, Jethro wanted to know what Tony thought of him, and despite the carefully maintained distance that Jethro maintained between them, he wanted it to be something more than Tony had labeled the others.
"So you're good when you're on the hunt and with your team, but not so good in the office?" Jethro let out a little laugh. "I feel the same way most days, Tony."
Tony laughed. "Yeah, I'm pretty much a fan of action, too. Should I have jumped him? It's dramatic, but maybe I should have gone into interrogation and leapt across the table and forced a confession out of Morgan."
That made Jethro miss a beat in his folding and then he just tossed the blanket down. Tony wasn't just off his game; he really was walking on the edge. It was his job to pull Tony back in. He walked over and put his hands on either side of Tony's face so he could look into his eyes. They were clear.
"I'm okay." Tony leaned back, worry suddenly overcoming his expression "Did I just break out in fur or spots or stripes or something?" Tony's hand flew to his face.
Jethro grabbed his wrist and pulled it down. "You look like you. Now, what the hell is the matter? Why do you think you should have jumped a guy we had in custody?"
"I don't know!" Tony said with the pent-up frustration finally coming out in his voice. "I chased Johnson and caught him and that made sense. I cornered Morgan, sort of, but it was like I was chasing him and never got him. Wow, doesn't that sound creepy?"
"Stop thinking about it and tell me. Do you want to pin him to a wall, bite him, claw him? What's your gut saying?" Gibbs demanded.
Hopefully it wasn't a wolf's gut. A few days earlier, when Tony had been filled with too much energy that was making him think about animal behavior, he assumed that it might get worse during the wolf time, but he had also assumed it would get better after it was done.
"No!" Tony said, his face screwing up in consternation. "Morgan is one of those guys that plays you, and he's dangerous as all hell. I just want to put him away and, all the rules we have to play by are getting in the way!"
Jethro understood that – he felt it himself with this case. "We've both faced this before. It's the case you have to solve before someone else gets hurt and if anything ever deserved justice this is it. One step away from becoming obsessed."
"Hey! I'm not about to become Ahab!" Tony had held up both hands and took a step back like he needed space between them. Then he paused, dropped his hands and smiled, sort of. "And maybe that Ahab crack when we were chasing Ari was a little off." Tony cleared his throat. "But maybe not by much."
Jethro wondered why the hell he had to put up with this in his own basement. "Yeah, I get it; you don't want to be me. The question we're trying to answer is what's wrong with you!"
"I don't –"
"Not good enough." Gibbs grabbed him by the shoulders and held on. Letting out a breath, he brought his volume back under control. "This isn't like you. Put it together for me. What's different about you?"
"I can't turn it off. I'm usually good at turning it off - stepping out of the office, stepping out of the case. Okay, that's not true, because there are always these little wheels turning in the back of my head, but the front of my head can usually focus on having a beer and cracking jokes with the bartender or flirting with whoever's around and cute."
Gibbs let one hand drop, but gently pushed Tony toward the wall with the other. He pointed toward the mattress and they both sat down. "Keep going."
"All these big things are happening in my head. I'm starting to get used to smelling and hearing everything, but if I don't want to get lost in space, I have to keep paying attention to them, sorting them. The thing is that none of them are helping us solve the case now. They're just getting in the way. Why the hell didn't they leave with the fur and the fangs?"
"Well, they didn't, and it's something you're just going to have to figure out how to deal with. You're sick, and I've seen you work sick."
"This is not a cold, Boss."
Gibbs nodded, trying to figure out how to get through to Tony. "It's more like an injury you have to work around. How's this different than breaking a bone or getting a concussion?"
Tony shrugged. "I guess that when you do those things some doctor tells you that you'll be back to normal in a week or in six weeks. You can count down the days on the calendar. I'm terminal."
"You're not terminal," Gibbs said, staring at the cinder block wall across from them. "You're not going to die - it's the wrong word."
"I'm stuck with this forever."
"You don't know that! Jesus, give your team a chance. Do you think there is anyone out there who has a better chance of solving your problem? Do you think there's anyone out there more motivated?"
"Well-"
Tony was appropriately cut off by the glare Jethro gave him.
"We want you to get better. And if we can't figure out how to do that, you're still not terminal. Your – I don’t' know. What do they call it when someone's got diabetes?"
