Chapter thirteen

“How do you even know I was kidnapped by the serial killer?” Tony asked, cocking his head to the side.

Gibbs ran a hand down the wood of the boat, feeling for any roughness. It ran smoothly beneath his fingers.

“We searched your car,” Gibbs said without looking at Tony. Tony was sitting on the steps, having appeared there a moment earlier. “Turned up nothing. We found your cell phone on the ground. Nothing. We waited for a ransom note, any kind of contact. Nothing.”

“And anyone but the serial killer would have said or done something?” Tony asked.

“You tell me,” Gibbs said.

Tony pondered it for a moment. “I guess most kidnappers would contact someone. Not much point otherwise. Unless they wanted to sell for slavery, or something.”

Gibbs didn’t answer, he simply continued working on the boat, evening out rough edges. With every stroke, he tried to let some of the fear out, some of the aggression, some of the hurt. It didn’t work. He could still feel each of his failures, as fresh as if they’d just happened. Each step he’d taken that had been the wrong one ran across his mind, fleeting but painful.

He heard Kelly’s pearling laughter; it mixed with the echoes of Kate’s voice.

“Boss, you’ve got to talk to me at some point,” Tony said.

Gibbs glanced over at him, giving him a look that clearly said, ‘No, I don’t’, before continuing to work on the boat. Tony rolled his eyes. He stayed seated – or floating just above the surface at least. He seemed to be getting better at judging where the ground was, making him look even more real as he wasn’t disappearing into the wall or hovering a foot above the step.

“Or not,” Tony muttered when Gibbs continued to ignore him.

Gibbs heard him take a breath and Gibbs wondered if a ghost – or a spirit, or whatever Tony was – needed to do such a thing. Perhaps it was just a habit.

“I had to do it.”

Gibbs paused at Tony’s words, but only for a second. He hid a frown, wondering what Tony meant but not willing to ask. Tony would continue, of that Gibbs was certain. He could feel Tony’s gaze on him, steady and penetrating, drawing him in if he didn’t concentrate on studying the wood instead.

“I had to kiss you at least once,” Tony said softly.

Gibbs let his hands drop to his side. They were sore from working on the boat for too long but he wasn’t tired enough to sleep yet, even though he could count the hours he’d slept the night before on one hand. He couldn’t bring himself to relax.

“Why?” he asked, because Tony sat silent.

Tony cocked his head to the side again, a frown appearing and then disappearing as quickly again.

“I’m in love with you,” he said. “How did you not figure that out, boss?”

Gibbs couldn’t find any words that would fit as a response to what Tony had just said. His mind whirled – how long? Why? And why now? Why now, when it was all too likely that it was far too late?

“Couldn’t die without stealing a kiss from you,” Tony said. “I was even thinking that might’ve been my unfinished business, but I’m still here, so I guess it wasn’t. Don’t know what else is left – I even got to talk a little to Abby. Kind of. Maybe I have to catch my killer, or something.”

It was a ramble and Gibbs recognized that Tony’s brave, honest admission hid great nervousness. Tony’s gaze kept flitting between his hands, the boat, and Gibbs, never staying long on any one. Gibbs found himself unable to look away from Tony; he couldn’t remember the last time Tony had looked so open, so vulnerable.

At least Tony’s rambling had answered one of Gibbs’ questions. He could understand taking the last chance to do such a thing – he hoped he’d have done the same, had the situation been reversed. He doubted he would have dared.

“So, why aren’t you all grossed out about it?”

Tony’s voice was quiet.

Gibbs fought to find an answer that would work; preferably one that wasn’t completely honest, because the completely honest answer would leave him exposed and Gibbs hated that feeling. Yet Tony looked at him gently and that made it impossible for Gibbs to produce a lie.

“Didn’t mind,” he said, voice rough.

Tony’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Huh. Too bad I didn’t figure that out when I was still alive.”

Gibbs frowned. “Might not be dead yet.”

He wondered why his voice sounded so choked.

“Hmh?” said Tony, understanding not yet having dawned.

“You might not be dead,” Gibbs said. “Abby talked to—someone. Something about spirits and how the body could still be alive, even when the spirit had been separated from it.”

Tony stared at him, hazel eyes large. His hair fell softly, the same way it had when he’d disappeared. Perhaps the spirit automatically took on the last appearance it remembered. Gibbs didn’t linger on the thought, other than to think that Tony looked damn good.

“I might not be dead?” Tony asked softly. “Oh.”

“That’s all you have to say?” Gibbs asked.

“I’ve been more talkative than you tonight,” Tony said, voice still quiet and a bit rough. “I’d almost—I’d started getting used to the thought of me being—dead. I was dealing with it.”

Gibbs frowned. “How?”

Tony thought for a moment. “Just—coming to terms with it. Accepting that it was the way it’d be. That I’d lived my life and though there were some things I might’ve changed if I’d had the chance, I was still fairly happy with how it turned out. I figured I could have a bit of fun, be of some use, while I got to stay here. Say my goodbyes. Tell Abby I love her. Kiss you. Stuff I should’ve done – should do, if I’m still alive.”

Gibbs throat hurt; it felt as though something large and painful had lodged there. He forced it away, pushing down the emotions as he had done so many times before, to a place where he wouldn’t have to deal with them.

