Pain Shared by Rainne
Title: Pain Shared
Characters: Gibbs, Tony, Ziva, McGee
Prompt: 072 Spiteful
Word Count: 1008
Rating: Child-friendly
Summary: They come every year on the same date.
Author's Notes: Set at a random point in season four.
---
To forgive is an act of compassion, Buffy. It’s not done because people deserve it; it’s done because they need it.
-Rupert Giles, “Buffy the Vampire Slayer”
The box was sitting on his desk when he arrived in the office that morning, as he had fully expected. The first few years, it had drawn from him tears, recriminations and hatred. These days, the most he could work up to was an exasperated sigh. He didn’t even ask himself any more if he would ever be free; he knew the answer.
The only question in Gibbs’s mind was, what would his little gift be this year? It could be anything, really. In the past, the contents of the box he received on this date had ranged anywhere from a crystal-framed photograph to a lock of strawberry-blonde hair to a battered and well-loved soft baby’s plush toy.
Gibbs sat down behind his desk, popped his knife open and sliced at the tape holding the package closed. He reached in, peripherally aware of the curious eyes of his team, and pulled out a large, slightly heavy object packed in bubble wrap. Peeling the protective covering off the article, he was surprised to find that it was a music box.
He turned the key once and the box tinkled out a few slow bars of Brahms’s Lullaby before falling silent again. He glanced into the box and pulled out a slip of paper with a few words scribbled on it, sighed again, crumpled the paper and tossed it into the wastebasket. The box and the bubble wrap followed. The music box, a frothy white confection topped by a ballet dancer poised en pointe and costumed in green tulle, stayed. He put it by his telephone and studied it for a few minutes before Tony’s curiosity finally got the better of his sense of self-preservation.
“Hey, Boss?”
Gibbs looked up. “Yeah?”
Tony’s eyes dropped to the figurine and then raised back to Gibbs’s eyes. “It’s none of my business, but…?”
Gibbs debated with himself for a moment, then finally decided to answer Tony’s question. Ziva and Tim clearly wanted to know as well, so he gave a mental shrug and leaned forward in his chair, picking the music box up and running gentle, work-roughened hands over it. “It was Shannon’s,” he said finally. “My first wife’s.”
“Somebody’s sending you stuff that belonged to your first wife?” Tony asked, clearly confused.
Gibbs nodded. “Her mother.”
The three junior agents exchanged a glance, and Ziva spoke up. “Why would her mother send you things that belonged to her?”
“Today is the anniversary of their death,” Gibbs explained quietly, trying not to choke up but knowing that his emotions must be obvious in his voice and expression anyway. “She sends me something every year. Sometimes it’s something of Shannon’s; sometimes it’s something of Kelly’s. She seems to have it in her head that I’m going to forget about them, so she sends me these things to remind me.”
“Why would she think you were going to forget?” Tim asked, soft disbelief coloring his tone.
“She blames me for their deaths,” Gibbs said shortly. “Made a big scene at the funeral, told me it was my fault. Swore she’d never let me forget it was my fault. For not being there to protect them. Said she’d never forgive me. So every year I get a box to remind me.”
Three swift intakes of breath surrounded him. He held up a hand to stave off the volley of sympathy and empathy that he knew was coming. “After this long, I’m used to it,” he told them. “And I know it wasn’t my fault. Doesn’t stop her from being… bitter.”
He stood and headed for the elevator. “I’m going for coffee,” he announced. The conversation was over. He made his exit, leaving his team behind, all staring at the music box. Finally, Ziva went to the garbage can and retrieved the crumpled note. She smoothed it out and read it aloud.
“She wanted to be a ballet dancer when she was a little girl. She tore a ligament in seventh grade, which put an end to her dreams. Kelly wanted to be a ballet dancer, too, but your failure put an end to her dreams, too.”
She crumpled the little paper up and tossed it back in the trash can before returning to her desk. “The woman must be insane.”
“It’s the only thing I can think of,” Tim agreed quietly. “She’s never forgiven him. Wonder if he’s ever forgiven her.”
Tony shook his head sadly, studying the little figurine. “It’s a shame, really,” he said softly. “They could have helped each other get through it.”
“Pain shared is pain halved,” Ziva agreed, resting her chin on her fist. “My mother often said that when I was small. It is the logic behind the Jewish mourning traditions.”
“My mom said that, too,” Tim agreed, “when my grandfather died.”
Tony shrugged. “It’s good advice. The DiNozzos don’t do grief, though. Suck it up, and don’t let anything bother you.” He sighed. “That’s what my dad said when my mom died. Suck it up. Tears are a sign of weakness.” He shook his head. “We’d better be working when the boss gets back.”
Around eight that night, Tony looked up from his computer. Ziva and Tim were long gone; only he and Gibbs remained in the bullpen. He stretched, hearing his back crack, and stood. “Hey, Boss, you think you’re about ready to get out of here?”
Gibbs glanced at the clock and sighed. “Guess I ought to go home. Don’t have any more clean shirts in the drawer.”
Tony gave a half laugh as he switched his desk lamp off. “Wanna go get a beer?”
Gibbs studied his second for a long moment, then shrugged slightly and switched his own lamp off. “Sure,” he said finally. “What the hell.”
As they exited the building into the balmy spring night, Tony looked over at his boss. “I ever tell you about my mom?” he asked casually.
“No, DiNozzo,” Gibbs replied, pulling his keys out of his pocket, “I don’t think you have.” He gestured at his truck. “Ride with me.”
Tony climbed into the passenger seat. “My mom,” he began, “was seriously twisted.”
