This is it, folks. Nothing left but the wrap up. Thank you all for your incredible patience.

One Less - Part 50 of 50

by joykatleen

DiNozzo wheeled the soon-to-be-former naval chaplain out of interrogation. Gibbs took a deep breath and let it out, then shoved his chair back away from the table. He pushed off with his good foot, balancing the chair on its back legs and leaning his head against the glass. He closed his eyes. That was that. It was over. They'd identified everyone involved, and they'd arrested everyone who was still breathing. It was all they could do. But it wasn't enough. Too many lives had been ruined. The priest and his mission should have been stopped years ago. It wasn't the fault of anyone specific; it was an institutional error. Still, it rankled. If only someone had noticed the pattern sooner. If only those who had noticed it had spoken up sooner. If only he hadn't been in Mexico when the Hutchinson case came in.

No. Gibbs stopped that train of thought. There hadn't been enough information available to his team at that point to have made a difference. Even if he'd been here, he wouldn't have caught it. Then he'd really have reason to beat himself up.

The truth of it was that it had taken them less than two weeks to stop a conspiracy that had been going on for years. In the process, no one else got hurt. Present company and dirtbags notwithstanding. And for one homeless vet and one young Marine with a disabled daughter, the outcome had been hope for a better future. They had every reason to be happy with how this had turned out. But somehow, considering the lives that had been ruined, it just wasn't enough.

What a nightmare. What an absolute God-awful nightmare.

There was a tap on the door, and Gibbs opened his eyes. "Enter," he called. The door opened and Goetz poked his head in.

"Okay to come in?" he asked. When Gibbs nodded Goetz did, and took the chair DiNozzo had vacated.

"Is he crazy?" Goetz asked.

"Legally?"

"Actually," Goetz said.

"Probably."

"Will he get off on that?" Goetz asked.

"Not likely," Gibbs said. "If he tries it, the prosecution will argue that he's a priest. Hearing from God and acting accordingly is pretty much his stock in trade."

The two men fell silent, each thinking their own torturous thoughts. Goetz was first to speak. "Before I got hurt, when I first told Thayer I was..."

Gibbs right fist shot up next to his shoulder and Goetz's mouth snapped shut almost audibly. It was a signal any man or woman in the military would instantly recognize as a combination of 'freeze' and 'shut up.' Gibbs raised his index finger, 'wait,' and Goetz nodded.

Using the knuckles on that same hand, Gibbs tapped on the mirror over his shoulder. "Neil. Shut it down and go get some coffee. We're done here." He made a cut motion with his finger. A second later, the light on the camera in the corner winked out. Gibbs waited a minute, then returned his attention to Goetz.

"You were saying?"

"You do that often?" Goetz asked, gesturing toward the mirror and the observation room beyond.

"We don't usually hold private conversations in here."

"I suppose you have a conference room for that," Goetz said.

"An elevator," Gibbs said. When Goetz frowned, Gibbs explained. "Only place in the building other than the head that isn't monitored by security or surveillance cameras."

"I forgot it was on," Goetz admitted.

"I didn't," Gibbs said with a small smile. When Goetz hesitated, Gibbs waved him on. "He's gone. You can talk."

"You sure? Wait, of course you're sure," Goetz said. He was experiencing a strange sense of déjà vu, remembering the last time they'd sat together in this interrogation room. That time, Gibbs had assured him that when he told his team to do something, they did it. Period. At the time, he hadn't really believed Gibbs. Watching the Agent work these last few weeks, Goetz knew Gibbs hadn't been exaggerating.

"When I first told him I was gay, there was a moment, right then, when I knew I'd made a mistake. There was a look on his face, for just a second." Goetz shook his head. "It was like he couldn't control his initial disgust. It was there, then gone. When he spoke, it was like any other sin I'd ever confessed to: He was firm in preaching that what I was doing was wrong, but he was compassionate and understanding about sin and temptation. I convinced myself the revulsion I saw in that split second was just my imagination. I'd been surrounded by it for so long, I just figured I'd reflected my expectations onto him."