“But I guess there’s still a risk that I’m dead?” Tony asked, hiding, just like Gibbs did, behind a shield of indifference.

Gibbs nodded. “Yeah.”

Tony’s expression turned thoughtful. “I think this sucks worse. Not knowing. If I knew – one way or the other – at least I’d be able to deal with it. I’d have to accept it. But this? It’s like—limbo.”

Gibbs wanted to apologize, as though it was his fault. He didn’t – after all, he didn’t believe in apologies and he knew that this wasn’t his fault. Well, other than the part where he should have protected Tony better – that, he’d blame himself for forever.

“Do you think I’m alive, boss?” Tony asked. “What does your famous gut tell you?”

Gibbs didn’t know. For once he couldn’t tell what he wanted to be true apart from what he really believed. He wanted Tony to be alive; he wanted it with all of his heart, all of his being. But did he believe it? No. So far, life had done nothing to prove itself to be fair – and ripping Tony away from him now, when he had finally started realizing what he had felt all along, that seemed right up fate’s ally. Shannon and Kelly had been stolen from him and Kate had been killed right in front of his eyes. Tony had already survived more things than most people could ever dream of; his luck should be running out.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Tony said, making a face. He stood up. “Well, like I said – I’m coming to terms with it. I’ll—well, I won’t live, but I’ll be okay. I guess it’s another adventure, to see what comes next.”

“Don’t,” Gibbs said, but then stopped, because he didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t want to hear Tony talk about dying, no matter how likely it was. He didn’t care that Tony might need to talk about it – the mere idea of hearing it made him hurt.

“I hope it’s nice,” Tony said softly, ignoring Gibbs. “Warm. Welcoming. Gandalf said there were white shores – I hope he was right. Perhaps I’ll see Kate. And Paula, and Jenny.”

Their names stabbed at Gibbs’ heart, a blow that felt almost physical. White hot pain seared through Gibbs and an anguished cry escaped him. He didn’t recognize his own voice. He felt his legs grow weak and he supported himself on the boat, leaning heavily against it.

He felt a tingling on his arm, and then his other, and then against his back, and when he opened his eyes – when had he closed them? – he found Tony’s arms wrapped around him.

“I’m sorry,” Tony whispered, kissing his temple. Gibbs saw tears rolling down Tony’s cheeks. “I didn’t mean to.”

“You’re not dead,” Gibbs said roughly. “Damn it, DiNozzo, you are not dead.”

There was a hint of a smile on Tony’s lips. “I’ve followed your orders on that subject before.”

“And you will follow them again,” Gibbs whispered hoarsely. His eyes burned with unshed tears; a blink, and they’d be falling. Gibbs drew deep, shuddering breaths.

Tony ran a hand over Gibbs’ arm, fingers surrounding Gibbs’, squeezing in a way that didn’t feel like a squeeze, but just a minute tightening of the tingles.

“I’ll try my best,” Tony said. “My very best.”

They stood still, and Gibbs wondered when Tony had become comfortable enough to actually attempt to soothe Gibbs this way. Perhaps it was because Tony didn’t believe himself to be alive; he was taking these as his last chances at physical contact with someone. Perhaps Gibbs let him only because he might be dead, because this might not be real at all.

Gibbs’ mind turned back to Tony’s earlier revelation. Had he really been in love with Gibbs for—well, he’d never said for how long, but it sounded as though it had been a while. Gibbs couldn’t put his finger on when his own feelings of pride and happiness to have Tony around had turned into something more; perhaps Tony couldn’t either. It didn’t matter in the long run.

His thoughts darkened again – perhaps it wouldn’t matter at all. They might never get a chance to explore anything. Perhaps Gibbs would never get a reason to weigh rule number twelve against having a relationship with Tony; they might never get the chance to kiss for real. Perhaps Tony was already dead, perhaps he had been so since the moment Tony’s ghost showed up.

“Come on, boss,” Tony said, voice just next to Gibbs’ ear. “You should go to sleep. You need to rest.”

Gibbs realized he was shaking with the effort to stay standing. Reluctantly, he pushed himself up to stand without the aid of the boat. Tony slid away from him, staying a foot or so from Gibbs.

The stairs felt long and heavy but he made it up. He brushed his teeth and shed his clothes, almost sleepwalking, and climbed into bed. The linens were cool against his skin and he shivered, pulling them tighter around himself.

“Tony?” he asked, looking around in the darkness.

“Here,” said Tony. “Not going anywhere.”

He looked more ghostly in the darkness, with only the moonlight spilling in through the window to illuminate the room. Tony’s skin looked nearly blue, not unlike what he’d looked like in Bethesda when he’d barely been able to breathe.

“Not dead,” Gibbs said, reaching out for Tony, sleep already overtaking him.

He felt the tell-tale tingling of Tony’s presence on his forehead. He glanced up through half-lidded eyes, finding Tony hovering above him.

“Awfully distracting, that,” Gibbs said sleepily.

Tony lowered himself to lie on the bed next to Gibbs, the sheets not wrinkling because a ghost, a spirit, didn’t weigh anything, didn’t quite exist. “This better?”

Gibbs nodded, eyes closing. “Mm-hmm.”

He was asleep seconds later.

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