Actions

Work Header

Family First

Summary:

A different send-off for Tony DiNozzo (sans the canon bombshells) that focuses on his many years as a competent agent, his dedication to NCIS and, most importantly, his friendship with Gibbs. Contains spoilers for 13x24 Family First. No slash, no ships.

Notes:

A/N 2024: I wrote this fic back in 2016 on FFN after Family First originally aired and eight years later, have determined it has good enough bones to port over to ao3. It’s pretty much been scrapped for parts at this point, but the general arc is still there.
Hope you all enjoy!

A/N 2016 abbrev.: I am very happy for the Tiva fans who saw their ship become canon but I wanted a goodbye for Michael Weatherly that focused more on who Tony DiNozzo was as an agent, his years at and dedication to NCIS, and his friendships with Gibbs and the rest of the team. So, if I were Gary Glasberg, here's how MW's exit would have gone.

Let's set the scene: Ziva didn't die and Tali doesn't exist. No more bodies were found in the farmhouse and Kort was still killed, though in a less mobster and overdone style.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Friday night found Gibbs in his basement, dressed casually in an oversized NIS T-shirt and sweats, and sanding the new seam between the boards of the hull he’d just nailed in.

He heard footsteps in the kitchen above him but kept working without alarm, having already identified his visitor from their gait.

Sure enough, he heard Tony call out, “Hey boss,” a few seconds later.

“DiNozzo,” Gibbs greeted without looking up from his boat. He blew the wood shavings away then brushed his fingers over the juncture again, pleased to find the seam now almost imperceptible.

There was no response from Tony other than a long, almost heavy exhale, which had Gibbs exchanging his sandpaper for a bottle of bourbon from a nearby workbench. By the time Tony had reached the basement level, Gibbs had upended two jars, poured heavy, and held one out to Tony, who hastily accepted and threw the whole thing back in one gulp.

“I need to talk to you about something,” he said, thumping the jar down on the workbench.

“You're leaving.”

Tony looked up, his expression flashing to one of genuine shock, before he nodded. “I would have gone with resigning but yeah. Effective immediately, if that's alright.”

Gibbs fell silent, knowing his choice here was going to dictate the relationship he had with Tony for the rest of his life. Sure, he wanted Tony to stay—he depended on Tony, more than anyone else on the team, and would be sorry to see him go—but not enough to order him to stay. The cost—the zombie Tony had become over the last few cases and around the office, physically there but mentally gone—wasn’t worth his continued presence.

That dissonance was evident in Tony’s reaction to Gibbs’ statement. A few years ago, they had been so in sync that his SFA wouldn't have even been fazed by Gibbs being able to read him so well. It was easy to attribute the fallout to Gibbs' most recent injury, Tony's father moving to the city, the new (mostly serious) women in his life, but they both knew it was more than that. They hadn't had the same camaraderie, the same bond, for years now. Gone were the days of the silent conversations, Tony intuitively predicting Gibbs' next words, the time spent together out of the office. It hadn't been conscious really, just something that happened as a function of time and longer hours in the office, so slow it'd hardly been noticeable, always a “we'll get it later” type of decision. It actually wasn't until right then that Gibbs realized just how long it had been since he'd seen Tony in his basement, or anywhere outside of work.

Gibbs wasn't much for sentimentality but at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to roll back the clock and make time for their cookouts, movie nights, or camping trips, denying Vance's request for them for them to be on-call for the third straight weekend.

But it was too late now, and as much as Gibbs didn't want to see his best agent go, he could tell by the almost relieved set to Tony's posture that his resignation was a huge weight off his shoulders.

“We're in between cases at the moment and it just…” Tony looked hard at the ceiling, as if it were going to provide him the words he wanted, “...it just seems like a good time.”

Gibbs drained the rest of his drink then refilled both their jars, tapping his against Tony’s. “As good a time as any. Team won’t be the same without ya though.”

