Title: These Small Hours
Author: Jilly James
Fandom: NCIS, Stargate SG-1, Stargate: Atlantis
Genre: Drama, Family, Romance
Relationship: Anthony DiNozzo/Jethro Gibbs. See the main page for background and minor pairings
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Major Character Death (sort of, and it’s temporary), Canon-typical Violence, Explicit Sex
Author Note: Please see the tab on the main story page about OCs, timeline, challenge, etc.
Beta: Thank you, Ladyholder.
Word Count: 66k
Summary: When Tony DiNozzo was eight years old, Oma Desala set him on the path to ascension. Twenty-three years later, after contracting the plague, he takes the final step on the path. The loss of Tony changes everything for Gibbs and ultimately for Stargate Command and the city of Atlantis.
Prologue
Tony sat at the piano and lifted the fallboard. He paused and stared at the keys. “This is wrong,” he whispered.
“What exactly is wrong, Anthony?”
Tony looked up at the man who hadn’t been by the piano a second ago. The guy was a stranger, but the knowledge didn’t alarm him, which in and of itself seemed weird. “Mother never closed the fallboard.” He let his fingers drift softly over the keys. “Her piano came from her grandmother, and the keys were real ivory. She always said that closing the fallboard would make the keys yellow.” He looked around the music room from his childhood home. “I’ve never dreamt this wrong before.”
“And if I said this isn’t a dream?”
He frowned. “It’s always a dream.”
“Not this time; it’s just a place we both remember.”
Looking up, he stared at the man. His age was difficult to determine, but he was probably a decade or so older than Tony. “How can you remember this place?” He felt foggy, but it wasn’t exactly dreamlike. “This was my mother’s favorite place before she died, and that was a very long time ago.”
“Yes.” He cocked his head to the side. “Do you remember what happened today?”
Tony stared at the keys, the black and white beginning to blur the longer he stared. He pressed his hand to his chest, remembering. “I’m drowning.”
“After a fashion, yes.” The man sat in a chair that was just suddenly there. “My name is Janus, and a long time ago you met someone very dear to me. Do you remember the woman who came to you after your mother died?”
Brow furrowing, Tony thought back to some odd dreams that had stuck with him his whole life. “Oma.”
Janus’ smile was sad. “Yes. She took great interest in you, Anthony.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re a little like us—more so than anyone on Earth.”
“On Earth. Interesting turn of phrase.”
“My people came from another galaxy a long, long time ago.”
Tony stared. “A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away?”
“I suppose.”
He snorted. “Now I know I’m dreaming.”
Janus looked confused but then seemed to shake it off. “Regardless of whether you accept the truth of that, it’s all I have to offer in explanation. Shall I tell you a story?”
“Is it like all good stories?”
“What constitutes a good story?”
“A good guy, a bad guy, a momentous quest, and then living happily ever after. Last item optional for some sadistic authors.” Tony smiled faintly as he pressed one of the keys; the piano made no sound.
“Then I suppose it is not a good story because the bad guys are the good guys and the quest is perhaps not what we thought it would be.”
“Hmm.” He pressed more soundless keys. “Well, dreaming is better than drowning in my own blood, so I suppose I can listen to your not-good story.”
“Then let me tell you about the lost city of Atlantis…”
Tony listened with increasing attentiveness as Janus told him about the Alterans and their choices, good and bad. About building the city of legends but ultimately choosing to abandon her in another galaxy so they could pursue this notion of achieving a state of enlightenment.
“You could have saved the city, though,” Tony finally offered when Janus’ tale seemed to be coming to an end. “You could have fought back those space vampires.”
Janus nodded, looking sad. “Yes, I suppose we could have, but a long war was contrary to our goals as a people. Dealing with the consequences of our mistakes was also contrary to that goal.”
“Ascension.” Tony picked out a song on the keys. Even though there was no sound in the room, he could hear the tune in his head.
“Yes, we have sacrificed much in that pursuit.” Janus stared at his hands for a few seconds. “In truth, everything.”
“You sacrificed Oma.”
“Yes, because while procreation was permitted, love was discouraged. Love was a distraction at best and considered an outright obstacle to Ascension by some. Oma and I loved each other very much but had to stay apart.”
“That’s stupid.”
Janus’ lips twitched in obvious amusement. “Yes.”
“So, you fled to Earth, leaving behind the huge problem you created and then fucked off to another plane of existence.”
“We chose to walk the path of enlightenment.”
“Do you feel enlightened?”
“Less so every day.”
“Hmm.”
Janus watched him for long moments. “What are you playing?”
“Moonlight Sonata.” He hesitated. “It was my mother’s favorite.” After a few seconds, he asked, “Why did Oma visit me when I was a child?”
“I told you about the ATA gene…”
“The thing you guys created to prevent your little science experiments from being able to use your tech? Yeah, I remember.” The explanation of the origins of the Ancients had been long and yet seemed to take no time at all. Everything felt off and out of focus, but Tony couldn’t seem to bring himself to care.
“While the ATA gene is not what makes someone an Ancient, it’s attached to the genes that are Ancient. The SGC scientists haven’t quite separated out true Ancient genetics, but it’s safe to assume that someone with a strong expression of that ATA gene would have a lot of other Ancient DNA.”
“How so? It’s a gene, right?”
“The activation gene was grafted of every bit of our DNA. It’d be more accurate to say many, many microexpressions of the gene. The more true Ancient DNA you have, the stronger the gene will seem.”
“Hmm. Okay.” He let the tune play out in his head for a second, letting the music haunt him. “What’s your point?”
“You have more Ancient DNA than anyone alive.”
Tony stopped “playing” and stared at Janus. “Since my father is still alive and there are members of my mother’s family still living, I have to assume I get it from both sides of my family then? Otherwise, there’d be others with my same basic makeup.”
“Yes. Though the man you believe to be your father is not, in fact, related to you.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your mother had a brief liaison with a young widower that left her with child—your biological father never knew. Anthony DiNozzo knew she was pregnant when they met, but he agreed to raise another man’s child for the…generous financial compensation offered by her family.”
Tony blinked several times. “Huh.” He wasn’t sure what else to say. “I keep trying to tell myself this is a dream, but I know it’s not.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Why did Oma visit me when I was a child? My whole life I thought that was a dream.”
“You knew it wasn’t a dream. No one remembers a childish dream so vividly.”
Tony decided to wait rather than reply. He had known on some level that it was real, but he’d had to tell himself otherwise or else he’d have questioned his own sanity.
“You and your mother are descended from Oma. She’s always watched your family.”
“So she’s keeping an eye on Crispian and my various uncles?”
“Not as such, no. At least, back when she was watching, the field was narrower. You descend from her through your maternal grandfather, Jasper. In his line, there is only you and Crispian left, but she’s always seen more potential in you than your cousin. She felt the path of enlightenment was one you could actually attain. Also…” Janus trailed off and looked off into the distance, seeing something beyond Tony’s ability.
Eventually, he added, “Your father, your real father, is from my line. When we ascended, we were supposed to throw off our attachments to this plane of existence—to the things we left behind, even if that was our own flesh and blood. Oma, myself, and a few others have never been as successful at that as they might have wished us to be. In our mortal lives, we were kept apart, but we both had children. We both wanted the best for those left on Earth, and even a few in Pegasus. Oma kept watch on both of our families.” He smiled. “To see our lines come together in you…” he shook his head. “The confluence of our lines is why you have the strongest Ancient lineage in several thousand years. Oma had also kept a close watch on your brothers—”
“My brothers?”
“Yes. You have three older brothers.”
Tony didn’t know what to do with that. “And my biological father lives?”
“He does.”
“So, she watched, and when my mom died, she decided to visit?”
“She did more than visit.” Janus gave Tony a sympathetic look. “Oma healed many of the injuries you sustained during the accident. You weren’t alarmed to meet her later because part of you remembered her presence in the car and how she helped you. She used only a fraction of her power—so little that it would go undetected by the others—to ensure you would survive.”
“But not my mother?” he bit out, feeling irrationally angry.
“Your mother died almost immediately. There was nothing that could be done. But you… Well, Oma hoped if she set you on the path that you would find your way in your lifetime or if your life were ever in jeopardy again. It’s why she came to you in your mother’s music room while you were still grieving. Your father planned to send you away, and she knew it would be her last chance to plant the seeds of a possible future choice.”
“And is that what it’s come to?”
“You’re dying, yes.”
“So I will die?”
“I can’t say that for certain, but you’re teetering on the brink. You’ve walked the path enough that ascension would be just another step.”
“Does that mean it’s make a choice time?”
“Not precisely. It’s more accurate to say you need to remember what you learned and decide if you’re ready.”
“I’m not sure I ever forgot.”
“Oh?” Janus cocked his head, looking curious.
“I’ve often heard her voice in the back of my mind. I think…” His brow furrowed, and he thought back over years of little and big choices. “I remember her talking about the path of enlightenment, and it influenced me. It’s why I’ve left so many places. I do the best I can to protect and help others, but when I can’t make a difference—”
“In the face of corruption?”
“Yes. That exactly. If I can make a difference, I try, but corruption you can’t affect is soul-destroying. People think I have commitment issues,” his thoughts turned to Kate, “but it was never that.”
“And what do you think of where you are now? These criminal investigations you conduct for your military?”
“I think I’ve gotten lost. I don’t even know when. A year or two ago, maybe.” He gave Janus a curious look. “Why do I believe everything you say?”
“This is a place of truth.”
“My mother’s music room?”
“That’s just aesthetics.”
“I see.” He let his fingers slide back and forth over the keys. “Are you asking me to go with you?”
“Is that what you wish?”
“Well, I don’t want to drown, but I can almost hear her saying that fear of death is no reason to go on.”
Janus’ smile was sad again. “Yes. But I hardly think you truly fear dying.”
