The Cost of Divorce 5/?. Crossover NCIS/The Sentinel.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The discussion that could be heard wasn't a discussion at all; it was the tail end of a short, but vicious, fight.
Gibbs had driven to the Baltimore PD at his normal breakneck speed, parking with ease in front of the PD's doors. Luck might have had something to do with that, but being Gibbs, it may well have been an example of the Universe, using all the sense nature had provided, aligning the stars such that as Gibbs drove down East Fayette Street, a police cruiser pulled out leaving that particular free parking space right in front of the doors. Even Universes have a sense of self-preservation.
Gibbs, striding into the PD like he owned the building, had been confronted by the normal chaos that was a busy precinct. In his usual take-no-prisoners approach, he marched to the front desk and requested directions to the Homicide squad room.
The desk sergeant, a veteran of many years, took exception to the tone of the request and just as politely requested that Gibbs wait until he had time to get an escort sent down from Homicide. The blissfully-unaware Sgt. Conners then turned back to finish the conversation he'd been having with a colleague ignorant of the fact that his life expectancy was fast approaching zero. Anyone from NCIS would have said that ignoring Gibbs was tantamount to ignoring the voice of God and likely to have similar consequences. In this case, the only thing that prevented Gibbs going biblical on the clueless sergeant was the fact that two uniformed officers were suddenly in need of assistance.
The two uniformed officers, McKinley and Maudin, had been escorting a young man, Salvatore Conti -- six foot two and built like a line-backer -- down to booking when said perp had managed to break loose. Conti was now attempting to flee the station, bulldozing his way through any impediments to his escape; to whit: desks, chairs, uniforms. Conti, apart from the shoplifting offences for which he was being charged, was currently acting as a drugs courier. When Maudin had made a comment about needing a full body search in an attempt to rattle the Conti's composure, the young officer succeeded far beyond his expectations.
Conti had quickly swallowed two of the PCP tablets he was carrying with the expected consequences; namely Conti had gone berserk. A vicious round house punch to Maudin's kidney felled the officer and created enough confusion in the booking area to give Conti a much needed distraction. Breaking away from the arresting officers, Conti ran back up the hall between the PD's front entrance and the booking area.
Unfortunately for Conti, his escape from justice was extremely short-lived, as he ran straight into the fist of one very disgruntled ex-gunnery sergeant.
By the time three officers made it up the hall from Booking and Conners' had locked down the front entrance, Gibbs had Salvatore subdued. The PCP-high that Conti was riding had done little to put Gibbs at a disadvantage, though Conti had still managed to land a couple of solid blows. Conner, watching on, decided that he would later be lighting a couple of candles at his church in thanks to the Lord for deflecting Gibbs' temper. He was about to volunteer to personally escort Gibbs up to Homicide, when the PD garage elevator opened to reveal the other three Horsemen; Tony DiNozzo followed by Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg.
"Typical," Ellison snorted as he surveyed the entrance area. "You know, Chief," the next comment addressed to Blair, "it looks like you can hand over the mantle of trouble magnet."
"Geez, Jim," Blair combined the interrogative eyebrow with an eye roll as he looked at his partner. "You think? On second thoughts, don't answer that."
"Agent Gibbs," Tony continued to walk towards Gibbs, as Conti was led away by four very large officers, "I see you've been busy. I thought you would have been up in Homicide harassing my colleagues by now."
"I would have been," Gibbs growled, showing no indication that the spectacular bruise forming on his right cheek bothered him at all. "But your desk sergeant," and how Gibbs managed to make desk sergeant sound like an insult made those present go a little white, "wouldn't let me go up."
"Conner," Tony turned to smile at the man now positively cowering behind the front desk. "Surely you didn't keep Agent Gibbs waiting down here? I'm sure that Michaels, Trenton or Auer could have kept Agent Gibbs out of trouble." DiNozzo cocked his head to the side as he looked back at the carnage. "Uhh, maybe not. Come on Gibbs, why don't you join us upstairs in my palatial office." Ignoring everyone else, Tony then led Gibbs back to the elevator where Jim and Blair were already waiting.
"Do not say a word, Ellison." Gibbs attempted a force-four glare, but he already knew it had failed miserably when Sandburg piped up, "can I say anything?"
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The ride up in the elevator was short and quiet. The short proved a blessing.
Gibbs was not admitting by word or deed that he was feeling the after-affects of the short fracas he'd been involved in; he just leaned against the wall and tried not to breathe too deeply.
Tony, surprisingly in tune with a man he'd only just met, said nothing as he watched the level indicator change as they approached the seventh floor. Tony was aware that Gibbs was hurting more than he let on, but smart enough to realize that pointing that fact out might be detrimental to his own health.
Jim's temper, meanwhile, was fast approaching explosive. Jim had decided they'd had enough surprises for the day and was monitoring the building, Homicide in particular. He had already located Bunka's voice; but that proved to be a mixed blessing as Bunka was currently regaling his colleagues with his version of the morning's events.
Of the four in the elevator -- the elevator had stopped at the third floor but the female constable intending to ride up to the tenth floor had taken one look at the men and decided to wait for the next car, an eternity if necessary -- Blair was the worst off. Blair was caught between two competing imperatives; healing versus Sentinel care. Gibbs was actually hurt much more than the ex-marine even realized and it didn't take Guide or Shaman skill to see Jim doing a fair imitation of unstable dynamite. The reason for Jim's aggravation soon became clear the moment they arrived at the seventh floor. As the elevator door slide open they could all hear Bunka sounding off.
". . . and you should see the little hippy fag that was tailing around after Ellison."
"Shit, Bunka, you had better be kidding. I knew Ellison in the rangers; no way is he gay. Hell, if he heard you say stuff like that he'd break you in two."
"Maybe, maybe not, but the little hippy was definitely panting after Ellison's ass." Bunka changed tack, slightly. Apparently the unknown person who knew Ellison was sufficiently intimidating. "As for DiNozzo. . ."
