xanthefic | Two Wolves

“Hey – McCavalry, how’s it going?” Tony asks cheerfully as he strides into the squad room.

“Tony! I wasn’t expecting you back for a few days.” McGee comes over and pumps his hand enthusiastically, grinning from ear to ear.

“Well, there’s work to be done, and you know me and how much I love hard work.” Tony winks.

“Uh, no…not really.”

“Sure you do. Here. Catch!” Tony throws a Nutter Butter at him, and McGee catches it deftly in one hand. “Hmm…no fumbling? Who are you, and what have you done with my McGeek?” Tony asks with a suspicious frown.

“Tony!” He’s taken by surprise as Ziva wraps him in a brief hug. Then she draws back, looking embarrassed.

“You missed me!” he says with a big grin. “Go on! Admit it! You missed having me around, Zee-vah!”

She glares at him. “I am simply pleased that I will not have to get used to working with a new field agent. Annoying as you are, I have become accustomed to your strange and often disgusting habits.”

“Aw – and I missed you too, my favourite ex-Mossad liaison officer turned probationary NCIS agent!”

“I am already regretting your return,” she says, rolling her eyes as she returns to her desk.

Tony grins and goes over to Gibbs’s desk, where he was sitting before he got himself abducted. He was reluctant to take Gibbs’s place at first, but sitting here saved him from having to look over at Gibbs’s empty desk and feel that pang of missing the man several times a day.

“Sit rep, McGee! Where are we at, what are we doing, and who are we doing it to?” Tony asks, sitting at the desk and putting his feet up on it.

“Right now, what you’re doing is coming with me, DiNozzo,” a dark voice says behind him, and he can feel his jaw tightening as he realises it’s Vance.

He follows Vance up to his office and takes the offered seat.

“Your team has been giving assistance to Agent Fornell in wrapping up the recent investigation you were involved with,” Vance tells him, taking his own seat behind his big desk. “I’ve told them to hand over everything to the FBI; it’s their case now.”

Tony can feel his hackles rising. Not that he wants to handle the aftermath of this particular case, but he doesn’t like not being consulted about it. “Why?”

“Because you’ve been working on it for long enough, and I want my Major Crimes Response Team back out there working cases again.”

“This was a case.”

“I know; a case that two members of my staff can’t work on because they became victims rather than investigators, and therefore have had to be recused as a result of their personal involvement.”

“You say it like it was our fault,” Tony growls, leaning forward.

“In your case, DiNozzo, it was.”

“If I hadn’t gone in there…”

Vance holds up a hand. “I’m not arguing about this, DiNozzo.” His expression softens. “You did a good job,” he adds in a more conciliatory tone.

“I wish I could say the same of you.”

Vance’s eyes flash, but then he nods. “I was taking my orders from SecNav. I had no reason to distrust him, and I gave you long enough, DiNozzo. You hadn’t made any progress in five months.”

“Because we hit Walid-shaped brick walls whenever we tried to get anywhere!”

“I’m running a federal agency here, DiNozzo. How much longer was I supposed to give you?”

“As long as it took! This was Gibbs we were trying to find. Gibbs!”

“I was running interference for you from SecNav for months! I bought you at least three more than he wanted to give you!” Vance snaps, and for the first time Tony gets an inkling that Vance might not totally be the bad guy here. He didn’t go the extra mile, and he should have, but he wasn’t dirty himself.

There’s silence for a moment. Then Vance sighs. “Is this going to be a problem for you, DiNozzo? Because if it is, I’m sure I can find an assignment for you as an agent afloat.”

Tony nods slowly, understanding. “A problem for me? No. But then I’m not the one you left out there. When Gibbs gets back…”

“If and when Agent Gibbs returns to work, I’ll handle him,” Vance says firmly. “In the meantime, your team will finish helping Fornell wrap up NCIS’s involvement in this case. I expect you to spend the next few days at the Hoover building doing just that – after you’ve been cleared to return to work by Psych Services.”

“Will I be seeing the pretty shrink with the man’s hands? Because I find that disturbing; it’s kind of a mixed message…”

“You can see her this morning. I’ll make the appointment now.” Vance smiles at him sweetly.

“It’s really not necessary,” Tony says, wondering if he can charm his way out of this particular ordeal.

Vance leans forward. “DiNozzo – Tony – I’ve seen your medical report, and I’ve seen some video footage of what went on in Walid’s sick little circus. I think it’s very necessary.”

Tony feels himself flushing. He wonders if Vance has seen footage of Gibbs fucking him in the pit and goes cold. Vance has certainly seen some footage of what went on in the pit, and he must know Gibbs participated too. Gibbs is the most intensely private man Tony has ever known. How can he return to work knowing that his team and his boss have seen him in that way? How does anyone come back from that?

“One more thing.” Vance opens his desk drawer, removes an NCIS badge, and pushes it across the desk towards Tony. “This belongs to you, I believe, Agent DiNozzo.” He stresses the word ‘agent’. “I’ve put a commendation on your file,” Vance adds quietly. “What you did, going into that place without backup, weapons, or authorization, was stupid and foolhardy in the extreme. It was also damn brave. You’re a good agent, DiNozzo. Used to wonder what the hell Gibbs saw in you, but now I know.”

