Chapter One
Hours had passed since Lt. Colonel Hollis Mann had left, but Jethro remained in his basement for the rest of the evening and into the late morning. For a while he just stood there, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and a cup of Jack Daniel’s in the other. He stood leaning against his desk full of tools he had been using on his boat, gazing aimlessly down at the sawdust-covered floor with a look of anguish upon his face.
He took a glance down to the two cups he had been holding, unsure of which to take a sip of next. Thinking back, he had taken a sip of the alcohol last, so he brought the coffee to his lips and took in the contents that had long since lost their warmth.
‘Why must I always do this?’ seemed to be the single-most complicated question to have entered his mind in every occasion since Shannon. He always managed to get involved with someone he doesn’t necessarily like, much less love. He has always rushed into a relationship with women, when all he is interested in is merely their company.
Ever since he told Hollis that he wasn’t going to leave her that one day that she needed her pipes fixed, he began to realize what exactly he was doing. He didn’t love her. He didn’t necessarily want to marry her. He just enjoyed being with her. He came to realize that he was lying to her. He was giving her the impression that he loved her, when in fact he is in love with another.
Gibbs has only ever really been in love three times. The first, of course, was with his first wife Shannon. She hadn’t been his first girlfriend, or his first sexual experience, but she was his first love. And that love was stolen from him in a manner so brutal that his love was eternally solidified. At the time of her death, Gibbs felt he could never love any other being on the planet again. That emotion has thus never left his heart. He will always be in love with Shannon, but since has fallen for two others.
His second and third loves were for co-workers. His second love was in 1999. He was working an undercover operation in Paris, France with his partner, Jenny Shepard. She had never known of his emotions, and he had made sure that she never discovered them. She had in fact admitted to him of her love, but he wasn’t entirely sure if he could trust her, or at least as of that time. So he merely quoted the Duke by saying “That’ll be the day.”
His third has been the most painful and increasingly difficult emotions he has experienced. He wasn’t entirely sure how he could deal with it when he first started working with this person, but he just goes about his business, somewhat ignoring his screaming emotions.
It was rather awkward when he first realized his emotions towards Tony. He never really questioned his feelings, but just rather ignored them; he thought it best not to get involved with Tony. But the heart has a mind of its’ own, and he soon found himself in love with Tony.
Gibbs took to sanding his boat soon after finishing both his coffee and his bottle of Jack. Up and down, up and down. He continued sanding the boat, pondering how he’s handled his emotions and wondering where they would take him next.
He wondered if he would indeed end up with Tony, or if he was doomed to ruin every other relationship that stumbled across his path. He found these topics overrated whenever asked, but secretly enjoyed thinking about them in private.
He glanced over at the clock which read 0234 hours in glistening red letters. He wondered if he should go to bed, but decided against it, after looking at the half-finished boat that stood erected in the middle of his basement.
He began to think of a name for his latest project. He had gone through Shannon, Kelly, Jenny, and Dianne (regrettably after his last wife). He knew what he wanted to name his fifth boat, but wasn’t entirely sure that he ought to. In the past, he had decided on a name before ever beginning construction. He would work on it with that person in mind, as if by constructing the craft, he was accomplishing something with that person that he was unable to accomplish in reality.
Thinking back, Gibbs had thought of Tony while building this boat thus far, and thought it only fitting that he finished the boat as “Tony.”
Then, of course, there was that woman that Tony had been seeing. He sure was glad not to have ever met her, because if he had, he would probably let something slip about his utter abhorrence of her.
One day he had found a picture of her under some files on Ziva’s desk which had a mustache drawn on her along with glasses and buck-teeth. It is now pinned up on Gibbs’ wall with three darts hanging from it.
He had wondered what Ziva had against Heather, but decided it was better not to know. Ziva wasn’t really the type of person who would like Heather anyways, so he decided just to let it go.
Zero three-hundred. Zero four-hundred. The hours passed by like the cups of coffee he drank, which would most likely explain his unwillingness to sleep. It was no surprise at all when the alarm rang at 0500 hours with Gibbs still standing there, withering away at his boat, taking the occasional sip of coffee, having completely ran out of Jack’s at around 0315 hours.
He reluctantly set down the sander and walked the short distance to the digital clock that lied on his desk. He clicked the button which cut off the piercing beep that echoed across his basement. With one last, long sip of coffee, he turned and left the basement at a quick pace in the direction of the kitchen.