"As for me, what, detective?" Tony asked politely as he walked into the squad room.
The look on Bunka's face as he turned to face the door, was priceless. It wasn't often you saw a seasoned cop look like he was going to piss himself, so it was a sight to behold.
"Shit, you're dead meat, Bunka," the same dry, amused, voice that had defended Ellison commented. "I reckon Ellison over there knows over one hundred ways to kill you just with a paper clip."
"Sergeant Trenton," Jim boomed, "so you finally decided to do something useful with your worthless ass."
"Ellison, long time, no see." The six foot plus man who approached with his hand out to shake Jim's hand, looked like he could bench press Sandburg. Trenton was handsome, clean cut and exuded the same dangerous ex-military aura that Ellison and Gibbs had.
"What it is with law enforcement and services?" Blair grumbled feeling like he stood in the middle of a forest of giant redwoods, "Isn't there anyone shorter than six foot where you all come from?"
"Trent," Jim pulled Blair closer, "I'd like you to meet my partner, Blair Sandburg. Blair, this miserable sack of humanity is. . ."
"Say my first name and you are a dead man, Ellison," Trenton interrupted before Jim could finish the introductions. "Trent is fine. So, you drew the short straw did you?" Trent addressed the question to Blair with a wink. "They are paying you hazard rates, right?"
"You think I should ask?" Blair decided he liked Trent.
"Definitely, did Ellison ever tell you about. . ."
"Trent, not now," that Ellison meant not EVER was clear in his voice. "We've got a case to help DiNozzo with. We can play catch up later."
"Count on it."
While Trent had been exchanging pleasantries with Ellison and Sandburg, Bunka had taken the opportunity to vacate the premises. Blair had been aware that the obnoxious detective was doing a bunk -- Blair had smiled at that thought - - but had allowed it. While Trent was defusing the bomb called Ellison, Blair allowed part of his awareness to wrap around Gibbs, working out what damage had been done to the man. As soon as they had somewhere private to repair to, Blair intended to deal with the agent's injuries.
The other members of the Homicide squad were covertly checking out the men that had arrived with DiNozzo. The consensus was that Bunka had been lucky the men hadn't arrived five minutes earlier. Gibbs and Ellison looked like they could take on an army and come out the other side saying something along the lines of 'that was a nice stroll'. Even if Bunka's comments had any basis in fact, the rest of the members of the squad valued their lives and one wrong comment looked like it could mean death, or at least 6 months in traction. Trent was suddenly the squad hero for defusing what could have been a nasty situation.
"Conference room one is free," Detective Hunter offered. "Do you need any help setting up?" Hunter was one of the few, Trent being another, who had at least listened to DiNozzo's theory. Bunka might have been an ass but one fact he had communicated during his rant was the some hot-shot FBI profiler was coming in to look over DiNozzo's stupid serial killer theory. It followed then, that maybe DiNozzo might be on the money. So, even though most of the cops had little faith in the FBI in general; the profiling group was considered a cut above and if one of them thought DiNozzo's theory was worth a look-see, then it probably was worth a look at.
Of course, Bunka's rant hadn't been complete in its detail. Thus, Hunter turned to Gibbs, assuming he was the FBI agent, "Agent Gibbs, is there anything else we can do to help you with this serial?"
Blair started laughing.
"Do I look FBI to you?" Gibbs' snarled; his ribs were starting to badly hurt, and being mistaken for an FBI agent went down like the Titanic.
Blair stopped laughing; Gibbs' pain level was starting to spike and the young shaman had to do something, now. "Tony, is there a room I can use? I just want to have a look over agent Gibbs here."
Tony had taken the slightly ashen cast to Gibbs' face and agreed with Sandburg that something needed to be done with him. Tony's hindbrain piped up that there were possibly many, many things that needed to be done with agent Gibbs, but that would have to wait. Tony was also sure that nothing short of a presidential order was going to get Gibbs to go the hospital to be checked out. So, silently wishing Sandburg luck, Tony led the way towards Conference Room one.
Gibbs followed Sandburg and DiNozzo, not because he was co-operating, but because he really did need to sit down.
Conference room one was like the standard conference room of any police station; white boards on three walls, glass wall with curtains making up the fourth wall and allowing natural light in, tables arranged in the ubiquitous U format and a podium in the gap at the top of the U. The only non standard piece of furnishing was a couch that actually looked like it might be comfortable.
"Tony, can you give me a few minutes privacy here with agent Gibbs?" Blair didn't really ask he just phrased it that way.
"Sure, do I need to send someone up from the infirmary?"
"Nah, I've got it covered."
"Then I'll get Jim to give me a hand getting the case files together. I'll also contact Peoria and Pittsburg and see if I can get them scan and fax over the details of their cases as well."
"If you have to Tony, use my name as part of the authorization," Blair commented even though most of his attention was fixed on Gibbs. "It will speed the process up."
"Okay, but that means Jim and I might be a while though. Are you really sure I shouldn't get someone from the infirmary? Gibbs' isn't looking too good there."
"I'm here, you know."
"And you also know you should be in the hospital, Gibbs," Blair acknowledged Gibbs' growl but the threatening tone didn't faze the Shaman. "Now, sit," a lash of command accompanied the direction and Gibbs sat.
"Wow, could you teach me to do that?" Dinozzo just had to quip. Tony didn't think anyone, or anything, could get Gibbs to do something he didn't want to, like follow orders from someone who was not above him in his chain of command. Even then, Tony was willing to bet that the NCIS agent managed to get his own way nine times out of ten.
"Tony," the warning this time was directed at DiNozzo. "I can handle it."
DiNozzo took his cue and left; there was enough to do in the squad room and Sandburg, in eerie command mode, was not someone the DiNozzo wanted to mess with.
"Gibbs, are you going to let me look at you or not?" This time it was a question, and if Gibbs said no then Blair would leave him be; healing could not be forced on someone who did not want to be healed.
