Shipping Out

Summary: Part of my 'Lessons' series. Tag to Judgement Day. Tony prepares for life as Agent Afloat.

Disclaimer: I don't own them, I just play with them.

A/N: I've taken some artistic licence about what's 'normal' for agents afloat, and my Gibbs is not the podd!Gibbs the writers seem to want us to think didn't even talk to Tony and Tim for months (but then, if you want your fic to strictly follow the canon, you wouldn't be reading my series anyway, right?)

Tony sank down, exhausted, on the edge of the bed and watched Gibbs take over packing his sea bag. He'd protested a bit about his boss – former boss, he thought dejectedly – supervising his preparations, but a raised eyebrow and a pointed question about how much experience he had packing for six months on a carrier had finally silenced him. A few minutes later, the older man efficiently tucked the last of the clothing into the bag and zipped it shut.

'Ok, you're ready to go.'

'No, I'm not! I'm nowhere near ready! I still have to clean out the fridge so I don't come back to twenty new life-forms in there, and I have to do laundry or everything I've worn in the last week will be ruined by the time I get back, and I have to...'

'No, you don't. I'll bring Tim and Abby over on the weekend and we'll take care of all that. You are not staying up all night the night before you ship out – you'll be busy tomorrow, and you don't need to be dead on your feet.'

Gibbs grabbed the bag and headed out into the living room with it. Tony trailed behind, protesting.

'Boss, I can't ask you to...'

'You didn't ask.'

'But...'

'No buts. You mind if I leave those things with Palmer?' Gibbs asked, nodding at the two fish swimming lazily in a tank. 'He's probably the least likely of us to kill them...'

'Oh, shit!' Tony exclaimed, quickly crossing the room. 'I'd completely forgotten about Zeus and Apollo!'

'Zeus and Apollo?' Gibbs asked, one eyebrow raised.

Tony dropped a slow-dissolving food pellet into the tank.

'Sure. Like the Dobermans on Magnum.'

Gibbs rolled his eyes.

'Ok, then. Palmer can fishsit, and...'

'Maybe I should just quit. Then Vance can't make me...'

'And do what?'

'Fornell likes me. I can...'

Gibbs snorted.

'Tony, we've been over this. It's probably only for six months. Yeah, it sucks, but...'

'So I should just put my entire life on hold while...'

'While you serve your country.'

'But...'

'Vance is an ass, but he was right about one thing. Getting some experience at sea will be good for you. It will make you a better agent.'

'But...'

'I should have encouraged you to do a tour as Agent Afloat years ago.'

'Why? It's not like you...'

'Sure I did. Three months on the Eisenhower, my second year working with Franks. It wasn't the best three months of my life, but I learned a lot, and then I went back to Mike's team.'

'Great. But it's not like...'

'You leave Vance to me, Tony. I'll get you back. You just concentrate on doing your job.'

Tony just nodded, not wanting to contradict Gibbs, but not sure he could risk hoping... believing... that things would go back to the way they had been. Before he could dwell too much on how he'd always found that hoping for the best usually just led to disappointment, his thoughts were interrupted by a quiet command.

'C'mere.'

Tony looked up, startled. When he didn't move, Gibbs crossed the few feet between them instead. To his surprise, Gibbs reached for his collar, fishing out the chain of his newly-issued dog tags and slipping them over his head with the ease of long practice.

'Boss?' he queried. He had to admit that it made a certain amount of sense for agents afloat to wear the things, when field agents usually didn't, but he still found it strange to be wearing them. Having Gibbs so casually strip him of them was stranger still.

Gibbs didn't answer, instead reaching into his pocket, pulling out a handful of coins, and extracting a small gold disk from among them. He silently slipped it onto the chain with the ID tags, checked that the fastening was secure, and handed them back to him. Tony peered curiously at the new addition, his eyes widening as he recognised the printed medallion.

'St. Christopher, the patron saint of travellers,' he commented, a note of questioning in his voice. He knew the old saying that there were no atheists in foxholes, but Gibbs had never struck him as a particularly religious man.

'Shannon gave me that, my first deployment after we were married,' the older man explained.

Tony immediately protested, 'Boss, I can't take this!'

'She told me she wanted me to someday be able to pass it on to my son, the first time he deployed,' Gibbs continued. 'So I am.'

'But...'

Gibbs ignored his objections, simply taking the chain back from him and slipping it over his head himself, tucking the tags inside his collar. The significance of the gesture hit him like a shockwave. But, before he could say anything, Gibbs had picked up his sea bag again and was heading towards the door.

'Boss?'

'C'mon. You're staying with me tonight. I'll drive you to the pier in the morning.'

'But...'

Gibbs picked up his keys from the table near the door, tossing them lightly to him.

'Take your own car. It will be safer in my garage than in your spot downstairs.'

Reaching for the light switch, he glanced around one last time at the life he was leaving behind, then followed Gibbs into the hallway, his mind still reeling.