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Gibbs stood on the opposite corner from the bar and watched the darkened facade doubtfully for a moment before crossing the street. He pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket and squinted at the hastily scrawled address again. Pride disappeared after LaSalle’s funeral and Loretta had sent him here, while the others looked elsewhere. He wondered if she might have been wrong. Gibbs walked slowly along the wide glass windows until he reached the door and realized it was ajar slightly.
He drew his weapon in a fluid motion and moved behind the doorframe. It was meager cover; but better than nothing considering he was perfectly backlit by the streetlamps. LaSalle’s alleged shooter was still at large, and knew he was being hunted by Pride along with the remaining members of his team. That made them all potential targets too.
Gibbs toed the door further open with one foot and peered cautiously into the dim interior, weapon at the ready. Sweat prickled, and droplets slid down his back as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark. Now that the door was all the way open he could hear a haunting piano melody coming from somewhere in the shadows, seeming to float on the heavy, humid air.
Pride. Loretta hadn’t been wrong after all.
“Dwayne. It’s Gibbs,” he called softly into the dark.
The mournful notes paused. Suddenly a discordant crash thundered from one side of the unlit room as Pride slammed his hands onto the keys indiscriminately, making his feelings about having company known.
“What are you doin’ here, Gibbs?” he drawled angrily, a slight slur marring the normally charming southern accent.
Gibbs holstered his weapon and made his way to the piano and the figure slumped on the piano bench, playing only by the dim light cast by the streetlamps.
“I heard about LaSalle; I’m so sorry,” he explained. “I came to pay my respects.”
“In the middle of the night?” Pride asked tersely, refusing to meet his eyes. “How did you know where to find me?”
“Loretta and the others said I might find you here,” Gibbs answered simply, leaving out how concerned the others were about their leader’s current state of mind.
Pride finally looked up at him, the soft light from outside revealing a bleak and anguished face. Gibbs managed to hide his shock at the state of the other man. Grief and guilt seemed to have aged his old friend ten years overnight. Pride scowled at him from red, watery eyes. “I came here to be alone,” he emphasized. “You done what you came to do and now you can leave.”
“Your team is worried about you.”
Pride leaned to one side and snatched up a bottle sitting on the floor next to one leg. He tipped it to his lips and drained the small amount of golden liquid left in the bottom. He glared defiantly at Gibbs as he slammed the bottle down on top of the piano.
“Is that a fact?”
“Seems they’ve got cause to be,” Gibbs said, inclining his head at the empty bottle. “Is that helping?” he challenged, answering the question with one of his own.
“You’re a fine one to be judgin’ me, Gibbs.” With an angry sweep of his arm, Pride sent the empty booze bottle flying off the piano. The bottle shattered on the tile floor, the sound echoing unpleasantly in the empty bar.
“Not judging you.” Gibbs shook his head, unfazed by the outburst.
“Then what?” Pride glared resentfully. “I know damn well it won’t bring Christopher back. For a little while, it’ll help me forget that I could’ve been there for him…should have been. If I had been, it might have made a difference for him and his brother. Now their murderer is out there walking the streets, when he deserves to be six feet under too! I can’t face Christopher’s sister again without bringing the bastard who shot both her brothers to justice! She has no family left now…no one.”
Gibbs sighed; this was as bad as he thought. He was very familiar with the anger and guilt his friend was feeling. He knew how thoughts of vengeance crept into those empty places that losing someone left behind. He’d been there himself and Dwayne knew it. His words spoke of justice, but the desire for retribution rang through loud and clear. That was a slippery slope. “Don’t go down that rabbit hole, Dwayne. Trust me, it leads nowhere.”
“You went and got your head shrunk so now you’re an authority, Gibbs?” Pride shot back snidely.
“Losing field duty status and getting myself sent to agency directed therapy because I had anger issues will do that,” Gibbs replied pointedly.
“This happened on my watch; I’m responsible,” Pride insisted. “How would you feel after losing an agent from your team in the line of duty?”