Tony smiled wryly. “You’ll manage. You always do.” He drummed his fingers against his jar for a moment before speaking up again, “Should have known you'd already know though. Would have saved those ten minutes I spent outside your door practicing what I was gonna say.”

“Which was?”

“Didn't quite figure it out,” Tony admitted, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards. Then he put down his glass and sat on the staircase, resting his elbows on his knees and burying his head in his hands. Gibbs carefully made his way through the spare lumber to lower himself down next to Tony, not close enough that they were touching but close enough for the emotional support Tony was so clearly seeking.

“We’ve never been good at the heart-to-hearts,” Tony commented as soon as Gibbs was seated, his words muffled through his hands.

“No. But we managed.”

Tony huffed out what sounded like a laugh, while Gibbs sipped at his drink, letting Tony decide if he was going to elaborate on the original question or not. He only had to wait about a minute before Tony muttered something indecipherable under his breath then turned so he could look directly at Gibbs.

“I'm stuck,” he declared. “I've been at this job for fifteen years—longer than I've been anywhere in my entire life. Even as a kid we were always seeing this person here, visiting that relative there.” He paused to take a deep breath, then continued, his words picking up speed. “I'm way past my prime, I still haven't found someone to spend the rest of my life with, and I have almost no attachment to this world other than my apartment and you guys at work. My evil lookalikes were right: I'm boring, I'm predictable and I have no life outside the job.”

Tony looked up, panicked. “Don't get me wrong, boss, I've loved my time at NCIS and appreciate everything you taught me, but there's always going to be another big bad for us to chase, another day I spend more time at the office than at my own place. I'm just not sure if that's what I want to do for the rest of my life.”

He shrugged, trying and failing to act nonchalant about the whole thing. “It's just... it’s not the same as it used to be,” he finished, looking down so he could stare intently at the stairs.

Gibbs nodded in understanding. NCIS had changed a lot over the last two decades in order to keep up with a new breed of threats. This shift had led to the hiring of a new class of agent, who relied more heavily on technology than he or Tony did. They had adapted, Tony more so than him, but Gibbs couldn’t deny he too was starting to feel like an outsider amongst the McGees and Bishops of the agency.

Whether that was what Tony meant or not, Gibbs wasn't entirely sure, but he would wager that it was playing at least a small part of his SFA’s decision to leave.

Gibbs took another swallow of his bourbon then asked, “Where are you going?”

“Don’t laugh at me, boss, but…” Tony pulled in a long breath and scratched at the faded denim on the knee of his jeans. “I’m gonna go see about a girl. See if it’s really meant to be.”

“Good for you, Tony,” Gibbs said, tilting his mason jar at his SFA in a sort of cheers.

Tony stared at him in confusion. “You don’t think it’s crazy, after all your… well, experience?”

“You deserve to be happy.”

One corner of Tony’s mouth pulled over to the side. “Thanks, boss.”

There was a small beat of silence, only interrupted by the air conditioning creaking on.

“And after that?” Gibbs then prompted.

“Well, maybe by that time, the Paris office will be reopened and looking for a new lead agent.” Tony shot Gibbs a sidelong, almost sheepish glance, the uncertainty from fifteen years ago coloring his face. Some would have called it needy and juvenile, and passed him over, but the more time Gibbs had spent with Tony, the more he understood the constant reassurance helped Tony understand that he belonged and that the folks would have his back if things went FUBAR.

If Tony had been expecting anything less than that tonight, their relationship had spiraled further than Gibbs had thought.

He reached over and clapped Tony on the shoulder, leaving his hand there and squeezing tight. “They’d be lucky to have you, Tony. If you need a reference—”

Tony frowned over at him. “You don’t write letters of recommendation.”

“I would for you.”

Tony matched his stare for a long moment, lips pursing as the corner of his mouth pulled the other way, before clearing his throat and nodding. “Thanks, boss.”

