SquidgeWorld Archive

9/11/2002

1300

“Grab your gear, overnight bag. We’re going outta town.”

It was the first anniversary of September 11, and Tony didn’t know if this was even allowed. Surely they had to hang around, in case anything went down. He gave Gibbs a long look. They hadn’t caught a case, not that Tony knew of anyway, but Gibbs had an almost magical way of learning things like this before anyone else. As Abby said, he was magic. Maybe he had an idea, or a security briefing had come around that Tony—with even his clearances—hadn’t been aware of. Maybe there was something in his calendar or email that he just hadn’t gotten around to finding.

Tony and Gibbs had been a team now almost a year. He’d joined NCIS in September and had been assigned to Gibbs’ team just after that. With the post 9/11 world, anthrax scares, and his years as a cop, plus his new Master’s degree, they’d waived the long FLETC course, sending him to the local immersion FLETC instead. He’d been on the streets with Gibbs before he’d even really adjusted to the fact that he was now a Navy cop, a fed. But after everything that had gone down in Baltimore—not to mention losing respect for Danny—Tony’d needed a change. He kinda respected that Gibbs had been the one to give it to him, rather than Tony looking for another city. An out.

Tony and Gibbs had been a two-man team who had hit the ground running, with occasional help from Chris Pacci and Manny Balboa. Things hadn’t even started slowing down until early summer. Now they caught a case every few weeks and they were no longer working ninety-hour weeks fueled with caffeine and fast food, catnaps at their desks, endless reports and meetings with Director Morrow.

“We catch a case?” Tony asked as they entered the elevator. He hitched his backpack higher on his shoulder, hand curving around his duffle. Gibbs had his gear as well.

“No.”

After a fairly quiet four-hour drive, Tony found himself in a hotel in Midtown Manhattan. Gibbs checked in while Tony stood quietly by, looking around the lobby, not sure what to make of all of this. Gibbs hadn’t given him any information, and after a while, Tony’d stopped asking. He knew the significance of the day—didn’t everyone? And as they’d driven closer and closer to the city, determination written on Gibbs’ face, Tony knew this had something to do with the events that had happened a year ago.

The lobby of the hotel seemed on the quiet side, small clusters of people standing together, talking in hushed voices. Smiles were in short supply, and Tony allowed his normally sunny grin in these circumstances to fade. It seemed wrong to be smiling on a day that was the anniversary of an event where so many people had died. He didn’t need to charm anyone, after all. He was just here on Gibbs’ six, watching out, even though he wasn’t sure what he was looking out for. Still, Gibbs had trained him well, had honed his cop senses to razor sharpness, and Tony’s eyes panned the room, cataloguing everyone and everything.

“Why are we here?”

“Later,” Gibbs said with a grunt. “Hungry.”

That was just like Gibbs. He’d give Tony answers in his own time. Tony swallowed down his irritation and nodded. He was hungry too. They hadn’t stopped anywhere on the drive up, and the last time Tony had eaten was those couple of donuts at breakfast, ten or so hours ago.

Tony followed Gibbs to a deli after they dropped their bags in the room. Gibbs ordered a thick roast beef sandwich and a coffee, and Tony picked up a pastrami and Coke. They munched on their sandwiches in silence, and when they were done, Gibbs hailed a cab.

“Ground zero.”

The direction Gibbs gave to the cabbie made Tony’s stomach clench and the palm of his hands begin to sweat. He wasn’t sure he was ready to do this.

“Gibbs?”

“Come on, Tony,” Gibbs said quietly, his heavy hand falling to Tony’s shoulder. Gibbs squeezed hard, and Tony sensed that the other man was offering reassurance. They’d never discussed this, but Tony knew Gibbs knew. Hell, Gibbs had access to everything, Tony suspected, and what he didn’t know by his magic, he could reason out from old-fashioned detective work.

Tony’s shoulders became more and more tense the closer the got, and he was sad Gibbs’ hand had fallen away, though he wouldn’t ask for comfort. And when they arrived, Gibbs had to push him out of the cab. Gibbs glanced around, looking at the groups of people around what was essentially still a mass grave, nodded, and began striding over to a man standing on his own. Tony followed, weaving in and out of people, trying to stay close to his boss.