"Chronic," Tony said. "But a diabetic can't infect someone else. It's more like herpes or AIDS or pick some other sexually transmitted disease."
"Does everything with you automatically lead back to sex?" Jethro snapped, but Tony suddenly had a smile on his face. The Baltimore effect - that's what Gibbs privately called it. Someone dumps a load of crap on Tony and for no good reason he smiles. Jethro felt his insides melting into a pile of putty, just like every other time.
Tony had been working at NCIS for about a week and the two of them had been having a pissing contest over an interrogation. Tony had asked, 'Why'd you hire me?' and Gibbs had mustered all the sarcasm he could and replied, 'Because you smiled.' It had shut him up, but Tony to this day told people that's why Gibbs had hired him. It was part of why Jethro had hired him and part of why Jethro kept him. Tony could take a lot of shit and call Jethro on his – all that and he didn't seem to suffer the stomach ulcers like some of Gibbs' previous partners had.
It probably wasn't a good idea that they were sitting next to each other on a mattress. It gave Jethro all sorts of ideas that he shouldn't act on. Yelling was a crappy method of self-preservation, but he did it anyway.
"Listen, Typhoid Tony, you're sick; it sucks; and I get that. We all get that. Your team – your friends are busting ass to try and help you. Consider sucking it up for a couple of months and letting them try."
"Suck-" Tony let out a breath and allowed his head to fall back against the wall. "Gibbs, I don't know how to suck this one up. I can't shake the feeling that I don't know where I should be."
"Where do you think you should be, Tony?"
"I don't know," Tony said too fast.
"Tony…"
"Someplace where I can bury myself on a couch and watch old movies and maybe go play some ball." Tony frowned. "Geez, I want to be in my college frat house?"
With a sense of relief, Jethro felt his lips curve up a little. "Maybe you want to dance or chase dragonflies?"
"Yeah that would work and…" Tony cleared his throat, and leaned away from Gibbs. "Other stuff."
Jethro found himself being much too fascinated by the idea of other stuff. He didn't know what was more asinine – the idea that he had just invited all this temptation to live with him or the fact that he wanted to do something about it, and he wasn't going to.
"But I wouldn't catch dragonflies!" Tony practically shouted.
Jethro knew he wouldn't. He was also relived that they were back to talking about Tony's condition.
"I wouldn't eat them either. Not that I make it a habit to eat bugs!"
"But maybe you would in wolf form?"
Tony blinked at him. "I'm given the impression that there's not much that I wouldn't eat in wolf form."
"What else?" Jethro asked.
Confusion, excitement and caution ran across Tony's face before he said. "I just kind of described the team, didn't I?"
"Uh-huh," Jethro said.
"It's home – they're home," Tony said with a fierce look on his face like he was afraid that Jethro would challenge him on that revelation. Jethro put a look of approval on his face. That was exactly what his team was to him and should be to each other.
Tony nodded. "And while I don't want to get into a puppy pile with everyone, especially McGee, I feel like I've been bobbing in the ocean all day. We caught the killer, except that we're not done. I felt like I should have been doing something, but we were already doing everything, and then when you said we could go home…" Tony shrugged.
Jethro wanted Tony here in his house. This part had always been his life - taking care of his team, and there was no doubt that Tony was special to him. But they couldn't just sit and watch a ballgame. Jethro had to get Tony moving again. Fighting the lure of Tony's warmth, Jethro pushed himself up and started walking toward the secret door.
"I'm going to take some measurements in the kitchen. Come upstairs when you're done dealing with the box," he said and headed toward the secret door.
"Really, you're not going to throw me out after all that?"
Jethro paused and half turned back. "Nope. I'm throwing us out."
Tony turned his head sideways.
Jethro didn't want to dwell on how endearing Tony could look when he was confused. "We're going to your place to watch a playoff game while you pack."
Practically launching himself off the mattress, Tony said, "Really, Gibbs? You're going to help me pack?"
With a smile Jethro turned and headed out of the secret room. "Hell no. I'm going to drink your beer and watch you pack."
"Of course, Boss. Say, do you think that we could head straight there and leave the wolf box for another night?"
Jethro shook his head and headed upstairs to measure the kitchen.