Gibbs actually realized that Sandburg was giving him a choice and that surprised him. Gibbs had thought that someone with the Power that Sandburg obviously had -- Gibbs might have been skeptical, but he wasn't so hidebound that he couldn't change his world view if sufficient evidence was provided -- would just steam roll over any objections.
Gibbs' face must have given away something of his thought processes as Blair commented, "I'd be a white witch according to some of the classifications. Healing with Magic, for want of a better word, makes changes to a person and if you are conscious, I need your consent."
"And if I was unconscious?" Gibbs wasn't agreeing to anything yet.
"Even unconscious there are ways I can ask for consent," Blair didn't think that Gibbs was ready to discuss spirit walks and other such tools of the shaman. Still, as the agent was conscious and fully compos mentis, then his explicit permission was needed before Blair could safely use his healing skills. That being said, Blair was confident that Gibbs would agree; the man just wasn't capable of letting go of this case, and as he seemed to be cut from the same cloth as Jim, that meant he might not like the mystical mumbo jumbo but if it got him functioning again, bring on the juju.
"Go ahead," Gibbs grudgingly gave his assent, mainly because even though he'd almost seen six impossible things this morning, he wasn't expecting to be able to top it off with a shamanic healing. Gibbs just reckoned that if he humored Sandburg, the man would chant some mumbo-jumbo then go away and leave him in peace. Gibbs should have realized that a simple rest on the couch wasn't going to happen, but he was operating a little below par at that point.
Blair, on the other hand, knew what he was planning to do and that involved healing Gibbs physically and, maybe a little emotionally, if he could. So, with permission having been granted, Blair knelt down in front of Gibbs. Blair placed his hands on either side of Gibbs' rib cage. After taking three deep breaths to center himself as the Shaman, Blair stepped into the spirit plain, pulling Gibbs with him.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Gibbs blinked twice as he realized he was now standing at parade rest in the middle of parade ground at Parris Island. He was dressed in his dress blue alphas with all his medals proudly displayed. The sight before him took Gibbs' breath away; his cock hardening involuntarily as he looked over Blair Sandburg. Damn, no wonder Ellison had been putting out the hands-off vibes.
The Blair that stood in front of Gibbs was not the young man who had knelt before him in the conference room. This Blair was power; the trappings of civilization gone to be replaced by the trappings of the Shaman. Blair was draped in a cloak of supplest of caribou hide; the open front of the cloak allowed Gibbs to see to that Blair's youthful, naked, body was daubed with charcoal, and cinnabar-derived red paint. The same stylized wolf was drawn on both the body and cloak. In his right hand Blair held a USMC NCO Sword, point down. In his left, a Marine M-40A1 Sniper Rifle.
Blair knelt down on his right knee; the sword held in his right hand, its point just touching the earth. Carefully, Blair laid the rifle down so that when he stood again it lay at his feet, butt to the left, barrel pointed right. Without lifting the blade from the earth Blair turned, describing a perfect circle in the dirt. When the circle was closed, Blair shifted his grip on the hilt; the one-handed grip became two, with the blade face down.
Arms straight, Blair lifted the blade until it was pointed straight at Gibbs' face.
Gibbs stood frozen, unable to move, held in place not by fear but by trust. Why he trusted the man in front of him when trusting unconditionally was almost anathema to him was a puzzle Gibbs intended to figure out; later. For the moment Gibbs accepted that Blair would, and could, do no harm to him in this place. Here, wherever they where was the holiest of Holy grounds and while Gibbs might only appear to pay lip service to the organized religions of the world, he had faith in a higher purpose.
Blair took the trust offered and added it to the ball of power he was generating around the hilt of the sword. "You are hurt, not just in body but in heart as well, Leroy Jethro Gibbs," Blair's voice resonated across the parade ground. "The hurts of your body are easily fixed." Blair moved the blade down until the point rested against the fourth rib on Gibbs right hand side; the rib was cracked and threatening to pierce the lung. "The heart, no so, but we can start, if you are willing." The blade was moved till the point rested above Gibbs' heart; all Blair had to do was lean forward and Gibbs would be dead.
Gibbs nodded his head granting permission aware that deep magic, of the type he'd read to Kelly about in 'The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe' was happening.
The point of the sword was allowed fall in a lazy arc until it was just touching the ground again, this time at the point in the circle immediately between Gibbs and Blair.. The Shaman swayed slowly at first but began to gain momentum as an unseen chorus began to sing the Marines' Hymn; the sword's point, never leaving the ground, began to glow. The glow was the blue of Gibbs' dress blues and as Blair continued to sway the glow flowed up the blade until the whole sword was covered in blue fire. A blood red seam slowly became visible running up the blade; the seam, the same color and width as the blood stripe on the pants of Gibbs' blue alphas. As the first verse drew to a close Blair lifted the sword until his arms were stretched above his head; the point of the blade still pointing earthward.
"You have walls that must be breached before any healing can begin," Blair whispered. As the words 'Our flag’s unfurled to every breeze' were sung by the unseen choir, Blair pulled his arms back behind his head and before swinging the sword, point first, at Gibbs' head.
Gibbs didn't have time to flinch as the point of the blade touched the top of his head, and stopped. The blade may not have pierced him physically but it had shattered something. Gibbs actually felt the walls he kept around his heart break; Kelly, Shannon, his father, his mother, those he'd loved, and loss either through death or abandonment.
Gibbs had never allowed himself to grieve fully for Kelly and Shannon, he'd hunted the bastard down who had taken them from him, then he'd walled his heart up against any further intrusions. He'd taken his hurts out on his father, estranging that relationship, and he'd wedded and bedded carbon copies of Shannon so that he could pretend that all was well. It wasn't and with one sword stroke Blair had taken his defenses down.
Gibbs collapsed to his knees as he screamed his anger, his frustration, and his pain at the uncaring universe.
The universe, in the form of Blair Sandburg who'd lain the sword aside, gathered Gibbs into its arms and held him tight, and protected, while Gibbs finally grieved. The Marines' Hymn continuing to be sung in counter-point to Gibbs' pain.