Tony reaches out and picks up his badge, feeling a little surge of pride at having it restored to him.

Vance gives him a tight smile. “Welcome home, Agent DiNozzo.”

~*~

For the first time in months Gibbs isn’t woken up by a klaxon or bright lights. Instead, he’s woken by the smell of coffee.

“Hmm…it’s an unorthodox place to sleep, but it does look comfy,” an unmistakably British voice murmurs.

He sits up to find Ducky standing in the bathroom doorway with a cup of coffee from FHC in his hands. The smell alone seems to speak straight to some special coffee gland in Gibbs’s body that hasn’t had its fix for six months, and he sits up and reaches out for it wordlessly.

“Of course, you could choose to remain in your current detoxified state,” Ducky says, giving it to him. “I wasn’t at all convinced that it was a good idea to start clogging up your arteries with caffeine again after all this time, but Anthony insisted.”

“Tony sent you?” Gibbs inhales the coffee deeply before taking a sip. It’s warm and strong, and so alien and yet familiar at the same time that he has to pause to process the moment.

“Yes, he did. In fact, he gave me some rather strict instructions about your health and welfare.”

“No need. I’m fine.” Gibbs savours a second sip, revelling in the sensation of the coffee on his tongue, overpowering his taste buds, which seem to have become enfeebled after months of plain, healthy food.

“Yes, he said you’d say that, and that I’m to ignore it. Which I am.” Ducky comes into the room and crouches down in front of Gibbs. He holds up three fingers. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Gibbs rolls his eyes and pushes his hand away. “President Obama,” he replies facetiously.

“Ah good. You are your usual self. I was wondering.” Ducky gets up and glances around. “And the reason you’re sleeping in the bathroom, Jethro?”

“The bedroom was too big.” Gibbs finishes drinking the coffee, enjoying the buzzing sensation of caffeine circulating in his veins again after so long. He feels a pang as he realizes just how much he’s missing those drugs Tanner used to pump into him. He might have hated them, but they gave him a kind of hyped up energy that kept him going. Without them, he feels drained and tired all the time.

“Hmm…a cryptic reply, but I sense the truth.”

Gibbs gets up. After so many months being naked in front of other people, he doesn’t give any thought to being naked in front of Ducky, so he’s taken by surprise at Ducky’s sharp intake of breath. At the same time, he catches sight of himself in the bathroom mirror, and he stops short, understanding the reason for Ducky’s shock.

He doesn’t look like himself. It’s not just the fact his hair is only just starting to grow back, his left eye is bloodshot, and he has yellowing bruises on his face. It isn’t even the fact that his body is solidly muscled, his abdominal muscles forming a perfect six pack, and his pectorals and biceps hard and bulging. Ducky isn’t reacting to any of those things. Instead, his gaze has gone to the network of marks and scars covering his body from head to toe from his battles in the pit. He looks like a raggedy old wolf that has fought once too often to retain his status as alpha male in the pack.

“Oh, Jethro. What have they done to you?” Ducky asks softly.

Gibbs stares at himself blankly in the mirror. He doesn’t want to think about what they did to him. He can’t allow himself to think about that, because if he does, he isn’t sure where that ends.

“It’s nothing, Ducky,” he says hoarsely, reaching for his bathrobe to cover up the all too obvious evidence that it isn’t.

“Ah, my dear Jethro.” Ducky shakes his head sadly. “Our generation of men – we really are not very good at admitting to our sorrows, are we? You have always locked yours away, nursing them close, unwilling to share your private sadness. We fell out over that once, if I recall.”

Gibbs turns to him, remembering Ducky’s anger that he’d never told him about Shannon and Kelly.

“This is different,” he growls.

“Is it?” Ducky raises an eyebrow. “How?”

“Ducky, I’m a Marine. I’ve had worse.” Gibbs shrugs.

“Hmm.” Ducky gives him a contemplative look. “I very much doubt that, Jethro. Regardless, I hope that if you have learned anything over the years, it is that it is easier to heal if you first admit to feeling pain.”

Gibbs stares at him. Right now he doesn’t feel anything, but he isn’t going to share that.

“And that you don’t have to bear that pain alone. It isn’t necessary, when you have good friends to help carry a little of the burden.”

“I’m not going to start bawling my head off like a little kid – what the hell use is that?” Gibbs snaps.

“Some might find it helpful.” Ducky gives a shrug. “And even if that’s not exactly your style, Jethro, there might be better ways of managing your distress than pushing away the people who can help you most.”

“I’m not pushing you away!”

Ducky pats his arm gently. “I wasn’t talking about me, Jethro.”

~*~

“I’ve read Director Vance’s report on what happened to you, Agent DiNozzo.” Dr Bracco leans forward and steeples her extraordinarily big hands on her desk.

Don’t look at the hands, don’t look at the hands… Tony tries to keep his eyes fixed on her face instead.

“I’ve also read the medical report. You underwent some extreme physical trauma.”

“Extreme physical trauma?”

“You were whipped.”

“Ah. That. Yeah.” Tony shrugs. “But that was weeks ago. I’m well enough to return to work now.”

“Physically – maybe.” She gives a tight little smile. She has pretty eyes. “But psychologically?”