Tony had no desire to come here, and seeing the void where the towers had stood was hard to deal with. He had to look away, focusing on the salt and pepper hair of his boss and the way Gibbs was making a beeline toward one guy, clearly someone Gibbs knew. Someone Tony had never seen before. He moved a little faster, closing the distance between him and Gibbs. He was only a step or two behind when Gibbs stopped.

“Mac,” Gibbs said quietly and Tony watched the two men embrace. This Mac was shorter and slighter than Gibbs, but he held himself like a military man. As they broke the embrace, Gibbs turned and they stood shoulder to shoulder, comfortably in each other’s personal space.

“Mac Taylor, DiNozzo. Tony. My agent.” Tony noticed Gibbs didn’t give any hint to the relationship he had with the other man.

“DiNozzo,” Mac said, extending a hand. Tony shook it, watching the guy. He’d heard about a Mac Taylor before, from friends in Philly who had come there via NYPD. He ran the crime lab here in New York City, and if Tony remembered correctly, the guy had been in the Marine unit attacked in Lebanon in the eighties. Could he and Gibbs have served together? Making a mental note to ask Abby and Ducky if they knew this Mac guy, Tony focused on the two men in front of him and wondered what was planned.

“Let’s get outta here. I have a hotel.”

Tony followed as the two men go into the backseat of a cab, and he sat in the front. The men were quiet until they arrived at the hotel, and they stepped out of the car in a loose group. “Get us a couple bottles,” Gibbs said to Tony, motioning to a nearby liquor store. “The good stuff. Bourbon and Scotch.” He pulled out a fifty and slapped it into Tony’s hand.

As Mac turned to enter the hotel lobby, Gibbs leaned in. “Lost his wife down there,” he told Tony in an undertone. Tony could only blink a few times. His loss was a hell of a lot less major in comparison. And even though Tony wasn’t quite sure why Gibbs had included him in this, he felt a bit of pride that Bossman had brought him along rather than Abby or Ducky. He was the new guy on the team, and the one Gibbs always rode the hardest.

Tony picked up a couple of bottles of JD, and then, after a short pause, purchased a bottle of Macallan Scotch. It wasn’t the most expensive, but the twelve year would do.

He knocked before entering the hotel room, though Gibbs had given him a key. Gibbs opened the door, nodding to Tony. The other man was nowhere in sight, though the bathroom door was closed and the fan was on. “Mac’s having it rough,” Gibbs said over the running water in the bathroom.

When Mac came out, he looked composed, though his eyes seemed a little red. Tony poured the drinks quietly, handing them out. Images of Uncle Nico ran through his head, and he began speaking without even working out what he was going to say.

“Uncle Nico worked in the towers. He was my father’s brother. When the planes crashed, he went up to the roof, from what he told Aunt Rose. He called her, saying he was going higher. The copters would rescue them.” He shuddered and shrugged, staring into his glass of Scotch. “They haven’t found him yet.”

Though Tony wasn’t particularly close to his father, Uncle Nico and he had stayed in good contact all these years. A hardworking man who hadn’t been as blue-collar as Uncle Vincenzo, the butcher, or as eccentric as Uncle Carmine, the former ad copy writer who had gone a little crazy. He’d been the most solid of the four brothers, and had been the family member Tony’d been closest to as an adult. And that included his own father.

“I’m sorry,” Mac said, his voice quiet, yet strong. “Claire and I married in ninety-five. She was…” He motioned with his glass toward the window that faced downtown. “Never found her either.”

Tony averted his gaze. There was something too intimate about the man’s pain, the sound in his voice that seemed to be…lost. This was a stranger to Tony, and he had a front-row seat to Mac’s pain. It seemed wrong to him somehow.

Gibbs cleared his throat, swirling the liquid in his glass. Tony assumed he’d lost friends in the Pentagon, but his boss was so private that Tony never expected to find out unless he did some detective work. And this was just too close to home for him to investigate. Maybe some day, when their shared pain had faded a little.

“John Fielding was my brother-in-law.” Gibbs spoke in a near-whisper. He was on a plane flying west when…” He shrugged, muscles in his jaw tightening. “Right into the Pentagon.”