Gibbs felt a pang in his chest, that old pain that remembering Kate’s death could still bring on, so many years later. “I have, and I felt a lot like you. But I learned you could have been standing right there, and it still wouldn’t have made a damn bit of difference.”
“Kate Todd,” Pride mused, knowing the story.
Gibbs nodded somberly.
Pride gave him a sideways glance. “How long did you know her, Gibbs? Two years?”
“About that,” Gibbs shrugged. “What difference does that make?”
“You went on a vengeance-driven manhunt on behalf of an agent you barely knew, because your ego demanded it, and because she was targeted just to hurt you,” Pride reminded him. “I’ve known Christopher since his family moved here when he was a child. I was there when he graduated the academy. I recruited him away from the police department to NCIS. He was the closest thing I’ll ever have to a son. That’s the difference, ya see. Tell me…how would you feel if it had been DiNozzo?”
Gibbs flinched and hid his discomfort poorly as Pride scored a direct hit with that question. Pride knew it too if the satisfied gleam in the bleary hazel eyes was any indication. “It almost has been more than once,” Gibbs allowed. Not too long ago, in fact, Gibbs thought, feeling chilled now in spite of the hot southern night as memories flitted through his mind. Memories of The Calling’s terrorist attack in Seattle and its’ aftermath were still too close, too raw. It very nearly took Tony from them.
“I get it,” Gibbs replied; a simple acknowledgement of what Pride had lost and he himself had not.
Pride nodded. “You all got your man back then…and now so will I,” he vowed heatedly.
“You’re angry,” Gibbs observed aloud. “You have every right to be angry…to want justice. Anger is a funny thing though. It can be productive or destructive.”
Pride scrubbed his hands over his face and back through his hair, leaving it standing in messy spikes. “Gibbs, I am way too plastered for your half-assed attempt at therapy.”
“Whose fault is that?” Gibbs snorted, and then got deadly serious. “How about some tough love, then? You’re also too damn plastered know if the man you're after is out there stalking your people, or outside the bar right now, thinking maybe this is the perfect chance to blow your fool head off.”
Pride stiffened, and shame crept in through the haze of alcohol. The words Gibbs wielded felt like an ice-cold knife in his gut. That scenario should have occurred to him and it hadn’t…that’s how far gone he was into his own head. While he was sitting here alone drowning his guilt and grief in bourbon, his people were adrift, leaderless, and possibly being targeted.
Gibbs twisted the knife.
“Would LaSalle want this for you? Would he want you to throw away everything he stood for; everything you stand for to take revenge in his name? I can tell you from personal experience you won’t feel any less empty, and his death won’t hurt any less if you go down that road.”
“Point taken.”
“So are you going to keep up this self-indulgent bullshit,” Gibbs drove his point home. “Or are you going to step up and be the leader…the friend your people need right now?”
~.~
Once Gibbs imparted that last figurative kick in the ass, they’d shelved the serious conversation for the moment and locked up the bar. After a cautious exit from the rear of the building, Gibbs drove them back to Pride’s office, dark and empty at the late hour. He followed his friend as he led the way to the small kitchen off the squad room.
The kitchen was eclectic; touches of old and modern with random splashes of color. In spite of the bright colors and odd mix of vintage and new, it all worked together and the room managed to look cozy rather than garish. Gibbs sat at the island while Pride made a pot of strong coffee, and then puttered aimlessly and sipped from a bottle of water he pulled from the ‘fridge.
A few minutes later Pride joined him at the island, sliding a cup of strong, fragrant coffee in front of him. He hummed in appreciation, as he tasted the smooth French roast. Pride smiled in return, and drained his bottle of water, knowing he needed it after hours of drinking bourbon.
Pride filled his own cup and poured the remainder into a warming carafe, which he set in front of Gibbs before taking his own seat. He stared into the dark liquid as if it held secrets just as dark, and then spoke quietly. “So, you were tryin’ to tell me something earlier when I cut you off. About anger?” he prompted.
“Anger is a double-edged sword,” Gibbs began. “You can use it to help you do what needs doing, but the end result depends on how you channel it. Times like this teach us a lot about our characters. They test us. I let anger rather than reason fuel my actions far too many times and it never ended well,” Gibbs admitted. “Sometimes it accomplished the exact opposite of what I intended…and people got hurt. Don’t let that happen here, Dwayne.”