“I’m fine. Look, I was only there for a few weeks. Gibbs was there for months. I didn’t even have to fight in the pit – well, not properly. Not a life-threatening, knock-down fight. I only fought against Gibbs, and I knew he wasn’t going to hurt me. Not really.”

She glances down at her report, but he’s damn sure she doesn’t know about Gibbs breaking his fingers because he never told anyone that, and he’s sure Gibbs hasn’t, either. It could be someone else has, but Fornell is up to his ears in testimony right now, so Tony doubts that particular bit of information has filtered through. She probably knows about the sex-in-the-pit thing though. He refuses to call it rape. It wasn’t exactly the best sex of his life, but he’s not going to saddle it with that name and all that comes with it.

“Gibbs fought dozens of times out there. In comparison to that, what I had to face was nothing.” Tony shrugs.

“Let’s talk about Agent Gibbs then. Will you have a problem working with him after this?”

Tony almost laughs out loud. He has no intention of talking about his feelings for Gibbs to a shrink of all people. Although, maybe he *does* need his head examined for falling for someone as complicated to love as Gibbs. Then again, maybe that’s part of the attraction.

“I always wanted a dog,” he tells her suddenly. “There was this stray, used to hang around outside the house when I was a kid, after my mom died. He was a stubborn mutt. He limped and got into fights, but he’d hang out with me.”

“You were lonely.” Dr Bracco smiles at him encouragingly. She *is* pretty…if it weren’t for the weirdly oversized hands.

“Yeah, I was. I wanted to adopt the dog, but my dad wouldn’t let me. He said the dog was wild – not a house dog. And he was right. That was part of the attraction, I think,” Tony muses. “See, that dog didn’t really like anyone but me, and that made me feel special.”

“Are you saying that’s how you feel about Agent Gibbs?”

“I’m saying I understand Gibbs. I get him. And he gets me. We won’t have any trouble working together.” He crosses his fingers behind his back. Not for that reason anyway.

“He’s been away for several months. You were team leader during that time. How will you feel relinquishing that role to him again?”

“I’ve been team leader for several months before. Wasn’t a problem when he came back and took over again.” He shrugs.

“So you harbour no feelings of ill will towards him?”

Tony laughs out loud. “He’s the single bravest person I’ve ever met. He kept us all alive back there. He got us out of there in one piece at great personal cost.”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“No,” Tony says firmly. “I don’t have any feelings of ill will towards Agent Gibbs.” He might want to slap some sense into that stupid, stubborn head of his, but he’s never felt any ill will towards Gibbs. “I’m worried about him. He’s endured a hell of a lot. I’m not sure I could have gone through what he has these past few months without cracking.”

His shoulders are aching, and he grimaces and tries to roll them back. He hates the way the scarring feels so heavy and knotted, like there’s something physically weighing him down.

“I don’t envy you doing a psych eval on Gibbs,” he says with a grin. “He’s a tough bastard.”

She leans back, gazing at him curiously.

“They whipped him too, you know, and he didn’t have anyone there to take care of him afterwards. At least I had him looking out for me, bartering for medical treatment.” Tony shrugs.

“Do you feel then, that because Agent Gibbs’s suffering was so extreme, that you are not allowed to have suffered too, Agent DiNozzo?” she asks quietly.

“What?” He looks into those deceptively pretty eyes, winded by the question.

“All you’ve wanted to talk about since you got here is Agent Gibbs. I understand that you admire his strength and fortitude, but it seems to me you have your own problems, Agent DiNozzo, and focussing on his might be a way for you to avoid facing yours.”

He stares at her. “I didn’t…”

“You lost faith in Director Vance and took leave to pursue your own desperate plan to get Gibbs back. You allowed yourself to be drugged, abducted, and imprisoned. You were physically tortured, beaten and abused. And through it all you stayed strong in order to rescue the people trapped in that horrific situation. Who stayed strong for you, Tony?”

He gazes at her blankly, swallowing hard. “Gibbs,” he says quietly. “We stayed strong for each other. That’s how we got out. When he was down, I lifted him. When I was down, he did the same for me. He’s my partner. We’re a team. That’s what we do.”

He realizes, with a pang, just how much he misses that. As horrendous as it was back there, at least they had each other, but now he feels more alone than ever. He remembers that night before the final Fight Night, when he made Gibbs dance with him. He knows that, given the choice, Gibbs wouldn’t have done that. He only went along with it because he was locked in a small room with him and there was no escape. Gibbs is like that stubborn mutt he befriended as a child; he’s not house-trained, and he never will be.

“And who is there for you now?” Dr Bracco asks. “You’ve both been hurt, and you both need support. Can you give him support, if you won’t ask for any yourself? Does he even know how much you’re hurting? Have you told him?”

No. Gibbs asked, back at the hospital – in fact it was the first thing he asked – but Tony played it down, aware of how much greater Gibbs’s injuries were.

“I’m not hurting,” he says mulishly.

“Your back has been causing you discomfort since you came in, and you haven’t even tried to process your feelings about what happened to you.”

“Pretty eyes and man’s hands; you lure people in and then go for the killer blow, huh?” Tony says, without smiling.

