A note from the author: Hello there. How's life? Good, I hope. Alright, this has been sitting (incomplete) on my laptop for quite some time and I was smacked in the face with inspiration last night to finish it. So here it is, in all its long and drawn out glory. Inspired by "Come Wake Me Up" by Rascal Flatts. This is set at the very beginning of season 7, obvious to those of you who are fans of the show, before the whole Somalia thing. I get the vibe that Tony's more like Gibbs than he knows. Just without the boats.
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing. All belongs to CBS and the other rich people.
Alcohol had been his way of dealing with things on his own ever since he'd graduated from college. He wasn't proud of it by any means, but he'd long since mastered the art of knowing just how far he could take things without anyone catching on the next day. He didn't always turn to his liquid crutch; he could drink socially with no problem. He never had the urge to start drinking and never stop; there was no addiction involved. Anthony DiNozzo, Jr. only drank himself into oblivion when something happened that he couldn't handle by himself but had no choice.
Danny's betrayal, Kate's death, Paula's, Jenny, Danny again...Ziva.
He'd been hurting since she stayed in Israel to get away from him, but he had been able to cope. Somewhat. It had been mental torture to walk into the bullpen every morning and sit across from an empty desk, but at least then he'd had hope, as tiny of a shred it was, that she might change her mind and come back to them. Come back to him. Someday. He cared about her more than he could have ever imagined when they first met. They had come so far from standing in the rain, bantering flirtatiously over pizza, then everything they'd managed to build over the years was ripped to shreds over the course of a few weeks. Mistakes were made by everyone involved, but the fact remained that the damage had been done.
He was okay. He could deal with the separation because he knew that, should either of them decide they wanted it, they were only a phone call or an e-mail away from each other. What he hadn't known at the time was that he should have just given his pride the finger for once and reached out to her; he hadn't known that window of opportunity would be slammed shut before he could even blink.
"The Damacles went down in a storm the 28th of May off the coast of Somalia. There were no survivors."
After Gibbs had told the team what happened, nothing was the same. How so few words could gut him and destroy his world was a mystery to him. Even though she had been far away, Ziva had still been there, but now she was gone. Gone, not coming back. Not on vacation, gone. They had left each other in a very bad place and now he could never try to earn or give forgiveness. That was the night he went home and finished a brand new bottle of Tennessee Honey. That was when his little habit of using alcohol as a coping mechanism came back for a visit.
It had been almost a month since his life had been turned upside down by the news. Usually after about half a bottle of whatever he'd decided on that night, he could stifle the incessant thoughts and memories that were all that was left of Ziva David, but tonight she just would not leave him alone. He hadn't really let himself miss her, or even grieve, but the rain pouring outside pushed him over that edge and he didn't even try to stop the tears rolling down his cheeks. He didn't care how pathetic this made him feel or look to anyone on the outside. He was tired; tired of being strong, tired of trying to bottle up how losing her made him feel, tired of having to accept the reality staring him in the face. Tonight, he let the dull ache in his chest take over and let the sobs rack his body.
He missed her. He loved her. He needed her.
Another bottle of bourbon had him replaying everything leading to her permanent departure. So many things were said and done by both of them that however things ended up, there was no single person to blame for everything. None of that mattered to him now; hell, he would take responsibility for it all, even for the things that weren't his fault, if it meant that she were still there to hate him for them.
With every swig of amber liquid down his throat, he hoped to quell the image of her face searing itself into his mind, but what was supposed to be his best friend at the moment was only making it harder to forget. All he wanted was for it to stop hurting so much. Not even his beloved movies could help him escape to another world tonight.
The rational, non-alcohol-influenced, part of his brain told him that Ziva was somewhere that not even she, in all her ninja glory, could escape. But the vulnerable side that had taken over was crying and begging the God he wasn't even sure he believed in anymore to bring her back. Bring her back, or to let him wake up from this agonizingly long and garish nightmare he was trapped in. Because that's what this had to be: a nightmare. It wasn't possible for his Ziva to be gone forever; she was supposed to be invincible. If something could get her, there sure as hell wasn't any hope for the rest of them. Then again, he wasn't sure he gave a shit anymore what happened to him. The longer and longer he went without her, the less things made sense or even mattered.
