A/N: Just a short one-shot I came up with after the S8 finale. Almost there, folks! To those of you who have been begging for updates on the other two: don't hold your breath. Those stories are dead in the water. (Navy pun intended.)
Tony swayed a bit on his bar stool. He was beyond drunk, and knew he'd be feeling it in the morning. He sighed, depressed at his inability to even drink his sorrows away in his old…er, older age. He smirked to no one in particular. He obviously wasn't too inebriated to crack jokes in his own mind.
"How pathetic," he thought, morosely.
Which brought him to the unenviable conclusion that he was not drunk enough to go blank. Blankness. Lack of thoughts. It was true what they always said, ignorance is bliss. He longed for that unreachable ignorance. Just for awhile. Just for a precious little while. The bomb that the new SecNav had dropped on him that afternoon had literally rocked his world. Coming off of the loss of so many agents and the weeks-long hunt for a madman, this was the last thing he needed. He'd been here, seated at a lonely, dank bar since they'd been sent home for the day, warring with himself over the possible outcomes of another undercover mission. He was grateful for the unusually early dismissal this afternoon; he was still under orders for deception, after all. He swirled the ice and whiskey in his glass and took another sweep of his surroundings. Certainly, no one would find him here. Could he really do this? Could he really lie to his team, his boss, again? Hadn't he learned his lesson?
"Stupid women," he grumbled under his breath.
Certainly, that's what had gotten him into this pig-headed way of thinking, after all. If EJ hadn't shown up with her fabulous resume that should've been his, her desire to push the limits to prove herself the way he used to…
"Stupid competitive streak," he mumbled with more conviction.
How did he always find himself here? Why did he always need to prove himself? Certainly, he'd turned out better than Danny and the Captain had. He'd even stuck around when Gibbs couldn't take the heat. Who was he trying to prove himself to? And for what purpose? He swigged the last of his drink and slammed the glass on the bar, causing the ice to make a lovely tinkling sound. He picked up the glass again, studying the ice. It was half the volume it once was, having melted and diluted his too-strong drink. He mulled this over, while the bartender stared on in amusement.
"That ice telling you something good, buddy?" he snorted.
"No. But, I wish it would." Tony sighed in defeat.