For Jethro Gibbs and Mike Johnson, the first days alone in the secluded cabin along the banks of Great Neck Bay with six-year old Anthony DiNozzo were some of the hardest the two young Marines had encountered out of combat. They could understand and accept military mentality: discipline, training exercises, missions. All fell within the parameters of their scope of knowledge. What they both were having a hard time wrapping their heads around and believing was that the little boy left in their temporary care, after all the mistreatment he'd endured at the hands of callous adults, could even function well enough in their presence without continually cowering in fear.

They'd witnessed, firsthand, some of the fear he carried.

After supper, both had watched as the nervous child had considered escaping from the cabin and them, the wide eyes tracking to the door, looking, hoping for a means of freedom. Neither wanted to contemplate what could have happened had he succeeded in making it to the door and out into the dark. Trying to track a small child, in the dead of night, through a forest thick with trees and underbrush, would have been almost impossible. The idea scared them more than they would admit and they were thankful he'd given up the idea and not tried again. There were too many hazards out there than one, small boy could handle alone.

Instead, Tony now seemed to make sure both men were always within his line of sight and, to Mike's amusement, preferred to stay as close to Jethro as possible, without getting in the way or underfoot. He watched the Marine with clear eyes, dropping his gaze only when Jethro looked directly at him. No matter where he ventured, Tony was only a short distance away, wide eyes watching everything carefully, almost studying the man for something neither Marine could guess.

The first night had seen the child enscounced on the large, comfortable couch across from the rock fireplace in the living area, with Jethro sprawled out in the matching armchair not three feet away. Ironically, both ended up in similar positions: hands tucked up under chins, mouths slightly open, and feet sticking partially out from under the blankets. Until better sleeping arrangements could be established, Jethro planned to sleep as close to the boy as necessary.

The first morning, as Mike made his way from bedroom to bathroom and, finally, to the living area, he was surprised to find the child awake and sitting up near one end of the couch, blanket pulled up under his chin, watching as Jethro continued to sleep. Mike hesitated at the innocent, open expression on Tony's face as he stared at the sleeping man and there was just something in the look that he couldn't quite identify. As a floorboard under his foot squeeked from his weight and announced his presence, Tony's head whipped around in Mike's direction, the green eyes wide with startlement and a bit of fear. The small fingers clutched the blanket tighter.

Needing to put the child at ease and not wanting to disturb any rest Jethro was able to get, Mike crooked his finger at Tony, indicating from the gesture that he wanted the child to come closer. The boy slowly removed the blanket, slipped soundlessly to the floor, and walked until he was standing before the tall Marine. Tony peered up through a fall of thick bangs and Mike resisted the urge to reach out and brush the unruly hair away. He squatted down to put himself on the child's level.

"Good morning. How did you sleep?"

One shoulder rose and fell. "Fine."

"Glad to hear it," Mike smiled at the sweet response. He shifted his weight slightly. "Look, why don't you go to the bathroom and get ready for the day. I put the duffle Candace packed for you by the sink, so you should find everything you need in there. Okay?"

Tony nodded but did not move. He turned back to look at Jethro, seeing the man had continued to sleep through the whispered conversation.

"Tony," Mike kept his voice pitched low, "when you finish, come on back to the kitchen and you can help me fix breakfast. We can have it all ready and surprise Gunny when he wakes up. How does that sound?"

The child's mouth quirked up in the gesture both men had associated as a smile and nodded, moving past the crouching man and heading down the hallway toward the bathroom. Mike watched him go and then refocused on Jethro, recognizing the rising need to feel the smooth skin and hard muscles. It would be so easy to slip into that armchair and take a small sample. Sighing deeply, he tamped those desires down and went to the kitchen, pulling out the items needed to start the morning meal.

Less than ten minutes later, both Marines were moving rapidly down the hallway, the sharp sound of breaking glass shattering the silence in the cabin. Jethro actually beat Mike to the bathroom doorway, eyes searching for the cause of the disturbance as he struggled to put sleep behind.

"What the...?" Jethro's voice was rough and husky, even to his own ears. He cleared his throat noisily.

"Tony," Mike's concerned inflection near his ear made the hairs on his neck rise.

"Tony?" Comprehension finally broke through his haze as he scanned the small room. "Where?"

Mike shouldered past and approached the area by the sink, taking in the broken glass on the floor, the discarded toothbrush laying on the porcelain, and the red smear on the ceramic surface. He, too, scanned the area as Jethro moved forward, slightly closing the wood door behind them.

"Damn," Jethro whispered, hand reaching to grasp Mike's shoulder as they both caught sight of the partially hidden brown head. Somehow, Tony had maneuvered his body into the small space between the wall and the toilet, his face pressing into his closely drawn-up knees. The trembling shoulders spoke volumes of his inner terror.

It was easy to assess the scene and determine what had occurred: a one-armed six-year old, on his own in a bathroom constructed for adult comfort, reaching unsteadily for the glass container positioned just a bit too high, fumbling but needing the container to rinse out his mouth, had easily lost his battle to the whims of gravity. The small smear of blood was more of a concern to both men than the ruined glass.