--end--
Characters: Gibbs, Tony, Ziva, McGee
Prompt: 072 Spiteful
Word Count: 1008
Rating: Child-friendly
Summary: They come every year on the same date.
Author's Notes: Set at a random point in season four.
---
To forgive is an act of compassion, Buffy. It’s not done because people deserve it; it’s done because they need it.
-Rupert Giles, “Buffy the Vampire Slayer”
The box was sitting on his desk when he arrived in the office that morning, as he had fully expected. The first few years, it had drawn from him tears, recriminations and hatred. These days, the most he could work up to was an exasperated sigh. He didn’t even ask himself any more if he would ever be free; he knew the answer.
The only question in Gibbs’s mind was, what would his little gift be this year? It could be anything, really. In the past, the contents of the box he received on this date had ranged anywhere from a crystal-framed photograph to a lock of strawberry-blonde hair to a battered and well-loved soft baby’s plush toy.
Gibbs sat down behind his desk, popped his knife open and sliced at the tape holding the package closed. He reached in, peripherally aware of the curious eyes of his team, and pulled out a large, slightly heavy object packed in bubble wrap. Peeling the protective covering off the article, he was surprised to find that it was a music box.
He turned the key once and the box tinkled out a few slow bars of Brahms’s Lullaby before falling silent again. He glanced into the box and pulled out a slip of paper with a few words scribbled on it, sighed again, crumpled the paper and tossed it into the wastebasket. The box and the bubble wrap followed. The music box, a frothy white confection topped by a ballet dancer poised en pointe and costumed in green tulle, stayed. He put it by his telephone and studied it for a few minutes before Tony’s curiosity finally got the better of his sense of self-preservation.
“Hey, Boss?”
Gibbs looked up. “Yeah?”
Tony’s eyes dropped to the figurine and then raised back to Gibbs’s eyes. “It’s none of my business, but…?”
Gibbs debated with himself for a moment, then finally decided to answer Tony’s question. Ziva and Tim clearly wanted to know as well, so he gave a mental shrug and leaned forward in his chair, picking the music box up and running gentle, work-roughened hands over it. “It was Shannon’s,” he said finally. “My first wife’s.”
“Somebody’s sending you stuff that belonged to your first wife?” Tony asked, clearly confused.
Gibbs nodded. “Her mother.”
The three junior agents exchanged a glance, and Ziva spoke up. “Why would her mother send you things that belonged to her?”
“Today is the anniversary of their death,” Gibbs explained quietly, trying not to choke up but knowing that his emotions must be obvious in his voice and expression anyway. “She sends me something every year. Sometimes it’s something of Shannon’s; sometimes it’s something of Kelly’s. She seems to have it in her head that I’m going to forget about them, so she sends me these things to remind me.”
“Why would she think you were going to forget?” Tim asked, soft disbelief coloring his tone.
“She blames me for their deaths,” Gibbs said shortly. “Made a big scene at the funeral, told me it was my fault. Swore she’d never let me forget it was my fault. For not being there to protect them. Said she’d never forgive me. So every year I get a box to remind me.”
Three swift intakes of breath surrounded him. He held up a hand to stave off the volley of sympathy and empathy that he knew was coming. “After this long, I’m used to it,” he told them. “And I know it wasn’t my fault. Doesn’t stop her from being… bitter.”
He stood and headed for the elevator. “I’m going for coffee,” he announced. The conversation was over. He made his exit, leaving his team behind, all staring at the music box. Finally, Ziva went to the garbage can and retrieved the crumpled note. She smoothed it out and read it aloud.
“She wanted to be a ballet dancer when she was a little girl. She tore a ligament in seventh grade, which put an end to her dreams. Kelly wanted to be a ballet dancer, too, but your failure put an end to her dreams, too.”
She crumpled the little paper up and tossed it back in the trash can before returning to her desk. “The woman must be insane.”
“It’s the only thing I can think of,” Tim agreed quietly. “She’s never forgiven him. Wonder if he’s ever forgiven her.”
Tony shook his head sadly, studying the little figurine. “It’s a shame, really,” he said softly. “They could have helped each other get through it.”
“Pain shared is pain halved,” Ziva agreed, resting her chin on her fist. “My mother often said that when I was small. It is the logic behind the Jewish mourning traditions.”
“My mom said that, too,” Tim agreed, “when my grandfather died.”
Tony shrugged. “It’s good advice. The DiNozzos don’t do grief, though. Suck it up, and don’t let anything bother you.” He sighed. “That’s what my dad said when my mom died. Suck it up. Tears are a sign of weakness.” He shook his head. “We’d better be working when the boss gets back.”
Around eight that night, Tony looked up from his computer. Ziva and Tim were long gone; only he and Gibbs remained in the bullpen. He stretched, hearing his back crack, and stood. “Hey, Boss, you think you’re about ready to get out of here?”
Gibbs glanced at the clock and sighed. “Guess I ought to go home. Don’t have any more clean shirts in the drawer.”
Tony gave a half laugh as he switched his desk lamp off. “Wanna go get a beer?”
Gibbs studied his second for a long moment, then shrugged slightly and switched his own lamp off. “Sure,” he said finally. “What the hell.”
As they exited the building into the balmy spring night, Tony looked over at his boss. “I ever tell you about my mom?” he asked casually.
“No, DiNozzo,” Gibbs replied, pulling his keys out of his pocket, “I don’t think you have.” He gestured at his truck. “Ride with me.”
Tony climbed into the passenger seat. “My mom,” he began, “was seriously twisted.”
--end--