He was halfway through bottle number three when the ache in his chest had only gotten worse. What had started as a small voice in his head chirping at him about how stupid he was for everything that had lead to her leaving had turned into a raging giant yelling at him constantly. All he wanted was for it to just shut the hell up. That, or to somehow have his Ziva back. His Ziva. She would hate him phrasing it like that. Something about how she was not anyone's "property" and that she was her own person. But he didn't really care; what was she going to do, come back from the dead just to punch him? He hoped so.
The bottle was nearly gone when he thought he'd do just about anything to make the voice stop, to make his pain go away. Maybe even join her, if that was the only way.
Then he stopped and tried to think about what just went through his head. The very last sane part of him screamed at him to call someone, anyone. So he did; very slowly and with trembling hands he dialed the number of the one person he knew could have a chance of helping him.
The phone only rang once before they picked up, "Yeah, Gibbs."
"Boss..."
He could hear the immediate concern in Gibbs' voice. "DiNozzo, what's going on? It's three in the morning."
Was it? One look at the clock on his kitchen counter confirmed it. Man, he'd lost all track of time.
"I, uh...something's not...I dunno, boss," he slurred, "How's the boat?"
Gibbs paused and sighed. "How much have you had to drink, DiNozzo?"
That he could answer. "Well, after this swig, I think I'm gonna open up bottle number...four? Yeah, four. I like those even numbers. Pairs. Two pairs. You know?"
"DiNozzo, where are you?"
He didn't answer. Not that he didn't want to, he was just too drunk to think clearly. Even in this state, however, he knew he was in trouble. So after a minute or two he breathed out, "Boss, I'm scared. I think I might do something stupid."
"DiNozzo, where are you?" Gibbs' tone was urgent now.
"My place," he answered, more tears finding their way down his cheeks as he covered his face with his free hand and fell back into the couch. "I don't think it's locked."
"I'm on my way, DiNozzo," he heard, "Don't move."
"Yeah, I...sure. Okay."
He didn't know how long he half sat, half laid on his couch, yet another open bottle of bourbon in his hand, before he heard the door to his apartment open quickly. Gibbs. If he was sober, Tony would be embarrassed by his boss, his mentor, his second father, finding him drunk in the dark, the only light in the room coming from the blank television screen. Crying, too. Manly crying, he tried to tell himself, but not-so-manly if he was being honest. He didn't care anymore. It hurt.
"DiNozzo!" Gibbs called out into the dark room. A pitiful grunt was his only reply. Looking slightly to his left, the former Marine sighed softly at the sight that greeted him. He had known ever since they found out about Ziva that his senior agent wasn't handling it well, if at all, but this...he'd been down this road before and he didn't wish it on anyone, especially a man he thought of as a son. He'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop, and unfortunately it had done so with a bang.
"Ah, jeez, Tony..."
Gibbs shut and locked the door before taking the few strides to the couch and crouching down in front of his agent. He looked down to see that the bottle in his hand was now about half empty. Gently, he wrapped his fingers around its neck to set it on the coffee table but was stopped momentarily when Tony's grip on it tightened. Looking up, he saw a pair of tired, sad, pain-filled eyes looking back at him.
"Tony, I know," he spoke softly, "I know you're miserable right now, but this...this isn't the answer. Believe me, son, it won't help."
Tony stared at him for a few more moments before finally beginning to relinquish his liquid crutch. He watched as Gibbs twisted the cap back on and set it as far away from them as he could. "You know, normally I don't have more than one...more than one bottle and 'm fine, you know?" he slurred, directing his gaze to the darkened ceiling, "But tonight I just couldn't...couldn't get her out of my head and I jus'...just wanted it to stop, you know? I thought if I kept going that I could...I could...I dunno. Not feel like 'm falling apart all the time...right?"
Gibbs took a deep breath and moved so he was sitting on the coffee table in front of his protege. He did know. After Shannon and Kelly, he absolutely knew. But now he also knew that nothing could stop those feelings, especially not drowning yourself in bourbon. Time made it hurt less, but it never went away. He had hoped Tony would never have to find out about that. "Have you talked to anybody about this, DiNozzo?"
