The days Jethro Gibbs and MIke Johnson spent alone with little Tony DiNozzo in the secluded cabin along the banks of Great Neck Bay were some of the most rewarding and eye-opening either had experienced during their brief twenty-one years of life. And, although the two Marines were but young men themselves, they were extremely intelligent and sensitive enough to keep level heads and open hearts when dealing with the damaged child, meeting each emerging situation with patience and kindness. They endeavored to fill the boy's waking hours with simple, easy activities, determined to keep Tony occupied while establishing a shelter of safety and protection, something they felt the child had probably never experienced before.

Ironically, by trying to soothe the boy's injured psyche, both men discovered they, too, were experiencing a calming peace. It was very unexpected but very welcome. They watched as Tony slowly emerged from his protective shell, the small, subtle changes reassuring them of the course of action they'd taken.

More words were now being willingly exchanged without prompting and they were able to get some sense of Tony's simple conversational skills. He still spoke softly, timidly, but his speech patterns and word usage made them both happy. He told them of watching Big Bird and Elmo and showed them he could count to twenty. He recognized letters and numbers but, sadly, did not know how to spell his own name. No one had ever taught him that particular kind of magic. Mike took this as a challenge and was determined the boy would be able to spell and recognize his own name before Candace and Jimmy returned. Jethro had smiled at his friend and nodded his head in silent agreement.

Tony also began to make more direct eye contact with each Marine, holding their gazes as he spoke or listened to them. They delighted at the wide-range of emotions they could now see clearly in his eyes as he met their daily activities, the dreaded fear that once continually plagued him now only rarely appearing. Best of all were the full, true smiles that erupted on the face once shadowed with uncertainty and anxiety. It was a balm to their souls to see those honest smiles but it wasn't until they heard his quiet, sweet laughter that they understood the depth of what this child was beginning to mean to them.

But not everything was smiles and laughter.

The expected rough patches occurred at the most unexpected times. The trio managed to muddle through those instances without causing setbacks to their growing relationship and it was through the defeat of these unwanted reminders of Tony's prior situation that only strengthened the developing bond.

Gone were the nights sleeping on the cabin's big couch. Tony now slept each night on an old, wooden cot at the foot of the bed Mike and Jethro shared. They used quilts and cushions to soften the pallet and the boy seemed inordinately happy to be sharing the bedroom with the two men. They understood his need to be near, even though his close proximity each night made them sigh in frustration. There was no such thing as 'alone' time any longer.

The night both men had been roused from deep sleep by Tony's scream had sent them scrambling into action, covers flying and feet hitting the hard, wood flooring before they were fully awake. Locked in the throes of some terrible dream of a remembered hurt, the boy struggled against the arms trying to calm him, small heart pounding within his chest and little fists pushing blindly and uselessly against the men. It had taken well over an hour for the soft crying to finally cease, the child's small body spent and exhausted. Finally allowing himself to be pulled unto Jethro's lap, Tony could only lean his weary head against the strong chest and work to breath, his eyes finally focusing on Mike's familiar face as the man quietly spoke words of comfort. Jethro held the tiny body close and waited until the trembling subsided before pressing a brief kiss to the top of the small head. He met Mike's eyes and, when he tried to get Tony to talk about what had frightened him so badly, the boy turned and buried his face in the soft skin under Jethro's neck. It was obvious the child either wouldn't, or couldn't, speak of what had caused his nightmare. The men weren't even sure they'd be able to handle the truth if they heard it.

It was because of that terrible night, when they'd failed to keep Tony's monsters away, that both men realized the boy would need more than they could offer if he was to ever fully recover from his past hurts, emotionally as well as physically. Regardless of that moment of clarity for them, they knew their connection would remain, no matter how short a time they had together.

On the morning of the fifth day, as the mist was rising off the bay and the geese were beginning to stir, Mike and Jethro decided the boy needed a better diversion and opted to teach Tony how to fish. So, taking him a short distance from shore in the boat usually tied to the private dock, they patiently demonstrated how to bait a hook, cast the line, and slowly reel while watching the red bobber for some sign of a hit. Tony needed help with casting, his broken arm hindering his ability to adequately master the task, but he seemed mesmerized by the simple act of reeling in the line and watching the floating bobber dance upon the water's glassy surface.