Smiling warmly, Gibbs clapped Tony’s shoulder one more time then pulled himself to his feet. “With me, DiNozzo!” he shouted over his shoulder as he headed up the stairs, and, as always, heard Tony scramble to his feet behind him.

“Where are we going, boss?”

“Not your boss anymore.”

Gibbs couldn't make himself look over his shoulder to see Tony's reaction and instead focused on not falling on the stairs.

Back in the kitchen, he opened the fridge and pulled out the two ribeyes he'd purchased this weekend on a whim.

“How long have you known?” Tony demanded once he’d entered the kitchen and spotted the steaks. “I literally just decided last night.”

“Savin’ them for a rainy day,” Gibbs lied, his gaze daring Tony to argue.

He could tell his agent was far from convinced, but eventually Tony nodded.

“So ya hungry?” Gibbs asked, shaking the package in Tony's direction.

“For your steaks? Al-ways.”

While Gibbs grabbed a lighter from the counter, Tony yanked open the fridge door again and pulled out two ice cold Dominions, popping off the caps by leveraging them against each other. He handed one over as Gibbs headed into the living room to start the fire.

“How old's this pasta in here?” Tony called a moment later, while Gibbs was stacking the new logs.

“Last time Fornell was here.”

“So, dead.” From the subsequent swish, Gibbs knew Tony had shot the takeout container effortlessly into his trash bin without it even touching the rim. Damn, he was going to miss that too.

Just as Gibbs had started the fire and lowered the grate, Tony poked his head out of the kitchen, holding a packaged bag of lettuce at arm’s length, like it was going to explode.

“Since when do you have stuff for salad?”

“Doc said it's good for me.”

Tony stared at it unhappily, frowned, then shrugged. “Salad for a side it is then, I guess.”

By the time the steaks were sizzling, Tony had set the coffee table with a bowlful of salad, a bottle of dressing, plates and utensils, before plopping down next to Gibbs.

“We are going to miss you, Tony,” Gibbs commented offhandedly as he poked the burning logs, sending embers into the air.

Tony looked up in surprise. “I'm going to miss you all too,” he said after a moment. “But you'll be fine without me. McGee… well, our Probie has grown quite a bit the last twelve years, and Bishop… one day she’s gonna be really great.” Tony trailed off with a nod and a shrug. “You could do a lot worse than both of them.”

Gibbs made a grunt of acknowledgement then leaned forward to flip the steaks with the blade of his knife.

“You know I'm always here for you,” he said after a beat, purposefully keeping his eyes focused on the steaks. “Whatever you need. You call, I'll be there.”

“Thanks bo—Gibbs,” Tony replied quietly. “I really do appreciate that.”

“I mean it,” Gibbs added, now looking over his shoulder to emphasize his point, in case the original intention wasn't clear. “Number won't ever change.”

Tony snorted out a laugh. “That's for sure. You can make it the third certainty in life: death, taxes and Leroy Jethro Gibbs' phone number.”

The smile on Tony’s face was so genuine, it struck Gibbs just how long it had been since he'd last seen it there.

“You want to watch a movie?” he asked, hoping to prolong that look for as long as possible. “I think I have that Space Wars VHS somewhere.”

Tony stared blankly at him. For about a second. “You have a Star Wars VHS?” he said in disbelief.

“Fornell brought it over last time he moved. It bad?”

Tony shook his head. “No, I’m just surprised. You know it’s not a western, right?”

“From what I’ve heard, it’s pretty much a space western.”

Tony considered that for a moment, then conceded the point with a shrug. “Okay, so where would it be?”

Gibbs pointed to the cabinet beside the TV with his knife, noting that, as Tony set off, all of the unease that had lingered since they walked into the living room had evaporated. Now completely in his element, Tony began to chatter about how there were six movies—well seven now—but most people only recognized the four or five of them, how Lucas had gone back and edited the originals and what an uproar that had caused, and… well, if Gibbs was being honest, he tuned Tony out slightly after the third “I can’t believe you own Star Wars,” to focus on making sure the steaks were cooked to a perfect medium. Didn’t mean he didn’t appreciate the background noise, well aware it was potentially the last time he’d hear Tony be this excited about anything for the near future.

