Chapter Text
Gibbs walked into the office holding his usual large cup of black coffee and, as usual, heard the morning conversation between Tony and Kate.
"So, Kate, how was your date last night?" He could imagine the schadenfreude-filled grin on Tony's face as he asked.
"Oh, please, Tony, spare me your useless sarcasm or concern. He called me half an hour before the date to tell me his cat fell into the bathtub and contaminated the water he'd drawn earlier. He couldn't take a bath to come see me, so the date was cancelled. I didn't want to see a man who hadn't bathed all day. Although, as far as I know, he neither owns a cat, nor does he have a bathtub in his apartment!" Kate rolled her eyes and turned back to her desk to open the mail that had arrived that day.
"Haha, that's hilarious. Do you think Gibbs showers every day? When he's not at work, he seems to be with his boat," Tony said, sitting at his own desk, swinging his legs leisurely. He used Gibbs to end pointless morning chats every day.
Just then, Gibbs walked past Tony's desk and reached out with the hand not occupied by the coffee cup, landing a smack on Tony's head. As usual, Tony cradled his head like a little hedgehog, even though Gibbs really hadn't used any force. "Unlike you, DiNozzo, I shower every day."
Tony cheerfully replied, "Got it, Boss. Me too, though!"
It was an utterly ordinary morning. The MCRT team had closed their last case, and all the team members needed to do was finish up some paperwork. Even though staring at screens densely packed with text sometimes made them drowsy, it was definitely a better assignment than being out in the field—at least you didn't have to constantly worry about antisocial snipers trying to take you out from a distance. Kate chatted with Tony occasionally, and McGee had received no fewer than five paper airplanes from Tony, folded from scribbled-on sheets of paper. Gibbs didn't let out an angry roar. After all, it was just a completely ordinary morning; there was nothing to get angry about.
Until Gibbs received a phone call informing him that two bodies of Marines had been discovered at the gate of an abandoned Navy weapons research base warehouse in Virginia. "Grab your gear. Virginia." Gibbs' maniacal driving skills compressed the time it took them to reach the destination. The abandoned warehouse was located right on the border between Washington D.C. and Virginia, and what should have been a forty-minute drive seemed to end the instant he finished uttering that sentence with a furrowed brow.
"I'm really glad I didn't get a chance to eat lunch," Kate said, stepping out of the car with her camera. She was clearly startled when she saw the two bodies, because the two Marines declared dead looked practically indistinguishable from living people, apart from their pallid complexions. Still, she meticulously searched the area around the bodies, looking for seemingly relevant clues and photographing them. She pulled out the CAC cards from the bodies, examined them, and collected them into evidence bags, turning to shout toward Gibbs, "The deceased are Captain Chris West and Lieutenant David Bates. Abby might be able to trace the locations they visited through their CACs."
"My dear, I'm sure you've never encountered a situation like this. Actually, the only similar body I've seen before was in Spain seventeen years ago. Poor young man. When he was found, he was unresponsive to any stimuli, yet his body was still functioning. The hospital tried to resuscitate him, but three days later, one night, he suddenly developed refractory arrhythmia and was pronounced dead. I believe his whole-brain function must have irreversibly ceased before we discovered him; it was just the medical equipment that kept his body functioning for some time." Ducky knelt beside Kate, inserting a probe into the body as he spoke to her.
"Duck! Tell me what you found on this body!" Gibbs' voice came from a distance. He and Tony had just pushed open the door to the abandoned warehouse. Marines never showed up somewhere without reason, and they certainly wouldn't die nearby for no reason. There had to be something suspicious inside, some activity that had attracted the Navy's attention, leading them to dispatch West and Bates here to investigate, where they were unexpectedly attacked.
"Jethro, judging by body temperature, the time of death is within twenty-four hours. There are no obvious external injuries. I can get more conclusions after the autopsy. The young man seventeen years ago died of a stroke. That could potentially be their cause of death too, but I think the probability of two young men simultaneously suffering a stroke without any inducement is very, very small."
The heavy door swung open, and Tony exclaimed, "Hey, this is pretty cool. Maybe it's a secret base for storing alien specimens."
The warehouse was piled high with abandoned wooden crates. The midday sun streamed into the dark interior, illuminating dust particles swirling in the air. Tony flipped the power switch beside him, flooding the entire room with white fluorescent light. He and Gibbs split into two paths, beginning their investigation along the aisles separated by the crates.
The crates weren't sealed; even their four sides were just made of loosely arranged wooden planks, making it easy to judge whether they contained anything or not. Gibbs walked slowly from the entrance to the very end of the warehouse, finding nothing but a dust-covered armchair and a power strip, let alone anything suspicious. On his way back, separated by the low wall formed by the wooden crates, he heard Tony calling out to him.
"Boss, I think I found something. Looks like those military experimental cables that dragged Mike Ferris into a town without a single person in sight. You know, The Twilight Zone. There wouldn't really be people conducting experiments like this in reality, would there? Then Rod Serling would be really prophetic." He watched through the gaps in the crates as Tony circled the tangled mess of wires, pulled on a pair of gloves, and crouched down, trying to untangle the coiled cables. The moment he touched the cable port, Tony froze. Gibbs thought he was about to come up with another joke only he himself would find funny, but without any warning, Tony pitched forward and collapsed onto the ground.
