Part 3: Meet Me At The End of The World
Gibbs stood watching from the edge of the small cliff as the little blue bus made its way shakily down the road and slowed to a squeaky stop less than fifty feet from the house. He frowned. There wasn’t another house for at least a mile in each direction and the closest town was a minimum twenty-minute drive, so whoever was stopping here must be looking for him. It wouldn’t have been a problem except he wasn’t expecting visitors.
He’d come to Mexico, hoping to heal. Hoping to remember. And while the physical wounds healed, the memory never returned.
The doctors back in DC told him that it was called dissociative amnesia. They said that it was usually the result of some form of trauma. They said that his brain was blocking out those memories. They said that there was no known effective treatment for this kind of amnesia. He could only hope that something�"things that belonged in his forgotten past�"would trigger some spontaneous recovery of his memory.
Or so they said.
Every day for the first four months he’d hoped it would come back, but he was met with disappointment every time. Some bits and pieces filtered through, but it was never concrete or solid enough for him to grasp at it, make it clear. It was like he was looking at the left over pieces from a broken mosaic of those fifteen years�"all the good parts were swept away, gone forever, and all he was left with were the fragments that hinted at something beyond his grasp.
After that, he just gave up on his memories ever coming back. He learned to cope with the loss and moved on. What else could he have done?
He had often sat there staring at the ocean; the calming waves soothed him but never completely took the pain away.
His girls. They were gone, and with them, his purpose in life.
He remembered the day he got the news. He remembered the explosion that put him in a coma the first time. He remembered sitting there on the beach at Crystal Cove, where he’d taken Kelly fishing and horseback riding. He remembered sitting there with his gun in his hands, as he contemplated life, or the lack thereof.
He remembered pulling that trigger, and the sound of a Lapua 308 traveling three thousand feet per second out the barrel, hitting his target a mere second later.
He remembered the emptiness he felt after.
He often wondered why it was that his mind had chosen to forget fifteen years of his life, but left the most painful memory intact.
But then again, if he had to live through the pain of finding out that his girls were gone forever, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t just pull the other trigger.
The one on the gun in his hands.
After eight months, Gibbs had mourned. He’d cried and shouted after one too many fingers of bourbon. He’d begged and asked God�"if there really was one�"why, why it had to be his girls. He’d learned to embrace the pain and anger that came whenever he thought of them and to allow those emotions to simply pass without dwelling on them. He’d come to terms, again, with losing his family. He’d accepted his memory loss. He’d begun to think about the future.
After eight months, he was finally approaching “normal”.
One thing�"the only thing, really�"that managed to worm its way back to him was an impression. An idea. He couldn’t help feeling that he’d left something behind. It was like an itch he couldn’t scratch.
Something important. Something that he… loved.
That was the only way he could describe the longing in his heart, even though he didn’t know what he longed for.
Gibbs watched as a man descended from the bus. His unwelcomed visitor was limping heavily, his movements sluggish. The only thing the man had was a small backpack and a duffle, which he was clearly struggling with due to the limp in his right leg.
As the man approached the house, Gibbs could make out his face.
DiNozzo.
It was a face he recognized, mostly from the various pictures he’d seen after he woke up at Bethesda that he’d associated with fragments from what was left of his memories of the past fifteen years. The doctors had thought that flipping through pictures of people he knew might trigger some flashbacks and help him to start remembering again. Obviously that had been a bust, but he did “re-remember” some faces and facts with help of current media and what he could find and access through his clearance.
He cursed to himself, then turned on his heels and stalked back into the house through the back door then straight to his front door after using a rag to brush the sawdust off of his hair and clothes.
“Hiya, Boss,” Tony greeted as he got to Gibbs’ front porch, his voice strained and eyes weary even though he was trying his hardest to look and sound casual. “Ya missed me?”
Gibbs had been standing in his doorway, waiting for Tony. He studied the younger man in front of him. Tony looked… if Gibbs could pick just one world, he’d say tired. Tony looked tired. Exhausted even.
What the hell had happened to him?