“It’s easier said than done; what you’re askin’, Gibbs.”
“Oh, don’t I know it,” Gibbs drawled. “Keep things in perspective. How’d you like to have been Loretta?”
Pride paled and squeezed his eyes shut against the images that question invoked…Loretta performing Christopher’s autopsy. “Don’t go there,” he warned.
Gibbs held up his hands, knowing he’d made his point that Pride wasn’t alone in this tragedy.
“The question is what will you do now? What will you learn about yourself?” he asked. “It’s not time for you to go lone wolf. Its times like this you circle the wagons and pull your people together. Grieve and honor LaSalle. Bring his killer to justice, but don’t forget the ones that are still here. Times like this you remember what you still have and it eases the sting of the loss. Your people will be looking to you to be their rock, to give them guidance and reassurance. Will you be there to give it? Because from what I’ve seen, you aren’t the only one who lost him, you know.”
Pride swallowed heavily at the heartfelt words of advice and wiped surreptitiously at his eyes. “Voice of experience, huh, Gibbs?” he asked.
“You have no idea,” Gibbs said with a wry grin. “Learn from my mistakes, Dwayne. Don’t let anger cloud your judgement; make you compromise your values.”
Pride gave a long exhale. He felt the gloom lift a bit, replaced by a new sense of determination to get back to work on the case. “I’m glad you’re here, Gibbs, and that you cared enough to come. Thanks for talking me around. You’re a good friend.”
“I haven’t always been that to the people in my life, I’m ashamed to say,” Gibbs admitted. “I’ve been working on changing it.”
“Well…” Pride said, with a friendly clap to Gibbs’ shoulder, “I think you’ve done fine here.”
~.~
Tony picked up his ringing cell and blinked at the display. Gibbs. “Huh.” He and Gibbs talked a lot more these days, but mostly in person. When it was by phone, it usually wasn’t the older man calling him.
“Gibbs,” he greeted. “How’s it going?”
“Hey Tony. Your office told me you were still in Dallas, at the field office there, and the raid had been delayed,” Gibbs began. “This a bad time?”
Tony was perplexed at why Gibbs was looking for him. “No, I’m back in the hotel. All the action will be tomorrow; just a little timetable change to keep things exciting,” Tony said lightly. “What’s up?”
“Uh…Abs says to tell you hi,” Gibbs started hesitantly, suddenly unsure how to bring up the reason for his call. “She’ll see us at Christmas, before she heads south to Louisiana.”
“Okaay…good to know,” Tony said, even more confused now. Gibbs called him to talk about their holiday plans?
“What is this about, Gibbs? Is this a Thanksgiving thing? Because that could wait until I get back. Unless we’re not having dinner anymore?” Tony ventured, disappointment edging into in his voice.
“Of course we are; nothing’s changed.” At least not for them, he thought. A lot had changed for his old friend in New Orleans. That doomsayer voice in the back of his mind chimed in. What if Tony doesn’t get back?
“So, Fibbie,” Gibbs teased him, trying to shake off the morbid thoughts. “Who’s going on this raid with you?”
“You still have trust issues with the FBI, huh, Gibbs?”
“Maybe…”
“Well, you could trust me,” Tony emphasized, sounding a little disappointed. “But if it makes you feel better, Matt and Lena are here too.”
“I do trust you, Tony. It’s not about that. You have good people there covering your six. I…," Gibbs paused, remembering that had been his place once. “I’m really glad, that’s all.”
“Did you get one of those weird gut intuition things about me, or something?” Tony asked curiously.
“No, nothing like that, Tony.”
“Stop beating around the bush then, and tell me what’s going on,” Tony said firmly. “You are starting to worry me. Is everyone all right? Are you?”
“Everyone back here is fine.” Gibbs reassured. “Including me.”
He heard Tony blow out a relieved breath. “But something has happened?” Tony guessed.
“Yeah. I just got back from New Orleans. Pride lost an agent in the line.”