“We all fear dying. It’s human nature. But I fear failure more.”
“Do you think you’ll have failed if you move on?”
“No.” He shook his head, not able to easily sort out his own thoughts. “Why would I choose to move on to this next thing? Why join Obi-wan and Master Yoda?”
“I think maybe the universe needs you.”
“That’s hyperbolic.” Tony played soundless scales on the piano. “Why didn’t she come?”
“She’s been…detained.”
He looked up sharply. “Explain.”
“There was an incident, a half-ascended being that was threatening…everything. Our entire existence was at risk. Oma is locked in eternal conflict with him.”
“Eternal Conflict,” Tony repeated dumbly.
Janus nodded.
“Eternal?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, that’s fucked up.” He finally took his hands off the piano, feeling unmoored. “How could the universe possibly need me?”
“Only you can find the answers to those questions. Only you can decide if you want to walk the path.” Janus reached out and rested a hand on Tony’s arm. “I came because Oma would have wanted me to ensure that you remembered what she taught you so that you can make the choice with a clear mind.”
* * *
Gibbs paced around the isolation room, hating the wet, labored sounds of Tony’s breathing. They’d finally turned the blue lights off, but they’d opted not to move Tony to a regular room yet. Kate was curled up in a chair, wearing a mask. She hadn’t wanted to leave even though the medical staff had encouraged her to go because of her cold. She’d agreed to keep the mask on at all times and stay a full bed away from Tony to ensure she didn’t spread it. Ducky had gone home a couple of hours ago, too exhausted to stay longer.
Kate’s obvious worry was just revving Gibbs up. He’d wanted to believe the words he’d been telling others—that Tony was going to be okay—but part of him doubted.
Dr. Pitt and the nurse were talking on the other side of the glass enclosure. She nodded at whatever he was saying then vanished from the unit. Pitt shared a glance with Gibbs before entering the isolation area, moving to listen to Tony’s lungs. After a minute, he stepped away to join Gibbs.
“Any better?”
“No improvement.” He gestured Gibbs a little farther away, ignoring the way Kate was watching them with her brow creased in worry. “We need to make some decisions. I’m not sure how much longer we can put off placing him on a ventilator.”
“You said that wouldn’t help.”
“I said it likely wouldn’t do much. But he’s exhausted from trying to breathe.”
“I can see that,” Gibbs snapped.
“And it might take some of that burden away for a time.”
“But it’s better if he breathes on his own, right?”
“Agent Gibbs—”
“Right?!”
“He’s barely breathing on his own. He’s drowning. It’s slow, exhausting, and agonizing.”
Gibbs ran his hands through his hair, a dark feeling trying to claw his heart out. “He’s supposed to have a 15 percent chance. DiNozzo can do miracles with a 15 percent chance.”
“For bubonic plague.”
“What?”
Pitt sighed and looked back at Tony for a few seconds. The nurse entered again accompanied by another person, both of them with rolling carts of equipment. They quickly left again. “Plague victims of the past had a 15 percent chance of survival—in the case of bubonic plague. Tony has pneumonic plague.”
Gibbs ground his teeth. “Which has what survival chance?”
“None.” Pitt stepped closer. “It doesn’t matter that the bacteria are no longer active. The pneumonia caused by this type of plague had a near 100 percent fatality rate. It’s not a form of plague we even see anymore.”
Gibbs shook his head. “He’s not gonna die. Put him on the vent if you have to, but we have to do everything to give him the time to fight this.” He didn’t give Pitt a chance to reply, just returned to Tony’s bedside. Wanting privacy, he waved Kate further away, and she reluctantly moved to talk to Dr. Pitt.
He pulled the chair closer and, for the first time, gave in to his urge to take Tony’s hand. “Listen to me, DiNozzo, I know you’re tired. I know this seems like it’s as bad as it can get, but I know you can get through this. I know you can.”
The rasp of Tony’s breath was the only reply.
“You definitely do not have my permission to die. Not now, not ever, okay?” Gibbs whispered, squeezing the hand held between both of his. “Pitt’s gonna try something else…see if we can’t get you some relief, take some of the burden for a little while so you can rest.”
To his surprise, Tony’s eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks before he opened his eyes and looked right at Gibbs. His breathing was so shallow and labored that the sound of it was agonizing. He whispered something, but Gibbs couldn’t catch it.
He got to his feet and leaned close. “What’s that?”
“I got vision…and the rest of…the world…wears bifocals.”
The Butch Cassidy quote made his blood run cold for some reason. It was what he’d quoted when he’d brought Tony to NCIS. “You just hang in there—”
“I’ll…miss you,” Tony rasped, voice barely audible.
“No.” Gibbs let go of Tony’s hand and framed his face. “You listen to me, you fight this, Tony.”
But before anything else could be said, Tony started to glow under his hands.
Gibbs was so startled he pulled his hands away.
“Dammit!” Pitt ran out of the isolation area.
“Oh my god, Gibbs, what’s happening?” Kate was at his side, doing some sort of pushing him toward Tony while trying to pull him away too. “Tony!”
Tony was glowing brighter. His eyes were closed, expression serene.
“This is Commander Brad Pitt at Walter Reed. Calling to report code Oscar-Delta-Delta in infectious disease isolation unit two.”
The code rattled around in Gibbs’ head as one he’d been informed of when he’d started running high-level ops in MTAC. If something inexplicable ever occurred, there was a specific number to call and report code Oscar-Delta-Delta.
“The ODD code,” Kate breathed, and Gibbs met her horrified gaze. “I’d never had reason to call it in.”
Being on the president’s personal detail, of course she’d have been informed about code ODD. He tore his gaze away from Kate to stare at Tony, who was still in some sort of glowy limbo.
“Kate!” Pitt yelled. “I need to stay on the phone. Press the alarm button by the door. It will put us in emergency lockdown.”
“What’s going—”
“Now!” Pitt hollered, making her jump. “Before the nurses get back.”
Gibbs shook Kate off, who was apparently paralyzed, and sprinted out of the isolation unit, slamming his hand on the emergency lockdown button by the door. He could hear the HVAC system to the room shut down even as the air processing for the iso unit continued to hum. The blue lights came back up and red alert LEDs flashed along the ceiling.
He went back to Pitt, who was nodding at what he was hearing, brow furrowed. “Yes, the room is in lockdown. It’s myself, two NCIS agents, and a third agent who was admitted after exposure to a biological contagion. He’s presently…glowing.” There was a long pause. “No, the minute I initiated lockdown protocols, they’d have started paying attention to the video feed.” Another pause. “No, the pathogen itself was contained and there’s no risk of infection.” His frown deepened. “You already have control of the security footage? How?”
Gibbs wanted to yank the phone away and demand answers, but he moved back to the bed, having to shoulder past Kate. “Tony… Don’t do this.” The glow intensified, and Gibbs felt like someone had wrapped a hand around his heart and squeezed. “Please don’t.”
“What do you mean don’t be shocked—” Pitt made a startled sound as there was a flash of light and about ten new people were suddenly just there.
Gibbs realized his mouth was hanging open, but he snapped it shut and tuned out the crazy to focus on Tony—the only thing he could focus on—whose body was fading into nothing. “Tony,” he choked out.
He caught another flash of light in his peripheral vision just before a glowing mass with tentacles drifted up from where Tony had been.
A two-star Air Force general stepped to the opposite side of the bed. He had short, grey and white hair and the bearing of someone with extensive combat training. His uniform coat was unbuttoned, like he’d yanked it on in a hurry. The general was looking at the glowing thing that used to be Gibbs’ Tony with an expression of profound sympathy.
“Ah hell,” he whispered. When the general’s attention turned to Gibbs, he realized that the glowing thing was hovering right in front of him. One of the tentacles reached out and barely grazed his cheek, and it felt like heartbreak.
The general stepped up shoulder to shoulder with Gibbs and addressed Tony. “It’s okay, kid. You did good, and it’s all right to rest now. Give ‘em hell up there, okay?”
Then Tony drifted up and just vanished.
Gibbs collapsed onto the spare bed behind him, feeling like, once again, his world had just ended.
Chapter One
Gibbs appeared on the command deck of the Daedalus and immediately pinched the bridge of his nose, forcing back a sigh. He really hated being beamed around. Even though he’d only been in the program for about two months, he wound up beamed around more than anyone besides General O’Neill himself. The sheer number of things he was involved with and the timeliness issues made it such that they didn’t have time for him to take longer ground or air transports.
“Welcome aboard, Agent Gibbs,” Colonel Steven Caldwell said as he got to his feet.
“Colonel,” he acknowledged.
“Still hate the beaming?”
“More than milk in my coffee.”
Caldwell chuckled. “The general is ready for your arrival.”
“Is he not-fishing again?”
“Indeed. He said to have you arrive right by the lake.”
“Pond.”
“Those weren’t the general’s words.”
Gibbs sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose again.
Caldwell’s laugh preceded the flash of light from the Asgard beam.
Gibbs found himself standing in the grass right by the small dock where General O’Neill, with two L’s, was seated in an Adirondack chair, fishing pole balanced on his knee and a beer in hand.
“Pull up a chair, Gunny. Beer’s in the cooler, and I set out the spare rod and reel.”
Sighing again, Gibbs sat in the chair, setting the bag he’d been forced to bring between them.
O’Neill eyed the bag. “That bodes ill.”
“Yes.”
O’Neill sighed. “Fish first.”
“I’m not fishing.”
“Fish.”
“There are no fish in that pond, so it’s not fishing.”
O’Neill’s head was on a slow pivot as he turned toward Gibbs. “Fish.”
“If you want me to fish, put some damn fish in the pond.” Gibbs had only been to O’Neill’s cabin one other time, right after he’d been absorbed into the program along with Todd and McGee after Tony’s ascension. He’d put up with the not-fishing for a whole fifteen minutes on that first visit.