“What the hell are you doing here, DiNozzo?” Gibbs asked brusquely. “And quit calling me boss. I’m not your boss.” Not anymore, Gibbs added silently.
Tony seemed taken aback at the terse tone of Gibbs’ voice. He dropped his head looking to the side. “Sorry, force of habit.”
Sensing the younger man’s unease, Gibbs unconsciously softened his voice. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be in DC?”
Gibbs could hear the gasp as Tony’s breathing hitched and his jaw clenched.
Something had happened in DC. That was the first thing that popped into Gibbs’ head. “Did something happen?”
“You could say that,” Tony answered after letting out a shuddering breath, the hand resting on the strap of his duffle tightened around the nylon.
“Come on. Inside,” Gibbs shook his head and sighed as he waved the younger man into the house. He didn’t miss the soft “thanks” as Tony passed him on the way in.
Gibbs followed Tony through the door, but went into the small kitchenette instead to grab a couple of beers from the old fridge in the corner. Popping both caps off, he took a long drag of one as he walked back towards the living room. It was a bad idea, letting DiNozzo in instead of chasing him away, but Gibbs couldn’t bring himself to refuse DiNozzo. He had no idea why that was, either.
Tony had settled himself in one corner of the long couch that took up most of the small room. Gibbs frowned when he saw Tony had drawn his legs up, wrapping his arms around them, and all but curled himself up into a ball. He couldn’t recall ever seeing the younger man in so much distress. He didn’t remember much, but in the bits and pieces he did remember, DiNozzo was happy.
Seeing DiNozzo with the look of uncertainty on his face was all kinds of wrong, and Gibbs didn’t like it at all.
“So? You wanna tell me what happened?” Gibbs leaned forward and dangled the other bottle of beer in front of Tony.
The movement of the bottle woke Tony from his thoughts. He accepted the beer, took a swig of beer and swallowed. He sat there silently drinking his beer, and it was a while before Tony attempted to say anything.
“I left,” Tony stared at the peeling corner of the sticker on his bottle. “Something did happen, and,” he pointed to his right leg, pulling the pant leg up to his knees. “This was the end result.”
Gibbs sat down silently with his own beer in the recliner situated next to the couch after handing Tony the other bottle. He let out an inaudible gasp then sighed when Tony pointed to his leg. “Ah, hell, DiNozzo.”
He could see where the bone must’ve punctured the skin. A puffy, pink, raw and scary-looking scar halfway down the shin. Gibbs also spotted a familiar surgical scar that was the telltale sign of repair to an injured ACL. There were other smaller scars littering the fleshy part of Tony’s leg, likely caused by deep lacerations, which was making it look torn and mangled.
“Tibia was shattered, compound fracture right in the middle here. The plateau fracture tore my ACL. The larger pieces of broken bones did a number on the tibial nerve. Hairline fracture in the fibula,” Tony said casually, like he was talking about the weather and not his scarred and battered leg. “They had to put in a permanent titanium rod and pin everything in place.”
Gibbs winced as Tony recited his injuries. He remembered his own recovery after the bomb in Kuwait, but it was nowhere near as bad as Tony’s. He was in a coma, but other than that he was physically fine. The only other place where he’d seen these kinds of injuries was in a VA hospital.
“How…”
“Don’t!” Tony said sharply. “Don’t. Just… don’t ask. I can’t…”
The tremors began in his hands, then travelling up his arms and soon his whole body was shaking, breaking into cold sweat. Tony tightened his arms around his legs, his fingers digging into his arms, his teeth pulling in and biting down hard on his lower lip. His eyes glazed over, staring at a point in the room, completely unfocused.
“DiNozzo?” Gibbs could tell that something was very wrong by the way Tony was trembling, his face turning sheet white, his forehead and hands clammy with sweat.
Classic PTSD. He’d seen this before with men in his platoon.
“DiNozzo?” Gibbs got up from where he was sitting and knelt down on one leg next to Tony. He put a hand on Tony’s cheek, slapping his face to try and bring Tony out before he sank too deeply into the unpleasant flashbacks of whatever traumatic event it was that left Tony… like this. “Tony! Look at me. Look at me! Tony!”