*** An hour later ***
Tony pushed open his apartment door and shifted the pile of empty boxes in his arms, before walking in. "You were right, Boss, the liquor store had a ton of empty boxes. Did you figure that out from you're vast experience with –" He cut himself off, not wanting to wreck the easy air Gibbs had taken on since their conversation in the basement.
"With my vast experience with what, DiNozzo?"
Maybe Tony wasn't going to get that lucky. "With your keen observations of human behavior in an urban setting, honed as a very special NCIS agent."
"That was the best you could do?" Gibbs said, as he passed a wincing Tony on his way to getting a glass out of the cupboard. "It's from my vast experience of breaking down cardboard boxes at my Dad's store. They multiplied in the back room, but the bar down the street always had a bigger pile." He poured himself a couple of fingers of bourbon and took a sip. "So what channel is the game on?"
Gibbs had walked into the living room and was frowning at the spot where the TV used to be. Tony pulled a six-pack out of his empty boxes and put them in the fridge, taking one for himself. "Yeah, we're not going to be able to watch it in here. The bedroom TV works. I suppose I could pack up my closet. We could bring in a dining room chair, if you want."
With a nod, Gibbs headed into Tony's bedroom, kicked off his shoes, and made himself comfortable on Tony's side of the bed. He adjusted the pillows behind his back and grabbed the remote control, kinda like he owned the place. That more than kinda turned Tony on.
Gibbs presence meant that Tony's place didn't feel quite as alien as it had the last time he had been there. Gibbs coming along for the ride was the backup he needed to face not only the mess in his apartment, but also the changes in his life. Maybe his senses, instincts, and energy were all different and continuously changing, but Tony was prepared to do what Gibb said – suck it up and get used to it.
"You actually have to put things in boxes to pack," Gibbs said.
Tony blinked. "Right, Boss! I'm packing."
Pulling out suitcases and putting them next to the empty boxes had been hard for a moment or two, but the sound of the game was a soothing background that went well with the scent of Gibbs. What was more disturbing were the contents of his closet.
Tony had moved so frequently in his early career that he had never had a buildup of worn out clothes or things that didn't fit him. In Peoria he made a vow that he would only take what fit into the suitcases and sporting equipment. Back in those days he had rented rooms with rented furniture.
Something changed after Baltimore. Becoming a federal agent gave him a sense of permanency that he had never had before. It was strange if he thought about it, because NCIS was more likely to ship him to a remote post, and in the early days, he was pretty sure that Gibbs was going to fire him at any moment.
Now he had a closet with almost a decade full of history. Out of style suits right next to T-shirts and sweats that looked like they had survived the last wolf attack but were the kinds of things he bummed around in on a Sunday afternoon. His new closet was going to be a lot smaller, so he should really get rid of a bunch of stuff, but it felt too much like giving up on his life in Washington and at NCIS.
"What's the problem? Gibbs asked. He said it from the bed, but it practically sounded like Gibbs was growling it in his ear. Then the man was on the move and Tony could call out the distance between them without even looking, based on the sounds and the scent.
"I just…I guess I'm just used to doing this when it's time to move on to a new job."
Gibbs made a noise of acknowledgement and he was right next to Tony. "You're not that lucky; you're stuck with me."
The part of Tony that liked the close quarters was warring with the three brain cells that thought he should be acting more independently and impressing Gibbs with his decisiveness. There actually wasn't a cell in Tony's body that wanted to be away from Gibbs; it was simply a question of method.
"You want help?" Gibbs asked.
The three brain cells overruled the rest of the brain by restating an important fact – Gibbs shopped at Sears. Tony smiled. "Yeah, I got this one. And I thought that when you moved to the suburbs you were supposed to get more closet space?"
Taking a half-step back from Tony, Gibbs snapped open a black plastic garbage bag. "Trash." After he put it down on the floor, he opened another. "Donations." Then he shoved an empty box into Tony's hand. "Try and balance things out, closets are small in my part of the suburbs."
Tony looked at the perfectly reasonable arrangement of containers. "That's very organized for a guy that's lived in the same place for decades."
"DIY and HGTV," Gibbs said as he went back to his spot on the bed.
"What?
"Home and garden TV. In between the shows about new tools and man caves they've got organizing shows that tell you how to get the lead out of your life."
Tony looked into his closet. "Lead?"
