Chapter 5

Now that Tony had been assured the director sided with Gibbs on enforcing consequences for Ziva's actions today, the sense of uncertainty over how the situation would unfold was gone. He no longer had the distractions of determining how the bomber escaped detection, convincing Gibbs to open his eyes, and the activity around closing the case. His anger over Paula's death was spent for the moment, replaced by the looming grief he'd been managing to hold at bay.

Tony didn't know what to do next, but he couldn't just sit idle. He needed to move, get out of the apartment. Tony decided to go for a drive to clear his head. He unwrapped his bound wrist and set out in the Mustang, winding his way out of the city and onto sparsely traveled rural Virginia roads.

Tony drove on autopilot, almost mindlessly, until his sharp sense of smell caught a whiff of soot and smoke. He grimaced on realizing he'd never thought to change out of the suit he'd been wearing that morning. His mind turned to Paula's last 24 hours, that reprieve stolen from the hands of fate for such a brief time. Looking back on all her fatalistic comments and how they seemed to foreshadow what was to come, maybe her time was never meant to end any differently.

He'd never been a big believer in the idea, though recent events seemed to suggest the possibility of predestination. In retrospect, Paula's life in the last two days had been held in limbo, starting with the duty swap arrangement Tony never knew even happened until later, continuing beyond the deaths of the men on her team, and ending with her own today.

Gibbs never specifically elaborated on the duty weekend switch that had Tony tied in knots until he'd caught Gibbs alone by the elevator outside Abby's lab and questioned him about it straight out.

"Hey, uh, boss? I've got a question for you," he'd begun awkwardly. "That thing you said yesterday. We were really supposed to have the weekend duty Cassidy's team took?" Gibbs had just stared ahead, his clipped answer implying he'd rather be talking about anything else.

"Yep."

"How did we get out of that?" Tony asked, as the elevator chimed, and the door opened. "I asked."

Tony's stomach flipped as the confirmation, and its' implication hit home.

"So that really could have been us." It should have been…why is Gibbs acting like he doesn't see the problem? "It could have been us every single damn day of the week. Sometimes it has been," Gibbs pointed out almost irritably as he'd stepped into the elevator. "You wanna worry about something, worry about tomorrow."

Tony had just stared as the doors closed. Gibbs saw the problem, alright. He just wasn't willing to tie himself in knots over the decision that he couldn't have known would save his own team, and inadvertently condemn Paula's. Gibbs' reply might have sounded cold and indifferent if you didn't know the man. Tony did, and in his pragmatic way, Gibbs was telling him it was pointless to feel responsibility for something that couldn't be altered, much less have been predicted.

A guilt-ridden Paula had essentially told Tony the same thing when he revealed to her it should have been his own team on duty that fateful day. Snatches from some of those final conversations with her came back to him, and they had new significance after what happened today.

"I could have saved them."

"Paula, that's not true," Tony reminded her gently. "If you'd been there with them, you would have been killed too."

Paula shook her head emphatically. "I could have turned down the weekend duty. There's just no way we should have had it two weeks in a row."

"It was supposed to be us," Tony admitted softly.

Paula's brow wrinkled in confusion. "Us what?" Tony took deep breath and struggled to swallow his own guilt. She deserved to know. "It was our team that was supposed to take it."

"Mmm," Paula sighed, then dismissed the revelation. "I mean, it doesn't matter. Nothing does. I'm not questioning why it wasn't you and your team, Tony. I'm questioning why I wasn't with mine when it happened."

Recalling her response to his admission had Tony thinking about the nature of reprieves and second chances. The chain of events starting with that duty swap had given them all a reprieve, in more ways than one. Paula had been given a respite, thanks to being just outside the building when the explosion that killed her team occurred.

Ziva had been given a path to redeem herself and earn back a place on the MCRT. If FLETC helped her get a handle on her overconfidence, superior attitude, and tendency to default back to her Mossad training, all the better. Those traits might make her a better than average spy, but they didn't translate to investigative techniques or law enforcement practices in general. They made her a liability in the field, as had been proven today. Theoretically, they should be able to function better as a unit going forward.

The success of Gibbs' plan remained to be seen as far as Tony was concerned. He only wished it hadn't been Paula's death that was the catalyst for those changes. Even so, Gibbs had been right about both bombings. Someone was going to die at both places in time and nothing would have changed it. The first time, Paula survived by chance and blamed herself. Unable to overcome her self-imposed survivor's guilt, she'd sought a path to redemption and found it in that pivotal moment today. Tony could imagine her thinking she was fulfilling a debt she owed her team by doing something meaningful with the time she'd been given. She had, and it would be part of her legacy. Now Paula was gone and he was still here.

While there was no doubt NCIS and the law enforcement community would recognize Paula's courageous act in some formal way, Tony felt compelled to honor what Paula had done with a more personal tribute. He wanted to do something that would have had meaning to her, but what could he do to achieve that? What could possibly be enough to show gratitude for the time he'd been given through her final act and sacrifice?

The more he thought about it, the more he realized Paula herself had given him the answer to that question. He recalled the conversation the last time they were alone together for more than a few minutes, without the others' prying eyes and ears anywhere around. Instinct guided him and he turned the car around, heading back to the city as the memory played back in his mind.

Paula had accompanied him back to the scene where her teammates died, and he could see that she'd been struggling to keep her composure. He'd wanted to make it easier on her and offered her an out.

"Paula, you don't have to do this," he told her.

A spark returned to her eyes as her stubborn streak emerged. "We both know that I do," she replied.

Paula tried to deflect and hide her discomfort by tossing out some of their typical banter. "When did you start being so caring?"