**********
‘Five o’clock. Grand. I wonder if Heather’s awake. Hmm. No. She isn’t moving. Damn, I wish she would wake up to turn off that freaking alarm. Oh, fine.’ Mornings were definitely not Anthony DiNozzo’s forte, especially Monday mornings. He leaned over his girlfriend placing his index finger over the “off” button.
As the electronic beep ceased, he glanced down to Heather’s peaceful face that seemed quite content with the idea of never getting out of bed. Tony had always been annoyed that Heather never awoke with the alarm, but when he would just look down and see her face, all his anger and frustration would die away.
But as of late, things had been different. The kind of different that always brought Tony back to that all-too-familiar feeling of wanting nothing more than to run for the hills and never look back.
The night previous to this most ideal moment of sincerity of genuine emotions that Tony so obviously exerted, Heather had finally revealed her true feelings about their relationship with the following words: “Where exactly is this relationship going?” And the only words circulating through Tony DiNozzo’s mind were: “Trip wire.”
Somewhere within that statement resides the utter disparity and tragedy that DiNozzo was never able to face when it came to relationships. His commitment issues, already practically non-existent, were somewhat troubled as of late. The loss of his long term relationship with Jeanne still served as a sore-spot on his heart and conscience. He truly had loved her.
When the thoughts of Jeanne re-entered Tony’s mind, he did what he could to avoid them at whatever costs necessary. In this instant Tony merely pulled back the covers and slowly got out of bed, beginning to walk in the direction of the bathroom, not bothering to put on any clothes.
**********
Mondays were always terrible. Slow work. No interesting cases. Gibbs’ bad mood due to apparent lack of sleep. ‘Probably stayed up all night working on that damn boat,’ Tony thought as he typed away at a report that had recently been closed about a parrot that was stolen from a marine’s wife. ‘God, I hate Mondays.’
All he needed now was for Ziva to tell him that they had to attend another one of those sexual harassment conferences. ‘So help me God, if I have to attend another one of those, I’m transferring to the FBI!’
But the day wore on, slower, it seemed, than usual. It seemed like he had arrived hours ago when he discovered lunch was still three hours away. He thought of using the old “doctor’s appointment” excuse, but he thought that bit was getting a little old. Besides, he really did have a doctor’s appointment the next day.
‘Ahh. Tuesday. So much better than Monday.’ Tony thought as the bliss idea of the day being over with consumed him.
Finally, as if God Himself delivered DiNozzo from this hellish version of a Monday, Gibbs’ phone rang. The room seemed to stop entirely. Tony had no doubt in his mind that Ziva and McGee were bored out of their minds as well. They all looked to each other, then to Gibbs, as little kids wait to hear the verdict of their parents’ decision when asked to go to Disneyland.
“Okay,” Gibbs said just before placing the phone back down on the receiver. “Okay, guys, we’ve got a missing Petty Officer named Carl Clark. DiNozzo. McGee. He was on a 48 hour leave while the Abraham Lincoln’s docked in Norfolk. You two go and check out his quarters and talk to his C.O. and crewmates. Ziva, you’re with me.”
“Great.” McGee stated with regret.
“Ah, what’s wrong McGee? Sad you don’t get to spend the rest of the day behind that desk typing away at old reports about stolen parrots?” Tony asked utterly enthralled with the prospect that they get to leave the Navy Yard.
“You got a stolen parrot? Damn, I’ve been working on a suspected computer glitch at a High School on base in Norfolk. Don’t talk to me about boredom. It’s just…you know how I am on aircraft carriers.” McGee admitted turning slightly red.
“McBubbles, the Abraham Lincoln is a Destroyer, not an aircraft carrier. Ha! And you work for the Navy!” Tony said giggling slightly as the elevator doors closed on the two.
“Where are we going Gibbs?” Ziva questioned.
“To interview Susanna Clark, Carl Clark’s mother.” Gibbs said pushing the button to call the elevator to his floor.
“This should be interesting.” Ziva said sounding disappointed.
“Well, if you’d rather go with Tony �"” Gibbs began.
“I have, of course, always connected well with mothers of victims, so I shouldn’t have any problem with this.” Ziva corrected herself picking up the tone of agitation in Gibbs’ voice.
