Konnichiwa! Thanks to everyone who asked for this story. It's a companion piece to my other story "Moving On", and takes place about four months before then. While you don't have to read the other story, just remember that this takes about 5 years after the end of the current season (season 9).

This is also my apology to the readers of my story "Escort". Just hang in there guys, I swear I'll continue it!

Disclaimer: I own no part of NCIS, including characters used in the following story.

Enjoy (I hope)

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A picture is worth a thousand words. A single picture can tell the viewer so much. The problem is that there is no way to tell if the words are lies. Though a single snapshot can say so much about one person, a different picture can tell a different story. That's why one picture would never be enough to judge a person, no matter how many words were conveyed.

Even as these thoughts assaulted Tony's mind, he continued to glare at the three files lying on Gib—his desk. He had been at the office for nearly three hours past quitting time, and he now sat alone in the dark office: only the glow of his desk lamp kept him focused on the files. Three new agents all ready to join the team, and it was up to the Italian man to figure out who he would bring on. The first man, Howdyshell, was small – tiny really – and was a green as Tim had been the day he first helped the team. The second, Stinson, was an agent who had been at NCIS for a few years now, but one who had been shunted from department to department. The last man, Triplett, was a former FBI Agent, who claimed he left the Agency due to a "disagreement with his superior".

Tony had been pouring over the three folders for several hours. When he had met with Howdyshell, the young man had been excited and eager to please. He had been a fast learner, but he tended to crowd the other three agents, and tried a bit too hard to fit in. Tim and Ziva both shot their new leader glance after exasperated glace the entire day. Stinson was a good agent, very capable in his investigating abilities, but after a few hours it became clear why he was transferred so much. He was constantly belittling his potential counterparts, all while sucking up to Tony. Several times Tim place himself between Stinson and Ziva whenever the former Mossad agent fingered a paperclip. Triplett was hard to judge. He had been extremely quiet, and only spoke when spoken to. He worked quietly and efficiently, but Tony was cautious. He hadn't received the nicest review from his former employer. His boss claimed him to be hard to deal with, and often questioned orders. While Tony had seen no evidence of this, he still had his doubts.

Over and over Tony compared the men's' weak and strong points, trying to decide which would work best with his agents. However, no matter how many times he thought he had narrowed it down to one person he always came back to one certain fact.

He didn't want to choose.

Tony closed the open files and sighed, leaning back in his chair. Silently, he glared at the unpacked boxes sitting on the floor beside him. Two months, and he had yet to move his things into his new desk. The drawers were empty, save for the single one that held his gun and badge. He couldn't place his things into the desk, nor pin up his pictures and such on the board behind him. Tony spun in his chair and stared at the empty cork-board.

Gone were the countless news articles. Gone was the collection of Christmas cards. Gone were the letters from thankful families. Gone was Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

Tony's eyes slid shut as two gunshots echoed in his mind. Behind his lids a horror scene appeared: The same scene that had plagued his dreams for the past two months.

"Gibbs!" Tony cried out, watching helplessly as the Senior Agent collapsed to the ground. The team sprang into action: Tim hustling the two diplomatic witnesses back inside, Ziva drawing her weapon and downing the shooter, and Tony rushing to Gibbs' side. Without hesitating he jerked his cell from his pocket and called for an ambulance. Without even hanging up, the phone slipped numbly from hand to land abandoned on the ground. "Hang on, Boss," he said breathlessly, pressing his hands to Gibbs chest.

"Tony…" Gibbs coughed weakly, red speckling over his lips.

"You'll be okay, Boss," Tony told him. "We'll get you to a hospital and… and you'll be okay."

"Tony…" Gibbs tried again, but Tony shook his head.

"Don't… don't try to talk," he choked out. "I think you might want to listen to the Duke here, Boss: 'Talk low, talk slow, and don't say much.' Try that boss. You can tell me whatever it is later. Right now I just need… I need you to stay with me."

"Tony," Gibbs whispered, his voice growing ever softer.

"Hey, what did I just say?" Tony tried to chuckle, but it came out strained. He stared at his shaking hands, which were becoming rapidly stained red. "Just stay with me. If none of us have your permission to die, then you don't have mine." Suddenly Ziva was there, removing Tony's hands and pressing a jacket to the wounds. Tony continued to stare at Gibbs chest, watching as a dark pool spread across the pavement.