Gibbs barely took any more time to react, immediately running around the main entrance side to reach Tony's position. He pulled a handkerchief from his suit jacket pocket and used it to stop the blood flowing from Tony's nose from the impact. But no matter how he shouted his name—"DiNozzo!" or "Tony!"—the young man beside him offered only silence. His olive-green eyes were still wide open, his pupils constricted to tiny pinpoints under the overhead lights. Gibbs breathed a sigh of relief. After the bleeding stopped, he gently cradled Tony's head onto his lap, using his palm to close Tony's eyes. He quietly wondered if Tony's consciousness had truly been transported to some empty, desolate place, then shook his head, throwing the absurd thought away. He turned his head and shouted loudly for Kate and Ducky, who had finished their preliminary investigation at the entrance and were standing around chatting.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In 1978 Montana, a neatly dressed little boy appeared on the small road leading from Seeley Lake to the town center. His eyes were as green as summer pomelo leaves, with sun-tanned brown skin and messy hair. His eyes were filled with tears and confusion, especially when the young Marine pulled his pickup truck over to the side of the road, rolled down the window, and tried to talk to him.
"Need some help?" He looked at the boy outside the window.
"I don't know. No one will help me. Dad said so." The response was the boy's sobbing.
"What's your name?"
"I'm Tony. Sir."
"No last name?"
"I don't know. Dad kicked me out because I'm not a good kid." He gently wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes with his sleeve, then playfully put his hands on his cheeks and used his fingers to pull up the corners of his mouth, making a funny face. The Marine noticed the bruises on his wrists, accidentally revealed from beneath the long sleeves of his shirt.
"Call me Gibbs. Leroy Jethro Gibbs. I need to take you to Sheriff Grayson. He'll help you find your dad, and he'll help sort out this being-kicked-out thing." Gibbs was angry about the abuse Tony had suffered from his father but was also amused by the boy's comical expression. He leaned sideways and swept a pile of cassette tapes off the passenger seat into the storage bin next to the stick shift, pointing at the now-empty seat. "Coming? Or do you think I look like some random guy who murders passersby? If so, maybe you'll have to walk to the sheriff's office yourself."
Tony lowered his head and thought for a moment, seemingly scared by Gibbs' words. He started seriously considering whether this enthusiastic person in front of him really could be a terrible villain. But he sadly thought that perhaps nothing could be worse than being abandoned by his father in a strange town to fend for himself, so the tears Tony had just managed to hold back welled up in his eyes again. Silently, he walked around the front of the pickup truck, opened the door on the other side, and hopped onto the seat Gibbs had cleared for him. Gibbs heard Tony say quietly to him, "Thank you, Mr. Gibbs."
"Just Gibbs. Relax, boy. We're going to go settle things with that bastard." Gibbs used a warm hand to gently ruffle Tony's shaggy little head. He pressed his foot hard on the gas pedal, trying to drive to the police station at a speed he thought wouldn't make Tony feel uncomfortable.
The drive wasn't long. Gibbs put on a Johnny Cash tape, and the singer's signature low voice filled the car. Tony felt like he should say something but ended up pressing his face against the car window glass, staring silently at the trees blurred into a mass of green outside.
"Okay, your name's Tony, right? Do you remember anything else about what happened before you came here?" Tony noticed that Sheriff Grayson's badge, pinned to his chest, reflected the light showing streaks of wear and tear, yet it still shone brightly. The old sheriff first pulled out a chair for Tony to sit down, then picked up a clipboard and pen from his desk, preparing to record whatever information Tony was about to give him.
"Yes, Sheriff Grayson. The only thing I remember is that Dad got drunk, and then he hit me. He said it's all my fault that everything around him turned out wrong. He told me again that I'm a bad kid because I'm naughty and always mess things up. He said he had to kick me out so things could get better." Whenever Tony talked about being kicked out by his father, he always made a funny face. This time, he stuck out his tongue.
"...I've noted that down," Sheriff Grayson said seriously. Gibbs furrowed his brow deeply too. No one had imagined this adorable child had been subjected to such unfair treatment. "If we manage to contact your father, we're going to have a very thorough talk. Do you remember any details, like your home address, your dad's phone number, anything like that? That might be a huge help."
"I don't remember my home address. Every day after school, I just followed the route in my head to walk home. I only have my mom's phone number, but she passed away." Tony paused as he said this, feeling as though a layer of plastic wrap had been stretched over his chest cavity, making it hard to breathe. Gibbs, standing beside him, gently squeezed his trembling shoulder with a hand.
"I'm very sorry, Tony. But we'll figure something out. I think I can help by posting a missing persons notice. I mean, even if your dad might not come looking for you when he sees it, maybe other people who know you will provide more clues. You wouldn't mind having a photo taken, would you? Using a headshot is often much more effective than a lot of written descriptions." The sheriff gave Tony an encouraging smile. Tony responded with a grateful smile—even if it was fleeting. No one could demand a sad child give a genuine, heartfelt smile.
"Has someone's boy gone missing? Tony, nine years old, as shown in the photo. Main Office Address... Contact... Alright, son. I figure within a few days, once this information hits the newspaper, someone will call me to come get you." Even though Tony thought the photo wasn't important, as long as he could be recognized, the sheriff insisted on a decent headshot. He had Tony calm himself down, and Gibbs used water to tidy up Tony's unruly hair. After taking the photo, Sheriff Grayson quickly drafted the content for the missing person notice. "Until then, you'll have to stay in town for a few days. I wish I had a spare room at my place, but my daughter and her family are visiting me for a few weeks starting right about now. I absolutely won't allow you to stay in a hotel alone—that would be far too dangerous. I recommend you stay with Jethro. He'll definitely agree. He's a warm-hearted young man, and very kind. You can trust him. He's a former Marine, got wounded in the war, honorably discharged. Although I must admit that sometimes makes his personality a little peculiar, but I think you two will get along fine." The sheriff shifted his gaze to Tony, then to Gibbs, seeking both their approval. Receiving affirmative answers from both, he nodded. "Tony, I know this might be challenging, but try to let yourself be happy."
"Let's head out," Gibbs said, placing his hand on Tony's shoulder and leading him towards his pickup truck, silently hoping he could make Tony feel a little less sad over the next few days.