**********
“We go up three decks, cross to the starboard side, then go down two decks.” Tony said quarrelling with McGee.
“Okay. Whatever you say. I’m done arguing.” McGee said giving up.
“I’m just saying, McGee, you get lost in Wal-Mart. Let alone an aircraft carrier.” Tony said defending himself.
“First of all Tony, I’m more of a Target-shopper. And secondly, the Abraham Lincoln is a destroyer.” He gladly stated with a smile across his face.
Tony’s eyes narrowed to two judgmental slits of hatred as he lifted his arm in the direction down the hallway. “Lead the way, seeing as you’re so familiar with Navy Destroyers.”
Slightly rolling his eyes, McGee took a few steps in the direction of what he hoped to God was the destination he desired, as the palm of DiNozzo’s hand slapped across the back of his head.
Doing his best to ignore DiNozzo’s abuse, the two traversed throughout the destroyer. All-in-all, McGee was happy that he wasn’t on an aircraft carrier, because then it would have taken him two hours to find Clark’s C.O. as opposed to the one hour it took.
“Hello, I’m NCIS Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. We’re here regarding one of your sailors.” Tony greeted the commanding officer.
“Oh, hello. I’m Lt. Commander Hall. What can I do for NCIS?” Lt. Commander Hall stated extended a warm hand of welcome.
Tony shook the commanding officer’s hand before McGee ever got the opportunity. “You can tell us what you know about Petty Officer Clark.”
“Oh, Clark? Well, he’s gotta be one my finest sailors. Punctual; today is the first time he’s ever missed a day. He’s very outspoken, obeys every command. He seems like he’s more fit for the Marines, but the Navy is lucky to have him.” Lt. Commander Hall explained to Tony and McGee.
“Did he have any enemies or people he didn’t necessarily get along with?” McGee questioned the C.O.
“Not that I’m aware of. He does, however, visit the ships psychologist frequently. You might consider asking her more of the personal types of questions. Professionally, he’s the finest sailor I’ve met. But, I know very little of his personal life.” Lt. Commander Hall explained. “Now, you said ‘Did he have any enemies,’ implying past-tense. And seeing NCIS’s involvement after being MIA only a day, I can only draw the conclusion that he died?” Lt. Commander Hall asked looking thoroughly disappointed.
“Uh…we have no conclusive evidence to prove or disprove such a statement.” McGee said.
“Thank God. I’d hate to see the Navy lose such a fine sailor.” Lt. Commander Hall continued.
“Yes, um, could you direct Special Agent McGee to Petty Officer Clark’s bunk, and myself to this psychologist of whom you spoke?” Tony asked politely.
“Yes, of course.” Lt. Commander Hall replied before doing as Tony requested.
**********
“Hi, uh, you’ve reached, uh, Tim. Please, uh, leave a message, and I’ll, uh, get back to you…BEEP.” Sounded McGee’s answering machine, to Abby’s dismay.
“Hi, McGee, it’s Abbs. I’m bored out of my mind here! You guys don’t have anything for me to do! Fibers? DNA? Fingerprints? Hell, I’ll even take on some computer hacking! C’mon, McGee! I gotta work!!!” And with that she hung up her phone.
“I want it to be officially known,” Abby said standing, beginning to converse with her mass-spectrometer and her computer, Burt tucked under her arm for assistance. “That it is not my fault you guys don’t have anything to do! Our job is done here! It is clear that anything to do with the Navy, NCIS, or the Marine Corps in the D.C. area is crime-free! Seeing as we are all sitting here, with nothing at all to do!” Abby rambled on to her equipment before trying McGee’s cell phone yet again.
**********
“Fourteen missed calls? Oh, it’s gotta be Abby. There’s never anything really interesting to do on Mondays is there? Well, I did find half of a receipt. That’ll give Abby something to do for the afternoon. What did you find out from the psychologist?” McGee added to Tony.
“Not much. He never met his dad. Apparently that has been bugging him lately. Other than that, the psychologist described Clark just as his commanding officer had. But the C.O. said it in a more admiring tone, whereas the psychologist called him borderline perfectionist and almost OCD worthy.” Tony said as the two made their way in the direction off of the ship.
