Another song-fic – I'm sorry, I'm sorry! *ducks for cover* It's just that this song kind of reminds me of desperation, and when I think desperation I think Tony... wait, that didn't come out quite right. Meh. Read and review please! This is set post-Aliyah.
He sat on the floor of his apartment, staring into space. She's gone, he thought bitterly. She's gone, and there's nothing we can do about it. She made her choice dammit! But it's the wrong one. He lifted the bottle to his lips and drank heavily, barely grimacing as the fiery liquid burned its path into his stomach. He glanced at it briefly; only a quarter gone. The night is young, he thought, and I'm footloose and fancy-free. He snorted. Everything you touch turns to shit, DiNozzo, you know that? People leave – family, friends, coworkers. One way or another they always leave. Whatever. Makes no difference. You get close, they go. Think I would've learned that by now, he silently berated as he took another swig of vodka. Gibbs would kill him if he turned up for work hungover – or would he? Would he glare and bitch, or would he just give that knowing smirk and get on with the day? Fuck it, thought Tony, I don't care anymore.
A stinking sun burned me awake
Through the shattered windowpane.
I recalled through eyes of claret red
He had taken me again.
And the hair of the dog revives me
But I find it hard to swallow,
It's a marriage made in heaven
Between me and the bottle.
He dragged himself out of bed, scowling at the bright sunlight streaming through his bedroom window. His tongue felt furry and his eyes were crusted over with God only knows what. Stumbling into the bathroom, he turned the taps on and allowed steam to fill the small space. He climbed in and stood under the hot soothing stream, pleading with God, Buddha, Ganesh – anyone – to cure his headache. As far as hangovers went, this was by no means the worst, but it certainly wasn't the best either. Damn Ziva, he cursed, this was all her fault. This was her hangover! He momentarily felt childish, but then indulged himself. Not like she can defend herself. He turned the shower off, and reached for a towel, briskly drying himself before dressing with care. The right clothes can fool just about anyone, and if I pick coffee up on the way to work it'll distract Gibbs long enough not to say anything.
A thousand words fell through my hands
And the room just spinned.
As this sodden mattress holds my heart
And he cradles my regrets.
I'll read it once again
For he knows that I'll not follow,
It's a marriage of convenience
Between me and the bottle.
Another long, hellish day of work. Tony sat on the floor of his apartment once more, this time with a new bottle. Suicides were normally rough to work, but he couldn't help admiring the guts of the corporal who's death they investigated. The guy had no family, and few friends – just another feather in the breeze. His platoon would mourn him for a few days, maybe even host a memorial service, then nothing. Give it a few weeks and no one would even remember his name. Tony smiled – no more guilt, no more pain, just freedom. Blissful freedom. He wouldn't be missed much, he knew that. McGee would probably be glad not to have his constant teasing anymore. Gibbs wouldn't have anyone disrupting the team's work with stupid practical jokes or movie quotes – that had to be a good thing. He'd finally be out of Vance's hair. Oh sure, Abby would probably cry for him, but she cries at the Kleenex commercials for God's sake. Gibbs would take care of her, she'd get over it. He looked down at the bottle in his hand, and was surprised to see it nearly empty. How the hell did that happen, he thought, as he clambered to his feet. He stumbled over to the lock box next to his front door and retrieved his service weapon. Sig Sauer, 9mm automatic. He caressed it lovingly, sliding back down the wall to a sitting position. He reached for the vodka bottle and drained the last of it.
So King Alcohol's come back
With the traffic's mournful cry.
And he swaggers drunk and skinful
Through my throat all parched and dry.
And if I should die before I wake
I pray the Lord my soul to take.
Then I could rest and never wake again in sorrow.
It's a marriage on the rocks
Between me and the bottle.
Tony looked around his apartment fuzzily. He could've sworn he heard his door open, but a quick scan showed no one there. He picked up his Sig once more and clicked the safety off. He stared at it for a moment, his breath quickening, his pulse racing.
"Do it," said a voice quietly.
Tony jumped, startled, and looked around for the source of the voice. He knew that voice, would know it anywhere. "Gibbs?" he slurred. "Where're you?"
A tall figure moved into his field of vision. "Right here. Now go on," he gestured towards the gun in Tony's hand, "do it. Pull the trigger." Tony sat, confused by what was going on. Gibbs suddenly snapped, grabbing the hand that held the gun and forced it up to Tony's head. "I said DO IT!" he roared.
Pure instinct took over as Tony pulled away and rolled out of reach. "What the fuck is your problem Gibbs?" he snarled.
"You, you gutless piece of shit. How dare you? How fucking dare you! Are you that selfish that you'd take this way out? Well go on, do it. I'm not here to stop you!" The older man walked over and stood above Tony, glaring.
The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. "Fuck you, Gibbs, you're not the boss of me." He sounded like a petulant child, and knew it.
"Wrong DiNozzo. You told me years ago you trusted me to have your six. That includes now. Well, I'm here, I'm watching your six – nothing is going to fuck up your opportunity."
The words washed over Tony, as he tried to make sense of it all. "So... you're hear to make sure I kill myself?" He wasn't sure he understood correctly.
"That's it. Always on your six, remember?" the voice was lowered, but the anger still resonated.
Tony glanced uncertainly from the angry man in front of him to the gun still firmly in his hand. His head cleared quickly as he realised the intensity of the situation. Gibbs isn't joking, he thought, if I was gonna kill myself he'd make sure he was here – make sure I did it properly. The ridiculousness of that made him smile – a smile that blossomed into a laugh.
Gibbs watched without the slightest trace of amusement as his Agent rolled on the floor roaring with laughter. He did notice though, that Tony had released the death grip on his gun, so he quickly nudged it out of reach. He let the hysteria work it's way out of Tony's system, and only when the laughter turned to tears did he start to comfort him. He sat on the floor and scooped Tony into his arms, holding him tightly and rocking back and forth. He didn't say anything; just let the younger man cry.
Minutes – hours, days, he wasn't sure – passed before Tony's sobs eased into quiet sniffles. He took a moment's more comfort from his Boss' embrace before pulling away. "Sorry about that Boss," he whispered, his voice hoarse from tears.
"Nothin' to be sorry about DiNozzo," said Gibbs lightly. He felt deep down that if he hadn't been here his Agent would now be little more than a corpse, but chose not to make an issue of it. "You're not on your own, Tony – you know that right? You don't have to do everything on your own."
Tony wiped his nose with the back of his hand and nodded, hesitantly meeting Gibbs' eyes. "Would you have really let me... you know... do it?"
"No," said Gibbs simply. He sighed heavily. "We've lost too much over the years Tony. Don't make me go through it again." His eyes fleetingly misted over and Tony knew he was thinking about Kate and Jenny.
"On your six Boss. Always."
*****Song is "Bottle" by the Doug Anthony Allstars – beautifully haunting. Please review! Much love xoxo ******