Prologue
Tony stares unwaveringly at the ground he is perched upon, his eyes are glazed, his hands are shaking and he is immensely grateful that for the moment his mind is remaining blissfully blank. For the first time in his life he would happily welcome the dark oblivion of unconsciousness. He actually craves it.
Because he knows, with the most certainty that he has ever had about anything, that the moment the full impact of what he has just done hits, it could very well be the end of him. He will never again look at himself in the same way, he will no longer be the person he's worked so hard to become. The person he so desperately wanted to be will cease to exist.
So he's pushing it away with all that he has, locking it away in the darkest corners of his mind and hopes that somehow it will just stay there.
Unfortunately he knows better. There is no escaping this, no room for denial. No way to block out the events that happened today.
They will haunt him for the rest of life.
...
He is trying not to look at the vivid redness of McGee's neck. He tries not to think of how hard he must have been held to leave that kind of mark. He tries to ignore the way his probie is shaking. Kid must have been terrified
He is trying not to stare at the body bag being loaded into the M.E van. He is trying not to think of who is in it.
He is trying not to notice the blood on his hands, which is a ridiculous notion, because in reality his hands are clean, but somehow he knows that they will be forever stained.
...
He eventually raises his head, only to falter as his eyes lock with Ducky's solemn ones, he turns away, unable to bear the pity shining in his direction.
He does not deserve pity, he does not deserve anything, not after what he has just done.
He is vaguely aware of Gibbs crouching in front of him, he can't catch the words, but then notices a paramedic hovering off to the side.
Then it dawns on him that he should be in pain. His ribs should ache and burn, his face should sting, his head should be pounding relentlessly. But he can't feel it.
His physical injuries are rendered inconsequential compared to the agony of his heart splintering into thousands of shards, the agony of his soul ripping apart inside him.
He is shocked back into the land of the living by a hand on his shoulder, he glances up into the impenetrable gaze of Leroy Jethro Gibbs and fights the urge to bury his head in the older man's chest and never resurface.
"I won't ask if you're okay"
He doesn't speak, he thinks he's lost the ability to form words.
"You did the right thing Tony"
He sounds so sure and on some level he knows Gibbs is right, he really didn't have a choice. That knowledge doesn't make the pressure on his shoulders weigh any less.
"I know Boss, that's not really the question though is it?"
His voice doesn't sound right, he sounds detached, lifeless, broken.
"Nope, question is, can you live with yourself?"
Gibbs looks as tortured as he feels and he thinks that maybe he already knows the answer to that.
Now isn't the time to be weak, now isn't the time to sit wallowing on the side walk.
He stares into the other man's eyes and attempts to project the strength that he doesn't feel.
"I guess we'll find out"
...