Exit
Written for the NFA Terse Title, We Really Really Love Tony and Very Special Agent Challenges
Rating: T/FR 15
Genre: Angst
Warnings: None
Characters: Tony, McGee, Gibbs
Summary: It was the straw that broke the camel's back.
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of their respective copyright holders. No infringement intended. The original characters and places mentioned are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to those living, dead, or undead is completely coincidental.
Chapter 1
"Come on, don't do this to me! Tim, stay with me!" Tony barely heard the sounds of approaching sirens as he desperately tried to stop the flow of blood from his partner's chest. One moment of distraction, one stupid mistake, and now McGee was paying the price.
Tony registered the sounds of screeching brakes followed by running feet approaching and he turned to see two paramedics and their gear. They quickly shoved him out of the way to work on McGee and just before he lost contact McGee's eyes opened and his wide, pain-filled, terrified gaze locked on Tony. Any words of comfort he had died in his throat as Tim's eyes closed and he went limp.
Tony watched in agony as the paramedics worked to stabilize McGee, and while he couldn't understand their jargon, the tone of the voices made one thing very clear: they didn't think their patient was going to make it.
Tim's dying. I just killed my best friend...
Tony's gaze wandered to the body of the man who had shot McGee, wishing he could bring him back to life just to shoot him again. He hadn't even noticed the gunman as he moved in to clear the room, but McGee had...a moment too late. The warning had scarcely left his throat before the gunman had turned on him and emptied what was left of his clip at the two agents, with McGee catching most of those bullets.
And wasn't it ironic? Tony himself hadn't been hit at all.
He had turned his own gun on the man as McGee fell and he returned the favor, emptying the full clip into the man's chest. Tony hadn't bothered to wait until the shooter hit the floor before moving to help his partner, and what he had found turned his blood to ice as he desperately called for an ambulance.
A curse from one of the paramedics drew his attention and he turned to see them lift the gurney that held McGee and rush him to the waiting ambulance outside. He followed, ignoring the small crowd that had gathered outside and reached the ambulance as they were loading McGee.
"Where are you taking him?"
"GW. It's closest."
"Will he-?"
"We'll do our best." The woman's expression indicated she wasn't expecting their best to be enough. She slammed the doors and ran to the driver's seat, gunning the engine and flipping on the siren as soon as she was inside. She laid on the horn and the onlookers scattered as she gunned the engine and took off with a screech of tires. The smell of burning rubber lingered in the air as Tony watched the ambulance roar down the street and turn a corner, disappearing from sight.
"Sir? Can you tell me what happened here?"
He turned to see a patrol officer eyeing him suspiciously as his partner worked crowd control.
"Special Agent DiNozzo, NCIS," he identified himself as he slowly reached for his badge and held it up for inspection. "Working a case, came to interview a suspect. He opened fire on us."
"And the suspect?"
"Dead. In there," he gestured towards the house as he kept his gaze trained on the place where he had last seen the ambulance. He barely registered that the officer was relaying that information to dispatch and requesting a call to the Navy Yard.
"And the victim?"
Tony winced at the choice of words. "My partner. Special Agent McGee."
"Did Agent McGee discharge his weapon?"
Tony just shook his head.
"Alright, sir. Please come with me." Reluctantly he followed the officer away from the scene and waited by the patrol car, his mind on the incident.
Your fault. Tim's dying...probably dead, and it's your fault.
Tony watched the Metro detectives arrive and wondered how long it would take for Gibbs to get there...and what he would do when he did.
Whatever it is, you deserve it. You screwed up. You royally screwed up, and this time nobody can fix it.
He briefly considered driving back to headquarters and reached into his pocket for the car keys before he remembered that he hadn't driven there. Tim had. The keys were with his partner.
Not that they're going to do him any good now...
He turned away from the sedan and with a bit of surprise Tony realized he was only a couple of blocks from his apartment. He turned towards his building, just visible in the distance, and absently wondered if anyone would notice if he left. In his daze, he started walking.
No one stopped him.
Soon, he was within sight of the door and he fished into his pocket for his keys, wincing when he noticed the smears of blood he was leaving behind.
Tim's blood. Tim's blood was on his hands. Literally.
He stumbled through the door and up the stairs to his apartment. He shut the door behind and started to strip the stained clothes from his body. He threw them in a corner and walked to the bathroom where he turned on the shower as hot as he could stand it and stepped inside. He watched the water turn red as it sluiced down the drain, scrubbing at the stains until his skin was red and raw and the water was cold. After toweling off, he padded to his bedroom to dress, pulling on an old pair of jeans and a ratty sweatshirt before collapsing onto his bed.
As he stared at the ceiling, trying to understand what had happened, a litany of his personal tragedies played over in his mind.
Kate. Paula. Jenny. Tim. Kate. Paula. Jenny. Tim. You failed them. All of them.
He could still feel the spatters of Kate's blood as they struck his face. He could almost taste the odor of charred flesh that has seeped through the wall behind which Paula had been torn asunder by a bomb. He could feel the grit in his eyes and smell the cordite that still hung in the air in that dusty desert dinner where Jenny had been gunned down. He could sense Tim's blood flowing over his hands…
No more.
He rose from his bed and walked to the living room where a small safe was hidden behind his movie collection. He opened it and removed a thick envelope, emptying the contents onto nearby bar's surface. A passport. A driver's license. Checkbook. Credit cards. Cash. The products of the only decent thing Jenny had done for him during that damn op: a legend. A perfect identity, untraceable to him. It was to serve as an emergency escape if things went south. He hadn't needed it, hadn't used it.
Until now.
Tony gathered the documents and carried them back to his bedroom. He deposited them in a small duffle bag, along with a change of clothes and a few other necessities before he returned to his closet and dug out an old pair of running shoes.
Appropriate...
After pulling on the shoes and grabbing his bag, he returned to the living room and dug through the discarded pile of clothes until he found what he was looking for: his gun, his badge, his ID, his wallet. He carefully laid them out on the counter, wincing when he noticed a smear of blood on the face of the badge.
I'm sorry, Tim. I'm so sorry.
The last thing he placed on the counter was his cell phone. Five missed calls, all from Gibbs.
I'm breaking Rule Three. Doesn't matter. Already broke Rule One, don't screw over your partner. Can't screw him over any worse than getting him killed, can I?
He left the apartment and walked out of the building. After one last glance, he turned away from the last reminder of his old life.
And he started to run.
TBC…