All had progressed smoothly until the first fish was caught.

As the gleaming, squiggling creature was pulled from the bay and deposited at Tony's feet for inspection, the boy's eyes had grown wide with alarm. It flopped helplessly at the botton of the boat, one large, unblinking eye seemingly fixed on Tony, the big mouth opening and closing as it fought for life. The hook was not poised anywhere at the edge of the fish's moving mouth but had been gulped down further, a small trickle of blood trailing in a thin line to splash sluggishly against the child's shoe. Tony raised one hand to cover his own lips, eyes filling with tears and his expression morphing into sympathy. As he continued to watch the fish's efforts slow, his little shoulders stiffened and he turned to glare at Gunny. When Jethro reached to remove the sharp, barbed hook with a pair of long-necked pliers, he caught Tony's accusing stare and immediately realized his mistake.

The fishing lesson came to an abrupt and swift end.

Later that same day, as the trio slowly hiked one of the seldom-used paths leading to a patch of succulent blackberry bushes, Mike got a foot tangled in a hidden vine and took a dive, landing hard on one shoulder and the side of his face. Jethro was at his side in an instant, carefully rolling the man and checking swiftly for any sign of injury.

"Mike. Mike, you okay?" Jethro asked worriedly, hands skimming over his friend.

Mike's unexpected burst of laughter caught Jethro by surprise, as did the strong arms that reached up to drag him down flat, holding tight and pressing close. The two men started to wrestle on the hard-packed earth, one grinning and laughing at the other's shock, and the other in mock-fury for falling so easily into the obvious snare.

"You bastard," Jethro hissed, getting Mike in a headlock, wanting to be angry but not able to contain his relief and growing mirth.

Mike struggled in the hold, grabbing Jethro's ears and pulling, one strong leg angling in and under in an effort to gain some leverage. He continued to laugh as his friend gave a loud squawk of irritation and rolled them over, breaking the grip on his ears. They shifted holds, arms reaching and struggling, legs twisting and turning, breathing growing ragged from exertion and laughter. The ground underneath was rapidly changing: plants crushed, leaves scattered, and dust flying. Still, the grappling continued and the two, young Marines got into the spirit of the mock-battle, switching from playful moves into true hand-to-hand tactics. This was familiar ground for both of them and the physical activity was as comforting as it was stimulating.

"Bring it on, you pansy," Jethro taunted with a smirk, quickly wiping a trickle of sweat from his forehead, narrowing his eyes at his friend.

Mike grinned wolfishly and faked a move, leaning left but shooting his right hand out to grab Jethro's shirt, fisting a handful of fabric and falling back. He continued down and rolled, bringing the other man with him and flipping him easily onto the ground. Jethro snaked an arm out, trapping Mike across the chest and moved until he could shift and straddle the writhing body. He pushed down roughly, pinning Mike with all his weight, breathing hard and loud.

When Mike reached out and pulled Jethro's head around, planting a hard, demanding kiss to the unsuspecting mouth, the whole timbre of the fight abruptly changed. Passion flared. Desire ignited. Pure lust burst into flame. The quick, hurried fumblings they'd allowed themselves since Tony's arrival slammed into them hard, the need to connect emotionally, as well as physically, throbbing for satisfaction. It was beating like thunder in their ears. Jethro ground his hips sharply against Mike and moaned, breaking the kiss.

"Mike," he groaned, moving his mouth to taste the sweat and nip at the skin covering Mike's chin. He felt an answering thrust and pushed back, keeping the contact between them tight and hard.

"Oh, yeah," Mike agreed, hands moving down the muscular back, dipping to dart under the t-shirt, fingers digging into the slick flesh he found there.

Their mouths came together again, teeth biting and tongues torturing. It was rapidly getting out of hand and, before Mike could spread his legs and trap Jethro in that tight embrace, they were forcing themselves to pull back.

"God, Mike," Jethro croaked brokenly, "we can't do this now. Tony..."

As one, both heads swivled toward the boy's last position, expecting to see the small, bewildered face staring back. He wasn't there.

They surged to their feet, eyes scanning the surrounding area, sweeping the underbrush and thicket for some sign of the six-year old. They stood back to back, strategically positioning themselves to enable quick and total viewing.

"Jeth?"

"No," he responded tightly, "I don't see him anywhere."