"Yeah, all the stuff that gets in the way of moving on," Gibbs said.
Gibbs was the finest example Tony had of someone who had no clue how to move on. He was about to call Gibbs on it when the crowd on TV went wild over a base hit, which made them both focus on the instant replay. It was nice as far as Tony was concerned. He took his oldest suit out of the closet and folded it into the donation bag. Maybe it was a night for doing what Gibbs said and not arguing with him about pots and kettles.
*** A Few Hours Later ***
It was a little too cozy a fantasy. Sure he had imagined Gibbs in his bed before, but those fantasies usually involved more action and a lot more naked. This was different. He kind of liked it. There were things that he would have liked more, but he was unlikely to get them.
It was just that Gibbs' coming over had made the visit to his apartment tolerable. Even though they hadn't talked, and Gibbs hadn't lifted a finger to help him, the man's presence made the apartment feel homier. That wasn't quite right – the apartment was never going to feel like home again. It was more like he could be less paranoid, knowing that Gibbs had his six.
At the base the other day, among all those armed and trained sailors and Marines, Tony had been the most dangerous. Not only was he armed and trained, he was running on hyped-up senses and keen instinct. Even then, he wanted his team nearby. Tonight, going to Gibbs' house after work was the only right thing to do.
Now he was facing the big decision of the night. The couch had been wrecked a month ago during the first transformation, which basically left the sleeping options as the floor or the other side of the bed. It was a big bed and the floor was hard, so it should have been an easy decision. Should have been, except for the part where Gibbs knew the exact amount of force to apply to snap Tony's neck. So ultimately, it was a hard decision.
Now if he just happened to sit on the other side of the bed to watch TV and happened to fall asleep… Tony liked that plan and left the TV on for plausible deniability later as he turned off the light and lay down on the wrong side of the bed with the spare pillow.
A deep breath filled him with the scent of Gibbs. Power - power in every sense of the word from leadership to sexuality. No matter where this man led, Tony would be at his side. Then again, these were things that Tony had always known about Gibbs. It wasn't as poetic as touch-football games or dragonflies, but he never needed that from Gibbs.
"About time you went to sleep," Gibbs murmured.
Tony felt his eyes open wider as he fought off a moment of panic.
"DiNozzo, if you're going to leave that window open, I'm keeping all the blankets."
"Okay," Tony said and then cleared his throat given how he had choked the word out. To be truthful, he was a tad on the warm side, like the way the heat of summer day sometimes lingered too long into the night. "I promise not to turn on the air conditioning."
Gibbs grunted.
"Goodnight, Boss."
***Thursday October 8
- Waning gibbous with 79% of the Moon's visible disk illuminated***
Tony was at work and glad to be alive. When the alarm had gone off, he was wrapped around his pillow, the one that Gibbs had been using. And, god, it smelled gloriously of Gibbs. Gibbs himself was nowhere, so Tony assumed that he had gone back to his own place sometime in the night or the early morning.
What Tony wasn't sure about was whether Gibbs had woken up on his own or if he had woken up because Tony had inched his way across the mattress and got too familiar. Tony decided that he wasn't going to question that further and just be happy to be alive.
Cassie and Tim had rolled in a few minutes ago and did look better than they had the night before, although they both still looked kind of tired. Tony debated quizzing them about it, but then Gibbs came through the squad room carrying a cup of coffee, with Ducky and Abby in his wake.
"What's the plan?" he asked.
There was a quick exchange of looks among the field agents.
Tim must have been feeling brave because he said, "Boss, we haven't made a plan-"
"Do it. I'll be back in an hour," Gibbs said without stopping, as he headed up the stairs toward Vance's office.
There was a lot of talking all at once, including Tony. The second he realized that people weren't paying attention to him like they should, he shouted, "Campfire!"
Tim shrugged, pushed his chair into the open space and sat down. He got up as soon as he spotted Abby giving him a look and offered her the chair, which she took with a flounce and a smile. Then Tim got Gibbs' chair, and only hesitated a second before giving it to Ducky.
"Will you get settled, McGee?" Tony said, determined to take charge.
Tim opened his mouth, but in the end said nothing and sat on the corner of his own desk.
"We've got eight dead sailors-"
"Seven," Tim said.
"The eighth victim was never in the Navy," Cassie finished.