She nods, slowly. “You went through a considerable ordeal, Agent DiNozzo. It will have changed you in some ways. Don’t try and force yourself to be the same as you were before in order to please others – or even to convince yourself that it didn’t affect you. It did.”

Tony looks down at his feet and then up again, into those pretty eyes. “Yeah, I know.”

She smiles. “I’m going to sign you as fit to return to work, Agent DiNozzo. Just bear in mind that there will be struggles along the way and asking for – and accepting – help isn’t a sign of weakness.”

“No, that would be saying you’re sorry,” Tony mutters. She raises an eyebrow. “Never apologise; Gibbs views that as a sign of weakness.”

“You’re not Gibbs, and you are allowed to acknowledge your own ordeal without always comparing it to his,” she says gently.

He gives a bark of laughter at the irony of that, realizing that he’s been doing the exact same thing as Gibbs, in his own way.

How can he expect Gibbs to let him in, when he won’t admit that he’s hurting himself? Back in that stall they couldn’t hide anything, and they had no choice but to reveal their weaknesses to each other. It would seem that now they are free, they are lapsing back into old patterns of avoidance and denial.

Clearly, adjusting to life back in the real world is going to be even harder than he thought.

~*~

Ducky leaves, but not before giving him a stern admonishment to take frequent naps, rest up, and eat at regular intervals. After he’s gone, Gibbs glances around the place. Throughout his captivity, all he wanted was to get back to his old life, but now he has it, he realizes he has no idea what to do with it.

His life before was always the job, and when it wasn’t the job it was whatever he was building in his basement. Now he has neither of those outlets. He isn’t medically fit to return to work just yet, and he knows no doctor in their right mind would sign him as fit, no matter how hard he glares at them. And as for the basement…he can’t even bring himself to go back down there. Just the thought of smelling the sawdust makes him feel like throwing up again.

He sits down on the couch and tries to read, but he can’t concentrate. The caffeine has helped, but he rages against his lack of energy. He’s tired and listless now that he is no longer pumped full of drugs. It’s not just that though; he had become accustomed to being in constant danger and needing to be constantly vigilant and the frequent adrenaline surges that came with that situation. Now he’s safe, he finds he has no idea how to relax.

He picks up his cell phone to find it’s filled with text messages from Abby, ranging from calm to panicking. He deletes them.

Then he calls his father, for something to do.

“Hello there, son!” Jack sounds so pleased to hear from him, and his warm, deep voice washes over Gibbs. “How are you doing? Tony told me you’d been working deep undercover, but would it have been against the rules to let me know you’d be gone so long?”

“Didn’t know myself, Dad,” he replies, gazing at the empty fire grate. He considers telling his father the truth, but how can you tell an old man about the living hell his only child has endured for so many months? He finds he can’t bring himself to do it. He wouldn’t even know where to start. “But I’m back now.”

“Tony said you were injured. I wanted to come visit, but he said to wait until you’re better. Perhaps I can come up now. I can close up the store…”

“No.” He says it more harshly than he intended and can hear his father’s hurt in the wounded silence that follows. “I can’t do that right now, Dad. I’ll come visit you soon though.”

“Leroy…”

The name reminds him of Scott, and he has to force himself not to end the call on the spot.

“I’m fine, Dad,” he interrupts abruptly.

“When you say you’re fine is when I worry about you the most. You were always the same. I remember when you were in the hospital after the accident. You were just a little kid, and you were hurting so bad, and you wouldn’t even talk to me for weeks. Then one morning I asked you how you were, and for the first time since the accident you replied. You said, ‘I’m fine’, and you clearly weren’t. You’ve been doing that ever since, Leroy.”

“I don’t know what you want from me, Dad. I am fine. It was a hard few months, but I’m still here.”

“Have you got people there for you? I know young Tony cares, and Dr Mallard, and there’s that sweet girl, Abby.”

“Yes, I’ve got people here for me, Dad.”

“But will you let them help?”

He doesn’t want their help. He just wants to get back to his life, move on, and leave this behind him. The last thing he wants is to look into Abby’s eyes and see her pity. He only has a vague recollection of her holding him on that last Fight Night, but he doesn’t want her seeing him that way forever. He’s a leader. He has to go back there and lead those people, and he needs them to trust in him. He doesn’t want them looking at him and seeing that pale, beat up man from that final fight in the pit. He has to erase that memory and make them see him as strong again.

“Sure, Dad. Stop worrying. I’ll be fine.” He grimaces as he says that, knowing what his father thinks of that particular phrase, but Jack lets it pass this time, and he ends the call a few minutes later after some mindless small talk.

He needs a drink, but he’s finished the bottle of bourbon, so he goes out for more. It feels strange to be walking around in the open, among people again. He’s skittish, jumping at the slightest noise, the adrenaline surging through his body unnecessarily whenever he senses a threat. He stops at Sears to buy new clothes in his current size, grabs a pile of jeans, tee shirts, and polo shirts, and then, feeling ridiculously exhausted after only an hour out of the house, he returns to the blessed peace of his own home.

He’s so tired that he falls asleep instantly on the couch.

He dreams that he’s prowling through the house, silently, on all four paws. It’s his house, but it seems quiet and lonely. He’s looking for something; he’s not sure what, just that it’s hiding somewhere in the house.