“Hey Abbs,” McGee said after dialing Abby’s phone number. “Yeah, well I couldn’t answer it. I was interrogating a Lt. Commander and then searching Clark’s bunk. Well I had my phone on silent. Okay, okay. Yeah, I found something for you. A receipt. Yes, that’s all, why? Well, sorry, but that’s all there was. Alright. Yeah, I’ll bring you a Caf-Pow! Okay. Abby says ‘Hi’, Tony. Yeah, he says ‘Hi’ back. Alright, bye.” McGee conversed with Abby.
“You know, McGee, Abby is beginning to sound more and more like your wife every day.” Tony pointed out to a harassed McGee.
“What?” McGee asked seemingly perplexed at the very idea.
“Oh, c’mon, McGee! It’s Tony you’re talking to!” Tony said smiling widely at him.
“And that’s supposed to make me warm up to you and just spill out all my emotions?” McGee asked with a slight laugh in his voice.
“So you do have emotions for Abby, then?” Tony said, the smirk on his face growing wider by the second.
“That’s not what I said. Abby is a close friend and my ex. Yes, we dated, but that ended nearly four years ago. I’ve moved on.” McGee explained to Tony.
The two, along with the newly purchased Caf-Pow, returned to the Navy Yard to greet a relieved and thankful Abby.
**********
“Has your son been in the Navy long, Mrs. Clark?” Gibbs asked looking around the room at pictures of the young man he assumed was Carl Clark which resided on the mantle piece.
Carl Clark was a man of about 26 years. He was rather tall, approximately two inches above six feet. He had short brown hair, and remarkably blue eyes. Gibbs lingered on, admiring the photos with a sense of familiarity encompassing him. Everywhere he looked he felt it. The mother, the son, even the house.
The scent that lingered in the air reminded him of some past-time of his early years in the Marine Corps. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he felt he had some sort of connection with this house. He looked over to Ziva, who was also looking at the pictures for a moment before taking a glance back at Gibbs with a quizzical look stretched across her face.
“Let’s see, about 8 and a half years now. Joined the day after his eighteenth birthday. He was still only a senior in high school. I believe he joined in August, 1999.” Mrs. Clark answered Gibbs’ question, refraining with difficulty from answering in a fifth different response.
The familiarity was killing Gibbs. He knew this woman from somewhere. ‘Where the hell do I know her from?’ Gibbs thought to himself feeling like it was a name on the tip of his tongue. Somewhere from many, many years ago; possibly before she even had a son.
“What about the boy’s father? Is he involved in his life much?” Gibbs asked taking to glancing at the pictures yet again.
The woman seemed to have a great intake of breath at this statement, as if she came to the sudden realization of something that she had been thinking on. She closed her eyes and folded her hands, lowering her head giving her the look of someone praying. After only a moment, she opened her eyes and looked up to Gibbs with bloodshot eyes. A tear streamed down her cheek, to which she made no attempt to wipe away.
“Unfortunately not,” She finally replied. “Special Agent Gibbs, may I have a word with you in the kitchen…alone?” She inquired removing her gaze from Gibbs only to stand and readjust the order of pillows which lied across her couch.
“What you have to say can be said in front of my partner,” Gibbs reassured her.
Ziva was utterly flattered at this statement. For he had not referred to her as someone of inferiority, but as his partner; an equal; a counterpart. A smirk spread across her face as this thought manifested behind it.
“I’m afraid what I have to tell you, Agent Gibbs, will have little effect towards your finding my son’s kidnapper. It is only a matter of personal necessity to which requires your attention.” Mrs. Clark explained as though through a riddle.
With a quick glance to Ziva which may have been misread as a question of approval, but truly meant “I hope you understand,” Gibbs followed Mrs. Clark into the kitchen. The room was decorated much like Gibbs’ fourth wife, Dianne’s. Very neat, organized, and hardly ever used.
“It pains me to see that you do not recognize me, Jethro. I do admit it took me a moment to realize who exactly you were. But upon your mentioning my son’s father, I immediately remembered.” Mrs. Clark explained with her back to Gibbs and her hands on the counter as if she was clinging for support.
“It was Christmas, 1980. We met on a flight to London from JFK.” She began, and as if an old reel stored away in the back of his mind, Gibbs began to recall that last weekend of 1980.
-To Be Continued-
Story Notes:
Gibbs/Jen and DiNozzo/Ziva stay close to canon.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Strange cases lead the team to uncover secrets from the past.