"Yeah, I go around broadcasting my drinking as a coping mechanism habit to the entire Navy Yard, boss. 'Cause it's not-"
"That's not what I meant, DiNozzo, and even though you're drunk, you know it."
Tony stared at him. He knew, he just didn't want to say it. But he figured that since he was three and a half bottles deep, he should probably do the opposite of what he thought he wanted.
"I can't," he breathed helplessly, "I can't keep it up, boss, I...she's gone. And not just like out of the country, she's...I can't bring her back, can I?
"It's...I loved her, and I...I love her. Go 'head, preach to me about Rule Twelve, but it...doesn't matter anymore, but damn it..."
Gibbs didn't say a word, knowing that if Tony didn't get it all out now he never would. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and placed a strong hand on the young man's shoulder to assure him that he wasn't alone.
Tony mirrored his mentor's position and continued, taking short breaths to try and control himself. "I don't think I can do this...anymore. It's been months and nothing...nothing's changing. It hurts worse. Time's not healing anything and I can't stop thinking...about everything she did wrong and everything I did wrong, and all the...all the shit we put each other through.
"Boss, she stayed...stayed in Israel thinking I was a bastard...which I am, I know, but...she hated me. She died hating me...and I deserve it, I know, but...I can't stop loving her. I miss her so damn much...I can't do this anymore. Ziva's gone and I...I think I want to be, too."
He couldn't control the sobs that began to rack his body again, and didn't fight it when he felt Gibbs pull him to his chest, holding on tightly. In that moment he didn't feel quite as alone; it felt good to have someone there with him. Maybe he wasn't as alone as he felt all the time. His head was firmly rested on Gibbs' shoulder as he broke down. He clung to the sound of the man's voice when he started speaking quietly.
"Anthony, I'm not gonna bullshit you, it's not going to be easy. Ever," the Marine said, "I wish to God I could tell you there comes a day when all the pain just suddenly goes away, but I can't because it doesn't. It's gonna take a long time, and there are going to be days when you just want to give up. Those are the days you have to really focus and remember the really special moments; they'll help pull you through. It may not seem like it at the time, but believe me, it helps.
"And when you're feeling like giving up completely...you have to remember two things: one, that there are still people here who care about you and need you. You do have a family, Tony, and we'll always be here for you. I can't lose another child. Two, you know that Ziva wouldn't want you to give up. She didn't hate you; I promise you, son, she felt the same way you still do. She just didn't know how to handle it, just like you didn't."
Neither of them moved from their positions, Tony drawing all the comfort and stability he could, and Gibbs more than willing to give it. Silence reigned for several minutes before Tony spoke again, his voice hoarse. "You wouldn't lie to me, Gibbs."
It wasn't a question. If there was one thing he could always count on from his tough-as-nails boss, it was complete honesty in these situations.
They didn't know how much time passed, it could have been ten minutes or an hour. Gibbs almost thought Tony had fallen asleep until the man twitched and mumbled something about being tired and going to bed. At four in the morning. He shook his head and gently pushed him into a laying position on the sofa; there was no way he was getting to the bedroom while he was still this gone. Tony's eyes were closed as he shifted into a more comfortable position, Gibbs pulling a blanket over him.
"Go to sleep, Tony," he whispered, "I don't want to see you in the office for a couple of days, alright? I'll come by tomorrow to see how you're doing, but if you need me, call."
The young agent nodded into a throw pillow and Gibbs patted the back of his head before getting up to leave. He was halfway to the door when he heard Tony call after him.
"Boss..." he mumbled, still drunk and half-asleep, "I know how you feel about...apologies, but...I'm sorry. That you saw me like this, that I couldn't...suck it up and deal with it on my own."
Gibbs shook his head, "Shouldn't have to, DiNozzo. Don't apologize. Now get some sleep."
"Yes, boss."
The last thing Tony saw before he fell into another memory-filled dream was his door closing and locking. His living nightmare was nowhere near being over but now he knew that maybe he didn't have to shoulder it all by himself. There would still be nights like this when he'd wade too far into a bottle, or four, but eventually he might be able to wake up. He still wasn't sure he was convinced. One problem would still remain that Ziva David was not there, and that fact would never leave him alone.