He noses through the bedrooms and pushes his head around the door to the bathroom, but finds nothing. Then he slinks down the stairs. He pauses at the bottom, gazing at the door at the end of the hallway, the one leading to the basement. He doesn’t want to go there. He heads off towards the kitchen and the living room instead…but he can’t find what he’s looking for there.

In the end, he has no choice but to nudge open the door to the basement with his nose. He pauses at the top of the stairs, looking down. There’s a man down there. Gibbs goes down the stairs, his muscles bunched up, his fur standing on end. He doesn’t like it down here. Something bad happens down here. He can feel the sawdust clinging to his paws, and the scent of it sickens him.

The man in the basement turns, and he recognizes him.

“Hey, Gibbs! It’s me, Brian.” He’s just a skinny kid, about the same age as Jimmy Palmer and just as much of an innocent.

The basement suddenly opens out and transforms into a big pit, sawdust thick underfoot, and all around them people are yelling and screaming. His paws gather pace, and he finds himself running across the pit, the sound of the crowd echoing around in his head.

“Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!”

He knows he has no choice. Brian gets down on his knees. He doesn’t even try and fight. He just bares his throat, and Gibbs leaps into the air, fangs bared, and sinks them into the soft flesh of his neck. He bites down hard, savaging him, until there is no possibility that he’s still alive. He can feel Brian’s blood dripping down his jaw, sinking into his fur, staining it red.

He draws back and looks down on the savaged corpse, throat slashed to ribbons, eyes wide and staring…to find it isn’t Brian.

It’s Tony.

He wakes up with the scream dying in his throat and the sound of knocking on the door. It’s dark outside, so he must have slept for a few hours.

He gets up and opens the door to find Tony standing there, a boxed pizza in one hand, a couple of beers in the other.

“Pepperoni, ham, beef, pork sausage, Italian sausage, and bacon?” Tony holds up the box.

Gibbs can’t find a good reason to refuse – not one that Tony will accept anyway – so he opens the door to let him in. The smell of baked cheese hits him the minute Tony is inside, and suddenly he’s back in that room off the infirmary, with the pizza he bartered for, watching Tony eat.

Gibbs leans against the wall, winded by the power of the memory, watching as Tony moves slowly around the place. He’s lacking his usual bounce, his shoulders are hunched, and he looks tired. Gibbs wants to put his hands on Tony’s shoulders and ease his sore muscles for him, but he finds he can’t, so he simply stands there, his fingers aching.

“Did you go back to work today?” he asks, judging that to be the most likely reason for how exhausted Tony looks.

“Yeah. Saw that woman from Psych Services – Dr Bracco. Kind eyes – man’s hands,” Tony says with a glimmer of a grin.

Gibbs sits down next to Tony on the couch and takes a slice of pizza. He hasn’t been hungry since he got home, so he’s just going through the motions.

“You eat today?” Tony asks, glancing at him, his green eyes casual, which Gibbs knows is when he’s at his most perceptive.

“You know I did. Ducky not only made breakfast, he sat and watched me eat it. Said he had to report back to you, so you already know I ate. Stop fussing, Tony. I’m fine.”

“Hmmm.” Those green eyes look even more lazy and casual now, which is a dead giveaway.

Gibbs glares at him. “You spoke to Jack too? Christ, Tony!”

“I said I’d let you do the lone wolf thing for a while. I didn’t say I wouldn’t keep an eye on you while you did it.” Tony shrugs. “And Jack phoned me, not the other way around – he was worried about you and wanted to get my opinion.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That you’re fine, which you aren’t.”

Gibbs grunts and finishes his slice of pizza. It feels greasy in his belly, and he wonders if he’ll be able to keep it down.

“Neither am I,” Tony adds, and Gibbs glances up immediately, a little knot of anxiety forming in his belly. Tony’s face is a little flushed, but he ploughs on determinedly. “How can we be? It’ll take some time. More for you than me – you were there longer. You went through more, and you went through it alone. I had you.”

“I’ll be fine.” Gibbs says it again, automatically, like a mantra.

“I know, but right now you aren’t, and it’s okay to admit that.”

“It might be okay, but what the hell use is it?” Gibbs shrugs. “Did Bracco sign you as fit for work? Looks like you’ve put in a long day – is that why you’re hurting?”

“I’m not…” It’s as automatic for Tony to brush off the concern as it is for him. Gibbs watches him visibly pull himself up short. “Yes, Bracco signed me as fit for work, and yes, my back aches now. I asked Fornell if he’d give me a few moments alone with Ellis to return the favour – I was only half joking.”

“You saw Fornell?” Gibbs gazes at him blindly. He’s known Fornell for years, and the man is one of his closest friends. He’s also an extremely thorough investigator. He’s probably already seen the footage of him fighting and fucking in the pit, and that knowledge chills Gibbs.

“Yeah. After the psych eval I went over to the FBI. He’s doing a good job – there are several stable owners under arrest, and he’s slowly going through testimony from fighters, audience members, guards – everyone who was there. This will take a long time to unravel, Gibbs, but he’ll make sure it goes to court, and all those bastards are put away for a long time.”

“Good.” He watches as Tony rolls his shoulders, trying to get comfortable.