As the song drew to a close, so too, did Gibbs' eyes. As Gibbs rested, Blair's hands moved in lazy circles over the ex-marine's back, soothing and healing.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Blair, are you done yet?" Tony poked his head into conference room hoping that whatever Blair magic had been up to was finished. Tony was lucky in that he was right about the magic having finished but he wished he'd had a camera with him because he was sure no one would ever believe him otherwise.
Blair hadn't answered Tony's query because both Blair, and Gibbs, were currently asleep. Blair, still kneeling on the floor, had his head resting on Gibbs' lap. Gibbs, tilted slightly sideways against the couch's arm-rest had his hands resting on top of Blair's head; Gibbs' fingers seeming to burrow into the wealth of curls.
"Well, ain't that sweet," Bunka was making his way back to the squad room when he'd noticed Tony poke his head into the conference room. "Looks like the hippy gives quality service."
The hippy in question, currently riding the euphoric high that came from a deep healing, was rudely jolted back into normal space by the waves of hate that was rolling off of Bunka. Blair, his eyes snapping open at the intrusion, stared at Bunka until Bunka began to back slowly away from the door; the hate quickly turning to fear. Blair, still partially connected to the spirit plane, was projecting all that he was and that was something the narrow-minded detective couldn't handle.
Tony, in the meantime, was fascinated. Somehow Blair had scared the pants off of his senior partner -- and Tony was man enough to admit he was glad Blair wasn't looking at him at the moment -- without disturbing Gibbs, who slept through the entire confrontation. "If Bunka's going to be a problem I'll have a word with the captain," Tony offered.
Easing out from under Gibbs' hold, Blair stood up and rolled his shoulders a couple of times. "Bunka's not going to be a problem. . ."
"He's not?" Ellison asked as he walked into the room carrying a pile of files with him. Jim had overheard enough of Bunka's comments to want to chase the man down and begin educating him in the proper manner to address his Guide, partner and mate. Said education would have been given with great malice and forethought, and twelve months in traction.
"Not for me, he won't," Blair reassured his partner with a smile; a smile that consisted of much baring of teeth, somewhat like an angry wolf. "I'm more worried about what he's likely to do to you, Tony. That man isn't just a 'phobe, he has some real hate going on. I think we are all going to be better served if we take Gibbs up on his unspoken offer of working this case out of NCIS."
Jim and Tony both rolled their eyes the unspoken offer comment. Neither however contradicted Blair.
"So, when's the Gunny going to wake up?"
"Sooner than I'd like, thanks to Detective Bunka," Blair wasn't a happy individual. He'd have liked a little more time to recuperate as well. "Still, he will be a little while yet, he has visitors."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Well, Gunny, at least you taste has improved somewhat," Shannon Gibbs laughed as she walked up to her husband. She rather enjoyed the pole-axed look on the normally unflappable Gibbs.
"Yes Daddy, Tony's a lot nicer than Diane. I didn't like her at all," Kelly piped up from where she was standing behind her mother.
Gibbs blinked, twice. One moment he was on his knees being held in the protective embrace of Blair Sandburg the next he was sitting on the front porch of his house, still dressed in his dress blue alphas.
"You always did look good in full uniform, Jethro," Shannon commented as she sat down beside him, a more than mildly salacious grin on her face particularly for someone who'd been gone nearly ten years.
Apparently something of Gibbs' thoughts must have shown on his face as Shannon leaned forward to brush her lips against his. "That's where you were wrong, Jethro," she murmured into the kiss. "We were dead, not gone. You walled us out of your heart just as much as you walled the rest of the world out. If Blair hadn't cut through that wall, we'd still not be able to talk to you."
"We miss you, Daddy," Kelly whispered though she didn't look too impressed with her parents; her facial expression was the classic ewwww they're kissing face of children the world over.
"I miss you too, pumpkin, everyday."
"But you don't have to, Daddy," Kelly spoke with the assurance of a child who believed the world would order itself to its needs. "We are in your heart, Daddy, always. Aren't we, Mommy?"
"Yes sweetheart, and if your father would stop being such a stubborn ass about it, he'd know it too." The look Shannon gave Gibbs said it all, he'd better stop being a martyr or she was going to let her red-haired temper have its way.
Gibbs, who'd never cowered before enemy fire, wisely decided that he could give up the stubborn routine; at least for this purpose, for everything else all bets were still off.
"I wouldn't have it any other way, Jethro," Shannon apparently continued to be able to read his mind. "Now as for that nice boy, Tony, he's going to need looking after, Jethro. He'll be hurt badly, possibly irretrievably, if he stays here."
"He's already been hurt bad enough, Daddy." Kelly piped up.
"So, what do you want me to do about it?" Shannon had had a thing for puppies, kittens and lost birds, if Gibbs hadn't occasionally put his foot down they'd have been overrun with rescue projects. Death, it seemed, hadn't changed Shannon all that much.
"He needs someone to love him, Jethro," Shannon wasn't backing down from this discussion. "I saw the looks you were giving him, and Kelly and I approve."
"Kells," Gibbs, a sideways glance at his ghostly daughter, "do you know what you are approving off?"
"Daaaad, I'm dead, not stupid. Mommy told me that love is love is love, and that a man can love a man in the same way that he loves a woman. Anyway, he's nice. I think he'd be able to see me and I'd like someone to talk to occasionally."
Gibbs looked at the two most important females in his life and realized that not only were they were ganging up on him but that he would also lose. It looked like Blair had really shaken things loose when he'd set about breaching the defenses around Leroy Jethro Gibbs' heart.
"Remember to thank Blair for us, won't you dear." Shannon smiled. Gibbs wasn't sure if it was this place or just the magic that was Shannon; either way he was still transparent to her.
Accepting the inevitable, Gibbs gathered both females into a tight embrace. Tears of joy, sorrow, and relief were streaming down all three faces. "Missed you, missed you so much."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
TBC. . .