"The eighth also wasn't an international criminal master mind or person of interest either. Interpol came up empty," Abby said.
"Okay," Tony said. "We've got eight dead people, two serial killers and not enough evidence."
There was a nod or two and absolutely no argument, so Tony went on. "We need to find the evidence."
"Because that's what we do!" Abby said, swooping a fist into the air. They all looked at her. She pulled her hands back into her lap. "Sorry, I usually don't get invited to this part of the case."
Tony went on. "The hard part, and there are several hard parts, is that most of these cases are old."
"And written off as something other than murder," Cassie finished.
"Even if we went back to the scene of the crime, the crime scene may not even be there any longer and the people will be widely dispersed, both in and out of the Navy," Tim added.
"Right, so let's start with what we can get from the physical evidence we have." Tony said.
"Fingers in jars," Abby said.
"And dead bodies," Ducky said.
"Oh," Abby said tapping Ducky's arm. "Now I know why we were invited."
"Abby, can you -" Tony started.
"I can track back the chemicals and the jars themselves. Actually, I already have - they're all too generic to connect them with the killer."
"Ducky, is it worth trying to exhume any of the bodies?" Tim asked.
"Doubtful," Ducky said, but then added, "Unless…"
"We're all ears," Tony said, pointing at the side of his head.
"The fingers. The killer severed them intentionally. It's almost expected that he has a tool that he habitually uses for this task."
"I can look at the fingers and determine if there are similar tool marks, although having the matching evidence from the hand will hold up better in court, especially considering how the fingers have been stored," Abby said.
"I concur," Ducky said.
"McGee! Write that down!" Tony said
"Why do I-"
Tony held up a hand cutting him off. "I was just thinking that the plan would be more impressive on the big screen, but hey, we've got an entire hour."
Tim stood up. "Only because I don't want Gibbs to kill us." He moved behind his desk.
"Good man, McGee."
Tim stood over his keyboard and frowned. "I could use my chair back."
"Mc-" but before Tony could finish, the others were talking.
"The campfire's getting pretty spread out with Tim all the way over there," Cassie said.
"He could never roast a marshmallow from back there, let's move!" Abby said.
Then everyone was sliding around or standing up and pushing chairs toward Tim's desk.
"I could still use a chair," Tim said.
"Here, take mine," Tony said.
"Yours is really uncomfortable to type in," Tim said.
Tony looked at him like he was a two-headed alien - a pathetic two-headed alien.
Cassie stood and extended a hand to Abby who took it and stood up. She then grabbed Tony's chair and held it so that Abby could sit down
Tim grabbed his now free chair and that was when Tony realized he was chair-less.
*
"Do you spy on my people all the time, Leon?" Jethro asked, as they watched the team on the monitor on the wall in Vance's office.
"Are they playing musical chairs?" Vance demanded.
"Didn't answer my question."
"Gibbs, do you know how many cameras there are in this building? I have an entire agency to observe. I was just surprised that you left them on their own, when your team is supposed to be coming up with a plan. I wanted to see what would happen. I'm not filled with a sense of confidence."
Sipping his coffee, Jethro let a slight smile on his face. "You got to give 'em room to spread their wings. Give 'em another five minutes and they'll show you a plan."
"That'll only be a half-hour; I thought you gave them an hour?"
With a shrug, Jethro said. "I'll just tell 'em that you got impatient."
Jethro could see Vance fighting the urge to call him on that, but Vance knew he was right. As soon as the monitor had come on, Gibbs could see that Tony had taken charge of the group and was getting them all to work together, which was all the progress he cared about for the moment. Everything about the way Tony and the others were moving and animatedly talking, looked normal.
On the monitor, Tony smacked Tim on the back of the head and when Tim returned the gesture, Tony dodged away, but ended up tripping.
"Yeah," Vance said. "I can see them spreading their wings."
*
"What do you got?" Gibbs called as he came down the stairs, followed by Vance. The campfire spread out.
Ducky frowned at his watch. "I thought there was an hour?"
Gibbs stood next to his desk.
"No rest for the wicked, Dr. Mallard," Vance said, leaning against Tim's desk. "I'm told there's a plan."
Tony pointed at the big screen and on cue, Tim put up the service photos of two of the victims and a red question mark. With his other hand, Tony pointed at Cassie.