“Skin feels too tight, muscles bunch up,” Tony mutters. “Your eye is looking a bit better.” He scrutinizes Gibbs thoughtfully. “Apart from that, you still look like shit.”

“How did it go with Fornell?”

“The first few minutes were the worst, but he didn’t screw with me,” Tony says. “He knows what happened, he knows it’s not our fault, and he tries not to let the pity show too much in his eyes. He kept it business-like. Even called me ‘DiNotzo’ to keep things from getting sappy; he knows how much that pisses me off.”

“What about the team?” Gibbs asks quietly.

“They know too, but they’re kind enough not to mention it. I put on a good show, and they were happy to let me. They want what you want.”

“What’s that?” Gibbs raises an eyebrow.

“For everything to go back to normal, like none of this ever happened. For me to be my usual goofy but brilliant self.” He gives the bright, shiny Tony smile. “For you to walk in there and say ‘Saddle up! Dead petty officer in Rock Creek Park!’ And for everything to be the same again. That is what you want too, isn’t it, Jethro? To get on with your life, to shove this away, and for everything to go back to the way it was before?”

Gibbs takes a sip of his beer, avoiding Tony’s eyes. “Be simpler that way.”

“Well, tough. Because I don’t give a damn about rule twelve, or what the agency makes of us being together. I swore to myself a few weeks ago that I was done hiding, and I meant it. So, if going back to the way it was before means you cut me out of your life, then forget it because I’m not going without a fight, and I can fight just as dirty as you.”

Gibbs looks up, startled. It seems he’s not the only one who makes unbreakable vows to himself.

“I’ll leave you to think about it.” Tony glances at his watch. “Because right now, there’s somewhere else I have to be.”

He leans forward and kisses Gibbs gently on the lips, as if he has the right, which he does, but it feels strange all the same. They’ve never kissed here in this room, in their regular lives. Their entire relationship was played out in a tiny metal stall in Scott’s stable, forced into an intimacy that they spent ten years avoiding. Gibbs has no idea how to be with Tony outside of that environment.

Tony’s lips are warm and gentle, and they somehow relieve an ache that he wasn’t even aware was there. He pushes Tony back on the couch and returns the kiss with interest, hard and passionate…and then suddenly his mind fills with images of Tony from his dream, his throat slashed and bloody. Then he’s back in the gym watching Tony being whipped, powerless to help him. And without pause he’s back in the pit, thrusting his cock into Tony, unable to ignore the pain in his eyes but having to keep going anyway because there’s no choice for either of them.

The images are all jumbled up in his head, dreams mixing with memories, overwhelming him, and he draws back with a hiss and turns away.

“Get out,” he snaps.

“Jethro…what just happened?”

“Get the hell out, Tony. And don’t send Ducky over again. And tell Abby to stop texting me. I don’t want to see or hear from anyone right now – understand? Just leave me the hell alone.”

“Hey…” He feels Tony’s hand on his shoulder and turns, knocking it away angrily.

“I said get out. Go!”

Tony’s eyes are dark. He gives a curt nod. “Okay. You can have more time, but if you need me – you call.” Tony goes over to the door and then glances back. “And don’t drink all that Jack, Gibbs.” He jerks his head at the box of liquor Gibbs bought earlier, lying in the hallway. “It won’t help.”

Then he’s gone. Gibbs sits down on the couch, shaking. He has no idea what he’s feeling. There was a simplicity to their relationship when they were captives, but now they’re back in the real world, he can’t get a handle on it. It doesn’t help that he can’t feel anything properly. His emotions come in surges. He gets waves of anxiety, of anger, of sadness…but then they’re gone, fading out as quickly as they came, and it’s easier without them. That little interlude with Tony proved that if nothing else.

He just needs some space and silence to get control of them, and then he’ll be able to trust himself again.

~*~

Tony drives to a familiar Starbucks across town. He gets out of his car, takes a deep breath, and walks inside.

She’s there, as he knew she would be, sitting in their usual spot, in the corner, stirring a cup of chai. There’s a cup of coffee on the table, in front of the empty chair, waiting for him. Same time, same place, where she promised to be until he got back.

Jan Hurrell looks up, her dark hair bobbing, and she sees him. She doesn’t say a word. She just gets up, walks over to him, takes his face between her hands, and looks into his eyes.

“Thank you, Tony DiNozzo,” she says quietly, her voice aching with sincerity. “Thank you for keeping your promise and bringing my husband home again. Thank you for risking yourself to find him. Thank you for every single thing you endured out there, with those bastards. Thank you.”

She kisses his forehead and then releases him, and he finds his throat hurts too much to speak. She takes hold of his hand and leads him back to their table.

“I bought your coffee. I bought one every time I came here, every week you were missing,” she tells him.

He manages a smile at that. “You knew I’d be here one day though.”

“Yes. I knew it wouldn’t be while Gibbs was in the hospital, but I heard via Agent Fornell that he’s out now?”

“Yes.”

“So I thought it might be tonight, but I wasn’t sure what kind of shape you’d be in, or if you’d be up to it. I knew you wouldn’t forget though, and I intended to keep coming back until I saw you.”

“How’s Sam?” Tony asks.