Chapter One. / Chapter Two. / Chapter Three / Chapter Four
The discussion that could be heard wasn't a discussion at all; it was the tail end of a short, but vicious, fight.
Gibbs had driven to the Baltimore PD at his normal breakneck speed, parking with ease in front of the PD's doors. Luck might have had something to do with that, but being Gibbs, it may well have been an example of the Universe, using all the sense nature had provided, aligning the stars such that as Gibbs drove down East Fayette Street, a police cruiser pulled out leaving that particular free parking space right in front of the doors. Even Universes have a sense of self-preservation.
Gibbs, striding into the PD like he owned the building, had been confronted by the normal chaos that was a busy precinct. In his usual take-no-prisoners approach, he marched to the front desk and requested directions to the Homicide squad room.
The desk sergeant, a veteran of many years, took exception to the tone of the request and just as politely requested that Gibbs wait until he had time to get an escort sent down from Homicide. The blissfully-unaware Sgt. Conners then turned back to finish the conversation he'd been having with a colleague ignorant of the fact that his life expectancy was fast approaching zero. Anyone from NCIS would have said that ignoring Gibbs was tantamount to ignoring the voice of God and likely to have similar consequences. In this case, the only thing that prevented Gibbs going biblical on the clueless sergeant was the fact that two uniformed officers were suddenly in need of assistance.
The two uniformed officers, McKinley and Maudin, had been escorting a young man, Salvatore Conti -- six foot two and built like a line-backer -- down to booking when said perp had managed to break loose. Conti was now attempting to flee the station, bulldozing his way through any impediments to his escape; to whit: desks, chairs, uniforms. Conti, apart from the shoplifting offences for which he was being charged, was currently acting as a drugs courier. When Maudin had made a comment about needing a full body search in an attempt to rattle the Conti's composure, the young officer succeeded far beyond his expectations.
Conti had quickly swallowed two of the PCP tablets he was carrying with the expected consequences; namely Conti had gone berserk. A vicious round house punch to Maudin's kidney felled the officer and created enough confusion in the booking area to give Conti a much needed distraction. Breaking away from the arresting officers, Conti ran back up the hall between the PD's front entrance and the booking area.
Unfortunately for Conti, his escape from justice was extremely short-lived, as he ran straight into the fist of one very disgruntled ex-gunnery sergeant.
By the time three officers made it up the hall from Booking and Conners' had locked down the front entrance, Gibbs had Salvatore subdued. The PCP-high that Conti was riding had done little to put Gibbs at a disadvantage, though Conti had still managed to land a couple of solid blows. Conner, watching on, decided that he would later be lighting a couple of candles at his church in thanks to the Lord for deflecting Gibbs' temper. He was about to volunteer to personally escort Gibbs up to Homicide, when the PD garage elevator opened to reveal the other three Horsemen; Tony DiNozzo followed by Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg.
"Typical," Ellison snorted as he surveyed the entrance area. "You know, Chief," the next comment addressed to Blair, "it looks like you can hand over the mantle of trouble magnet."
"Geez, Jim," Blair combined the interrogative eyebrow with an eye roll as he looked at his partner. "You think? On second thoughts, don't answer that."
"Agent Gibbs," Tony continued to walk towards Gibbs, as Conti was led away by four very large officers, "I see you've been busy. I thought you would have been up in Homicide harassing my colleagues by now."
"I would have been," Gibbs growled, showing no indication that the spectacular bruise forming on his right cheek bothered him at all. "But your desk sergeant," and how Gibbs managed to make desk sergeant sound like an insult made those present go a little white, "wouldn't let me go up."
"Conner," Tony turned to smile at the man now positively cowering behind the front desk. "Surely you didn't keep Agent Gibbs waiting down here? I'm sure that Michaels, Trenton or Auer could have kept Agent Gibbs out of trouble." DiNozzo cocked his head to the side as he looked back at the carnage. "Uhh, maybe not. Come on Gibbs, why don't you join us upstairs in my palatial office." Ignoring everyone else, Tony then led Gibbs back to the elevator where Jim and Blair were already waiting.
"Do not say a word, Ellison." Gibbs attempted a force-four glare, but he already knew it had failed miserably when Sandburg piped up, "can I say anything?"
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The ride up in the elevator was short and quiet. The short proved a blessing.
Gibbs was not admitting by word or deed that he was feeling the after-affects of the short fracas he'd been involved in; he just leaned against the wall and tried not to breathe too deeply.
Tony, surprisingly in tune with a man he'd only just met, said nothing as he watched the level indicator change as they approached the seventh floor. Tony was aware that Gibbs was hurting more than he let on, but smart enough to realize that pointing that fact out might be detrimental to his own health.
Jim's temper, meanwhile, was fast approaching explosive. Jim had decided they'd had enough surprises for the day and was monitoring the building, Homicide in particular. He had already located Bunka's voice; but that proved to be a mixed blessing as Bunka was currently regaling his colleagues with his version of the morning's events.
Of the four in the elevator -- the elevator had stopped at the third floor but the female constable intending to ride up to the tenth floor had taken one look at the men and decided to wait for the next car, an eternity if necessary -- Blair was the worst off. Blair was caught between two competing imperatives; healing versus Sentinel care. Gibbs was actually hurt much more than the ex-marine even realized and it didn't take Guide or Shaman skill to see Jim doing a fair imitation of unstable dynamite. The reason for Jim's aggravation soon became clear the moment they arrived at the seventh floor. As the elevator door slide open they could all hear Bunka sounding off.
". . . and you should see the little hippy fag that was tailing around after Ellison."
"Shit, Bunka, you had better be kidding. I knew Ellison in the rangers; no way is he gay. Hell, if he heard you say stuff like that he'd break you in two."
"Maybe, maybe not, but the little hippy was definitely panting after Ellison's ass." Bunka changed tack, slightly. Apparently the unknown person who knew Ellison was sufficiently intimidating. "As for DiNozzo. . ."
"As for me, what, detective?" Tony asked politely as he walked into the squad room.