Tony’d never met Gibbs’ wife; they were almost through the divorce when he’d started working at NCIS. But it seemed clear to him that Gibbs had a warm spot for his brother- in-law, despite the fact that the marriage had ended.

“Shannon’s twin,” Mac added, and Tony’s head shot up. There was so much depth to Mac’s gaze, so much that was under the surface that Tony felt his should know…but didn’t.

Shannon?

Gibbs’ ex was Stephanie. Had Mac screwed up her name? Tony angled his gaze to Gibbs, read the pain that his boss wasn’t even trying to mask, and realized there was something deeper here. Something he didn’t have the right to know yet.

9/11/2004

1400

They were a three-man team now, sometimes four if McGee came up to help out. That was why Tony was surprised when Gibbs issued the order to grab his gear. They’d been to New York the last two years on the anniversary of September 11th, but Tony didn’t expect they’d go this year, though he didn’t have any reason for expecting that.

“Where are we going?” Kate asked, standing, looking wary. Tony knew she hadn’t heard a call or any request from assistance from any of the other teams. They’d been working The Ari Haswari thing. The one who had kidnapped Kate. The one who… Tony winced. He couldn’t keep going back to the siege in the Navy Yard and how Kate and Ducky had been taken hostage, and Gerald and Gibbs shot. It made him too angry, and with Gibbs raging about Haswari, Tony needed to be the calm one, the one who kept Gibbs from going overboard.

Tony stifled his sigh and gave Kate a “stand down” hand signal. She looked confused and even opened the mouth to argue, but then Gibbs spoke.

“Take the rest of the day off, Kate. It’s a Saturday anyway.” They’d been putting in extra hours lately and it showed. It wouldn’t faze Director Morrow at all if they took the day off. In fact, they’d come in to finish some reports. They weren’t even lead team on call.

She looked at Tony, confused, and he gave her a little shrug and a look that told her to do what bossman said and to not question it. Kate shrugged but nodded, grabbing her keys, gun, and badge, and rushing out ahead of them

 Tony followed Gibbs to his car, grabbing the bag he’d packed with non-perishable snacks. Before he climbed into Gibbs’ car, he opened his, pulling out a paper bag he’d brought along just in case, the bottles of liquor ringing against each other just once. Gibbs gave Tony an appreciative nod and Tony returned the look, allowing himself to smile briefly. This was the closest he’d get to a Gibbs compliment, but he’d take it and cherish it.

They were quiet as they drove up, and when they arrived at the hotel to check in, there was a note for them. Mac had already checked in—apparently this year they were alternating hotel bills, though Gibbs had made the reservation and paid for the room the last two years.

When they knocked on the door, a young guy with dark-blond hair, even smaller and more wiry than Mac, answered. “Ya must be Gibbs and DiNozzo,” he said, his New York accent strong. “I’m Danny Messer. One of Mac’s guys.”

Tony learned that Danny was a local, just like him, but while Tony’d grown up in relative luxury, Danny’d been a blue-collar guy from a family of cops. He was working under Mac just like Tony was working under Gibbs.

And if Tony wasn’t mistaken, Danny had an interest in Mac. When Danny talked about losing his partner, who had been on United 93, he kept looking to Mac for support, and when he’d drunk too much, there was a longing in his gaze that he couldn’t quite hide.

Tony wondered if his feelings for Gibbs were as transparent as Danny’s for Mac.

9/11/2006

1900

Tony had arranged to have the day off even before Gibbs had been injured in the explosion. His then-boss had signed off on it, and Tony’d emailed Mac and Danny to get the hotel room organized. He hadn’t been able or willing to tell them about the changes in his life. He’d fill them in when he got up there. It’d be easier to tell them in person.

Tony and Danny were email buddies and through him, he’d gotten to know Mac a little bit. Through Danny’s eyes. As Tony had expected, they’d gotten closer and closer, finally coming together when the team had nearly lost Flack in an explosion. Mac had needed a lot, Danny had said, and he’d been the other man’s shoulder. When Mac had sat at Flack’s bedside for days, Danny’d brought him coffee, encouraged him to go home for a quick shower and shave, and had been his rock.

And Mac had responded to that care and attention. Tony didn’t need to read between the lines to know that his friends were exploring something new and delicate, something Tony wished he’d had the opportunity to have with Gibbs.