She nods, a bit too enthusiastically. “He’s home. He’s safe. He’s…if not quite well, he will be again, one day. I’ll make sure of that.” There’s a determined tone to her voice, and he believes her. She will make sure of it. Her determination lends him strength too. If she can do that for Sam, then he can do it for Gibbs. “Sam wanted to come with me tonight, but I said this was just for me and you, this time. He can come next time. I think he’s a little bit jealous.” She grins.

“Yeah, I got that impression too, back…” He pauses. “Back there,” he finishes with a shrug.

“And how are you?” she asks, gazing at him searchingly.

“It’s tough,” he admits, honestly.

“Tell me about it!” She shakes her head. “Much as I wanted Sam back, I can’t pretend it’s easy having him home again and finding out what happened to him. Not that I’d shirk hearing about it; he actually had to endure it, so the least I can do is listen. You did a great job from all I’ve heard, Tony.”

He shrugs. “I just made a phone call. Sam was the real hero. So was Gibbs. We worked as a team.”

“But you were the catalyst. They were ground down by that place, and I can understand why. You walked in there and reminded them that they’re Marines and inspired them to fight back.”

“I don’t know how they survived it all those long months, Jan – honestly,” Tony tells her bluntly.

“Because they’re strong, brave men – that’s partly why we love them, isn’t it?” She puts her hand over Tony’s. “On that subject…Sam told me about you and Gibbs. How is that going?”

“Not great. He’s so fucked up, Jan. But I figure, I’ve waited ten years, I’m good at waiting.” Tony shrugs, and Jan squeezes his hand.

“I’ve been married to Sam for all that time, as you know, but it’s hard even for us. Even harder for you, with what you have being birthed in that place.” She gives a little shiver. “The drugs screwed with Sam, Tony, and what they made him do…he feels so guilty, like he betrayed me, which is not the way I see it at all,” she says firmly.

“I told him you’d feel that way. I said you’d just be glad he found a way to get through it and come home alive.”

“And you’re right. Sam’s told me everything, and I don’t judge him for any of it. It wasn’t his choice, and, as you said, he got by any way he could. But he’s having a hard time forgiving himself. It’s probably the same for Gibbs.” She hesitates. “Probably TMI, but don’t expect anything in the bedroom for a while, Tony.”

He laughs out loud. “Hell, I’m nowhere near expecting anything to happen there right now!”

“Good.” She squeezes his hand again.

“But he’s hard work. He doesn’t talk, and he keeps pushing me away. I don’t think he wants me around. He just wants his old life back, without the hassle of a boyfriend.”

“Don’t give up on him, Tony. It’s hard for them.”

“Give up on that stubborn old bastard?” Tony snorts. “Never gonna happen. I’ve hung in this long – he’s never gonna get rid of me now.”

She grins at him. “I always knew you and I were on the same wavelength – and not just because of our taste in macho Marines with bad haircuts and terrible clothes.” She leans forward and kisses his cheek. “I need to get back to Sam. Hang on in there – and trust your instincts. It might get worse before it gets better, Tony, but I’m here if you need me.”

~*~

Gibbs dreams that they tie him up on a table, and Dr Tanner leans over him.

“We’ll make the incision here,” he says, pointing at his chest.

They don’t give him any anaesthetic, and it hurts as the scalpel slices through his skin, cutting in deep, leaving a trail of blood in its wake. He watches as Tanner opens up his chest and cuts out his heart. He holds it aloft triumphantly and then places it on a spare gurney beside the operating table, still beating.

It doesn’t hurt when Tanner sews up his chest; when he’s done there isn’t even a scar.

Tanner leans over him. “Wait here while we bring in the others,” he says, untying him.

Gibbs watches from the operating table as they wheel in three gurneys, each with a body bag on it, and place them beside the one with his heart on it.

“Time to leave now,” Tanner says, and Gibbs gets off the operating table and goes over to the gurneys. “Hurry! We don’t have much time!” Tanner calls.

He points, and Gibbs can see that a wall is being built around the gurneys. He watches as brick after brick is put in place, and Tanner is right; he doesn’t have long before the gurneys are completely walled in.

He has to see who is in the body bags before he leaves. He unzips the first one to reveal his mother’s face, cold and white in death. He moves on to the next one, opening it to see Shannon’s long red hair, falling lifelessly over her white shoulder. Kelly’s corpse is lying in the third body bag, her dark hair in pigtails, and her body as icy and pale as the others. He thinks that maybe he should feel something, but then he remembers that Tanner cut out his heart, so he can’t feel anything now.

“You need to come with me,” Tanner instructs, leaving the room. Gibbs follows him and then turns to look back. The room is now completely walled up, all the bricks in place except one. He looks through the gap where the last brick will go, and sees the four gurneys inside, lined up next to each other: His mother; Shannon; Kelly; and his own still beating heart, just sitting on its gurney, pulsing eerily in this room of death.

“Here – this is for you.” Tanner puts the last brick into his hands. All he has to do is slot it in place, and they’ll be safe in there, walled up together, where nobody can touch them.

He looks into the room again, and instead of the beating heart he sees a wolf.

A white wolf.

The wolf looks thin and starved. It falls off the gurney and comes stumbling towards him, howling at him in a forlorn, reedy tone, begging to be let out.

Gibbs raises the brick, places it against the waiting gap in the wall, and then pushes it slowly into place.

