The letters had been there since his first day on the job. He'd had no intention of ever turning them in, not to Gibbs, not to Morrow. They were in the hidden compartment of his third drawer, beneath the awards and medals that he'd collected for Gibbs. His own were stacked neatly on the right side, taking up just over half the drawer.
Peoria had been his first PD. It had been fun there, but he'd been an outcast. He was a young detective, placed with overweight men who were convinced of their superior abilities. Because his father was a rich businessman they'd assumed right away that he was a lazy, arrogant and spoiled little boy with delusions of grandeur.
After a few months it became tolerable, but his first letter had been written the day he stepped into the precinct. It was simple, detached, impersonal. As he grew to like the men he worked with, he added to the letters. He wrote one to each of his team members. He added his opinions about cases, the reason he had trouble trusting them. The letters grew longer with every case.
The week he handed one in was not the day he'd done something stupid. There hadn't been a case that came to close. There was no personal attachment to a victim. No cop had died. It had simply been time. At the time, he wasn't able to explain why he had decided to move on. He just wasn't home.
He had deserved a ton of respect, been awarded medals and commendations had piled up, but there was no trust. He didn't feel like he was home. He wrote a new letter, keeping the others under lock and key. It looked just like the one he'd written on his first day.
Philadelphia PD had been different. They heard of his reputation long before he arrived. He was unorthodox, amusing, and a good detective. They respected him from the beginning. He worked his connections skillfully. He made sure his bosses knew he was good, but stayed out of their way. His results were always more impressive when his superiors didn't know how he got them.
Still, he wrote the letters on his first day there, finishing it just before midnight arrived. The team he worked with was mostly known to him. He'd consulted with the lead on a serial killer before and attended a profiler seminar with the only female on the team.
But when you have everything to loose, you do in this world. 3 Weeks on the job his partner was killed in a robbery, completely unrelated to the job. It was hard, but he stayed. He liked the team, he trusted the team, and that was a two-way street this time.
His reputation grew. Respect was a given when they heard the name DiNozzo. He was offered his own team three years into his career. He turned it down. More awards joined his resume.
He remained where he was supposed to be, working on the team that had accepted him. The team however, started obeying his gentle orders above his boss' frequent screams. The team dynamic went down the drain. He stayed, not wanting to give up.
He gave no orders, took foolish risks, and still he didn't leave. The moment he left had been after a week of cold cases. He just closed the last file on his desk and grabbed a letter from the pile. It was an exact copy of the letter he'd given to the director at Peoria.
He left Philadelphia the same night, checked into a hotel in Baltimore after three hours of driving and called his former boss.
Feeling betrayed, the man hung up, leaving Tony alone with his thoughts. When a team doesn't work the way it supposed to, it endangered everyone on the job. Leaving had been the right thing to do.
His five boxes with possessions stood in the corner of the room. Anthony DiNozzo wondered where his gut would lead him.
Baltimore PD was a coincidence above all else. He'd found the body, a woman, beaten and left in a ditch on his way to dinner. The locals had been short on manpower and invited him as a consultant, eventually offering him a job.
He started on the letters right away, disgusted by the praise they bestowed on him. They knew of his reputation, but his methods soon turned them around.
The way he worked was not appreciated, not by the team or his boss' boss. One mistake cost him his good reputation, made his colleagues forget the awards in his locket drawer. There was absolutely no respect or trust. Working there was dangerous, but Tony couldn't bring himself to leave. Something about Baltimore pleased him.
His letters never grew longer than a single page there. Nothing was left to say to those who expected too much, but let him fall when he revealed his imperfections.
Gibbs arriving was no blessing in disguise, it was a nightmare. The man's reputation was well-known among a few select people. The fact that Gibbs was undercover and a suspect made it just that much more fun. He needed to prove to himself that he could make Gibbs confess to him about his special agent status.
Tony gave all he had to give.
Not to impress Gibbs, certainly not to prove his worth. He wanted to prove that everyone could make mistakes. He waited for Gibbs to do just that. Tony didn't back up, wasn't intimidated. Gibbs was soft, anyone could see that. He was not dangerous as long as you kept away from his personal life and his loved ones.
Gibbs offering him a job was expected. He had seen the way the man observed his skills, his way of handling his boss and team members. Gibbs was looking for a team, and he'd considered Tony from the moment he saw him.
He turned the marine down. Not because he had a deadwish, but because he refused to give up on something that kept him tethered to Baltimore. He had unfinished cases there, things to do before he left. Exposing his best friend and partner as dirty. He never left when there were loose ends to be tied up.
That feeling ebbed away. When his last case closed, he turned in his resignation. Not one of the long ones with insults, sarcastic comments and personal observations, but his standard letter.
He had enough money to live comfortable for a few months, so he drove to Boston.
What he did not expect was to find Gibbs on his Hotel doorstep a week later. "You're on my team now."
He knew then and there that he would be staying for a while, but he still wrote his letter before he left the MCRT bullpen.
He was right.
Just over seven years. Thrice as long as his previous jobs.
Time to hand in the letters.
There was no reason, no trigger.
Checking to make sure everybody had already left, he opened the drawer and lifted the awards. He gathered all his stuff into a box and stared at his surroundings. His gut told him to leave before everything went wrong. The team was broken, he couldn't fix it. There were over two dozen letters in his hand. Those that he'd never given to his previous teams went into the box. They were reminders. His insurance that he never stayed to long, never put others in danger when it could be avoided.
Gibbs, Ziva, McGee, Vance, Abby, Ducky, Palmer, Jenny, Morrow, Kate.
The latter three joined the others in the box. He brought Vance's letter upstairs and put it on his secretary's desk.
The first three were displayed carefully on the recipient's desk. With one last look, he stepped into the elevator. The lower floors of the building were quiet as well. Abby's letter was underneath her Caf-Pow by the time he walked out, leaving a sleeping Abby undisturbed. Ducky's and Palmer's were placed on the primary autopsy table in plain sight.
He threw his phone into the trash and drove to his apartment. Putting his belongings in moving boxes took three hours and a frat buddy of his helped him move it to storage.
He sold his car and bought another at a different car dealer under a false name. He bought a burnphone under the same name. untraceable by both Abby and Gibbs, he drove for miles and miles.
A/N I'm not sure if I'm actually continuing this, but this was inspired by maleshka's Two week notice, and I could help but write it.