He knew a deflection tactic when he saw it and played along. "l have always been caring. I come from a very caring family. The DiNozzo's, in fact, are celebrated for their caringness," he rambled nonsensically, trying to lighten the mood just a little.

Paula blinked and tossed him a skeptical look. "Right," she drawled.

"Maybe I wasn't as caring once, as I am now," he admitted with rueful grin.

And just like that, the conversation had taken a decidedly more personal turn.

"What brought that on?" Paula tilted her head and studied him seriously for a moment. "Or should I say who?"

If you do what you've always done, you'll get what you always got, he thought to himself, the memory of that dinner with Jeanne stabbing painfully at his heart.

"Well, you get older, you change," Tony had answered Paula vaguely, torn between wishing she'd drop the subject, and wanting to confide in his friend. There damn sure wasn't anyone else he could talk to about this. Paula's intuition hadn't been affected by the traumatic event she'd been through.

"What's her name?" Paula had asked with a sly little smile, before wrinkling her nose in distaste. "Please tell me it's not Ziva."

"It's not Ziva."

"Good."

The thought struck suddenly; it was important to him that Paula know he'd grown since they were together, started finding his way around the emotional landmines and commitment issues that contributed to the mutual decision to end their own brief romance. Against his better judgement, he decided to confide in her.

"Her name is Jeanne."

"Do you love her?"

"Yeah…I do, Paula," he answered without hesitation. Paula had first seemed taken aback at his sincerity, then smiled, obviously happy for him. "Wow, you really mean that."

Tony didn't answer, just let a deep sigh escape at the thought of how he'd hurt Jeanne.

Paula frowned. "What's the problem?"

"I can't tell her."

"Why can't you tell her, Tony?"

The look on Paula's face was calling him all kinds of idiot and he couldn't really disagree.

"It's just three simple little words…I love you."

"Whew," he breathed. "It's not so simple." Understatement of the year.

Tony told Paula the story of the climbing wall and the little bet Jeanne had made, her attempt to get him to open up about how he felt. He'd gone along with the game, but when they'd arrived at the top of the wall, suddenly it wasn't a game anymore. Telling her would be a step too far, and he couldn't bring himself to take that step. Not because he didn't love her, but because in that moment, he realized he truly did. He couldn't reconcile how to handle those feelings with the fact that he was lying to her about everything else.

At the climbing wall, Jeanne had misread the conflict on his face, and the reason for it. She'd been badly hurt by his silence and things had gone rapidly downhill from there. None of it was supposed to be real. Jeanne was an assignment that stopped being an assignment before he'd even realized it happened. The real reason why he couldn't tell her, well that was the part he didn't dare to share with Paula, or anyone for that matter.

Paula gave him a disappointed look, and he hated it. He'd been disappointing a lot of people lately.

"And you didn't say it?" she chided.

Tony just gave a small helpless shrug, and Paula spoke again. Her reply was warm, with an echo of the intimacy they'd once shared in her voice, and perhaps a bit of regret mixed in.

"You know, Tony, it's a cliché, but it is true," Paula began. "Life is too short to not to tell someone you love them if you do. And you do."

In the aftermath of her death, Paula's advice resonated even more strongly now than when she'd first offered it. The recollection made him wish he'd told Paula how he felt about her too, how he'd come to appreciate the friendship they'd forged out of the wreckage of their failed romance. Then again, she'd always read him well, so maybe she already knew.

Gibbs' words from this morning came back to him once again.

"The fact is you couldn't have changed what happened in there, Tony…any more than Cassidy could alter what happened before. In her mind, she got a second chance to make a difference this time and nothing was more important to her in that moment.

…All we can do is accept and honor her choice…"

And that resonated too. At the time, and he'd struggled not to resent the well-intentioned words from his mentor. Acceptance was a bitter pill to swallow and the grief over her loss might ease with time, but Tony began to view Gibbs' words differently now. He was right, Paula's fate hadn't been altered, only deferred for a short time. Nothing made a difference for her in the end, but that borrowed time allowed Paula to make all the difference for others through her final act of incredible bravery.

That last private conversation with Paula had given him a direction. It was a gift. While different, it was no less profound in its impact than the decision that saved his life that morning, and the lives of everyone else present. A feeling of certainty overcame him, and he pressed the accelerator. The Mustang leapt forward in response, almost as if the car sensed the renewed purpose in its driver. Tony knew now what he needed to do, a way he could honor what Paula had done.

A short while later, he found himself standing before a familiar apartment door and considering his own reprieve. He could turn back now, figure out a way to salvage his career and extricate himself from Jenny's mess. The hell with her, he thought as he knocked, looking for his own redemption and second chance to make something right. Faint strains of a mournful, sad pop song he couldn't recall the name of drifted out into the hall, becoming more audible as the door opened. Tony sucked in a breath at the beautiful, tear-streaked face. As he stood there trying to find his voice, to say the words he needed to say, he saw hope beginning to build in the blue eyes.

As had happened with Paula earlier, nothing else mattered in this this moment. Only Jeanne and undoing the damage he'd done. Decision made, Tony's mind was at peace and a feeling of warmth grew and spread through him. He'd like to think it was a sign that Paula approved.

"I love you, Jeanne."

~End~

AN: Perhaps this wasn't the ending some readers were expecting or hoping to see. As much as I loved this episode, I felt, as some of you did too, that there were a lot of things that needed addressing. Ziva's awful behavior in this episode being one, and the fact she missed the bomber in her search being another. Gibbs blinders, and really too many more for this one little story.

Ultimately, I wanted this to be about Tony more than anyone else, and exploring what could've led him to that very emotional moment as the episode ended. As for where the story goes from here, while I'm open to continuing it should inspiration come, for now I leave it to your imagination. Many thanks to everyone who followed along, and especially those who shared their thoughts in comments as this story evolved.