A hand brushed over Tony's. Without thinking, the Italian took it in his own slick hands and gripped tight. "Tony…" Gibbs voice rasped out. "Look… at me."

Tony turned his bright green eyes to face the icy-blue orbs of his mentor, panicking when he saw just how pale the surrounding skin was. He watched as those blue eyes flickered first to Ziva: who was tending his wounds. Then they slid over to Tim: who was looking out for more shooters while sparing worried glances to the trio on the ground. Then Gibbs' eyes made their way back to Tony's. "Take care of them." His fingers clenched tighter onto Tony.

Tony squeezed his bloody hands as hard as he could, as if his grip could anchor Gibbs to life. "Always," came his whispered promise.

Back in the bullpen, Tony's eyelids slipped open, releasing the moisture that had gathered behind them. Angrily, Tony swiped at the salty drops of water. It wasn't fair, he thought to himself. Why did Gibbs have to put that pressure onto him?

Tony turned his head and glared at the unpacked boxes sitting beside him. Why… why was it every time he tried to move his things into Gibbs desk, he ended up leaving it for another day? A small, dark part of him that he had been ignoring whispered the answer. It was because he simply didn't want to. He didn't want to be team leader. He didn't want the pressure of keeping his team, his family, together. He didn't want this nightmare to be real.

"Tony!" a harsh voice broke through his musings. Tony leaned back as far as he could and tilted his head back to look at whoever stood in front of his desk. He was greeted with an upside-down view of Timothy McGee. "I called your name several times, and you ignored me. Not that you don't normally do that," he amended, "but you usually pretend to be working when you ignore me."

"McGoo!" Tony said, forcing false cheer into his voice. "What are you doing here so late? No hot date for Elf Lord?"

Tim rolled his eyes. "I just dropped by to pick up a book Sarah wants to borrow." He tilted his head and looked at Tony. "So what are you doing here so late on a Friday?"

Tony sighed and spun in his chair, now facing the younger agent. "Ole Toothpick gave me an ultimatum: Pick a new probie by tomorrow morning or he'd assign one for me."

"You still haven't chosen one?" Tim asked, his eyebrow raised.

"Nope," Tony answered. "Been procrastinating, but that's nothing new."

"Tony," Tim said admonishingly, "Vance gave you those three weeks ago!"

"Really? That long?" Tony asked sarcastically. When he caught sight of Tim's surprised look, he sighed. "I just… I can't see any of these guys working with us," he said, trying to sound apologetic. "I'm just tired of thinking about it."

Tim heard the unspoken 'sorry' in Tony's tone. "What don't you like about them?" he asked, pulling up the chair from his own desk to sit across the desk from his friend.

The folders were picked up once again as Tony stared at the pictures. "I don't know. I've got the choice of the happy greenhorn, a teacher's pet, or a FBI delinquent. But... I can't choose. They're not… not…"

"Not Gibbs?" Tim suggested, his voice low.

Tony glared at him through the dim light. "That's not it at all."

Pearl colored teeth came out to bite at Tim's bottom lip. "You know," he said gently, trying not to provoke the older man, "you aren't replacing Gibbs by bringing in a new agent." Tony stiffened, but his eyes did nothing more than refocus on the folders. "And you're not replacing him with yourself either."

Tony let out a low chuckle. "Sorry, Probie Wan," he said. "Strong in the ways of Jedi mind-tricks you have become: but strong enough to use them against me you are not."

Tim looked like he wanted to roll his eyes, but he refrained from doing so. For a long time the two sat there: Tony staring at his desk and Tim staring at him. Neither moved and neither spoke. Tony waited for Tim to get up and leave, but he never did. After what seemed like hours, Tony finally snuck a glance at Tim. The younger man's brilliant green eyes held a soft expression, but behind them was a wall of worry: worry that at the moment was directed at Tony. The Italian lowered his gaze to the desk once again.

"Ziva told me what Gibbs said to you."

Tony's eyes snapped back up to Tim's face. "Did she now?" he said bitterly, wondering when she thought she had the right to speak of that.

Tim's teeth were once again worrying his lip, and he had his gaze turned from his former partner. "Yeah," his said softly. "You know that goes both ways… right?" Tony said nothing, but he did quirk an eyebrow up in question when Tim glanced at him. "Gibbs told you to look after us, but to do that, you have to let us look after you."