“Tell me how you get your boats out of the basement, and I’ll consider putting fish in the pond.”
Gibbs glared. O’Neill glared back. Gibbs huffed and picked up the fishing rod. “What is the point of this?”
“It’s symbolic.”
“Of what?”
“Relaxation.”
“Symbolic relaxation. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Have you always been this snarky?”
Gibbs stilled, rod in hand. “No.”
After a long silence, O’Neill offered him a beer.
“I’m on duty.”
“You’re going to be here with me all day, so have the damn beer.”
Gibbs set the rod on the dock with the line dangling in the water and took the beer but didn’t open it. “Why are we meeting here?”
“Guaranteed privacy and I figured since I wasn’t going to like whatever you were going to say to me, I might as well relax and fish.” He shot Gibbs a look. “Why the subterfuge? Because I think I’d remember if you were working on a special project for me. Not that I’m not always willing to play along with a ruse that gets me out of the Pentagon for the day.”
Gibbs had sent an email to O’Neill a few days ago that he was ready to give a report on O’Neill’s special investigation into an off-world occurrence from a few years back, and he figured the debrief wouldn’t take more than four hours. He’d gotten a reply from the general’s aide that the general would be “fishing” all day on Saturday, and Gibbs was welcome to join him.
“Everything out of the mountain is monitored,” Gibbs hedged.
“Yes. As it should be.”
“Not always in ways you’d expect.”
Silence greeted that for a long beat. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”
“Nope.”
O’Neill sighed and took a drink of his beer. “How are you adjusting?”
Gibbs blinked at the change in conversational direction. “Fine.”
“That was a serious question, not a social nicety.”
Staring at his hands, it took Gibbs a long time to formulate a reply. “I miss him.” Even those few words felt like they were torn out of him.
“Yeah.” O’Neill set the bottle down with a thud and leaned forward to look at Gibbs. “How long were you in love with him?”
Gibbs froze.
“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but it’s pretty obvious to me what’s going on.”
“How obvious?” he eventually asked.
“Probably not obvious to anyone but me.”
Gibbs side-eyed O’Neill, thinking their situations were very different because O’Neill could have Jackson anytime he wanted; Daniel Jackson was still on this damn plane of existence. “It’s a lie.”
“What is?”
“That it’ll hurt less if you don’t tell them how you feel.” Gibbs had bullshitted himself with that since the first year he’d worked with Tony. That if he didn’t let himself get in deep for real that it wouldn’t hurt if he lost him. All he’d done is deprive them both of something good while they still had time.
“Yeah, that’s complete crap,” O’Neill said moodily.
“I keep thinking—” he cut himself off, feeling stupid for volunteering anything about how this was affecting him.
“I’m sure you’re thinking a lot of things. Wondering why you haven’t heard from him, what he’s doing, if he’s okay…”
“If he’s wandering around naked on some alien world with no memory of who he is?” Gibbs snapped.
“Or that.” O’Neill leaned back in his chair and took a long swallow of beer. “Every team has memorized his face. We’ve even had the teams watch his interrogation videos—those that don’t deal with classified material, of course—so that they can get a feel for how he speaks and moves to make it more likely they’ll recognize him if he is out there.”
“Mm-hm.” On the one hand, Gibbs appreciated the effort, but it didn’t change the fact that Tony was gone, that he hadn’t ever come back for a “visit,” and that something awful could be happening to him right at that moment.
“He was good. Not only at his job, but he’s funny and entertaining.”
“I know.”
“I wish I could reassure you, but…” After a pause, O’Neill offered. “I wish I’d known him. He seems like the kind of guy I’d get along with.”
“Yeah.” Gibbs couldn’t stop the smile. “He’d have loved all this. And you two… Same damn sense of humor.”
“Hey, I’m awesome.”
“So was he.”
“He’s not dead, Jethro,” O’Neill said softly.
“I tell myself that.” But most days, it felt like death.
“Daniel feels he may be to blame for Tony’s absence.”
“Yeah, well, he’s not, and I told him to knock that shit off.”
“Good. Danny doesn’t need to shoulder the guilt for something that he wasn’t responsible for.”
Gibbs just nodded.
“Tell me how Agent Todd is doing.”
“Are you avoiding the meeting, General?”
“Nope. Just handling some other things too. I snapped up your whole team because we had to read in you and Kate Todd, and you vouched for McGee. Taking the whole team made for an easier cover for DiNozzo’s disappearance anyway.”
Gibbs didn’t reply. O’Neill had made it clear from the outset that they’d give Tony a year to return before he’d be declared dead and his estate settled. In the interim, he was on “assignment” with the rest of them, and the SGC had fudged some paperwork so that one of the people who did that sort of thing could keep Tony’s bills paid.
“I’ve heard some things about Agent Todd, so I’d like your input.”
Gibbs slouched down in the chair and huffed. If he’d been asked six months ago if he’d ever be this irreverent with a serving general, he’d have given an adamant “no,” but his world had tilted on its axis when Tony died—ascended. Some days, he had a hard time finding the will to care, but he kept going because he didn’t want Tony to be disappointed in him for giving up.
He wasn’t worried about being polite, and he didn’t need to cover for Kate, but it was ingrained in him to shield his people. However, that impulse was from a different time and different job. “She’s had some adjustment difficulties, but I think we’re making headway. It’s slower than I would have expected.”
“Hammond had often expressed the need for investigators in the program, but getting people read in is a chore on a good day. Having investigators on board never quite seemed like a high enough priority, but now that you are all in place, I can see that it should have been. So me being critical of the credentials of the people filling a role that I’d never prioritized probably seems hypocritical—”
“It’s fine. She’s not qualified for this. McGee is slightly better but only because of his technological aptitude, though his assumption that technology is always the answer hampers him as an investigator.” Gibbs considered what to say about his people. “I see potential in Kate, I always have, but she’s very rigid. I thought Tony’s influence on the team would shake her out of her rigidity, but it made it worse.” Gibbs chuckled, thinking over the last couple of months, and how the person with the biggest adjustment to make had been Kate. “Her worldview is being torn apart.”
“That a good thing?”
“Yeah. She’s getting better. We sometimes need to be torn down to shake loose our preconceptions.”
“She going to be able to cut it?”
Gibbs wanted to say that she would, but he wasn’t sure about anything anymore. “I hope so.” He hadn’t been given to a lot of fancies of “hope” until he spent every day hoping Tony would show up.
“McGee?”
Huffing, Gibbs finally opened the beer and drank a third of it. “His crush on McKay is getting on my last damn nerve.”
O’Neill choked on his beer. “Tell me you’re joking.”
“Not sexual.”
“Right.” O’Neill scratched the back of his neck. “What kind of crush, then?”
“He loves McKay’s brain or something.”
“Uh-huh.” The general took a deep breath. “And why is that annoying?”
“Because he focuses too much investigative time on anyone who annoys McKay.” There was a long silence, so Gibbs shot O’Neill a look and found the man looking stupefied.
“Explain.”
“He’s very wrapped up in the Atlantis mission reports.” He reluctantly conceded, “Which hasn’t been all bad. His in-depth analysis of everything has brought some things to light.” He tilted his head toward the briefcase. “But he’s developed an unhealthy grudge against some scientist named Kavanagh.”
“McKay does not need allies.”
“I’m not sure that’s true.” Gibbs thought the general had some dangerous blind spots about McKay that weren’t good for anyone. “But McGee desperately wants to go to Atlantis.”
“The wraith aren’t an issue for him?”
“They would be if he had a lick of sense.”
“They are for me.” O’Neill shuddered.
“Me too.”
“So, the fantasy of it all is appealing to him.” O’Neill looked thoughtful. “I can’t say Atlantis wouldn’t benefit from an agent tagging along. McGee got the chops for it?”
“Hell no. I wouldn’t send him or Kate out there. Not where they are now.”
“So you’re the only good fit for Atlantis?”
Gibbs shot O’Neil the hairy eyeball. “I’m not leaving those two unsupervised.”
“Point. Neither are a good fit for the program without you around.” He gave Gibbs a serious look. “They get six months total. I can’t have people in their roles who need their hands held.”
“Fair enough.” He considered for a second. “They might be able to handle Atlantis as a team in a few months, though Kate hasn’t expressed interest.”
“Better together?”
“She’s got the spine McGee lacks. If I can bring McGee along in several areas, they might fill in for each other’s weaknesses.”
“Well, it’s something to keep in mind. While we’re on the subject, I need to discuss Ms. Sciuto with you.”
Gibbs straightened up. “Something happen?”
“She’s been trying to hack the program to figure out where you all have been assigned. She did hack NCIS, and Morrow is going to fire her for it.”
Gibbs swore and set the beer down so hard that it was amazing it didn’t break. “I’ve talked to her repeatedly about letting this go.”
“Talk to her again. Impress on her that this is her last chance, and if I’m going to be nice and not have her charged with a federal crime, she gets some help for her fucked up attachment issues.”
“I’ll talk to her.” Gibbs wanted to be irritated at O’Neill but knew he should be blaming himself. Abby’s antics after the team had been reassigned had shed a harsh light on how he’d begun to let a lot of bad behaviors on the team go. There was no telling how much worse that could have gotten, but he was doing his best to nip things in the bud with Todd and McGee. But Abby wasn’t listening. He’d suggested bringing Abby into the program at first, even though he knew she wasn’t a good fit, but O’Neill had been adamant that she wasn’t a fit just from the nature of some “blogging” she’d done online.
“Therapy, Gibbs. Not negotiable.”
“I’ll let Morrow lay that one on her. She might take a lot seriously from me, but demanding therapy? She’ll know I won’t mean it.”
“Then mean it,” O’Neill snapped. “If she knows you disdain it then you being serious about it should have more impact than Morrow doing it.”
Gibbs dipped his head in acknowledgment and let it go.