Tony blinked, snapping out of the attack with a loud gasp. “Shit!” Tony swore as he fought for breath, his chest heaving, trying to draw enough oxygen into his lungs.
“Tony! You alright?” Gibbs cupped his hands around Tony’s face and forced the younger man to look at him. “Hey! Focus!”
Tony was forced to look into Gibbs’ icy blue eyes, and for a moment he thought they were back in DC, working a case and Gibbs had just given him a head slap so he’d stop goofing off.
“Boss?”
“Tony, you with me?”
Tony nodded, the shaking in his body beginning to subside. “Yeah. Sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about.” Gibbs gave him a quick pat on his face. “I understand.”
Tony looked down, avoiding Gibbs’ gaze.
“Look at me, Tony.” Gibbs nudged Tony’s head back up to face him with a finger. “I know you can’t talk about what happened, but PTSD is nothing to be ashamed of.”
He knew that Tony would understand what he said.
“I know.” Tony shook his head and tried to get up from the couch. “I shouldn’t have come here. I’m sorry for bothering you.”
“Sit down, DiNozzo.” Gibbs pushed Tony back down on the couch by his shoulders. There was no way he’d just let Tony leave like that. Not in the state he was in anyways. “Actually, lie down. Ya look like crap.”
Tony rolled his eyes, but obeyed Gibbs’ order regardless. “Thanks for the complement, Gibbs. Glad to know you hadn’t lost your wicked sense of humor.”
Gibbs snorted.
“How have you been? I know you don’t remember any of us, but Abby missed you something fierce. We all did,” Tony asked, turning on his side and using his arm as a pillow.
“Doing alright, I suppose. Can’t complain.” Gibbs shrugged but didn’t comment further. He dragged over a blanket he kept near the couch and draped it over Tony. “Get some rest. I’ll wake you for dinner.”
“Thanks, Boss,” Tony said quietly, to which Gibbs nodded in response.
---
At first, they didn’t talk much.
Well, that wasn’t exactly true. They didn’t converse much, but Tony talked plenty. Gibbs was mostly silent, offering up an occasional comment as he worked on his projects in the little workroom he had added to the side of the house.
Tony slept on Gibbs’ couch, shared the house chores and helped Gibbs with his projects. Gibbs gave his silent permission for Tony to stay, knowing that the younger man had come to Mexico because he needed time to deal with whatever happened to him back in DC. Gibbs knew, because he’d been there before. Because that was why he was there in the first place
Tony talked while they worked, his topics ranging anywhere from movies to books to countries he had wanted to travel to. He talked about things he’d wanted to do, wanted to try, but would probably never get a chance to, with his leg…
“I remember when I was a kid, Magnum was the man,” Tony said happily, recounting the time where he stayed up just to watch the famous fictional PI. “He was why I became a cop.”
Of course. Gibbs rolled his eyes before he resumed sanding. “You sure it wasn’t the badge and the gun?”
“Well, that too, but mostly because of Magnum.” Tony shrugged, giving Gibbs a quick grin.
“What were you like as a child?” Gibbs asked curiously. He genuinely wanted to know, and he suspected that it was something that Tony didn’t talk about much.
Tony gave Gibbs a surprised look then chuckled.
“Me? I was the sweetest little angel!” Tony grinned mischievously then revised his statement after getting a “yeah, right” eye-roll from Gibbs. “Okay, fine, that wasn’t true at all. I was the devious little devil. Made my nanny cry.”
“I thought as much.” Gibbs shook his head with a chuckle.
“My best friend in college said it was attention seeking behavior,” Tony shrugged. “He’s a child psychologist so I guess he knows what he’s talking about.”
“Where’s he now?”
“Halfway around the world, volunteering with some Doctors Without Borders mission in China. At least, that’s the last I heard of him.” Tony frowned in thought then shrugged. “Always wanted to go to China.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Tony stared at Gibbs in disbelief. “Because I was always working? Because I had a very demanding boss?”
Gibbs winced at Tony’s words. “What about now?”
“Nah.” Tony shook his head. “I’m good where I am now.”
