A/N: I do not own, or claim to own, any rights or trademark on NCIS or the characters used here. I simply like to play colorforms. Note though, that the creativity of the story, and it's plot, those are indeed mine.

WARNING : This story has very graphic, disturbing and dark material, not suitable for anyone under 18. I am writing a variety of stories…so please see the other ones if this is not your cup of tea.

THANKS – GRACIAS – DANKA – DOMO – GRAZIE

He sat at the piano, staring for a moment at the keys. He flexed his hands, hoping no one would see the slight tremble in his fingers. He glanced ever so quickly over at McGee, a small smile playing at his lips. McGee was sitting at a small empty table on the floor of the club, looking at him with a little half sneer, one eyebrow raised.

"You asked for it, McDoubtful," he said, in as normal a voice as he could muster. "Don't forget, it's a HUNDRED bucks, not ten."

McGee rolled his eyes. "Yeah, alright Tony, I know. But let's see you put your money where your mouth is."

He looked down at the keys, pushing away the memories that went along with sitting down at a piano, telling them to stay in the dark corners of his mind. His fingers touched the ivory smoothness, and he smiled impishly to himself.

He started playing a slow and painfully stuttering, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star…

McGee snorted in disgust. None of the wait staff roaming the empty club looked up. They were too busy setting tables before the evening rush. The owner, who they had questioned ten minutes earlier about a murder suspect, eyed him with humor from behind the bar.

"Oh yeah, Tony, that's brilliant. I wish I could play like that." McGee snorted in disgust.

He looked back at McGee for one more moment, smiling his broadest smile, "Oh yeah, McGee ?"

Just then, he switched his hands up, moving with ease into the first notes of Claire De Lune. It was so long ago since he practiced the beautiful notes, over and over in his father's study…but there they were, pouring out in perfect timing as he envisioned them in his mind. He didn't look up again at anyone…he had to concentrate to keep the arrangement properly…

He remembered being so good he could play and hold a conversation at the same time with his piano teacher. He shivered and faltered for a moment at that thought, but kept on.

As he finished Claire De Lune, he drifted right into Beethoven's Sonata #14, another song that had been drilled into him over and over, until it was part of his DNA.

He pushed all other thoughts away now, losing himself into the softness of the rich, drifting tones…

It felt good. To become the music, letting the keys take him away from reality to somewhere with no name, where he was not Tony any more, no identity, no worries, no pain…he drifted right down into it with #21, and #23. The sound filled the room, and went through every part of him.

He eventually came to the close, the song ending. He slowly came aware again of his hands touching the keyboard, and the image of them placed there suddenly made him feel wrong, and he pulled them back to his lap. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. He took a sharp breath in and looked up. Everyone in the room had stopped what they were doing, and were staring at him. McGee's mouth hung open, his green eyes wide and brow creased in disbelief.

Next to him, stood Gibbs, who had the strangest expression on his face, and Tony couldn't place what it meant. When had Gibbs even come in ? He realized he must have been at this a good 20 minutes… uh-oh.

"Uh…Boss, I –" he stammered, "we…McGee didn't believe I could –"

"Holy crap," McGee stated, still in disbelief.

Gibbs flatly said, "If you're done playing Liberace for the day, DiNozzo," a hint of a smile on his lips, " we have to get back, now."

He pushed up from the bench, "Yes Boss, right now, on your six." He hurriedly jumped off the stage, looking up at McGee with a little snort. "Whatsa matter McDoubtful, cat got your tongue ?"

"Tony, I –" he began, following Tony out to the truck with Gibbs, "that was so amazing, I- I mean, like professional. Incredible. I don't get it. "

He closed his passenger door as McGee got in the rear seat. Gibbs turned the ignition and took off, accelerating like mad already, not appearing to be paying any attention to them.

"What don't you get McGee, aside from the fact you owe me a hundred bucks?" Tony smiled, laughing just a little.

McGee frowned and leaned forward in his seat behind Tony, "Well, uh, you 're so good…why aren't you playing professionally?"

He felt Gibbs shift a little in his seat and tilt his head. His icy blue eyes still stared at the road, but one eyebrow lifted ever so slightly, a subtle signal of his interest in Tony's answer.

His stomach clenched. He surely should have known, there would be a price to pay for exposing himself. His need to befuddle McGee had overpowered him again. He looked out the window, trying to figure out what to say. Maybe this time a half truth…better than a flat out lie and easier than ever recounting what really happened. He sighed softly, heart beating a little faster in working out the approach.

"Well, let's just say that it's a path I couldn't let myself go down, for a number of reasons. My teacher and my parents wanted me to go pro, had me at lessons from age four. I had some raw talent to start with…but, anyway, after my mom died, my dad became fanatical about it, as did my teacher. My dad felt it was honoring mom's memory to pursue it. He was obsessed. When she was alive, he used to sit and watch us - she and I used to play together sometimes…" his voice had grown softer, in the remembering how beautiful she was, seated beside him, long fingers working the keys…he wished he could have told her what was happening to him in that study. What happened when his parents weren't home and he was alone with his music teacher. Maybe, if he had told her, things would have been different… but he didn't have the words then. He probably didn't now either. And she had been so ill right before she died...maybe it had been better she wasn't burdened with knowing.

The silence of his pause came to his attention, and nervously he continued, trying to sound casual, knowing the two other men were intent on his explanation.

"Anyway, it became…too much. My father being fanatical, my teacher's perfectionism. I was just a kid. I …just got to the point they were having me play constantly, and in front of people, and I hated it. The hours of practice that went into it… my teacher wasn't the most pleasant character."

Gibbs' one brow seemed to drift a little higher at that. Or maybe Tony was imagining it. He feared the Senior Agents "Spider Senses" would ruin his attempts at screwing the lid down on the conversation. How would his Boss react to the real story? He couldn't be sure could he? He trusted Gibbs with his life…but this? A flash of the ruler coming down on his knuckles went through his mind, along with remembering the smell of scotch laden breath and rough hands…an involuntary shudder went through him. Thankfully, Gibbs' eyes were still on the road. He had to end the whole conversation now. Panic was rising up from inside him.

"I finally told my dad I didn't wanna do it anymore, that I was done. I guess it really pissed him off. Next stop was Boarding School."

There. That last part was real enough.

Silence for a minute again, then from the back seat, McGee let out a little puff of air. "I'm really sorry Tony." Tony knew he was genuine, as McGee always took family issues to heart. Not wanting Tony to feel bad, he continued "I guess I could see how your dad might have gotten a little intense about it after losing your mother-" McGee stopped abruptly, realizing Tony didn't talk much about his mom, and maybe it was pushing the conversation too far. And besides, Tony seemed to get along well with his dad now. He changed the focus. "Did you enjoy it at all? The music? I mean, if they hadn't made it so stressful for you, do you think you'd be doing it now? "

Tony smiled, a soft, bitter smile. "I dunno Tim. But we'll never know will we?"

Stopped at a light, Tony was still looking out the window, not noticing Gibbs eyeing him pensively.