The look on Bunka's face as he turned to face the door, was priceless. It wasn't often you saw a seasoned cop look like he was going to piss himself, so it was a sight to behold.
"Shit, you're dead meat, Bunka," the same dry, amused, voice that had defended Ellison commented. "I reckon Ellison over there knows over one hundred ways to kill you just with a paper clip."
"Sergeant Trenton," Jim boomed, "so you finally decided to do something useful with your worthless ass."
"Ellison, long time, no see." The six foot plus man who approached with his hand out to shake Jim's hand, looked like he could bench press Sandburg. Trenton was handsome, clean cut and exuded the same dangerous ex-military aura that Ellison and Gibbs had.
"What it is with law enforcement and services?" Blair grumbled feeling like he stood in the middle of a forest of giant redwoods, "Isn't there anyone shorter than six foot where you all come from?"
"Trent," Jim pulled Blair closer, "I'd like you to meet my partner, Blair Sandburg. Blair, this miserable sack of humanity is. . ."
"Say my first name and you are a dead man, Ellison," Trenton interrupted before Jim could finish the introductions. "Trent is fine. So, you drew the short straw did you?" Trent addressed the question to Blair with a wink. "They are paying you hazard rates, right?"
"You think I should ask?" Blair decided he liked Trent.
"Definitely, did Ellison ever tell you about. . ."
"Trent, not now," that Ellison meant not EVER was clear in his voice. "We've got a case to help DiNozzo with. We can play catch up later."
"Count on it."
While Trent had been exchanging pleasantries with Ellison and Sandburg, Bunka had taken the opportunity to vacate the premises. Blair had been aware that the obnoxious detective was doing a bunk -- Blair had smiled at that thought - - but had allowed it. While Trent was defusing the bomb called Ellison, Blair allowed part of his awareness to wrap around Gibbs, working out what damage had been done to the man. As soon as they had somewhere private to repair to, Blair intended to deal with the agent's injuries.
The other members of the Homicide squad were covertly checking out the men that had arrived with DiNozzo. The consensus was that Bunka had been lucky the men hadn't arrived five minutes earlier. Gibbs and Ellison looked like they could take on an army and come out the other side saying something along the lines of 'that was a nice stroll'. Even if Bunka's comments had any basis in fact, the rest of the members of the squad valued their lives and one wrong comment looked like it could mean death, or at least 6 months in traction. Trent was suddenly the squad hero for defusing what could have been a nasty situation.
"Conference room one is free," Detective Hunter offered. "Do you need any help setting up?" Hunter was one of the few, Trent being another, who had at least listened to DiNozzo's theory. Bunka might have been an ass but one fact he had communicated during his rant was the some hot-shot FBI profiler was coming in to look over DiNozzo's stupid serial killer theory. It followed then, that maybe DiNozzo might be on the money. So, even though most of the cops had little faith in the FBI in general; the profiling group was considered a cut above and if one of them thought DiNozzo's theory was worth a look-see, then it probably was worth a look at.
Of course, Bunka's rant hadn't been complete in its detail. Thus, Hunter turned to Gibbs, assuming he was the FBI agent, "Agent Gibbs, is there anything else we can do to help you with this serial?"
Blair started laughing.
"Do I look FBI to you?" Gibbs' snarled; his ribs were starting to badly hurt, and being mistaken for an FBI agent went down like the Titanic.
Blair stopped laughing; Gibbs' pain level was starting to spike and the young shaman had to do something, now. "Tony, is there a room I can use? I just want to have a look over agent Gibbs here."
Tony had taken the slightly ashen cast to Gibbs' face and agreed with Sandburg that something needed to be done with him. Tony's hindbrain piped up that there were possibly many, many things that needed to be done with agent Gibbs, but that would have to wait. Tony was also sure that nothing short of a presidential order was going to get Gibbs to go the hospital to be checked out. So, silently wishing Sandburg luck, Tony led the way towards Conference Room one.
Gibbs followed Sandburg and DiNozzo, not because he was co-operating, but because he really did need to sit down.
Conference room one was like the standard conference room of any police station; white boards on three walls, glass wall with curtains making up the fourth wall and allowing natural light in, tables arranged in the ubiquitous U format and a podium in the gap at the top of the U. The only non standard piece of furnishing was a couch that actually looked like it might be comfortable.
"Tony, can you give me a few minutes privacy here with agent Gibbs?" Blair didn't really ask he just phrased it that way.
"Sure, do I need to send someone up from the infirmary?"
"Nah, I've got it covered."
"Then I'll get Jim to give me a hand getting the case files together. I'll also contact Peoria and Pittsburg and see if I can get them scan and fax over the details of their cases as well."
"If you have to Tony, use my name as part of the authorization," Blair commented even though most of his attention was fixed on Gibbs. "It will speed the process up."
"Okay, but that means Jim and I might be a while though. Are you really sure I shouldn't get someone from the infirmary? Gibbs' isn't looking too good there."
"I'm here, you know."
"And you also know you should be in the hospital, Gibbs," Blair acknowledged Gibbs' growl but the threatening tone didn't faze the Shaman. "Now, sit," a lash of command accompanied the direction and Gibbs sat.
"Wow, could you teach me to do that?" Dinozzo just had to quip. Tony didn't think anyone, or anything, could get Gibbs to do something he didn't want to, like follow orders from someone who was not above him in his chain of command. Even then, Tony was willing to bet that the NCIS agent managed to get his own way nine times out of ten.
"Tony," the warning this time was directed at DiNozzo. "I can handle it."
DiNozzo took his cue and left; there was enough to do in the squad room and Sandburg, in eerie command mode, was not someone the DiNozzo wanted to mess with.
"Gibbs, are you going to let me look at you or not?" This time it was a question, and if Gibbs said no then Blair would leave him be; healing could not be forced on someone who did not want to be healed.