"Really…" Tony said sarcastically.

"Yes, really," Tim said, letting a hint of annoyance slip into his voice. "Tony, I've always had your back, and you've always had mine. Same goes for Ziva. That hasn't changed."

"Of course it has!" Tony bit out.

"How," was all Tim said in reply.

"Well…," Tony drawled out, casting his eyes around as he searched for an answer. "I have a lot more to think about, like politics and stuff. I have to make sure I don't make the wrong calls on cases. I have to make sure no one from higher up tries to screw us over. I have to make sure the team stays safe. I have to—"

"You've done that all before, as a Senior Agent as well as a Lead Agent," Tim reminded him. "What makes this time different from when Gibbs *retired*?"

Tony, about to retort, closed his jaw. He turned his chair away from Tim. After staring at the unpacked boxes once again, he sighed in defeat. "Before… when Gibbs left us, I did it because I was leading the team. Besides, it was my choice. I was angry, that he would just abandon us like that, so a bit of me did it out of spite. The rest of me did it to keep the team together, so no one else hurt us like that." He hung his head. "Now… now I have to do it. This is the only way I can do as Gibbs said. I don't have a choice."

Tim frowned, even though Tony couldn't see it. "Is that that only reason you're still here. Because you feel you have to?"

"No!" Tony exclaimed.

"Then why the unpacked boxes?" Tim asked. "Why have you shut out everyone on the team? Why the nights spent in Gibbs' basement?" Tony looked over his shoulder with a questioning look. "Abby found the bottle of empty Jack Daniels, and I doubt Fornell has been sneaking in for old times' sake." Tim gave him a hurt look. "Are you really only here so you can 'take care of us'? Just so we don't fall on our faces. Do you really not want this?"

"Of course I don't want this!" Tony yelled, standing and turning towards Tim. "I don't want this pressure. I don't want all these expectations! What I want is for everything to be as it was! What I want is Gibbs back!" The rage left him as quickly as it had come. His shoulders slumped as he stared defeated at Tim. "If I screw up, that's it. It's over. If I don't do just as well as Gibbs, everything will fall to pieces. I don't know if I can deal with that. I'm not Gibbs."

Tim stood as well and came around the desk. "Right, you're not Gibbs," he said sternly, earning a glare from Tony. "You are Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, one of the best Agent's NCIS has ever seen. And Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo is every bit as capable as Gibbs was at keeping this team, this family, together! Why? Because we all placed our trust in Gibbs, and we place that same trust in you!" His voice lowered slightly as he continued. "We can't go back. No one can. But more importantly, we can't let our own doubts and fears hold us back. You know what Gibbs would do if he knew you were thinking like this?"

After a moment's pause, Tony's hand crept up slowly to smack himself on the back of the head.

Tim chuckled. "Right. Now, you're going to pick an agent to join this team, and we are going to move forwards with our lives, with you leading the way." He gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder, before collecting his book from his desk and heading towards the elevator. Just before the door opened, he turned back and called out, "Oh, just a few notes. Ziva says if you choose Stinson, she will make sure you can never bare children," both he and Tony shivered, "Howdyshell hates the Buckeyes, and Triplett's former superior is now under inquiry for unethical orders in the field." he said as the elevator dinged. Just before the doors shut, Tony heard his last parting words. "Goodnight… Boss."

Tony stared at the closed doors his Senior Agent had disappeared behind for one long minute before a smile crossed his lips. "I guess Tim is more skilled with his mind tricks than I thought," he said aloud to himself. He turned back to the unpacked boxes, eyeing them carefully. After a moment, he bent down to open one. There – resting on the top of everything else – was a badge. Tony picked it up and held it, letting his fingers roam over the cool metal and soft leather. "So, Boss," he whispered. "Think I can do this?" If he tried, he could almost imagine a strong hand colliding with the back of his head in answer. "Yeah," Tony answered, "I can do this."

An hour later he stepped into the elevator, tears on his cheeks and a smile on his lips, confident in his choice. The doors dinged as they slid shut, sending the room into darkness broken only by the moonlight. A single beam fell across Tony's desk and half unpacked boxes, illuminating a worn badge and a Mighty Mouse stapler.

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*bangs head on desk*

That was terrible, I apologize. I really, truly am. Please forgive me and my terrible story.

Well, I'm off to work on "Escort".

Please review?