Tonight would be extra hard. As usual they’d drink and tell stories about the people they’d lost on 9/11. Danny would tell hilarious stories about Jackie, his partner, and the way trouble always found her. And Tony would tell stories about Uncle Nico and how he and his dad were thick as thieves. Dad swore he felt the moment Uncle Nico died, almost like they had a freakish twin connection. And they weren’t even twins.

Mac would talk about Claire, maybe even bring some pictures of her. Last year, they’d all brought pictures along, to personalize things even more. To make their remembrances resonate even deeper. Jackie, Claire, and John were real people to Tony. They’d come alive through Mac’s, and Danny’s, and even Gibbs’ words. He knew that John loved to sail, that Jackie’d danced on a couple of bars in her time, Danny begging her to get down before she caused a riot. And he knew that Mac and Claire had been so deeply in love. She’d tamed that quiet Marine.

He’d told them about Uncle Nico, about how his father’s eldest brother had always sworn in Italian, how he’d never eat Italian food out, saying it was an insult to Aunt Rose’s cooking. And how he’d been the only family member to come to Tony’s games at Ohio State and his college graduation. He missed Uncle Nico, but it felt nice to share his uncle with his new friends, and the boss Tony’d fallen for years ago.

The drive up to New York City took longer than usual and Tony really felt the quiet in the car. He cranked the radio, listening first to pop, and then switching to classic rock past Philly. To combat the silence, he sang—loudly and sometimes a little out of tune. It helped to make the car feel less lonely.

On the previous drives, even though Gibbs had rarely spoken, Tony had never felt lonely or alone, or even this sad, but on this drive, no volume of sound could make him feel any better about this. He was alone now, and any shot he had with Gibbs was gone. Done. Finito.

Tony pulled into the parking garage and rested his head on the steering wheel for a few moments, trying to gather his strength. This was gonna be hard. He didn’t know if he could handle the inevitable drunken tumble into bed, knowing Gibbs wasn’t sleeping beside him. Knowing that Danny and Mac could be as close as they needed to be on this painful anniversary, while Tony was alone. Maybe he should have brought Abby along. He’d considered it, but it felt wrong somehow. Even McGee wouldn’t have fit in here right.

When Tony knocked on the door, Mac answered, arching a brow when he saw Tony there alone. Throughout the years, Tony had learned that Mac and Gibbs had served together for a short while, and that they’d remained close friends through the rest of their service and as they’d become established in law enforcement. Mac was the only one of them who had known that John Fielding was Shannon’s brother. Shannon’s twin brother. And that Gibbs had been married four times and divorced three. That Gibbs had lost not only a wife, but a daughter as well.

“Where is he?” Mac asked. Tony figured he’d given away something, since Mac had those Marine special powers or something. He knew Mac was like Gibbs in knowing things he shouldn’t. That had become clear in the few years they’d been meeting.

“I don’t know,” Tony answered, allowing the exhaustion of being everything that everyone needed crashing down on him. He needed to drink and relax and forget, just for one single night. He needed to tear his self-confident mask off and just bleed for a while.

“What happened, Tony?” Danny answered, giving him a concerned look. They’d gotten to be really good friends over these last few years, and Tony could read the concern in Danny’s eyes. He’d cut back on emailing with Danny after the explosion. Tony had just been too busy trying to keep everything together. Instead of getting online at night after twelve-hour days at work, he’d go home and collapse in bed, sometimes not even bothering with dinner.

Tony shrugged, taking the glass Danny pressed into his hand—Macallan as usual—and gulping it down. “He’s gone,” he told the other two men as the alcohol burned its way down his throat, past the lump of emotion there that was getting larger every second.

“Was in an explosion, coma. Recovered. Case went to hell, and he’s gone. A few months back.” Tony’s hand tightened on the glass and a part of him wanted to throw it, to give in to all the emotions he’d been shoving down to make it right at NCIS.

“Don’t,” Mac counseled quietly, his hand gently squeezing Tony’s shoulder. And for the first time in months, even more than when he leaned on Jimmy for their coffee break chats, Tony allowed himself to let his guard down, to led his emotions come gushing out.

“He left me,” he said savagely, staring downtown, toward what had been the World Trade Center years ago. And further south to where his responsibilities lay in DC. “He left all of us. And I’m not doing a great job,” Tony insisted. “Abby keeps testing me. McGee and Ziva keep challenging me. Jenny keeps pressuring me. I know I’m not Gibbs. I don’t want to be Gibbs—don’t they all see it?”

Mac arched a brow, looking Tony up and down, and Tony flushed. The polo shirt and chinos were more expensive than the ones Gibbs had usually worn and the undershirt…well, Tony’d snagged a few from Gibbs’ dresser. It wasn’t like he needed them wherever he was now.

“Clothes don’t make the man,” Danny said, coming up beside Tony. “This stuff, it ain’t what you’re about, DiNozzo. You and me, and even Mac here, we’re cops. Yeah, ya gotta taste for the designer stuff, but even if ya cut your hair like Gibbs, you’re not gonna be him. Good that ya know it, but they gotta understand too.”

“I’m not sure our friend Tony here believes in himself yet,” Mac said, and Tony turned away. He hadn’t come here for this…or maybe he had.

“Can we drink? And forget?”

“We can drink, but we won’t forget. We come here so we don’t. This year, we’ll drink to Gibbs as well, and maybe next year, he’ll be with us here, and this will all be a bad memory.

“Don’t count on it,” Tony muttered sourly. Gibbs was gone. If he had any plans to come back, he already would have.

9/11/2008

1700

Tony paced his small quarters on the aircraft carrier, annoyance radiating off him. This wasn’t the way it went. He was always in New York with Danny and Mac…and Gibbs too. But this was the second year running where he hadn’t been able to go. Last year, there was all the crap with Jeanne. After Tony had chosen to stay at NCIS—without even really being sure it was the right thing to do—Gibbs had treated him like he didn’t belong on the team any more. Like he was crap.

Well, not exactly like crap. Just insignificant in that Gibbs-like way. Gibbs had headed up to New York without even signing Tony’s vacation time request, and Tony had known when he wasn’t wanted. Tony had also known Bossman had been furious at him and at Jenny for hiding what had happened with the Frog. Not that any of that mattered now.

The Frog was dead, Jeanne hated him enough to accuse him of murder, and Jenny…Tony closed his eyes and gulped back a couple of swallows of inferior Scotch. It sure as hell wasn’t Macallan for sure. But it would do the job, and considering alcohol wasn’t officially allowed on board an aircraft carrier, he was lucky to have smuggled the cheap stuff on board.

Tony hated being afloat, hated it with every fiber of his being. It sucked being the only

sheriff in a town of five thousand. He had no friends and no network he could use when things got hard. It was just him…and very occasionally Abby or Gibbs through post cards, or the rare video call.

It wasn’t enough, but Tony got it. He understood. The message was crystal clear. He and Ziva were being punished for running out on Jenny, for helping to get her killed. Now, instead of drinking just to Mac’s wife, Danny’s partner, Gibbs’ brother-in-law, and Uncle Nico, Tony was drinking to a lot of other people. The long list of friends he’d lost—Pacci, Kate, Paula, her team. Jenny. Even Jeanne who he’d lost in his own way, who he’d made accuse him of murder by loving her the wrong way.

Tony nudged his duffel with his foot, hearing the glass bottles clinking against each other. He needed one a night just to be functional in the morning, and though he knew he was flirting with a major drinking problem, he couldn’t stop. Despite the fact that when he closed his eyes at night, he saw his mother drunkenly reaching for his sea monkeys and him begging her not to drink them, knowing she was too far gone to listen.

Tony knew the drinking issues that were in the Paddington side of his family, the DWI that had not only killed his mother, but had injured him, his father, and the family in the other car capping off his mother’s lifetime dependence on alcohol. Yet he couldn’t seem to stop. One drink a day had led to him needing to numb himself on a nightly basis. Oblivion was the only way he could sleep any more. The only time Jenny’s face didn’t haunt him. The only time Jeanne didn’t sneer at him, her beautiful face twisting in hatred. The only time Gibbs didn’t accuse him of screwing up.

It didn’t matter that Gibbs hadn’t said the words. Tony knew that he’d been the one to encourage Ziva to take the day off. And in the end Jenny had died. And now Tony was stuck afloat, rotting at sea.