Gibbs actually realized that Sandburg was giving him a choice and that surprised him. Gibbs had thought that someone with the Power that Sandburg obviously had -- Gibbs might have been skeptical, but he wasn't so hidebound that he couldn't change his world view if sufficient evidence was provided -- would just steam roll over any objections.
Gibbs' face must have given away something of his thought processes as Blair commented, "I'd be a white witch according to some of the classifications. Healing with Magic, for want of a better word, makes changes to a person and if you are conscious, I need your consent."
"And if I was unconscious?" Gibbs wasn't agreeing to anything yet.
"Even unconscious there are ways I can ask for consent," Blair didn't think that Gibbs was ready to discuss spirit walks and other such tools of the shaman. Still, as the agent was conscious and fully compos mentis, then his explicit permission was needed before Blair could safely use his healing skills. That being said, Blair was confident that Gibbs would agree; the man just wasn't capable of letting go of this case, and as he seemed to be cut from the same cloth as Jim, that meant he might not like the mystical mumbo jumbo but if it got him functioning again, bring on the juju.
"Go ahead," Gibbs grudgingly gave his assent, mainly because even though he'd almost seen six impossible things this morning, he wasn't expecting to be able to top it off with a shamanic healing. Gibbs just reckoned that if he humored Sandburg, the man would chant some mumbo-jumbo then go away and leave him in peace. Gibbs should have realized that a simple rest on the couch wasn't going to happen, but he was operating a little below par at that point.
Blair, on the other hand, knew what he was planning to do and that involved healing Gibbs physically and, maybe a little emotionally, if he could. So, with permission having been granted, Blair knelt down in front of Gibbs. Blair placed his hands on either side of Gibbs' rib cage. After taking three deep breaths to center himself as the Shaman, Blair stepped into the spirit plain, pulling Gibbs with him.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Gibbs blinked twice as he realized he was now standing at parade rest in the middle of parade ground at Parris Island. He was dressed in his dress blue alphas with all his medals proudly displayed. The sight before him took Gibbs' breath away; his cock hardening involuntarily as he looked over Blair Sandburg. Damn, no wonder Ellison had been putting out the hands-off vibes.
The Blair that stood in front of Gibbs was not the young man who had knelt before him in the conference room. This Blair was power; the trappings of civilization gone to be replaced by the trappings of the Shaman. Blair was draped in a cloak of supplest of caribou hide; the open front of the cloak allowed Gibbs to see to that Blair's youthful, naked, body was daubed with charcoal, and cinnabar-derived red paint. The same stylized wolf was drawn on both the body and cloak. In his right hand Blair held a USMC NCO Sword, point down. In his left, a Marine M-40A1 Sniper Rifle.
Blair knelt down on his right knee; the sword held in his right hand, its point just touching the earth. Carefully, Blair laid the rifle down so that when he stood again it lay at his feet, butt to the left, barrel pointed right. Without lifting the blade from the earth Blair turned, describing a perfect circle in the dirt. When the circle was closed, Blair shifted his grip on the hilt; the one-handed grip became two, with the blade face down.
Arms straight, Blair lifted the blade until it was pointed straight at Gibbs' face.
Gibbs stood frozen, unable to move, held in place not by fear but by trust. Why he trusted the man in front of him when trusting unconditionally was almost anathema to him was a puzzle Gibbs intended to figure out; later. For the moment Gibbs accepted that Blair would, and could, do no harm to him in this place. Here, wherever they where was the holiest of Holy grounds and while Gibbs might only appear to pay lip service to the organized religions of the world, he had faith in a higher purpose.
Blair took the trust offered and added it to the ball of power he was generating around the hilt of the sword. "You are hurt, not just in body but in heart as well, Leroy Jethro Gibbs," Blair's voice resonated across the parade ground. "The hurts of your body are easily fixed." Blair moved the blade down until the point rested against the fourth rib on Gibbs right hand side; the rib was cracked and threatening to pierce the lung. "The heart, no so, but we can start, if you are willing." The blade was moved till the point rested above Gibbs' heart; all Blair had to do was lean forward and Gibbs would be dead.
Gibbs nodded his head granting permission aware that deep magic, of the type he'd read to Kelly about in 'The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe' was happening.
The point of the sword was allowed fall in a lazy arc until it was just touching the ground again, this time at the point in the circle immediately between Gibbs and Blair.. The Shaman swayed slowly at first but began to gain momentum as an unseen chorus began to sing the Marines' Hymn; the sword's point, never leaving the ground, began to glow. The glow was the blue of Gibbs' dress blues and as Blair continued to sway the glow flowed up the blade until the whole sword was covered in blue fire. A blood red seam slowly became visible running up the blade; the seam, the same color and width as the blood stripe on the pants of Gibbs' blue alphas. As the first verse drew to a close Blair lifted the sword until his arms were stretched above his head; the point of the blade still pointing earthward.
"You have walls that must be breached before any healing can begin," Blair whispered. As the words 'Our flag’s unfurled to every breeze' were sung by the unseen choir, Blair pulled his arms back behind his head and before swinging the sword, point first, at Gibbs' head.
Gibbs didn't have time to flinch as the point of the blade touched the top of his head, and stopped. The blade may not have pierced him physically but it had shattered something. Gibbs actually felt the walls he kept around his heart break; Kelly, Shannon, his father, his mother, those he'd loved, and loss either through death or abandonment.
Gibbs had never allowed himself to grieve fully for Kelly and Shannon, he'd hunted the bastard down who had taken them from him, then he'd walled his heart up against any further intrusions. He'd taken his hurts out on his father, estranging that relationship, and he'd wedded and bedded carbon copies of Shannon so that he could pretend that all was well. It wasn't and with one sword stroke Blair had taken his defenses down.
Gibbs collapsed to his knees as he screamed his anger, his frustration, and his pain at the uncaring universe.
The universe, in the form of Blair Sandburg who'd lain the sword aside, gathered Gibbs into its arms and held him tight, and protected, while Gibbs finally grieved. The Marines' Hymn continuing to be sung in counter-point to Gibbs' pain.