“I don’t care if Morrow goes through with his threat or not, but we’re watching her, and if she slips out of line again, it’s going to go very badly for her. She doesn’t need to know anything about the program to know it’s highly classified. And if she’s willing to commit felonies because of her attachment issues, she needs more than a little therapy because she’s completely out of touch with reality.”
“I’ll handle it.” Gibbs wished he actually felt confident. At first, Ducky had been trying to help keep Abby grounded, but Ducky had more than enough responsibilities with his work and taking care of his mother. Gibbs made an effort to talk to Duck every week, but he’d stopped bringing Abby’s issues to Ducky’s attention when it was clear it was making the older man stressed and tired.
“All right. Lay the horror show on me.” O’Neill looked like he was preparing to be blasted.
“Landry is a cluster fuck.”
“Don’t mince your words, Gunny.” O’Neill rubbed his forehead. “Hank’s a good man.”
“Maybe, but he’s a paper pusher, has never seen real combat so he doesn’t understand the issues the gate teams face, and he’s reporting more to the IOA than he is to you.”
“Explain,” O’Neill ordered tersely.
“Let’s start with why I had to make up a fake investigation to talk to you. Landry had a secondary security protocol put on your firewall that intercepts all communication in and out of the SGC. Who is reviewing that for him I haven’t figured out yet, but he’s passing on details to the IOA and swinging backdoor deals with them.” There was a specially vetted team that dealt with not only access to every single classified detail of the program but also the invasion of everyone’s privacy. They were considered the most trusted assets in the program because of their breadth of knowledge, and only a few people even knew who they were. Their official job role wasn’t on paper so they wouldn’t be targets for outside influence.
“How’d you figure it out.”
“McGee and Carter on the computer together are apparently quite formidable.”
“Carter must be pissed.”
“She’s keeping it together.”
“So, Hank is reporting directly to the IOA.” O’Neill sounded tired.
“It’s likely someone has persuaded him the IOA’s agenda is in our best interests.”
“So well-intentioned treason? That makes it better,” O’Neill said in the same kind of snarky tone Tony always used when he was particularly fed up.
Gibbs pushed away the pang of sadness. “I’ll confess a personal issue that is affecting my ability to remain unbiased in this.”
O’Neill raised an eyebrow.
“The SGC seized all of Tony’s blood samples when they supposedly ‘moved’ him from Bethesda.”
“Yes.”
“And I was assured that nothing would be done with those samples other than ensuring the efficacy of the suicide chain in the bio-engineered plague and that the bug was actually dead.”
“To make sure the team who mopped up the mess at the hospital hadn’t been exposed to anything, but I also said we’d check him for the ATA gene because it would be a data point in our information about ascension.”
“But nothing else would be done, and we agreed that I’d have the final say about anything related to Tony DiNozzo because he named me as next of kin and—”
“Left you almost everything if he should be declared dead,” O’Neill said softly. “Yes, we agreed. And I got the report that said Tony had a very strong expression of the ATA gene and that there was no active plague in his blood samples.”
“Yeah, well, Landry authorized additional tests.”
“Son of a bitch. Why?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s something as benign as USAMRIID asking for antibodies for their research into plague treatment.”
“But why not be aboveboard about that? I’m sure you’d have okayed that kind of thing.”
“I would have.”
“And how’d you find out he exceeded the limits of his authority in that regard since that order came from me?”
“Turns out DiNozzo is John Sheppard’s half-brother.”
“Holy shit. How’s that possible?”
“I have no idea, but they share a father. Which,” Gibbs couldn’t help but smile, “would thrill DiNozzo to his toes if he’d known.” He sighed and rubbed his hand over his face.
“I take it Landry didn’t tell Sheppard?”
“He sealed the report, whatever was in it, but someone saw it and felt they owed Sheppard for something brought the information to me, thinking reporting ‘malfeasance’ to the NCIS agent was permissible.”
“And they’d be right. Telling you so you could investigate keeps them out of trouble. But I take your point about not being neutral on the matter of Landry. Nevertheless, give me the rest of it.”
Gibbs blew out a breath, struggling with feeling like the whole world he’d fallen into was too bizarre to be real. “The IOA is overly invested in the Atlantis mission, and a lot of bad decisions are being made as a result, with Landry’s full support.”
“Huh. Lay it out for me; give me the specifics.”
Gibbs grabbed his bag and pulled out the huge stack of supporting documentation and began laying out the issues for O’Neill, passing over the papers as necessary.
After discussing the issues of Atlantis leadership, O’Neill asked, “Do you think we should give Atlantis to Caldwell?”
“What exactly are you asking me?”
“Your tactical assessment and recommendation.”
Gibbs made a disapproving sound. “Mission leadership isn’t my role, General. I’m informing you of the results of my investigation into Landry’s interference, which was likely at the behest of the IOA.”
O’Neill gave him an unimpressed look. “Your mandate as an NCIS agent covers things like force protection support and security assessments. Staffing the mission may not be your bailiwick, but you’ve got significant combat and leadership experience, and you’re not an idiot. I want your opinion.”
Gibbs stared at his hands for a long time, trying to get his thoughts in order. It wasn’t something he usually had a problem with, but he felt like he owed it to Tony to be a little less him in this situation. He needed to be flexible the way Tony would have been because this job was nearly tailormade for Tony. “On paper, Caldwell’s a better choice, but he’s not right.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s too rigid. He’s like Kate in his way, and whatever changes this program causes in people to loosen them up, he’s not quite there yet. None of your new officers are.”
O’Neill nodded slowly, looking thoughtful. “It takes time.”
“But the people on Atlantis have been through hell, and they learned to adapt—quickly. Putting an officer in charge who hasn’t learned that yet isn’t going to serve them or the program. Considering how volatile their situation can turn in an instant, someone rigid could get them killed.”
“You think it should be Sheppard?”
“Maybe.” Gibbs sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. “You know Sumner would probably be alive if Weir hadn’t held off on the rescue mission, right? That Sheppard had to practically strong-arm her to agree?”
“I didn’t realize the timeline was that close.”
“I told you Landry is sanitizing the reports to feed you a narrative.” Gibbs nudged the prop fishing rod with his toe, watching the line twitch in the water—like actual fishing. “If Sheppard had been one minute faster to arrive, Sumner might have made it out and at his proper age.”
“Jesus. This makes me think he’s not right for the lead much less his promotion. He should have taken command of the expedition the minute Sumner died.”
“He tried.”
O’Neill’s mouth fell open. “He tried?”
“One of his first reports details his attempt to enforce the expedition charter, and that Weir refused to step aside, claiming that the Marines were against him because of his well-known black mark and that he’d killed their CO. He ultimately decided to let the matter drop because they were cut off from Earth, and survival was more important than creating division on the city.” He dug out the original of Sheppard’s report and a subsequent report and passed them over. “Landry had most of the relevant details redacted from all the reports. He didn’t even bother including a sanitized version of that last report in the packet you received.”
O’Neill said nothing as he read the reports from beginning to end. The second one was lengthy because it was the final report and recommendation that Sheppard had filed about all the military decisions he’d made while they were cut off from Earth.
When O’Neill finished, he rolled the report up into a tube and tapped it absently on his knee. “And now Weir has insisted on his promotion and that he remain in command out there, using her leverage with the IOA.”
“Yep. She thinks she’s got a good handle on him and can keep him under control, so Caldwell—”
“Would not be what she wanted. He’d enforce the charter, so she’s going to back the horse she knows. But the charter should be enforced,” O’Neill conceded. “We’ve had so much to deal with, it’s been too easy to let the IOA have their way when it comes to Atlantis.”
“Civilians and military alike died because of Elizabeth Weir. That’s my assessment, and I’m disgusted they’re going to send her back out there to do it again.”
“What’s Weir want? Why is she pulling this?”
“I had to get some help from Jackson on that—”
“Not Carter? I thought she was your backup.”
Gibbs pressed his lips into a thin line and decided to take the risk of being honest. “Permission to speak freely?”
“For god’s sake, Gibbs, you’re not military, and you’re not actually in my chain of command. Spit it out.”
“I couldn’t get unbiased help on the Atlantis issues from Carter because she’s got an attitude problem about McKay, same as you do. I don’t know how much of the ambivalence about Atlantis is what you spouted a few seconds ago or if it’s really because that’s where Rodney McKay is stationed.”
O’Neill’s expression was thunderous, but he looked out over the water and said nothing for a long time. “You think I neglected my duty to the people on Atlantis because of McKay?”
“In the beginning? Probably not, but I can’t say for sure. Why did the expedition go out so light on experienced officers? Or experienced combat assets at all? Why were they undersupplied? Why were most of their scientists’ specialties theoretical? It’s not my job to make mission rosters or supply lists, so I can only assume no one even looked at them. So why?”
O’Neill rubbed his hand over the back of his head, looking lost in thought. “We treated it too much like just another mission. Sumner and Weir said they were ready, and I didn’t challenge the assumption that all the proper people had vetted…everything.” He blew out a breath then chugged the rest of the open beer. “But it wasn’t because of McKay,” he added, meeting Gibbs’ gaze head-on.
“Okay, I’ll buy that in terms of then. But now?”
“I don’t have an ax to grind with McKay!”
“You trying to convince me or you?”
“Gunny.”
“General.”
O’Neill huffed. “Tell me why you think that.”
“I know Carter has an issue. She’s been as useless as tits on a boar about anything related to Atlantis.”
“McKay let Teal’c—”
“He was being used, and you know that!” Gibbs snapped. “I read the reports, and even Carter conceded that McKay wasn’t wrong in anything he said. And yet she punished one of the world’s foremost physicists by sending him to Russia to build generators.”
O’Neill winced.
“I don’t care what happened then, but it isn’t out of everyone’s system, and the people being sent to the Pegasus galaxy could wind up paying the price for it.”