Said excitement was only briefly dampened when Tony discovered the casing of Star Wars in one corner of the cabinet and its corresponding tape in the other. After wishing it a fond farewell and dropping it reverently into the trash can, he located a working tape of Air Force One, holding it up to Gibbs who nodded his agreement.

Gibbs then plated up the steaks, extinguished some of the fire and sat back on the couch, opening a second beer for each of them while Tony hooked up the VHS player. As the credits began to roll, he held out his bottle to Tony, who tapped the necks together. The clink echoed from many dinners past, though, if Gibbs was being honest, he couldn’t remember the last time just Tony had been over for a reason that hadn’t ended with them at each other’s throats. The team had spent the night during the power outage, but just Tony? Had to be over a year at this point, since before his injury.

No wonder Tony was eager to leave.

When the movie was over two hours later, Tony didn't immediately get up, instead fiddling rather uncharacteristically with his plate. Gibbs took the initiative, standing up and motioning for Tony to do the same.

Tony did, somewhat hesitantly, causing Gibbs to roll his eyes in his former SFA’s direction. Then he channeled his inner Abby and pulled Tony into the best hug he could manage, feeling Tony relax into it after a surprised pause. In lieu of one final head slap, Gibbs lifted his right hand and rubbed the back of Tony's head, using the position to pull his friend into a tighter embrace.

“You take care of yourself, you hear?” Gibbs instructed, voice thick, as they pulled apart. “Find someone to watch your six out there.”

“I will, boss,” Tony replied, his smile a touch sadder than it had been two hours ago. This time, Gibbs didn't bother to correct him.

It was hard watching his best agent walk out his front door but Gibbs knew both he and the team would get through it. There was no replacing Tony, no matter how qualified the next hire was—Tony’s shadow was long, his shoes large—but the dynamic would shift as it did when they hired Bishop and Kate and Ziva, when McGee had come on full-time, and it would eventually settle into its new but different equilibrium.

It would be weird though, to look across the bullpen and not see Tony there, typing out reports, running down leads, playing Tetris on his phone or that game on his computer while his brain put disparate pieces of evidence together and spat out the most unusual—and usually correct—theories.

Many coworkers had come and gone over the years, some Gibbs liked, others he was happy to escort to their vehicles on their final day, but this one—Tony’s departure—it was going to hurt.

“Let us know when you get settled,” Gibbs called as Tony climbed into his replacement Mustang, the one Gibbs had talked Vance into helping cover when the original had been bombed by Kort eight years ago.

“Sure thing, boss,” Tony shouted back, putting the car in gear and peeling out of the driveway in the exact fashion Gibbs' neighbors hated. Like a scene from one of his movies, Tony stuck his hand out the window, waving all the way down the block until he turned the corner out of sight.

Gibbs waited until Tony was gone before letting the grin drop off his face, his expression now matching his heart, heavy as lead.

As much as they were going to miss him, the team was going to have to be okay with this, for Tony's sake. Gibbs didn't think a single one of them realized how much Tony had changed, and wouldn't until they saw how he'd acted the past few hours; the spark that so defined him—the slight spring in his step, the loose smile, the comfortable and easy conversation—was back. He seemed truly happy with his decision and Gibbs knew none of the team was cruel enough to begrudge him that.

Tony DiNozzo was off to bigger and better things and, of that, Gibbs couldn't have been more proud.

Notes:

In my original, Tony goes after Ziva, but that still had the fic being too much about someone else and not enough about him. So now, on the redo, Tony can go after whoever you want him to go after (if you want him to go after anyone), the only caveat being if it’s Jeanne, she is divorced or never married her husband from Saviors—season thirteen Tony is no homewrecker.

Thanks for reading! I'd love to know what you thought!

Series this work belongs to: