I Can Only Help If You Let Me
Chapter One
For Tony it had been a stressful day. Not only did he spill coffee down himself resulting in having to borrow one of McGee's ill-fitting shirts (That earned him a head-slap because "DiNozzo, you should be more prepared!") but he then proceeded to split his pants when chasing down a suspect in Rock Creek Park- fortunately however, he did carry spare pants, but the teasing he received from Ziva for the rest of the day drove him completely up the 'hall.'
The case was open and shut, split pants and all Tony caught the bad guy who sang like a canary when faced with the big, bad, Gibbs. This brought a smile to Tony's face but the fact that it was the only case they caught that day really, really pissed him off. Cold cases were never enjoyable and having two child-like junior agents poking fun at you all day just serves to sour your mood.
Quitting time did not roll around fast enough but as soon as those sweet, sweet words left Gibbs' mouth Tony had high-tailed it out of there, only to find his two front tyres and his spare tyre were flat, and being as stubborn as he was, he refused to even ask for help from his co-workers and hid in the shadows as they all drove off before calling for a taxi.
When he arrived at his apartment complex he threw a twenty at the driver and staggered off towards the building but as Tony clambered up the last three steps to his apartment he noticed the door to his apartment was open just a little-
"Fucking great" He mumbled under his breath
Blinking away the residual sleepiness and he reached for his gun and crept wearily inside. It didn't take long to figure out this was just a basic robbery, nothing had been broken, thankfully, but his TV, stereo and laptop were all gone.
With his gun raised he continued to search the apartment clearing it room by room and when absolutely sure there was no imminent danger he stowed his gun, badge and ID in his bedroom safe and slid to the floor, head resting on the end of his bed.
Like a child mid-tantrum his movements became jerky and louder than necessary, he stomped his right foot down, untied his laces and threw his shoe against the nearest wall, repeating the action with his left foot he began cursing anything and anybody he could think of.
"Fan-freaking-tastic, just what I needed, Anthony DiNozzo; trouble magnet- I should get it changed officially, warn people when they see me, get it tattooed on my fucking forehead!" He punctuated his last words by beating his fist against the carpeted floor beneath him.
Huffing out something between a laugh and a growl when Mr Harrison from below returned his thud on the ceiling with what one can only assume was his walking stick, Tony pushed himself to his feet, and stripped off his shirt and trousers.
He should probably call Gibbs, Gibbs always knows what to do, Gibbs can fix things, But right now all he can think about is climbing into his bed and drowning in a sea of Egyptian cotton sheets and duck feather pillows- He'll probably regret that tomorrow, when Gibbs gives him the head-slap of the century but frankly he's too tired and drained to care. Within mere minutes Tony had fallen into a fitful sleep not even bothering to close the blinds just allowing the streetlight's orange glow to bathe the room.