“They won’t.” O’Neill met his gaze head-on. “You have my word.”
Gibbs nodded.
“Daniel was able to help though?”
“He helped with motive, yes.”
“And?”
Gibbs had to swallow down a sick feeling. “After reviewing her reports, duty assignments of many of the civilians, and various system logs, he believes she’s obsessed with ascension. And that she’s likely sold someone influential in the IOA on the idea of ascension as some ultimate goal.” Gibbs closed his eyes, feeling the painful pressure in his chest at having to discuss ascension.
“Fuck.”
“One of the reasons I think Kate is coming around is…” he trailed off, hating having to discuss this. “It’s because she came to me and admitted that Dr. Weir has been engaging with her.”
“In what way?” O’Neill prompted after too much silence.
“She’s been asking about Tony.”
“Ah, hell.”
“Kate admitted that she readily engaged in talking about Tony and what she’d witnessed.”
O’Neill sighed. “She’s not supposed to be discussing that at all. That was the order.”
“Weir approached her, already in the know.”
“Landry told her?”
“Presumably.”
“And what did Agent Todd tell Dr. Weir?” the general asked, sounding fed up.
“Kate’s commentary on Tony wasn’t…flattering.” Gibbs had hit the roof over what Kate had admitted. The dressing down had taken an hour. “Her biases about him didn’t allow for him to be more ‘enlightened’ than her. She said that she trivialized the requirements to achieve ascension in their early discussions because Tony had achieved it. It was several weeks, during which she’d had some eye-opening experiences, before she realized the tone of Weir’s questions weren’t acceptable. She put finally put her deductive skills to use and tried to lead their conversations. She then confessed to me, and we dug into it. She joined me when I talked to Jackson about Weir’s motives.”
“She’s got profiling training, no?”
“No,” Gibbs said emphatically. “She’s been trained to read a crowd to look for threats. I’ve ordered her to stop calling herself a profiler because it makes us both look like fucking idiots.”
O’Neill snorted. “Fair. Go on.”
“Jackson feels that it’s dangerous to leave Weir in any position of authority because she’ll abuse her position in the pursuit of ascension.”
“Daniel would know better than anyone about ascension.” O’Neill sounded pained. “And the Ancients seemed to stop caring about anything once ascension was in their grasp.” He shook his head. “Yeah, Weir can’t stay in charge. But it can’t be Sheppard either. I might be able to see him being ranking military under a strong civilian lead, but he can’t run the show by himself. Not yet.” He gave Gibbs an unimpressed look. “So you’re telling me I need to replace Weir and Landry, that all my new officers are too rigid in their approach for the jobs they have much less getting promoted, and that even Carter, who should be better about all this shit, is letting personal feelings affect her judgment. Anything else?”
“Respectfully, General, you need to get your ass off the bench and get back in the chair.”
“Yeah, well, someone has to do this job too.”
“But the SGC needs experience at the helm,” Gibbs countered.
“Our options are thin.”
“In the Air Force, maybe.”
O’Neill stared. “You think we’re shooting ourselves in the foot to…what? Stay in charge?”
“Are you?”
“No. I don’t know.” He shot Gibbs a baleful look. “You’re exhausting.”
Gibbs shrugged.
“It’s not deliberate on my part,” O’Neill said moodily, “but I can’t say that others might not have been making that choice.” He reached into the cooler and took out a fresh beer. “Who’d you have in mind?”
“Weppler.”
O’Neill choked on his beer. “You think Caldwell is too rigid to be in command, but you think Weppler is a good idea?”
“Mike seems by-the-book on the surface, but he knows when to bend. And he backs his people 100 percent. He’d have never allowed that stupid black mark Sheppard got saddled with.” Weppler had been a Colonel when Gibbs was serving in Desert Storm.
“Sheppard ignored orders.”
“An order that shouldn’t have been given. An order you would never have given. Nor Hammond. And I know Weppler wouldn’t have.” He considered for a second. “I think you’d find Weppler a lot like how Hammond was in the beginning—from the things I’ve heard, anyway. He’d adapt.”
“So, Weppler for the SGC.”
“Maybe to take some of the shine off and then switch places with him.”
O’Neill sighed. “That’d be dicey.” He drank beer for a few seconds. “You think it’s that important that I be in Colorado?”
“Don’t you?”
O’Neill made a face and then made a show of adjusting his fishing rod. “I have my reasons to think DC might be better for me.”
“This isn’t about you moving 1,600 miles to avoid getting laid, is it?”
O’Neill’s glare was heated. “Excuse me?”
“You’re not the only one who is observant.”
“I was not avoiding getting laid.” O’Neill’s jaw clenched. “I couldn’t—” he broke off and looked away. “Just how observant are you?”
“You really want me to answer that?”
“Yes.”
“You’re in love with Jackson, but I think you tried to talk yourself into loving Carter.”
“I care about Sam.”
“I’m sure you do, but I don’t see you ever breaking that rule.”
“So you’re saying I’d break the rule about fucking a man but not a subordinate?” O’Neill asked incredulously.
“I’m saying you wouldn’t break a rule that made sense and existed for a reason. Homophobia is nonsensical, and we both know it. The repeal of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell is on the table and will eventually be a reality because it’s institutionalized prejudice, and you’re not the sort to tolerate that. I know the unwritten code at the SGC takes the Don’t Pursue part of that mandate very seriously.” When O’Neill didn’t reply, Gibbs continued. “She was easy to fixate on because it was safe. I think you agreed to leave when you couldn’t not act on your feelings for him anymore.”
“Am I really that easy to read?”
“I doubt it. Neither one of them figured that out, and I don’t think anyone else did either.”
“And how did you get there?”
“I’m an investigator. I spend all my time observing people and figuring out the truth. That and…” Gibbs hesitated. “You act about Daniel like I do about…” He looked out over the pond, jaw working. “But Daniel’s not gone, Jack, so stop being an idiot.”
Silence reigned for so long, Gibbs considered getting up and giving Jack some time alone.
“So, I’ve got several messes to sort out, and you’re my new chief advisor.”
“Honor declined,” Gibbs retorted without heat.
“This is my ‘I don’t give a shit what you want’ face, so suck it up, Gibbs.” He downed the rest of his beer. “Let’s get to work. I’ve got you for the day, and we’re gonna hammer out a plan.”
“Joy.”
O’Neill shot him a fake grin and opened the cooler again, tossing Gibbs a fresh bottle.
Gibbs glared at it. “This is shitty beer.”
“Bring better beer next time.”
“I’m not fishing with you again if you don’t have actual fish.”
“It’s symbolic,” O’Neill insisted.
But Gibbs opened the beer and dealt with O’Neill’s weird sense of humor, unable to keep his thoughts away from Tony. How Tony would have loved every moment at the SGC and how utterly perfect he’d be for the work.
When his throat felt too tight to talk, he took a drink of O’Neill’s terrible Canadian beer and thought, I miss you.
Chapter Two
A sound from the bullpen caught Gibbs’ attention and had him getting to his feet. The NCIS team had a small set of offices on the twenty-second floor in Cheyenne Mountain. There was a small bullpen and two offices with doors. The bullpen would have been tight with three desks, so Gibbs had a private office and the other office was used as a combined breakroom/conference room/extra work area. McGee and Todd used the desks in the bullpen when they weren’t at Area 51, but it was a good hour before either of them would report in.
Before he’d even rounded his desk, General O’Neill appeared in the doorway in his dress uniform with two mugs of coffee in hand. “Morning, Gibbs.”
“General,” Gibbs greeted. “Wasn’t expecting you until the afternoon.” Instead of sitting back behind his desk, Gibbs waved O’Neill into one of the guest chairs then took the other for himself. He gratefully accepted the mug of coffee with a murmured, “Thanks.”
“We decided to move on Landry last night. Figured I’d better get in here and deal with it before it hits the rumor mill.”
“Figured we had a couple weeks before you’d have what you needed.” It’d been three weeks since his visit to O’Neill’s cabin, and Major Davis had estimated five to six weeks total for them to get everything they needed. Gibbs had needed to keep cover with Landry, so he’d been largely uninvolved with Homeworld’s investigation, other than having to wire Kate up for a couple of conversations with Dr. Weir.
“We lucked into the right conversation between Weir, Landry, and several members of the IOA.” O’Neill sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. “It’s a complete cluster fuck.” He shook his head. “Landry had been persuaded that he was doing the right thing, however misguided, by going around his chain of command. He was not happy to find out that several of the IOA members involved in this little plot are actually Trust.”
Gibbs winced. “That confirmed?”
“Yeah, though we’ve got days more interrogation in front of us, so after things settle today, I’m co-opting you to help with that.”
He nodded his head, accepting the temporary duty assignment. “Weir know it was Trust?”
“Not certain yet, but I’m not sure she cares one way or the other. She had her ascension focus, and keeping those members of the IOA happy allowed her to pursue that goal unimpeded.” O’Neill waved to himself. “I’m in the dress blues because I was beamed here from the emergency meeting of several world leaders along with the remaining members of the IOA.”
“Will there be charges?”
“Don’t know. Won’t be easy to prosecute Landry, and I don’t think the president is prepared to drop him in a dark hole somewhere. He’s too high profile.”
Gibbs took a sip of his coffee and tried not to be irritated.
“I don’t like it either, but that’s the way it works sometimes. It’s likely he’ll be forcibly retired with his pension intact and then watched for the rest of his life. The IOA members compromised by the Trust, well, when we’ve gotten what we can from them, I wouldn’t be surprised if their governments made them disappear.”
“And Dr. Weir?”
“She’s out of the program for sure but, beyond that, I don’t know. She’ll be held at a black site with no contact until the decisions are made.” O’Neill slouched down in his chair and sipped the coffee. “The president and SecDef both showed up to the meeting last night. I’ve rarely seen Hayes so angry. Prime Ministers from Canada and the UK were also there, and they drove home the point that the IOA is either ineffectual or corrupt if the Trust was operating in their midst.