“Living on the beach in the middle of nowhere, boring, Mexico?” Gibbs scoffed. He couldn’t imagine with Tony’s personality that he would want to stay in one place for long, let alone being stuck in a boring place like this.
“Why not? You seem to have no problems with it.” Tony looked up at Gibbs, his expression unreadable.
“You just didn’t seem like the type to… you know?” Gibbs shrugged, not entirely sure how to qualify his own lifestyle.
“Let’s just say I’m trying out something new, shall we?” Tony answered with a wry smile. “I like it here. It’s nice, quiet. Small piece of the paradise.”
“Yeah, I know.” Gibbs smiled, looking up and out the window towards the ocean.
---
Aside from the occasional rain, the weather in Mexico was almost always nice, even in the middle of winter.
“Abby wrote me a letter,” Tony said, sipping his beer. “She’s pregnant. Can you believe it?” Tony shook his head with a smile. “She’s refusing to marry Greg, but they’re living together now. She said she’s quitting NCIS to go teach full time at George Washington University.”
“Hmm,” Gibbs hummed as he flipped the steaks. “I guess we have our next project.”
Tony chuckled at Gibbs’ suggestion. “And you’re going to get this mystery project up to them, how?”
“I’d tell ya, but I’d have to kill ya.” Gibbs grinned.
“Your house is still there, you know,” Tony said, then paused. He stole a glance at Gibbs, watching the man’s reaction. “I kept it pretty much the way it was.”
“Yeah, I know. Ducky told me.” Gibbs carefully transferred the meat from the grill to two plates with prongs before motioning Tony to bring the plates over to the small table and deck chairs.
“I’d hoped, at first, that you just needed time, that you’d come back.” Tony turned his head to look at the sunset over the ocean after sitting down.
“… I had to leave. You know that.” Gibbs began after a long silence. “I didn’t really have a choice. There was just… too much missing.”
Gibbs stood at the edge of the deck, looking towards the incoming tide. “It was like losing pieces of myself. I didn’t know who I was anymore.”
Tony looked up at the man. The setting sun was casting a warm glow on the older man’s face, making his hair golden.
“Ah, hell. That doesn’t even make sense,” Gibbs brought a hand up to scratch the back of his head. “Never was good with words.”
“Nah, I think I know what you’re trying to say,” Tony nodded with a small, sad smile. He knew how that felt, not knowing who he was. It was the same reason why he’d left. He had nothing left, and that scared the crap out of him. “I knew I was done as soon as the doctor told me about the nerve damage. The kind of trauma my leg sustained, the odds of a full recovery were essentially nil. It would never function as well as before, even with the most cutting-edge orthopedic therapies. I was done. I would never be able to go into the field again. I’d be stuck behind a desk, until I’d either retire, or get so bored and drink myself numb before eating my gun.”
Tony sighed. “Didn’t want to end up like that.”
Gibbs nodded, looking back at Tony, taking in the uncertain look on Tony’s face.
“I was in a bad place,” Gibbs began slowly. “Physically, emotionally… I was a wreck, Tony. All I could think of was Shannon and Kelly and how they were dead. Back then I had had my revenge. Knowing me, I probably used work and bourbon to numb the pain. But after the coma… I couldn’t. I’ve lost too much of who I was, and…”
Gibbs swallowed, gulping down his own insecurity. “I can’t trust myself to do the right thing anymore.”
“It took me eight months.” Gibbs picked up the beer he’d opened earlier. “Eight months before I got past the guilt and hurt of losing my girls. Eight months for me to accept that they weren’t coming back, like the memories I’d lost. Eight months to face the fact that this is my life now, that this is how it’ll be.”
“I’m sorry… about Shannon and Kelly.” Tony got up from where he sat and walked to stand next to Gibbs, looking out into the sunset. “I really am.”
“I know.” Gibbs patted Tony’s shoulder, reaching up to ruffle his long, shaggy hair with a smile. “Come on, food’s getting cold. I’ll tell you all about them later.”
“That a promise?” Tony smiled wide as he tried to smooth down his rebellious hair.
“That’s a promise.” Gibbs smiled back.
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