Gibbs said nothing. He thought he knew where the Master Chief was going. He also knew it would be better if he let Goetz get there on his own.

"I thought I'd see it from you, too. The last time you had me in here." Goetz gestured at the room.

"You didn't," Gibbs said. That wasn't where he thought Goetz was going. Probably just a detour.

"Your eyes widened for a second, then you just, moved on. Like it was an obstacle to be overcome and nothing more."

"That's all it was."

"I know, now. But at the time I wasn't sure what you were thinking. I'd been working with military men for 12 years at that point, and I'd seen every reaction you could imagine. Yours was different."

Gibbs shrugged, a 'yeah, well,' kind of move.

"Anyway, I saw the look on his face, but it passed so quickly. If I'd paid attention a little more, not fooled myself into seeing what I wanted to see, I might have realized he had a special problem with homosexuality. I might have connected him to the attacks sooner. Maybe ended this thing before Ferrara was killed."

That's where Gibbs thought he was going. He shook his head.

"Nah. What you said before was right," Gibbs said. "No one would have believed a priest could be responsible for this. Exposing it might have ended it one victim sooner, but probably not. And it wouldn't have gotten Thayer. You didn't have enough. The odds that exposing yourself would have stopped this thing in time to save Ferrara were slim. Too slim to take the chance."

"You really believe that?" Goetz asked. "That not telling was the right thing to do?"

Gibbs could see that Goetz really wanted an honest answer, and he took a second to think before carefully choosing his words.

"Set aside for a second what you might or might not have seen on Thayer's face, and how you might have interpreted it knowing only what you knew then. You only knew that someone was beating up gay sailors. If there'd been someone you could have told that to who you knew would do something about it, and you didn't say anything only because you were afraid of exposure, that would have been cowardice, and inexcusable.

"But you didn't know who was in charge of the conspiracy. You had no way of knowing who would and who wouldn't act properly. You had no way of knowing if the person you told might be the person in charge. Then you might as well have signed your own death warrant."

Goetz looked uncertain.

"Look at it this way: You trusted Thayer. He was your confidant and confessor. Again, set aside what you've learned in the meantime. If you'd decided to tell someone, you probably would have told him. Then his 'mission from God' is at risk again. Just like it was with Major Ortiz. And if you'd said something after he knew you were gay, the chances of you coming out of it alive would have somewhat worse than a pigeon at a duck shoot."

The two men fell silent. Goetz was rubbing the knuckles of his left hand with the fingers of his right. Gibbs was staring at nothing. After a minute, Goetz spoke quietly. "I can't get my mind around that. That he would do that. Set the Major up that way."

"If I've learned one thing at this job, it's that no matter how cruel and inhumane you think men can be, you'll always eventually be surprised."

"Did he really murder his CO?"

"Yes."

"Because they were having sex and he felt guilty about it."

"Looks like it."

"That's what this whole thing has been about, isn't it? Thayer's repressed homosexuality."

"Probably," Gibbs agreed.

"People killed, maimed, lives and careers ruined. And for what? Because a few men were afraid to acknowledge there might be another way to love?"

"Fear is a powerful motivator," Gibbs said for want of anything better. When he saw Goetz stare at him, he clarified. "Not that it's an excuse, or even an explanation, for what those bastards were doing."

"How did we get here?" Goetz asked. "There were dozens of men involved in this over the years. Thayer didn't personally corrupt them all. What happened to us that anyone would think doing this is okay?"

Gibbs shook his head. "Above my pay grade, Master Chief."

The ringing of Gibbs' phone interrupted any response Goetz might have made. Gibbs let the legs of his chair fall forward, reaching for it.

It was McGee, and Gibbs could hear him smiling.

"Is Master Chief Goetz still with you?" McGee asked.

"Yes," Gibbs replied.

"There's someone here you both need to meet, Boss," he said.

"Who?" Gibbs asked.

"Uh... Can it be a surprise?" McGee asked. "It's a good surprise," he added quickly. Gibbs rolled his eyes a little. Sometimes he felt like a third grade teacher.