“There was agreement to form a new oversight agency with better vetting. In the interim, the program will be back under Homeworld with regular briefings to the member countries’ representatives where we have to take their objections and advice into consideration.” O’Neill waved away the details. “Because that’s not a nightmare.”
Gibbs snorted. “You have all the fun, sir.”
O’Neill gave him the hairy eyeball. “Anyway, the Atlantis expedition is due to ship back in two months, and there need to be significant changes.”
“Sheppard?”
“Will keep his new rank. After reading all the mission reports, the kid earned it, but he’s not ready to run the city.”
Gibbs nodded.
O’Neill cocked his head to the side. “Before I forget, we’re greenlighted to tell Sheppard about his…brother.” Even though it had seemed wrong to hide that from Sheppard, they’d had no choice since it was Landry’s order to seal the report, and they couldn’t afford to tip Landry off to their investigation. “You want me to do it?” O’Neill asked, sounding concerned.
“I’ll do it.” He took a breath and made himself stay focused on the problems in front of him. “I’ll need his consent to have a third-party verification done.”
“You have doubts?”
“No, but I can’t say I trust results from people who were doing things they knew they weren’t supposed to do.”
“Fair point.”
“While I may have the authority to make that decision for Tony, I don’t have the right to make it for Sheppard.”
“I’ll leave that one in your hands, but I expect to be informed if Sheppard gets his rod in a knot over it.”
“Understood.”
“Two of our main issues were leadership—here and Atlantis.”
“Does that mean you’re not coming back to the Mountain?”
“Henry thinks it’s a good idea long-term, but it’s not in the cards right now. With a new oversight group being formed, we can’t have someone unfamiliar with the program in my spot at the Pentagon. So, we vetted Weppler to take command here with the understanding that this will be his trial by fire. The president even suggested that Mike and I rotate jobs occasionally to keep either of us from ‘burning out.’” O’Neill rolled his eyes.
Gibbs shrugged. “Not a bad idea. Leadership is more vital in this command than any I’ve ever seen. Either role could be too much long-term.”
“You’re saying the cure to the kind of combat fatigue we get around here is a few months of meetings and paperwork?”
“Don’t forget the schmoozing.”
“How could I forget?” O’Neill’s tone was desert-dry. “We read Weppler in a week ago and left him to think about it. The president called him last night for his answer, and he took the job. He’ll be here later today.”
“Gave him plenty of time between assignments, did you?”
“Presidential order gets people moved quickly.”
“Which leaves Atlantis.”
“We made the case for a military leader for Atlantis since that part of the expedition charter should have already been enforced, but with the dissolution of the IOA, the member countries are even more nervous about American military leadership.”
Gibbs’ jaw clenched. “With what they’re facing, can they afford another civilian leader?” He wouldn’t be happy to be under civilian leadership with an enemy that saw him as a cow.
O’Neill made a so-so gesture. “We went to the mat for a military leader knowing they’d fight it so we’d get the civilian we wanted in the chair. Because the honest truth is that we don’t have anyone to take Atlantis who fits the combat experience but is also a flexible thinker bill except Carter, and after all that damn report reading and a lengthy discussion with her, she’s not ready to be in a leadership position over McKay. The city needs him more than her.” O’Neill looked like the admission pained him. “She could get there in time, but she agreed that she’d been petty about him and that her personal dislike had interfered with her professionally. She may wind up at Atlantis, but she’s going to take some time to get her head together.
“She’d put off her transfer to Area 51 to help with your investigations where needed, but I’ve asked her to wait a little longer to help Weppler settle in.” O’Neill smiled faintly. “They’re going to rub each other the wrong way, but it’ll be good for her.”
“And Jackson?”
O’Neill glared. “Don’t matchmake, Gunny, it’s beneath you.”
Gibbs held up his hand in a gesture of surrender. “I’m just curious if he’s going to stay on with another SG team or if you’re going to grant his request to go to Atlantis.”
“He is not going to Atlantis,” O’Neill snapped then took a deep breath. “Daniel’s got plenty of work to do here in the Mountain.”
“Right.” Gibbs hid his smirk behind the coffee cup. “Who are you sending to Atlantis?”
“Francis Oliver Boyd.”
Gibbs’ brow furrowed as he let the name roll around in his head. “I know that name.”
O’Neill was silent for long moments. “DiNozzo’s will.”
He set his coffee cup down with a sharp thunk. “Frank Boyd.” The SGC had gotten ahold of DiNozzo’s will somehow, even though he hadn’t been legally declared dead, and given it to Gibbs since he was named as both primary beneficiary and executor. Several of the minor bequests had gone to people Gibbs hadn’t recognized by name. He’d understood the SGC was trying to be kind in giving him time and space to figure out what to do about DiNozzo’s estate, if it should come to that, but it had been too painful.
“Did you look into him?”
Gibbs shook his head. “There was a list of people. I figured I’d wait and see if it was necessary. Hoped it wouldn’t…” he trailed off and stared at the wall.
“Yeah.” O’Neill cleared his throat. “Frank Boyd was a rear admiral and superintendent of the Rhode Island Military Academy before he retired about five years ago. Primarily combat postings until his wife was diagnosed with cancer, which is when he took a desk job in his home state to spend time with her. She died during DiNozzo’s last year at RIMA. Boyd stayed on in the role after her death, apparently finding education rewarding.”
“You’re sending the SI from DiNozzo’s military academy to run Atlantis?”
“He had twenty years of combat experience before he spent over a decade running a school. Granted, it was a military school, but still a school. A place with teenagers. Teenage boys. I’m not sure I can think of anyone better suited to handle Atlantis.”
Gibbs was reluctantly amused.
“I had backgrounds run on everyone even peripherally associated with DiNozzo so we’d be able to spot where we might have trouble over his long-term absence. Since Boyd was mentioned in the will, he was on the list. He stuck out to me because of his distinguished military career. He’d already retired and is a blink away from age sixty-five, which is a little old for the program, but we need someone to run the city who can rein Sheppard in the right way, and not someone to shoot wraith.”
“You talk to him?”
“We’ve been vetting him for a couple of weeks. It seemed far-fetched, but the idea has grown on me. Approached him a couple of days ago, and he’s considering it, but I can tell when someone is intrigued.”
“You tell him about Tony?” Gibbs had to force the words out.
“Not yet. I didn’t tell him how he got on our radar, but if he accepts, I will tell him.”
“Not a lot of ways to hide it around here; his picture is up in the mission briefing room.”
O’Neill shot him a sympathetic look that Gibbs didn’t want. “I know that must be—”
“It’s fine.” He rubbed his hand down his face. “Any idea why DiNozzo left his former SI his piano?”
“Nope, and couldn’t ask without reading him in on DiNozzo’s ascension. And, honestly, even if he’s onboard, I’m not asking him that question. That’ll be up to you.”
“Anything else I can do for you, General?”
O’Neill was kind enough to accept the conversational redirect. “Clear your schedule today. Weppler wants to review the operational security assessments you’ve done, along with a mountain of other things. Then I need you for interrogations. Make sure your people keep their ear to the ground.” He got to his feet, buttoning his uniform jacket. “If Boyd works out, one of our new leaders will have a past connection to you, and the other to DiNozzo.”
“Coincidence.”
“Or maybe fate.”
“Do you believe in fate?”
O’Neill just smiled faintly before turning toward the door. “Let’s get a move on. Got a mountain to shake up.”
* * *
“It’s good to see you, Gunny.” Major General Mike Weppler extended his hand, which Gibbs shook readily, thinking there were too many generals running around calling him “Gunny” these days.
“The feeling’s mutual, sir.” Gibbs had been practically shadowing Weppler’s moves through the Mountain all day, but this was the first time they’d had a chance to talk privately, which was as dinner was being served in the mess.
Weppler took the other guest chair rather than the power position on the opposite side of the desk. “You look the same, Jethro. Save for all that silver up top.”
“And you have no hair at all, which is different.”
Weppler laughed and rubbed his hand over his smooth head. “Just embracing the inevitable.” His expression turned more serious. “Never thought we’d meet up again over aliens and wormholes.”
“It was…unexpected.”
“Yes.” Weppler’s expression was inscrutable, but Gibbs had always found the man to be a hard read. “I read the full report on how you were pulled into the program. My condolences on the loss of your team member.”
Gibbs kept his expression blank but nodded his acceptance. He refused to have another general interfering in how he felt about Tony’s ascension.
“You all settled in here? Have a place to live? Or are you still living on base?”
“I have quarters here in the mountain event of an emergency, but rarely use them anymore. Actually staying at O’Neill’s house.” Gibbs came into the program as O’Neill was transitioning to DC. O’Neill had been bitching about finding a place to live, so Gibbs had tossed over his keys. O’Neill had barely blinked before doing the same.
Weppler’s eyebrows shot up. “And where does he stay when he’s here?”
“He’s usually not here overnight, but if he is, he stays on base.”
“Okay, then. You’re still a reservist, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Once you found out about the program, did you consider going back to active duty?”
“No.”
Weppler smiled. “No?”
“Not for a second. They need NCIS agents around here more than they need another NCO.”
“Fair. Does seem like you and your team have already proved your worth.” Weppler got to his feet and began drifting around the perimeter of the office, looking at various things tacked on the walls. “Tell me, Jethro, am I in over my head with this?”
“Yes, sir.”
He turned and looked at Gibbs with one brow arched. “Yes?”
“We’re all in over our heads. How can anyone be prepared for this?”
Weppler snorted in amusement. “Touché.” He continued his orbit of the room. “Tell me what you see being the biggest issue we face? I know you’ve spent quite a bit of time on various assessments.”
“Operational security.”