As he turns away, he finds he’s not in human form anymore. He’s a wolf again. He looks down on his four black paws as he prowls silently away.

Gibbs wakes up, feeling calm and serene. He’s lying on the mattress in the bathroom, a half empty bottle of Jack beside him.

It’s been several days since Tony advised him against drinking it, but that was advice he didn’t take. Tony has at least left him alone since then, as has everyone else. Tony still calls every evening, but apart from those brief, terse conversations, they’ve all done as he asked, and given him some time and space to recover.

And he is recovering. He’s kept his hospital appointments, rested, and physically he feels a hell of a lot better, even if he does go through half a bottle of bourbon a day.

Gibbs gets up and looks at himself in the mirror. His mind feels clearer now that he’s got his emotions under control. He can’t keep living like this. He needs to get back to the coping mechanisms that always worked so well in the past, and those are his job and his carpentry. It’s time to reclaim at least one of those, before he goes insane. Question is: which one?

In the end, he opts for the easiest one.

~*~

On his last day at the Hoover building, Fornell takes Tony into a conference room and shuts the door behind them. He’s got a briefcase in his hand, which he places on the table.

“Your colleagues at NCIS have been very helpful,” he says, waving at Tony to take a seat. “Agent McGee, in particular, was a great help to me in figuring out how the fights were publicized and how the location details of the venue were disseminated each week – because, as you know, those often changed. It was nearly all done via text messages, and a private, members’ only website. All audience members were personally checked by Walid’s organization before they were allowed into the venue.”

Tony grins. “Good old McGeek. He loves that kind of stuff.”

“And Agent David was helpful in interviewing some of the audience members, fighters, and stable owners,” Fornell continues. “We had a lot of people to interview, so it was useful to have someone experienced to share some of the load.”

“Okay,” Tony says slowly, wondering why Fornell brought him in here for this private chat.

“As you know, we recovered video footage of the fights from cell phones in the audience.” Tony glances up sharply. “I did not allow your team to see any of that footage,” Fornell says firmly.

Tony feels a wave of relief at that, but he knows the message wasn’t intended for him.

“I’ll make sure he knows,” he says quietly. Ziva and McGee know what the fights entailed, but knowing and seeing video of Gibbs actually fighting out there are two different things, and he’s glad Fornell has spared Gibbs that.

“The footage on the cell phones wasn’t all there was,” Fornell continues, and Tony feels his heart skip a beat. “At Scott’s house, we found video footage of all Gibbs’s fights.”

“Okay. Figures. Scott and Frank would have analysed Gibbs’s form in detail after each fight, so Frank could work on his weaknesses.” Tony tries to keep his tone neutral.

“They were all on these disks. One disk for each fight.” Fornell unlocks the briefcase and opens it to reveal dozens of disks in neatly ordered slots inside. Fornell removes the top disk and places it in the DVD player attached to the plasma at the end of the room.

Tony’s stomach flips as he sees clear, all-too-vivid footage of himself, standing with that stupid red hood over his head. This clearly wasn’t taken on a cell phone; one of Scott’s entourage had to have been filming it on a video camera. The hood is removed, and Gibbs is released into the pit. He prowls around the edge, looking every inch as deadly as Tony remembers.

Tony grows cold; it’s one thing to have it as a memory but another to see it played out all over again in front of him.

Gibbs strides towards him, and at that moment Fornell presses the pause button. “I have been through every second of the footage we’ve taken off the cell phones and all the private footage from the stable owners. This is the only video of this particular fight still in existence,” he says. “And I’m the only person who has seen it.”

He presses the eject button and retrieves the disk, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. “We have more than enough evidence to bust these guys. We don’t need this one,” he says, and then he snaps his fingers, causing the disk to crack in two. He snaps it again and then hands the shattered remains to Tony.

“Thank you for your help this week, Agent DiNozzo.” He pronounces Tony’s name correctly, for the first time.

“Thank you, Agent Fornell,” Tony replies softly.

“Tell Gibbs that I need to speak to him when he’s ready. He’s a material witness, and he’ll very likely be called upon to testify.”

“He won’t like that.”

“No. He won’t.” Fornell shakes his head. “But he’ll do it because he wants to see justice done. I know the man, DiNozzo.”

“Me too. He’ll do it because he’s Gibbs, and it’s his duty, and he’s never yet shirked his duty. But you might have to give him some time, Fornell. I don’t think he’s ready to face you just yet.”

“Understood. I know it won’t be painless, considering our history,” Fornell says quietly. “But this could have happened to any of us. It could have happened to me. Make sure he knows I understand that. The fact he’s my friend might make this hard for him; but the fact I am his friend means I will not let him down. This is a big case, and it might take a while, but I will make those bastards pay for what they did. He has my word on that.”

~*~
End of Part Seventeen
Friendly feedback adored!
Part Eighteen

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Posted by

clucksy.livejournal.com

I cried quite a lot through this chapter.

It's so painful watching someone you like dealing with pain. Ducky was awesome. So is tony. McCavalry awesome nick name that has so many layers to it.

Fornell is pretty awesome too

Posted by

Xanthe's Story Journal

Two Wolves - 17/19

Links

Page Summary

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags