Disclaimer: Don't own NCIS.
A/N: Dedicated to "dizzy - in - the - izzy", who made me need T/J by being mean to Jeanne. Never thought I'd thank someone for that. All Tiva fans, check out her stuff. Or even just if you're looking for a good read.
A/N2: I admit it. I'm a Tony/Jeanne shipper. So sue me.
"I wish I'd never met you."
"I wish I'd never met you."
"I wish I'd never met you."
I registered that Ziva was talking. I smiled grimly at her. Just like I probably would have done if I'd known what she was saying.
"I wish I'd never met you."
That's my problem. I can't switch off and think about it later like Gibbs and Ziva can. Hell, McGee's probably better at it than me.
"Was any of it real, Tony?"
"No."
"I wish I'd never met you."
Round and round. Everything else blurred. I was spaced out. Only those three sentences were real.
"No."
I must have got pretty damn good at lying to her after all that time undercover. Looking me straight in the eye, how could she not see that my 'no' was false, while my 'I love you' was true?
"I love you, Jeanne."
Great, another painful sentence for my collection. If it hadn't been for Paula, would I have . . .? Yes, but I would have put up a front, for the assignment – I'd be saying the words, and they'd still be true, but I wouldn't be speaking from . . . that muscle in my chest. Talking of it, where is it? The word 'heartbroken' doesn't describe it. It's gone. Like there's a massive hole in my chest, but when I looked down, there wasn't.
"Who is the bad guy?"
Oh, look. One that wasn't said by me or Jeanne. Still hurt, though. Yeah, I guess that's me. The bad guy. The one who entered the life of a wonderful woman who was doing just fine, charmed her, seduced her, used her. Lied to her. Every day. Every hour. Every minute, every second . . . no. It wasn't all a lie. It would have been better if it was. How easy, so easy, to be Tony DiNardo for a little while. Tony DiNozzo has been through pain. Tony DiNardo is innocent. DiNozzo covers it up with jokes. DiNardo is just funny. DiNozzo's scared of commitment. DiNardo falls in love.
"I love you, Jeanne."
"Who is the bad guy?"
"Was any of it real, Tony?"
Gibbs said something. I think he told me to go home. I know he told me to go home. I just know. What is there at home? Why would I be better off at home? On my own . . . I'm on my own anyway. I can barely see them, I definitely can't hear them. Do I have alcohol at home? If I went to a shop, they wouldn't serve me. They'd think I was already drunk. Or on drugs.
"No."
Why did I have to say 'no'? Why did I have to let her go? I need her. I need her, I can't breathe . . . Oh, yeah, I'm meant to go home. Is there stuff I'm meant to bring? I can't remember. I'll get it tomorrow. Oh God, will I be sane tomorrow? I can't live like this. Home. Yes, home. Alcohol. Gibbs will kill me if I'm hung-over. Who cares? I might not be sane. They'll take me away. Men in white coats. I'll have a straight jacket. There's got to be a movie I can relate this to . . .
"Was any of it real, Tony?"
"I love you, Jeanne."
Oh, leave me alone. I was thinking about movies. How could I think about movies right now? I can always think about movies. Like if this were a movie, I'd be telling me to stop being a sap. I'm a sap. I'm insane. Where are you? Where is everyone? I'm meant to be going home. Alcohol.
"I love you, Jeanne."
Can I drive right now? Is there such an offence as 'heartbroken driving'? There should be. I can't see. I'm not sure what I can see. Jeanne, yes. Then just . . . snow. Like the kind on old TVs when there's no connection. The little black and white dots. How did I get outside? This isn't NCIS. How did I get home? Someone's smiling. With pity. Abby, of course it's Abby. Abby gave me lift home. She's joking. Something about my car. Yes, not destroying my car again. I smile. I think. It's weak if I do. Am I moving? Yes, I'm walking. Do I have my keys? Will I be able to open my door? Keys are fiddly . . .
"Was any of it real, Tony?"
Inside. Why am I inside? I don't remember coming inside. Doesn't matter. Did I lock the door? Doesn't matter. Someone there. Abby still. It's a vigil. A watch. My mind is clear for a moment. They're going to watch me. In shifts. To make sure I don't commit suicide. Would I? Maybe. No, too hopeless. Alcohol. Too hopeless. No energy. Collapse. I think I collapse. I'm on the floor. Nothing else to do.
"Who is the bad guy?"
"Was any of it real, Tony?"
"No."
That's not important. Only two sentences are important.
"I love you, Jeanne."
"I wish I'd never met you."
"I love you, Jeanne."
"I wish I'd never met you."
I'm meant to say it was worth it, Jeanne. I've seen enough movies. I'm meant to say it was worth it. But I'm falling apart. I wish I'd never met you, Jeanne. Because if I never knew what it felt like to be in love, I'd never have known what it felt like to be heartbroken. And I'm not sure I can cope with this. Will I heal? Can I? How long does this last?
"I wish I'd never met you."
"I wish I'd never met you."
"I wish I'd never met you."
"I love you, Jeanne."
Oh God, I actually think I'm a little (more) insane now.
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