Weppler ended his walk through the office behind the desk where he sat and leaned forward, bracing his arms on the blotter. “Oh?”
“The nature of the crises around here mandates a flexible operational model when the proverbial shit hits the fan, but that’s turned into too much flexibility around day-to-day operations. It’s too easy for people who shouldn’t have any authority over opsec to override standard protocols.”
“Net it out.”
They spent several hours going over past incidents, highlighting where operational security was a nightmare in Gibbs’ opinion. The general’s aide brought them dinner while they worked.
By the time they were finished, the general looked as tired as Gibbs’ felt. “One more thing, Jethro.” Weppler got up and opened a cabinet, pulling out a bottle of nice bourbon and two glasses. He poured a small measure into each glass then passed one over. “Let’s talk about Agent Todd.”
Gibbs downed the bourbon then closed his eyes, appreciating the burn. “Okay.”
“She gets one more screw-up. The only reason she’s not out like the other people on my list is that she came clean about her mistake and helped fix it. We can’t afford for anyone to be flapping their gums around here, but she has access to more sensitive information on a broader range of topics than most people, so she needs to demonstrate better judgment.”
Part of Gibbs wanted to defend Kate because Weir had approached her, not the other way around, but he couldn’t truly defend it when Kate had been instructed not to discuss any of the particulars around DiNozzos ascension with anyone. The only thing permitted for general dissemination at the SGC was that Anthony DiNozzo had ascended and the gate teams were on the lookout in case he turned up off-world. Kate should have reported the security breach when Weir approached her rather than engage in weeks of gossip.
“Understood, sir,” Gibbs agreed, making mental note to talk to Kate.
* * *
Kate was in the office early the next morning, looking troubled by something. Having to talk about Kate the night before only to be confronted with her first thing in the morning was a step too far.
He held up a hand when she started to speak. “I need more coffee before whatever this is.”
She gestured to the desk with four to-go cups.
“Three for me?”
“Yes.”
“Come in.”
She smirked and followed him into his office, setting the tray of coffees in the middle of the desk, taking one for herself. It was probably tea.
He took several swallows while getting his computer turned on then turned his attention to Kate and nodded for her to proceed.
“I’m concerned about the changing of the guard, as it were.”
“You mean Weppler.”
“Yes.” She shifted in her seat, looking briefly uncomfortable.
“Spit it out.”
“Landry didn’t seem to think much about me one way or the other, but I’d swear I saw General Weppler looking at me with an expression of…well, disapproval.”
“Probably.”
Kate sighed. “Is this about Weir, Gibbs? Because she already knew everything.”
Gibbs’ temper frayed fast and hard. He slammed his hand on his desk, startling her into jumping in her seat. “It’s about you discussing material you were told was classified just because someone put a lure in front of you. You should have reported the damn breach, but you indulged in it for weeks because you can’t resist getting one over on DiNozzo even after he’s dead!” He flinched as soon as the words were out of his mouth, but not as badly as she did.
“Gibbs, that’s not true.”
“It is, and you damn well know it. I always thought your rivalry with DiNozzo was juvenile but understandable, but I misunderstood the situation. That’s on me because I didn’t notice that it was never rivalry, it was you looking down on him.”
She looked like he’d slapped her. “I don’t—”
“Be honest or this won’t work.”
Looking away, she swallowed heavily. “I know I let myself get lured into that discussion with Dr. Weir because, yes, I didn’t see how Tony, of all people, could have reached some higher form of enlightenment! He was an X-rated Peter Pan, Gibbs.”
“That was all surface, Kate,” Gibbs said, feeling tired. “And most of it started when you came on board with your puritanical values that you tried to shove down his throat.”
“I didn’t—”
“You did,” he snapped. “But I think most of the reason he did it was because of that assignment where you bitched all over the building about how we were both sexists for giving you the scut work.”
She visibly bristled. “I called that right, Gibbs, and you know it.”
“No, you were dead wrong. I should have put a stop to it then. Tony and I had one, and only one serious fight over you, and it was because I didn’t shut you down over that. You were a probationary agent and the junior agent on the team. Tony said I should send you down to Beth Matthews and let her put you through a junior agent’s paces. I assume you remember her team at that time was mostly women? You’d have done all the Dumpster diving because you were the bottom of the totem pole, and that’s how it fucking works.”
Her spine was so stiff, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d shit a broom. “I was a senior agent.”
“On the president’s protection detail, yeah. Remind me again how much investigative experience you had when you joined? How many crime scene sketches you’d done? Tony had more total experience than you with his six years as a cop and four at NCIS, all related to our line of work. You had no experience with investigations, and your experience at the Secret Service was not in criminal investigations. What did you bring to the table that made you senior to DiNozzo?”
Her jaw clenched and unclenched. “I had extensive profiling training, which you won’t even let me mention anymore.”
Gibbs shook his head, frustrated with Kate’s stubbornness. “You were trained to profile a crowd for danger, to look at body language as it pertains to threat. You couldn’t read a criminal if they were sitting across from you with a bloody knife in hand.”
“That was uncalled for.”
“‘He had kind eyes,’” he quoted her. “Your dumb-ass rationale for not dealing with Haswari.” He leaned forward and braced his arms on the desk. “I’ve kept this from you because… I guess why doesn’t matter anymore ‘cause you need to hear it. Three weeks after Tony…left, Haswari tried to blow up the port at Norfolk. An NCIS team was able to stop him, but three members of the team died, not to mention multiple civilians and six FBI agents as they tried to track him down. He was brought down by an officer from Mossad who’d been sent to deal with him because Mossad has known for years that he’d gone rogue, and they sent someone to intervene once American law enforcement officers started dropping like flies. Before it caused a bigger international incident.”
She was pale, eyes wide.
“That’s who you thought seemed too kind to be a killer.”
“Gibbs.”
“I don’t want to hear it. You keep explaining and not listening. DiNozzo was a better investigator than you—honestly, better than me. Find some peace with it, Kate, because Weppler made it clear that you screw up again and you’re gone. NCIS won’t take you back if you’re dismissed with a black mark, and your options in federal service are zero.”
“So why am I here?” She sounded upset and defensive.
“Right place at the right time. That’s why you’re in the SGC. But you were always on my team because I saw potential in you. Tony saw potential in you.”
She stared at her hands for a long time. “You really think he acted like a sexist because I accused him of being one.”
“Tony never acted like a sexist.”
She straightened up and looked indignant.
“Think about his behavior with any woman who wasn’t you.”
She frowned, head cocked to the side.
“Stop being a damn prude!” he snapped. “DiNozzo sleeping around doesn’t have a damn thing to do with sexism. He acted the way he did at first because you slapped him in the face with the sexism card when he was treating you like any other agent and he was hazing you a little. That’s what I think anyway.” He waved toward the door. “I’m done holding your hand on this. Your head needs to part ways with your ass, and I don’t just mean about DiNozzo. You’ve got one more chance. You could be good at this. Up to you to decide if you will be.”
She opened her mouth to say something, but he glared at her until she left.
He shook his head as he brought up his email, wondering if she was going to be able to turn the corner and get herself right.
* * *
“Boss,” McGee called from the doorway.
“What is it, McGee?” He didn’t look up from the security reports he was reviewing about a security snafu in the gateroom two days prior. Weppler wanted an assessment and recommendations by the end of the day. In the three weeks Weppler had been in charge, he’d run the mountain ragged with procedural reviews as well as new procedures rolled out almost daily. Gibbs thought Colonel Carter was ready to strangle the man. She’d tried to press her reassignment to Area 51, but Weppler and refused the transfer for the time being while things settled under his leadership.
“Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard is here to see you.”
One of the few people Gibbs would make time for today. He looked at the mountain of paperwork on his desk. “Put him in the conference room. I’ll be right there.”
“Yes, Boss.”
When he entered the conference room, he found Sheppard standing behind one of the chairs, spine rigid. Gibbs waved him into his seat.
“You got the results back,” Sheppard said stiffly as he sat.
“Yes. The private lab confirmed what was found by the medical team here. The two of you share the same father.”
Sheppard sucked in a breath. “I figured they got it right, but I’d kind of wanted them to be wrong.” He stared at the wall. “He’s gone now, and I’ll never be able to know him.”
“I hear people come back sometimes…” That was more his desperate wishful thinking than anything he really believed.
Sheppard just shook his head. “I don’t think I should tell my dad.”
“No, probably not.”
“He— DiNozzo’s fifteen months younger than Matt.”
Gibbs hadn’t looked into the Sheppard family because that was none of his business. Of course he knew who Patrick Sheppard was, being a wealthy businessman of some note. “Are you thinking…?”
“No,” Sheppard said emphatically. “Dad wasn’t unfaithful to Mom. She died giving birth to Matt, and I’m sure Dad was just…lonely.”
“Tony’s mother married about seven months before Tony was born. I’d guess time with your father was a brief fling. She lived in England before marrying, if that helps.”
“I vaguely remember a vacation in London when I was about four. The only thing I recall from the trip is the Queen’s Guard. But I remember we weren’t there long. Anyway,” Sheppard blew out a breath and got to his feet, “thank you for having the confirmation done.” He hesitated. “May I ask why I wasn’t informed sooner? We’re a month from boarding the Daedalus to return to Atlantis… You’ve known for a month or more, and DiNozzo ascended more than three months ago.”
“I wasn’t given leave to tell you until a couple of weeks ago.”
“And do I get to know why?”
“As long as it doesn’t leave this room, Colonel.”
Sheppard cocked a brow. “I’ll keep it confidential, Agent Gibbs.”
If Gibbs hadn’t been given leave by O’Neill to share this information, Sheppard would just have to remain curious, but O’Neill had okayed it if Sheppard asked. “DiNozzo named me his next of kin. I never authorized the tests they did on his blood samples. Landry ordered it behind my back, against O’Neill’s standing command.”