"Tony!" Mike raised his voice as he called out to the child, hoping for some reply. Both men held their breath and listened.

Silence.

"Tony!" Jethro yelled much louder, fear prickling at the nape of his neck and turning the sweat cold. "Tony, answer me!"

Still there was no sound.

"Okay," Mike's sharp mind went into gear, " he probably went one of two ways: either he continued up the path or he followed it back down toward the cabin. We've told him how dangerous it is to get lost in the underbrush, so I don't think he'd do that. He can't have gotten very far...unless he was running."

Jethro nodded. "My guess is he headed back the way we came."

Both men were moving even before all the words were out of Jethro's mouth, breaking into an easy jog as they carefully searched the surrounding area next to the path. A small boy wouldn't leave much of an impression on the ground, so they silently relied on their sense of hearing, calling out periodically as they made their way back.

"He's got a red and white striped shirt on, right?" Mike asked, puffing out a quick breath.

"Yeah. You see it?"

"No, just checking."

They were almost back to the cabin when Jethro caught a flash of red out of the corner of his eye, over at the water's edge and near the dock. He reached out and stopped Mike with one hand, pointing in the color's direction. Both men stared silently for a few moments, calming their breathing, before casually walking toward the boy.

He was squatting down and collecting tiny rocks with his good hand, the small fist only able to hold three or four before he deposited his cache on the edge of the dock. He seemed focused on his task but both saw his shoulders stiffen as they approached. He didn't turn to face them but, instead, began to take each pebble and, one at a time, skipping them across the water's surface as he'd been taught only days before. They silently watched him for several minutes.

"Tony," Jethro finally broke the silence before he could collect more rocks, "why'd you leave us like that?"

The boy turned to look at them squarely, his gaze frank and appraising. They were actually a little uncomfortable as the green eyes scanned them both from head to foot before lifting one shoulder in response.

"I'm suppose to go away," he explained.

Jethro cocked his head to one side, not understanding the answer. He looked and saw the same confusion on Mike's face.

"Go away? What do you mean, go away?" He asked, stepping closer and moving to sit on the edge of the dock, watching as the child bent to collect more rocks.

The small fingers dug in the dirt. "When grownups hugs, I'm suppose to go away."

Mike eased down next to Jethro, close but not touching. They regarded the boy's carefully averted face, watching as he industriously uncovered more stones, stacking them into neat piles next to one foot.

"Uncle Robert," the soft voice studdered a little on the name, "he...he says I have to go away when...when he hugs someone. I'm not suppose to see."

They suddenly knew where this conversation was heading and it was almost like watching a train wreck. The angelic face turned suddenly to look at them. The engine was approaching the railroad crossing and the flashing lights on the lowering arm couldn't hold back the traffic.

"But I see sometimes," the young eyes seemed older, almost ancient.

A car appeared on the track, disregarding the warning bells. Neither man could look away from those eyes now.

"He...he puts his hands...places. He...does things. Sometimes...sometimes I can't go away and he tells me to turn around and not look. But...but I can hear. Sometimes I can hear things."

Mike's mouth was dry and his jaw ached from clenching it so tightly. He leaned slightly toward Jethro and could feel the anger in the tense body at his side. Tony's fingers were digging painfully and desperately into the dirt, his quest for rocks all but forgotten now. The train was almost at the crossing and showed no sign of slowing down.

"One time...he made me watch. He got mad...and made me watch. He took off his pants...and he put his hand down here," Tony touched the front of his shorts, "and he... he got madder...he...he said I was bad. He...he hurt me..."

The tears began to fall but the eyes remained locked, his memory of the abuse catching hold and squeezing tightly. It was almost too painful to watch his memories surface.

"He...he hurt me, Gunny. He touched me...and hurt me. I...I wanted him to stop...he said I was bad and...bad boys had to be taught a lesson. I didn't want to be taught a lesson. I didn't mean to be bad," the voice choked but didn't stop,
"I... I'm not bad. I'm not. Why...why did he do that? Why did he? I just...I just don't want him to touch me anymore. I don't want to see him, Gunny, I don't want..."

And then the words stopped and he was bent over, vomiting across the small pile of rocks he'd stacked so carefully, his body wracked with the force of expelling the contents of his stomach and the terror of his memories. Jethro and Mike were immediately at his side, strong hands supporting his slight weight and offering soothing words.