"Be right there," he said. He put the phone away and pulled his chair back to the table. He used the edge of the table to boost himself up onto his good foot.

When he was stable, he looked up and was surprised to see Goetz was next to him with one of the crutches.

"Thanks," Gibbs said and took it. He used the one to hop over to the other.

"Quite the pair, aren't we?" Goetz asked as they left the room. "How much longer you gonna need these?"

"Depends," Gibbs said.

"On what?"

The answer came from behind them. "On whether he can manage to follow the advice of any of his doctors and stop damaging himself."

With a mental groan, Gibbs turned to see Dr. Mallard striding down the hallway toward them. "Hey Ducky, what're you doing here on a Saturday?"

"Delivering some news, Jethro," the doctor said. "How much more damage did you do to it?"

"News?" Gibbs asked, ignoring his question. Ducky shook his head.

"Major Ortiz's remains are scheduled to be interred at the Columbarium at Arlington Monday morning."

"Honor guard?"

"Will be on site at 10 a.m."

"Outstanding," Gibbs said. "You gonna be there?"

"It will be my pleasure to drive you to the ceremony," Ducky said. "And then directly back to your home, where you will stay until someone comes to take you for surgery Tuesday morning. And that is not negotiable."

"Fine," Gibbs said with a sigh.

"Can I come?" Goetz asked. "To the funeral?"

"Sure," Gibbs said. They started moving toward the squadroom again.

"Will anyone else be there?" Goetz asked. Gibbs was about to respond in the negative when Ducky beat him to it.

"I have received RSVPs from two members of his last unit, a doctor and two nurses from the Veterans Administration hospital in San Diego, his former CO Colonel John Hatton, and David and Lara Negrete."

"Who are they?" Gibbs asked. They turned the corner into the squadroom. All three of his team members were present. A middle-aged Asian Indian man with a ring of close-cropped gray hair around an otherwise bald head and a matching neatly trimmed goatee was sitting in the guest chair next to McGee's desk.

"Major Ortiz's youngest sister and her husband." That made both Gibbs and Goetz pause.

"She was only 16 when he died," Ducky explained. "She apparently does not share the rest of the family's callousness toward their lost son."

Gibbs nodded, pleased that the Major's family would be represented. He turned to McGee and with a raise of his eyebrow asked to be introduced to the stranger.

"Special Agent Gibbs, this is Mr. Avari. He owns a pawn shop in Norfolk."

"Mr. Avari," Gibbs said. He braced himself on one crutch and offered a hand. The man stood and shook. "How can I help you?" Gibbs asked. He leaned against the wall divider across the aisle from McGee's desk.

"Actually, Boss, he's here to help us," McGee said. He was still smiling, almost grinning. "He brought this." McGee came out from behind his desk and handed Gibbs an evidence bag. Gibbs peered through the clear plastic. It was a ring. A large man's ring. Gibbs looked back to McGee, who nodded eagerly. Gibbs turned to Goetz.

"Recognize this?" he asked, and handed him the bag. Goetz looked at it and his eyes widened.

"It's... where'd you get this?" he asked the pawnbroker. A range of emotion passed over his face. Surprise, pleasure, a little sorrow.

"It was brought in last spring by a young military man," Avari said. "I paid $500 for it."

"Who brought it in?" Gibbs asked.

"Marine Corporal Richard Rosario," McGee supplied, a real grin now. "He showed ID and signed the pawn slip." He held up another evidence bag.

Gibbs shook his head at the stupidity. "Why do you still have it?" he asked their visitor. "Pawn hold in Virginia's only six months."

"I served four years in the British navy. He was too young to be a Master Chief," the man said. "I asked him about it, he said it belonged to his father. I did not believe him. It was likely worth 20 times what I offered him, and gave not even a token arguement. I thought someone would come looking for it eventually."

"How'd you know to bring it here?" Gibbs asked.

"I was going through stolen goods reports this morning and found this." He took a paper out of his breast pocket and unfolded it. It was a faxed copy of an alert flyer on NCIS letterhead, with the picture of Goetz's ring from the file. "It is rare that I get them from the military. It caught my eye."