“I…see.” Sheppard looked thoughtful. “And would that have something to do with the wide-spread changing of the guard around here?”
“What happened with DiNozzo’s blood tests was a symptom of a bigger issue. I’m not sure what they were looking for, but you and O’Neill were the strongest gene carriers prior to Tony. They compared both of your blood to his, which was unauthorized use of everyone’s biological material. Due to how the information was obtained, I decided independent verification was required, but I wasn’t going to send your DNA profile to an external lab without your permission. Hence why I had to wait until I’d been given leave to bring the issue to you.”
Sheppard nodded, his expression inscrutable. “He looks like my grandmother.”
Gibbs wasn’t sure what to say.
“I wish I could have gotten to know him.” Sheppard extended his hand, and Gibbs shook it readily. “Thank you for everything you’ve done.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I don’t suppose you’ve met this former admiral who is taking Weir’s place?”
“Not yet, but I can tell you that he knew…your brother. Thought very highly of him, apparently.”
Sheppard cocked his head to the side, expression complicated. “Huh.” He turned to leave, but then hesitated in the doorway. “Can I ask you something not about DiNozzo?”
“You can ask.”
“But you can’t promise to answer. Gotcha. Uh, General Weppler had a lot to say about Teyla being left in charge of Atlantis.”
“Uh-huh.” Gibbs had also had a small coronary over the matter. Quietly. “Ultimately Weir’s choice.”
“Yeah, but I should have said something, and I didn’t. Weir’s off the expedition, and I only got a verbal dressing down.”
“Do you really think that’s why Dr. Weir was removed from the expedition?”
“I guess not, but no one will tell us anything about why.”
Gibbs had been given leave to say only one thing about Weir if anyone pressed the issue. “Dr. Weir was removed from the expedition because it was discovered that her only goal was the pursuit of ascension.”
Sheppard twitched, expression twisting in distaste.
“She did quite a few things she should not have done in pursuit of that objective. I can’t say anything else.”
“So, it wasn’t about Teyla?”
“No. Though that was one of many issues that showed a leader was needed who could enforce more rigorous operational security.” In truth, Weppler had wanted a reprimand for Sheppard because he hadn’t immediately reported that a Pegasus native not formally in the chain of command or bound by the expedition charter was in charge of the city, but O’Neill had stepped in and had a closed-door conversation with Weppler that resulted in a verbal dressing down instead.
“I appreciate your help, Agent Gibbs.”
* * *
Gibbs arrived at O’Neill’s house to find a dark sedan in the drive. As soon as he parked, a familiar figure climbed out of the driver’s seat. “Tom,” he greeted.
“Jethro,” Tom Morrow responded. “Apologies for the unannounced visit. General O’Neill mentioned you two had swapped houses; he gave me the address.”
“You’re always welcome.” He led the way into the house. “Beer? Something stronger?”
“A beer is fine. I’ll be headed back to the airport in a couple of hours.”
“I’ll place the dinner order now; we can eat before you leave.”
Morrow accepted the offer, so Gibbs took care of the order and grabbed the beer before joining his former boss in the living room.
He sat on the sofa and waited to see what Tom needed, not feeling any particular urge to fill the silence. Not that he ever felt that urge. This assignment meant that Gibbs had to do more communicating than he was used to, so he didn’t add any extras to his plate. He took a swig of beer, thinking it was probably not the assignment but that he’d gotten used to Tony filling the silences and catering to Gibbs’ desire not to have to talk to so many people.
“How are Agents Todd and McGee coming along?”
“Had some growing pains, but it’s getting sorted.” Kate in particular seemed to have turned the corner. After her last serious conversation with Gibbs, she’d asked for a few days off and had come back better somehow. He didn’t know what she’d done on her off time, but she was more willing to listen, and the bite when she talked about Tony was gone.
“Good. That’s good.”
“I don’t think you came all this way to talk about McGee and Todd.”
“Never could stand pleasantries, could you, Jethro?” Morrow smiled and shook his head. “I believe you already knew that your former protégé took my place…?”
Gibbs nodded his head. He didn’t personally think Jenny Shepard was a good fit for director, but he hadn’t been consulted, and it didn’t affect him now anyway.
“She’s been very…strident about finding out where you were assigned. She finally stopped openly asking when the Secretary of Defense himself told her she didn’t need to know. But she continued to try to get the information through back-door channels.”
Frowning, Gibbs tried to come up with a reason why Jenny would be so desperate to find him, but he couldn’t think of a thing. She hadn’t spoken to him in years. “I don’t know why.”
“The situation has become rather…complex.”
“Complex how?”
“I told you a Mossad officer killed Haswari.”
Gibbs’ brow furrowed as he nodded; he was concerned that this had anything to do with Ari.
“The officer in question was his sister, sent to kill him on their father, Eli David’s, orders.”
Blowing out a breath, Gibbs rubbed his hand over his face. “That’s a hell of a thing.”
“Precisely my thought. In any case, Jenny Shepard offered a liaison position at NCIS to Officer Ziva David.”
That seemed stupid. “Why?”
“Let me get to that in a minute. Suffice it to say that Shepard has an agenda that’s got her in bed with Mossad.”
“Dammit.”
“She put Ziva David on Balboa’s team, who took over the MCRT. Balboa objected, repeatedly, but he was told he’d be shipped to another state and demoted if he continued to argue with her. Balboa’s problems are lengthy but not why I flew out here to see you. The issue became that Ziva David ingratiated herself with Ms. Sciuto, claiming she wanted to help find you. This fueled Abby’s zeal to figure out where you were all stationed.”
“I thought Abby was getting better. Getting help.”
“I think she was on that path, but Officer David was quite adept at increasing her paranoia and manipulating her. For your sake, I’ve been keeping closer tabs on Ms. Sciuto so that she doesn’t get herself in more trouble with O’Neill’s program than she can handle. When we became aware of some questionable activity on her part a couple of days ago, we quietly picked her up from her home and arranged to have her held at a private psychiatric facility. She’s on the second day of a mandatory three-day hold. From what I’ve heard, it’s likely that will be extended. The good news is that she can’t get into trouble while she’s detained.”
Gibbs sighed. “And what about Shepard and this Mossad officer?”
“We already have enough evidence to pick up David for espionage. Regrettably, Jennifer Shepard will be arrested for treason.” Before Gibbs could say anything, Tom held up a hand. “Both arrests are happening as we speak. Shepard bartered David having access to classified materials, knowing they’d be sent back to Mossad, if Mossad would help her with intel about an arms dealer named Benoit, who is a CIA asset. The Agency was understandably…annoyed.”
He had to unclench his jaw. “She thinks Benoit had her father killed.”
“He committed suicide,” Morrow said with a frown.
Gibbs shrugged. Obviously, rationality wasn’t one of Shepard’s burdens.
“We’re lucky in a way because if this had gone on too long, we’d have had a hard time dealing with Shepard. It’ll be an embarrassment for SecNav, but nothing was seriously compromised and we caught it quickly.”
“Who are they thinking for new director?”
“Vance’s name was floated.”
“I sometimes forget you weren’t director back then…” Gibbs blew out a breath. “Look deeper into Vance’s background. He’s got strong ties to Eli David. Not saying he’s compromised, but considering that Mossad was trying to get people into NCIS…”
Morrow sighed. “Another Mossad connection would be unwise.”
“Granger is a better choice.”
“I’ll pass that on to Philip.”
“Did you really come all this way to tell me about Abby and Shepard?”
“I was fully read-in on the program you’re involved with. I’m not asking for any kind of confirmation, just know that we’ll be interacting in the future if you’re ever back in DC to meet with O’Neill. In any case, I felt discussing Ms. Sciuto’s future was best done in person as I know how fond of her you are.”
“I appreciate that, Tom, but I’m not sure I’m doing Abby any favors by continuing to rush in and hold her hand.” He had an idea. “Let me call Kate. I’m going to send her back with you and let her take a shot at getting Abby’s head screwed on straight.”
“And if that doesn’t work?”
“I’m open to suggestions.”
“A lengthy hospital stay might be in order. And it might happen regardless. Ms. Sciuto has destabilized greatly in the last few months due to issues she’s likely had for many years. I hope you don’t assume any of this is your fault, Jethro. These issues must have been there long before you met her, and you can’t live your life as someone’s psychological touchstone.”
Gibbs got to his feet, not wanting to get into it. “Let me call Kate.” Gibbs truly wasn’t doing Abby any good by trying to talk her around, so he’d let someone else take a shot at it. And it would be a good test for Kate.
It probably wasn’t nice to pass the buck, but no one had ever accused Gibbs of being nice.
Apparently I was in a fragile frame of mind this morning. Tony ascended and I burst into tears. You pulled out my heart-and I know better. I read this on RT, I’ve listened to the podcast even. But that was hard. I do love how you built and grew the characters in this. It’s so very satisfying.
Thank you
Aw, Nyx. I’m sorry you got hit so hard in the feels. It’s rough to get blindsided that way. Hope you’re doing okay.
Oh, this was wonderful. And I share your general feelings about Gibbs these days but this was early enough in the season for things to go right. I loved Tony and Janus and Oma being all over him, especially when he’s being interrogated. Loved the process for Kate and Sam to get their acts together. I just loved this. Finished it, and then read it again!!
Thank you. I had a lot of fun with Tony giving the Ancients grey hair. I have a shortlist of authors I read this pairing from (or re-read as the case may be), and you’re about half the list. It’s too bad the writers just torched Gibbs’ character so badly.
Oof! Talk about a wallop right in the feels! Tony ascending? Cut to me bawling like a baby!
Also…I’m so happy you addressed Kate and her mistaken ideals regarding Tony and her tenure with NCIS. THIS is how it should have gone.
As always, a truly phenomenal start and I can’t wait to continue with the next chapters.