When it looked like he finally had rid himself of all it could, Jethro scooped him into his arms and began the short trek up to the cabin. Mike was silent at his side, one hand resting gently on the exhausted child, mind whirling furiously at all they'd just been told. There had been no visible indications of sexual abuse during the times in the bathtub but, now, he knew the boy had suffered in every possible way. He wanted to get his hand on Robert DiNozzo. He wanted to see the man bleed. He wanted the man dead.

Mike went straight to the kitchen to dampen a dish towel as Jethro laid the child on the sofa, returning to see his friend gently removing the dirty sneakers and placing them under an end table. He presented the towel and watched Jethro wipe the soiled face and hands, careful of the split skin and broken nails. Tony was boneless but the haunted eyes never left Jethro's face. The Marine knelt by the couch and met the gaze directly, never breaking contact. He pushed the brown hair away from the pale forehead, letting his fingers linger on the side of the sweet face.

"It's going to be okay, Tony," he whispered. "Everything is going to be okay. No one's ever going to hurt you again. Do you hear me?"

The small head nodded. Releasing a deep sigh, Tony turned onto his side, closed his eyes, and went to sleep. The exhausted body just couldn't take anymore and, as he'd done so many times before in his young life, sometimes it was just easier to close your eyes and make real life go away.
Jethro and Mike watched for a few more minutes and then moved to the kitchen.

"Jesus," Jethro rasped out softly, his blue eyes clouded with emotion.

Mike reached out and grasped one shoulder. "Listen, I'm going into the bedroom and give Candace a call. She needs to know about this."

Jethro nodded his agreement. When Mike left, he went back to the living area and sat in the armchair, watching the boy sleep, his mind locked on and replaying the images of Robert DiNozzo hurting Tony. Clenching his hands into tight fists, he had never felt so helpless in all his life.

Two days later, Candace and Jimmy DiNozzo arrived back at the cabin and were surprised to see the clear changes in the little boy they'd left there only eight days ago. Although a bit wary of their presence, Tony greeted them with a hesitant smile and shyly hid behind Jethro's legs, laughing when the Marine bent to tickle him under the chin. He'd gained some weight and his cheeks held a healthier glow, making him seem like any other little boy. But, after speaking with Mike two nights ago, Candace knew the child would never be just like any other boy.

After supper, they broke the news to Tony, skipping over all the details but letting him know there was a safe place for him in the world.

He was going to have a new home with Candace and Jimmy, thanks to his maternal grandfather, a man who hadn't even been aware of his existence. Senator Foster Hathaway had disowned his only daughter when she became pregnant with Frank DiNozzo's child, flaunting her dangerous lifestyle and blantantly scorning her own parent's existence. He hadn't been contacted at the birth of the child, nor at her death just days afterward. He had suspected she had opted for abortion and was surprised to hear of her death and of Anthony.

When Jimmy had been able to make contact and convince the Senator of the harsh realities of the child's life, Hathaway had his lawyers quickly draw up the appropriate paperwork, gotten in contact with a judge who was a personal
friend, and allowed Candace and Jimmy to take on the roles of temporary custodians. He assured the couple the boy would not be going back to Robert or Frank. It was amazing what money and a few political connections could accomplish.

The morning of Tony's departure was hard on everyone but, especially for the two who had grown so impossibly close in such a short amount of time. Tony clung to Jethro, pressing his face into the secure crook of the strong neck, arms holding on for dear life. Jethro carried the boy down to the dock and sat with him on his lap, carefully explaining they would be seeing each other again, that this wasn't a real goodbye. He described the job he and Mike had as soldiers, protecting the country, and, sometimes, travelling very far away. He promised to write letters as often as he could and to send pictures of where he and Mike were stationed. He said they'd be able to talk on the phone and told Tony he'd be seeing him whenever he had leave and could get back to the States. There were tears but there were also smiles.

And, as the green Jeep finally pulled out of the drive and headed away, Mike and Jethro stood and watched until the vehicle was out of sight. They turned to each other, knowing the little boy was now a part of their lives and, because of him, nothing would ever be the same. Smiling, they moved back into the cabin, pausing to watch a flock of geese rising up from the waters of the bay.

It was a good start to a new day for everyone.

FIN


Series to be continued as Tony ages.