As the song drew to a close, so too, did Gibbs' eyes. As Gibbs rested, Blair's hands moved in lazy circles over the ex-marine's back, soothing and healing.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Blair, are you done yet?" Tony poked his head into conference room hoping that whatever Blair magic had been up to was finished. Tony was lucky in that he was right about the magic having finished but he wished he'd had a camera with him because he was sure no one would ever believe him otherwise.
Blair hadn't answered Tony's query because both Blair, and Gibbs, were currently asleep. Blair, still kneeling on the floor, had his head resting on Gibbs' lap. Gibbs, tilted slightly sideways against the couch's arm-rest had his hands resting on top of Blair's head; Gibbs' fingers seeming to burrow into the wealth of curls.
"Well, ain't that sweet," Bunka was making his way back to the squad room when he'd noticed Tony poke his head into the conference room. "Looks like the hippy gives quality service."
The hippy in question, currently riding the euphoric high that came from a deep healing, was rudely jolted back into normal space by the waves of hate that was rolling off of Bunka. Blair, his eyes snapping open at the intrusion, stared at Bunka until Bunka began to back slowly away from the door; the hate quickly turning to fear. Blair, still partially connected to the spirit plane, was projecting all that he was and that was something the narrow-minded detective couldn't handle.
Tony, in the meantime, was fascinated. Somehow Blair had scared the pants off of his senior partner -- and Tony was man enough to admit he was glad Blair wasn't looking at him at the moment -- without disturbing Gibbs, who slept through the entire confrontation. "If Bunka's going to be a problem I'll have a word with the captain," Tony offered.
Easing out from under Gibbs' hold, Blair stood up and rolled his shoulders a couple of times. "Bunka's not going to be a problem. . ."
"He's not?" Ellison asked as he walked into the room carrying a pile of files with him. Jim had overheard enough of Bunka's comments to want to chase the man down and begin educating him in the proper manner to address his Guide, partner and mate. Said education would have been given with great malice and forethought, and twelve months in traction.
"Not for me, he won't," Blair reassured his partner with a smile; a smile that consisted of much baring of teeth, somewhat like an angry wolf. "I'm more worried about what he's likely to do to you, Tony. That man isn't just a 'phobe, he has some real hate going on. I think we are all going to be better served if we take Gibbs up on his unspoken offer of working this case out of NCIS."
Jim and Tony both rolled their eyes the unspoken offer comment. Neither however contradicted Blair.
"So, when's the Gunny going to wake up?"
"Sooner than I'd like, thanks to Detective Bunka," Blair wasn't a happy individual. He'd have liked a little more time to recuperate as well. "Still, he will be a little while yet, he has visitors."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Well, Gunny, at least you taste has improved somewhat," Shannon Gibbs laughed as she walked up to her husband. She rather enjoyed the pole-axed look on the normally unflappable Gibbs.
"Yes Daddy, Tony's a lot nicer than Diane. I didn't like her at all," Kelly piped up from where she was standing behind her mother.
Gibbs blinked, twice. One moment he was on his knees being held in the protective embrace of Blair Sandburg the next he was sitting on the front porch of his house, still dressed in his dress blue alphas.
"You always did look good in full uniform, Jethro," Shannon commented as she sat down beside him, a more than mildly salacious grin on her face particularly for someone who'd been gone nearly ten years.
Apparently something of Gibbs' thoughts must have shown on his face as Shannon leaned forward to brush her lips against his. "That's where you were wrong, Jethro," she murmured into the kiss. "We were dead, not gone. You walled us out of your heart just as much as you walled the rest of the world out. If Blair hadn't cut through that wall, we'd still not be able to talk to you."
"We miss you, Daddy," Kelly whispered though she didn't look too impressed with her parents; her facial expression was the classic ewwww they're kissing face of children the world over.
"I miss you too, pumpkin, everyday."
"But you don't have to, Daddy," Kelly spoke with the assurance of a child who believed the world would order itself to its needs. "We are in your heart, Daddy, always. Aren't we, Mommy?"
"Yes sweetheart, and if your father would stop being such a stubborn ass about it, he'd know it too." The look Shannon gave Gibbs said it all, he'd better stop being a martyr or she was going to let her red-haired temper have its way.
Gibbs, who'd never cowered before enemy fire, wisely decided that he could give up the stubborn routine; at least for this purpose, for everything else all bets were still off.
"I wouldn't have it any other way, Jethro," Shannon apparently continued to be able to read his mind. "Now as for that nice boy, Tony, he's going to need looking after, Jethro. He'll be hurt badly, possibly irretrievably, if he stays here."
"He's already been hurt bad enough, Daddy." Kelly piped up.
"So, what do you want me to do about it?" Shannon had had a thing for puppies, kittens and lost birds, if Gibbs hadn't occasionally put his foot down they'd have been overrun with rescue projects. Death, it seemed, hadn't changed Shannon all that much.
"He needs someone to love him, Jethro," Shannon wasn't backing down from this discussion. "I saw the looks you were giving him, and Kelly and I approve."
"Kells," Gibbs, a sideways glance at his ghostly daughter, "do you know what you are approving off?"
"Daaaad, I'm dead, not stupid. Mommy told me that love is love is love, and that a man can love a man in the same way that he loves a woman. Anyway, he's nice. I think he'd be able to see me and I'd like someone to talk to occasionally."
Gibbs looked at the two most important females in his life and realized that not only were they were ganging up on him but that he would also lose. It looked like Blair had really shaken things loose when he'd set about breaching the defenses around Leroy Jethro Gibbs' heart.
"Remember to thank Blair for us, won't you dear." Shannon smiled. Gibbs wasn't sure if it was this place or just the magic that was Shannon; either way he was still transparent to her.
Accepting the inevitable, Gibbs gathered both females into a tight embrace. Tears of joy, sorrow, and relief were streaming down all three faces. "Missed you, missed you so much."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
TBC. . .
Chapter One. / Chapter Two. / Chapter Three / Chapter Four