He lifted his bottle in a silent toast to friends and family lost, wondering if next year they might just be toasting to him.

9/11/11

1600

Tony glanced over to Gibbs as his boss—and lover—dodged through heavy traffic on the New Jersey Turnpike. The canary-yellow Challenger caught a lot of eyes, and people tended to melt out of the way when Gibbs roared up behind them. Gibbs pushed the car a solid fifteen over the speed limit, and for some unknown reason, the cops weren’t interested in chasing them. Tony leaned back in his seat, savoring the blast of air conditioning on his face, the tunes on the radio, thankful that Gibbs allowed some classic rock for this drive.

This year was the tenth anniversary of 9/11, only the second where all four men were together as couples. Danny and Mac had gotten together a few years ago—five if Tony was correct. But he and Gibbs had been a hell of a lot more stubborn. They hadn’t begun exploring a relationship until about two years ago, when Tony’d stayed at Gibbs’ after injuring himself in the fight with Rivkin. And it had been slow going between them for a while.

That seemed like so long ago. Those early days were so long ago. Now they lived together full time. Abby. Palmer, and Ducky knew, McGee and Ziva probably suspected. Tony didn’t much care what Vance thought about it. They never brought their relationship to work, and it had never impacted their workload or the way they dealt with suspects.

Tony rubbed his arm reflexively before further relaxing into the seat and resting his hand on Jethro’s thigh. Gibbs wasn’t big on public displays of affection, but when they were alone, he was much more tactile than Tony had ever expected. And he loved to be touched when driving.

“Think this one will be harder than the others?” Tony asked, fingertips tracing over the solid strength of Gibbs’ thigh.

“For Mac, maybe,” Gibbs allowed. “But we’re here for him. A brotherhood. Why we only have one room even now.”

Tony’d been sure they’d get two rooms now that they were established and out as lovers. Wouldn’t Mac and Danny want to be alone, too? But last year, both older men had insisted that they spend the night crammed in queen-sized beds. A part of Tony hated it, but another part of him relished the time spent curled up with Jethro. Pressed tightly against his lover. There was too much room in Gibbs’ king-size bed and they both sprawled out when sleeping. Sometimes it was nice to be forced to cuddle. To get comfort without asking for it.

“You drinking to anyone else this year?” Gibbs asked.

Tony shrugged, staring at the window. “Danny, and Levin.”

“And Franks,” Gibbs added quietly.

There was no love lost between Tony and Franks, though they’d reached a truce, but he’d meant a lot to Gibbs, and for that, Tony would drink to the crusty old bastard too.

“And Franks.Ever think about the parallels?”

“What parallels, DiNozzo?” Gibbs’ voice started out a little sharp, but mellowed right down.

“Danny helped shape me, even though he never really knew it, and Franks helped shape you. And they both died within a month of each other. Kinda makes you think.”

Gibbs grunted, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. Tony could feel tension running through Gibbs before his lover let out a sigh, his body relaxing.

“They’re not us. In the end, they’re nothing like us. Just like your Uncle Nico, John, Claire Taylor, Danny’s Jackie…” Gibbs paused for a long moment. “Shannon and Kelly.” He stopped then, taking in a couple of deep breaths.”Kate, Paula, Pacci, Jenny, Levin, Langer, Michelle Lee. They’re not us, but they make us better, stronger, sharper.”

“Sadder,” Tony pointed out. “And older.”

“Wiser,” Gibbs countered. “If we hadn’t lost some of our friends, maybe we would have forgotten how to live.” He risked a glance over at Tony. “And I like living again. You taught me how to do that. Don’t forget it.”

“Like living too,” Tony managed. Gibbs was never this open, and he took it as the gift it was. These last ten years had changed them all, had been full of amazing highs and really terrible lows, but in the end, he had Gibbs, and Bossman had him, and there was a rightness about that Tony couldn’t deny.

As Gibbs pulled into the parking garage, Tony knew he had to lighten the mood. “Last one to the room sleeps on the wet spot!”

He bolted out of the car, leaving Gibbs to gather their packs. “There won’t be a wet spot,” Gibbs growled out, his voice carrying in the garage.

“Maybe, maybe not. Only time will tell!”