Tony’s heart thumped hard in his chest. This kind of news never got any easier. He remembered his brief few days on temporary duty in the Big Easy and knew everyone on Pride’s team. He even knew Tammy, their newest member, because she’d transferred over to NCIS from the FBI.
He’d enjoyed working that case with them, even if he’d felt like he wasn’t really needed. Vance and his brilliant idea of sending a plague survivor into a possible plague outbreak zone. He’d never really forgiven Vance for the presumption that he’d be immune, and sending him there as if not dying of the plague himself gave him some relevant expertise. Jackass. Fortunately, Pride and his team accepted his presence easily and they all worked well together.
“Oh no…who was it?”
“LaSalle.”
“Goddammit,” Tony swore. He’d taken an immediate liking to the genial Alabama native. Chris had a wicked sense of humor; it had been great fun to kick back with him after the case. They’d traded friendly barbs about their accents and had spirited exchanges about the merits of Alabama versus Ohio State football.
Tony swallowed against the lump in his throat. “He really was one of the good guys. Pride has to be taking it hard.”
“He is, but I think he’ll be okay now. They all will.”
“But you didn’t call to tell me any of that,” Tony stated, the picture starting to come together in his head.
“I thought you should know, but…not exactly, no.”
“So you called Abby in London…” he prompted.
“Uh huh.”
Tony rolled his eyes. Gibbs was no longer that functional mute they’d joked about so many times, but talking to him could still be like pulling teeth if it was an uncomfortable topic. Eventually, if you were patient he did talk. It was usually something worth hearing, and Gibbs had called him, after all.
“And now you’re calling me.”
“Yep.”
“Give me something here, Gibbs,” Tony urged. The line went quiet and he decided to try to help Gibbs along.
“Let me guess. The first thing you did when you got back was check in on Ellis, Bishop, and McGee.” He grinned as he heard Gibbs huff into the receiver. “After you checked on all your chicks close at hand, you had to check on the two that have flown the nest. So then you called Abby under the pretense of firming up holiday plans, right?” Tony said confidently.
Gibbs pulled the phone away from his face and glared at it half-heartedly. Tony knew him as well as ever. As such, he deserved a little bit more than just an admission he was right. Wasn’t that the reason he felt compelled to call him in the first place?
“Got it in one…well, mostly,” Gibbs agreed.
Tony went silent as his patience with drawing the other man out was rewarded and Gibbs continued.
“I told Pride that in times like this if you remembered what you still had, it helped to ease the sting of losing someone.”
Tony heard Gibbs pull in an unsteady breath before he spoke again.
“There were hard words exchanged and things left unsaid between them, Tony. It just hit home how grateful I am it didn’t happen that way with us. That you’re still here and we worked things through. That I got a second chance to try to be the friend you always deserved. I just thought you should hear that,” Gibbs said, finishing in a rush to get the words out.
Tony felt a warm flush spread through him. This Gibbs 2.0 still managed to catch him off guard from time to time. When he chose to, he could express himself with an openness and sincerity he almost never showed when they worked together.
All Tony could get out of his tightening throat was, “Damn, Gibbs.”
Gibbs brushed off their mutual embarrassment at the emotional admission. “I’d consider it a favor if you’re extra careful out there tomorrow.”
“Al-ways,” Tony quipped, following Gibbs’ lead once again.
“Good. I’ll see you when you get back, because you aren’t getting out of helping me cook Thanksgiving dinner.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” Tony warned. “You haven’t seen the mess I make when I cook yet.”
Gibbs’ laughter echoed back to him until the call was disconnected. Tony shook his head and blinked as the line went dead. Some things never changed, he thought with a grin. The things that did? Well, they weren’t all bad.
~Finis~
AN: The idea for this story was born out of my annoyance that NO killed off practically the only character I liked. I thought it would be interesting to write this in the "Turning the Page' universe and use Gibbs' newfound perspective about himself to provide an intervention of sorts. I also wanted to give readers of that series a glimpse into the future after the final installment, and let them know Tony and Gibbs have been successful in getting their friendship back on track. I hope you enjoyed it :)