"Petty Officer First Class Miles Diamond. Reported missing from Air Station Atlanta four years ago. While we don't have proof that he's dead, we do have his index finger."
Tony jumped in. "So were not placing bets on our ability to capture him and put him in Leavenworth for desertion."
"But dead bodies tend to get noticed," Cassie said. "Somewhere in Atlanta or the surrounding towns there's a report of a John Doe missing a finger. There might be evidence in a coroner's report."
"McGee!" Tony said.
McGee clicked a button, highlighting the second picture. "Petty Officer First Class Patrick Upland - lost at sea aboard the Reagan. Again we have a finger and basically no hope of finding a body. However, the incident was relatively recent and the crews of carriers tend to re-up. If we reopen the investigation with an eye toward our suspects, we may turn up more evidence or at least witnesses." McGee clicked the button, highlighting the oversized question mark.
"And our mystery finger," Tony said. "Someone who busts the profile. Not only was this victim not in the Navy, his finger wasn't with the rest. This one was in the personal possession of our dominant serial killer. It was special."
"It was," Ducky said, turning from Vance to Gibbs. "I'd lay money that this was from the first victim."
Tony nodded at Tim who nodded back and put up a map of Missouri. "We think that we need to investigate our killers' lives before the Navy for mysterious deaths." Tony let the silence envelope his pronouncement.
"Is that it?" Gibbs asked.
"It was only a half-hour, Gibbs." Abby said. "Which is why we all deserve Caff-Pow, because we are not done! McGee!" Abby pointed at the screen.
Tim turned it off. "We do have more, but we're out of graphics."
"Essentially, we've picked out the specific cases that have the most potential to yield additional evidence." Cassie said. "Other than the investigation in Norfolk, most of these cases are so old that it will be difficult tracking down people and there's almost no hope of further physical evidence from the crime scenes."
"Which doesn't mean we won't try to get that," Tony quickly added. "With the Atlanta case, we can at least go through records for a body found with a missing finger. There might be evidence there. Speaking of which, Ducky and Abby want to exhume bodies. So our second line of investigation-"
"Wait!" Vance held up a hand and swept the team with his eyes before glaring at Gibbs. Then he turned back to the team. "I think your order of attacking this has potential, but you've got to do some serious talking to convince me there's any evidence left on those bodies."
"Tool marks," Abby said.
"It's probable that the killers used the same tool to sever the fingers," Ducky said.
"That's the kind of forensics that sells a jury," Gibbs said.
Vance gave something that looked like a nod. "You kept saying, 'we', so what's your management plan?"
"I've been following up on the Atlanta case," Cassie said.
Tony immediately added, "And I know my way around the Reagan, while Tim-"
Vance held up a hand as Tim was opening his mouth. He looked down at Gibbs.
Gibbs waved a finger back and forth from Tony to Tim. "Which one of them do you want?"
"McGee," Vance said without hesitation as he headed back to the stairs. Tony didn't know what Tim just got, but he was pretty sure he wanted it.
"Boss?" Tim said.
"McGee, you're going to coordinate with Agents…" Gibbs squinted at a sheaf of papers filled with names. "Singer and Mercer from San Diego." Gibbs tossed the papers on his desk. "The three of you will accompany the Director as he personally visits all the families of the victims. Singer and Mercer will focus on the protection detail, giving you the opportunity to question the families and look for potential leads. Your last stop can be Missouri."
Tim blinked and then made his way across the aisle to pick up the paper. "On it, Boss!"
"Gibbs, was there a reason that I wasn't in the running for that assignment?" Cassie demanded.
"Yes there was, Yates." Gibbs held out a folder. "You better have your seabag packed, because you're leaving Saturday, 0300 for the Reagan.
Tony turned from McGee to point open mouthed at Cassie's folder. "Wai-"
"Gibbs, how did you know that we were going to pick the Reagan and Missouri to investigate first?" Cassie asked.
"Because Gibbs knows everything," Abby said.
"Ducky," Gibbs called, ignoring both Cassie and Abby. "McGee will get you the signatures for the bodies when he visits the families." He opened the bottom drawer of his desk.
Ducky nodded and turned toward the elevator. "Yes, that would seem to be the most expedient method."
