A/N: This is just a two-shot. May become a three-shot, depending on how into it I get. Enjoy!

Tony sat in his living room. His gun lay in his hands. He moved it so the barrel was pointing towards his head. He stared at the shiny metal of the gun. In that metal, he saw the reflection of his life. He saw the pain, the tragedy, and the loss. It seemed to be mocking him. He could feel his finger gliding towards the trigger. Gliding across the smooth surface. His finger was now resting on the trigger. He used his thumb to set the automatic lever. It made a click sound that seemed to echo through the room.

What the hell are you doing, DiNozzo?

He could practically hear Gibbs saying it. But that didn't matter. Nothing mattered now.

That's crap and you know it, DiNozzo. You do matter.

He could hear Gibbs' voice in his head now. It was stern, but with an edge of kindness.

You know you don't want to die. Not yet.

But that was the problem. He did want to die. He wanted to die more than anything. He wanted all the pain to stop. The only thing standing between him and eternal happiness was Gibbs' voice. Tony suddenly realized that if he hadn't met Gibbs, he would have pulled the trigger long ago. Back on that day in Baltimore, when he was in a similar apartment living room, staring down the barrel of his own gun. And who knows? Maybe he should have. Maybe he would have been better off if he had ended his life on that night.

You wouldn't have been better off, Tony. And you won't be better off if you pull that trigger now. You may have wanted to die then, but now you have something to live for. You have a family that cares about you, whether it's biological or not.

Well that was true, his biological family never cared about him. His father had beaten him senseless too many times to count, and his mom died doing one of her favorite things. Drinking. All the more reason to kill himself. If his own blood didn't want him, why would anyone else?

Because you're a bright, funny guy. That's why people would want you. Your smile is infectious, and you know that we wouldn't have been able to get through all the hard times without it.

Wrong again. That smile was hardly ever genuine. It was just a mask. A false persona. That wasn't the real Tony DiNozzo. The real Tony DiNozzo is a screw-up. He always has been, and he always will be. Which is exactly why everyone else would be better off when he was gone.

That's not tru--

"SHUT UP GIBBS! JUST SHUT UP! IF YOU REALLY THOUGHT ALL THESE THINGS, YOU WOULD BE HERE! TELLING ME YOURSELF!" he screamed. His voice echoed out into the near-empty apartment. The elderly lady that lived below him thumped her broom against the ceiling, yelling to stop all the racket. He looked down at his gun again. He could see his face in the shiny metal. It looked old. Pain lines were evident around his eyes and mouth. His hair was messy, and stuck up every which-way. There was a barely-visible layer of stubble forming on his chin and upper-lip. It was hardly the well-dressing, good-looking Tony everyone was used to. He used his free hand to rub down his face, stopping when it was over his eyes. He couldn't look at the gun anymore. If he was going to do this, he would have to keep his eyes closed, otherwise he would surely chicken out. Again. He removed his hand but kept his eyes shut-tight. He replaced the hand on the handle of the gun. He just then realized that his teeth were clenched so hard, it felt like they were about to break. But he didn't care. What good were teeth when you're dead, anyway?

Tony, you know you don't want to do this. Think about someone other than yourself, Tony. Think about the team.

That did it. He had been thinking about anyone but himself for as long as he could remember. Especially the team. He was always thinking about the team. Especially Gibbs. He may be a bastard, but he was the closest thing to a father he had. But that didn't matter. He knew Gibbs didn't feel the same way.

But I do, Tony! I love you like a son, I've just been too preoccupied to show it. I'm sorry Tony.

But it didn't matter. That wasn't Gibbs talking. It was simply his imagination. Gibbs would never say things like that. And if Gibbs really did mean any of those things, it was too late. The next morning, the team would be calling him, on both his home phone and cell, but he wouldn't pick up. They would come to his apartment, and would find his body sitting here on the couch, with a neat clean bullet hole in his forehead. He could even see their reactions. Ziva would be sad maybe to the point of crying, Tim would just be too stunned for words and wouldn't be able to form a sentence, even if that was his normal state, Gibbs would sigh and go take his sadness out on his boat, Abby would sob for hours and quit her job at NCIS, Ducky would share in Gibbs' sadness as he packaged up his body, and Palmer would keep his sadness to himself. The director, well the director probably would be overjoyed. Then he could hire a new recruit. One that was more like himself than Tony.

Tony, please…

He pulled the trigger.

A/N: I'm really enjoying writing this, so the next chapter should be up very very soon. Maybe even later today. And I have spring break all week, so plenty of time! And as I said in the summary, there is NO major character death in this story. Kind of makes you wonder, huh? He he I'm evil, I know.

And the chapters aren't going to be very long. Just like this one. They are short, but hopefully good.

Please leave reviews! I love reviews! Even if they are short!

Thanks for reading!

-AgentDiNozzo13