Gibbs looked back at McGee, who explained. "I've been sending them out to pawn shops around the shipyard whenever I had time. It was a long shot, but I figured it wouldn't cost us anything to try."

Gibbs nodded. "That's a good job, Tim. Take Mr. Avari's statement. Ziva, get your camera."

"Can I have it back?" Goetz asked Gibbs.

"Soon as Ziva's done taking pictures of it," Gibbs said. Ziva took the evidence bag from him.

"It is yours?" Avari asked. He glanced at the visitor badge Goetz was wearing, confused.

"Yes," Goetz replied. "The ring was stolen while I was in Greece. It's just a coincidence I'm here today."

The pawnbroker smiled a wise smile. "There is very little in life that is coincidence. Only karma, good and bad, and the blessings of the creator. Your treasure has traveled a long way. I am glad I could return it to you."

"Thank you," Goetz said. "Can I pay you for it?"

"Not necessary. Consider it a thank you for your many years of service, Master Chief."

"I..." Goetz was speechless. "Thank you," he said again.

"DiNozzo," Gibbs called. His second, who'd been sitting behind his own desk watching the exchange, stood.

"Yeah Boss?" DiNozzo said.

"Did we authorize a reward fund on this case?"

There was a split-second pause, a hitch really, while Tony processed what Gibbs was really asking.

"Pretty sure we did," DiNozzo agreed. "The usual thousand dollars for information leading to arrest."

"Find out where Mr. Avari would like us to send his check. And see about reimbursing his travel expenses up here."

"You do not have to do that," Avari said, though his eyes were bright. "My daughter lives in Alexandria. This is a good excuse for an extra visit with my grandchildren." He paused and gave a wry smile. "I will, however, take the reward money."

Gibbs smiled back. "This way, Mr. Avari," DiNozzo said and the agent and the pawnbroker moved over to DiNozzo's desk. Gibbs turned back to Goetz.

"Thank you," Goetz said. He cleared the emotion from his throat. "I know you don't actually give rewards for this kind of thing."

A shrug, and Gibbs pushed off the wall, headed for his own desk.

"Nicely done, Jethro," Ducky said quietly, having been observing from the walkway.

"We could use a little good karma right now," Gibbs said with an uncharacteristic nod to fate.

"Indeed, couldn't we all," Ducky said. "I'll be around to pick you up at nine in the morning. Do try to get your paperwork done before then. I'd hate to have to spend the day Monday parked in your driveway making sure you don't try going to work."

"Whatever," Gibbs said, and Ducky laughed.

FOOF... Fade to black.

Hope you enjoyed it, and I really hope it was worth the wait. Drop me a line or ten and let me know. Until next time... I remain your faithful servant, joy.

And now, a personal note:

From the song "Held" by Natalie Grant.

"This is what it means, to be held
How it feels, when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive...
This is what it is to be loved, and to know
That the promise was when everything fell
We'd be held."

God did not promise life would be all sweet wine and roses. In fact, the Bible tells us there will be pain, and sorrow, and loss. But God did promise that through it all, no matter what happened, He would walk with us and hold us, like a father holds his child, a comfort in times of torment, a light in the darkness.

Lately, my life has been lived mostly in the darkness. For six months, I sat in hospitals with my dad, my best friend, and watched as he got sicker and sicker. I knew that with every day that went by, with every infection he acquired, it got less and less likely that he would ever recover. There were days of hope, but many more days of despair. I fought hard for him, to save him, and he fought hard to live. But it wasn't to be. On Aug. 12, he could fight no longer and my family and I made the decision to withdraw life support and let him join his beloved wife - my mother - in Heaven with their savior. I miss him horribly, but I know he now lives forever in peace, and that I will eventually join him there.

I feel God's hand in my life, today and every day. I know he is holding me close, helping me through this time of sorrow and pain. It's not about keeping the pain away, it's about placing my trust in Him, knowing that this is a pain I will survive. Feeling God's arms around me and knowing that this is what it means to be held.

See you later, Poppy.