Tony held up an open hand, but Ducky didn't seem inclined to fill it with anything.
Gibbs started, "Abby-"
"I have fingers to work on, but I have to say that I like it better when you visit me, because when you visit me-" she gasped, as Gibbs handed her a Caff-Pow from out of his desk.
Tony pointed at the Caff-Pow and then Gibbs desk and back again. Opening his mouth, he was cut off by Tim.
"Ah, Boss, I realize how important the Director's personal visits are, but are we sure that's the best time to ask the families for permission to exhume their loved ones? And, what if I can't convince them?" McGee asked.
"Then DiNozzo will get the court order to exhume."
Finally, something about him! Wait- "Boss, you want me to do paperwork?"
"I want you to find enough evidence to give both of these dirtbags the death penalty."
"Yeah!" Tony rushed up to the edge of Gibbs' desk. "Boss, that's what I'm trying to do. I get why I didn't get picked for the Director's protection detail. Again. But I know the Reagan and -"
"Yeah, and Cassie needs to learn a carrier from stem to stern. The Director wants to test your sea legs, Yates."
"She has great legs; you don't need to test them!" Tony turned quickly around. "Not that I'm staring at your legs, Cassie."
Cassie shook her head.
"DiNozzo!"
Tony turned back to Gibbs who was slapping the paper with the list of agents into his chest. "Agent Whitaker, in Atlanta. He'll be expecting your call."
"I don't even get to go to Atlanta to look for the missing body?"
"Whitaker's got twenty years of experience and three agents. I think he can look for a body in the coroner's reports."
"Boss, is this-" Tony clammed up realizing what he was just about to say out loud. Stepping into Gibbs personal space, he whispered. "Maybe this is better asked in the elevator, but am I grounded because of…" Tony let his eyes open wide, and he lifted his chin.
Gibbs poked Tony in the chest, through the sheaf of papers. "DiNozzo, who do you think all those people are going to report to?" He lifted his head all the way back as he drained his coffee.
After a moment of mulling, Tony said, "I'm in charge? I'm in charge!"
The smile went up on one side of Gibbs' face as he reached out and gave Tony a relatively gentle headslap. More of a head-tap, Tony thought from his perspective as a connoisseur. "You're in charge!"
Gibbs smiled shaking his head.
Tony turned first to McGee and then to Cassie. "Gibbs is in charge." Then he took a step forward. "Boss, since you're in charge, and I’m not heading out into the field, that makes me…"
"My senior agent."
Then Tony smiled for real.
Continued here
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Date: 2013-03-16 03:59 pm (UTC)Vance the land shark watching them and the hijinks apparent in the bullpen while Gibbs and he watch are great!
I really love this story! =)
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Date: 2013-03-16 04:09 pm (UTC)Tony always projects confidence, but at the same time is constantly questioning his position in the hierarchy - making sure he's on top ... unless Gibbs is on top, which is good too ;-)
I *LOVE* has Vance has evolved in the show. I get the immediate distrust that the fans had early on -- they set the groundwork when Jenny was being accused (rightly) of the Frog's murder. Because of the way they introduced him at the end of the season and immediately broke up the team, I smelled red herring. Not that Gibbs and Vance didn't have any philosophical differences to work through -- I still think they are. But overall, Gibbs and Vance have hit a groove. The team on the other hand is still having a hard time reading him. Tony's scent impressions are more about how he feels for people than how they may actually be. Tony doesn't fully know how to read Vance.
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Date: 2013-03-16 04:19 pm (UTC)Tony is just so funny! He's brave, resourceful, and likes control even when he's not hopped up on werewolf instincts. At the same time, he's always been perfectly content to know his place and retain his Beta position to Gibbs. I liked the reveal that Gibbs smelled of power. I would love to see Gibbs find that out, especially since he's naturally curious about what he smells like to Tony.
What I adore the most about this story is that you have such a wonderful command of their voices, even Cassie who was only in one episode but reads so true to the character. I like the character and am glad she is who you chose to use. The interactions are awesome, including the mix of dynamics that have been missing on the show. I especially love Tony and Abby's friendship and find the slight rift here poignant yet understandable; they are both trying to not let the first night affect them and yet it is the elephant in the corner.
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Date: 2013-03-16 04:39 pm (UTC)