Mike whispered to Jethro. "I'm going to back away and start to get this glass up. See if you can coax him out."

Jethro nodded and took a step closer to the child's santuary, slowly easing his body to the floor and resting back against the wall. From this position, he could watch Tony and still see Mike near the sink. He sighed softly and focused on the child. This was one hell of a way to start the day. He roughly scrubbed a hand through his short hair and decided on what needed to be said.

"Tony, raise your head and look at me."

The head stayed down and the little arms tightened around the legs, hugging in closer. The trembling did not subside.

Jethro pressed his lips together in frustration. After the near-fiasco last night, he had hoped they were past this stage of distrust. He glanced at Mike and saw the concern in his friend's face.

"Tony," he tried again, adding a little more authority to his voice, "look at me."

The head rose fractionally at the command, the green eyes filled with tears, spiking the long lashes. He looked directly at Jethro as he'd been ordered but the man could still see the stark fear in those emerald depths. He didn't speak to the child again for a few moments and remained still, trying to wordlessly communicate a sense of calm and peace. He finally offered a small smile.

"What's wrong, Tony?"

"I...I'm sorry, Gunny," the little voice choked softly. "I'm sorry..."

"Hush, now. No one's mad at you. We just want you to come out of there so we can make sure you're all right."

The tears fell as he continued to look up at Jethro, glancing once to where Mike was finishing up collecting the shards and putting them carefully into the waste basket. Tony absently wiped his face on his knees.

"I...I..." he stumbled on the words and choked off a sob.

"Tony, enough of this," Jethro stated more firmly. "Come out of there now."

Tony seemed to push back into the space futher, even though it was impossible to get in any tighter. Unbelievably, the boy was shaking his head at the Marine, the small motion of refusal very disheartening. Jethro didn't think the child would react well if he just reached in and pulled him out, so he sighed loudly and tried a different tactic.

"Look, Mike's almost got this all cleaned up and, if I'm not mistaken, I think I can smell bacon..." Jethro suddenly stopped speaking as Mike darted upward.

"Damn!" Mike was out the door in a flash, heading straight back to the kitchen and the pan of frying bacon he'd left unattended on the stove.

The man's sudden motion made Tony flinch but made Jethro chuckle. Seeing the Marine's smile and hearing the soft laughter made Tony frown in confusion.

"You...you're not mad?" He whispered.

"Mad? No. I'm not mad. Tony, you just had a little accident, that's all," Jethro said evenly. He eyed the boy and had a different thought. "It was an accident, wasn't it?"

The boy seemed genuinely shocked by the question and his head rose completely. "Yes, Gunny. I...I didn't mean to drop it."

"Well, there you go," he smiled assuringly, gesturing with his hands. "Come out of there and finished getting dressed."

Jethro rose to his feet and looked down where Tony was starting to edge out of his small space, turning sideways to wiggle out of the temporary haven. Jethro really didn't want to dwell on the sanitary conditions of that area and made a mental note to make sure the boy's hands were clean before sitting at the table. Tony slowly stood but remained by the wall, his slim back pressing against the surface. He eyed Jethro with concern.

"Are you hurt?" The Marine asked softly.

Tony shook his head but raised his index finger to show the small cut that had already stopped bleeding. It was a minor injury but another good reason to make sure the hands were properly cleaned. From the red dots scattered on the boy's pajama top, it was easy to see it had been used to absorb
the moisture.

Still, Tony didn't move.

"What is it?" Jethro asked kindly.

"You...you won't..."

"What?" He pressed for an answer.

"...hurt me?"

The quiet question hit him hard again but was a huge reminder of the uncertain world this kid lived in. Jethro shook his head and took another step away, hoping a little distance would help convince the boy of his intentions.

"What did I tell you last night?"

Tony's lips trembled for a moment. "You said you would never hurt me. Never."

Jethro smiled at the answer. "I was telling you the truth, Tony. There's nothing you could do that would ever make me want to hurt you. Now, go on and get dressed. Can you do it with that cast?"

Tony took a deep, steadying breath. "Yes, Gunny. I can do it."

"Good. Now, hurry as best you can. Mike's going to have our breakfast ready soon and we sure don't want to miss out on that. Are you hungry?"

Tony nodded his head in affirmation an then stopped, eyes searching the Marine's face. "Gunny?"

"Yes, Tony."

The boy thought about what he wanted to say and, seeing no anger in the man's face, decided to push his luck. Just a little.

"Can...can I have ice cream?"

The sharp bark of laughter erupting from Jethro's mouth startled the boy and he took a step back, waiting to see if he needed to retreat back into his little, tight corner. The gentle smile and the kind eyes he saw allowed him to relax.

Jethro smiled widely at the boy. "Tony, if you want somre ice cream with your breakfast, I think we can work that out."

And, for the first time since arriving at the cabin, and maybe for the first time in a very long while, Tony smiled.


TBC