A/N: Nothing belongs to me.

Warning: Major Character Death (McGee in this case) and slash (does this even need a warning? Guess not, but here it is.)

Hate Me

"Let it go! Let it fucking go!" he screamed, throwing the almost empty bottle of bourbon at the far wall of the basement.

"Let what go?" Gibbs replied calmly even though every instinct within him was trying to shout at the man in front of him at the top of his lungs.

Tony hadn't been himself for months now, had drifted into a world that was only controlled by himself. No one, not even Gibbs, had been able to get through to him and he was slowly but steadily feeling himself get more and more helpless. He didn't know how he was supposed to help someone who clearly had no desire to get help. Hell, Gibbs was sure that Tony didn't even realize he was having a problem in the first place.

Gibbs had watched Tony drown his sorrows and his guilt in bottles of beer, bourbon and whatever alcohol he could buy from gas stations around town at four o'clock in the morning. He had gotten countless phone calls from fed up bartenders who had only refrained from calling the police because of Tony's insistence to call Gibbs instead – he was something like a cop after all. Gibbs had always picked him up, had stroked his back when Tony was hugging the toilet night after night, had nursed him back to the living with bottles of water and aspirin after aspirin. He had hoped it was enough, had hoped it was just a phase, had hoped that once Tony would get over the case, over the death of their co-worker somewhat, he'd go back to normal.

He blamed himself.
He hadn't taken action on that fateful Tuesday afternoon as he saw the terrorist take aim right at McGee's head and he hadn't taken action when he had first noticed that Tony was having a real problem with himself. He had listening to Tony's inner fights with himself, had listened to his warped opinions on guilt. On some nights, Gibbs had thought that he had gotten through to him, that he had helped him to stop whatever fight was going inside his own mind, but he'd just be disappointed the following day when there were more empty beer bottles standing there than the day before.

He simply couldn't help him, no matter how he tried. Just like he hadn't been able to help McGee, no matter how much pressure he had put on the wound. McGee's life had been bleeding out right under his fingers and he had the distinct feeling that he was watching the very same battle now with Tony – only this time, it was all on himself.

Alcohol and sorrow and blame were Tony's terrorist with a gun in his hand and it was threatening to take Tony away from Gibbs, too, and he had no idea how to stop it.

"Let what go?" Tony echoed his question and he was shouting so loudly now that his voice echoed through the basement, making Gibbs' skin crawl. "Let it go! Stop trying to help me. You're just making it worse for fuck's sake. I know what I'm doing, man, and you don't get to tell me what I am supposed to be doing instead. I'm not your fucking responsibility anymore! I'm not your agent anymore and you should be glad because I was shit at it. Didn't you get the memo, Gibbs? Didn't you see what I did to McGee? He's dead because of me! He's fucking dead because I was a weak ass agent. So stop acting like I'm your responsibility and leave me the fuck alone!"

Gibbs watched him run up the stairs, gripping the railing tightly as he tripped over one of the steps, only just staying upright. Gibbs took that short moment of confusion on Tony's side to catch up with him, getting into his face, trying not to wince when Tony's breath hit him.

"You're not my responsibility, you say?" he replied, still desperately trying to stay calm. "Last time I checked you're the one that keeps coming here. You're the one who insists to call me when you get into another fight at a bar, Tony. You made it my responsibility every time I needed to come to your rescue."

"Then stop," Tony replied quietly, his shoulders sacking as if all energy had suddenly left his body. "Then just stop it. Just let me do this."

"Do what, Tony?" Gibbs answered barely above a whisper. "I won't watch you destroy yourself. I can't."

"Why not?" Tony, too, was whispering now, his eyes, red from alcohol and Gibbs was sure, crying, staring at him sadly. "Why can't you let me go?"

"Can't lose you, too. Kelly, Shannon. Kate, Ziva… McGee. Not you, too, Tony."

He could see a lone tear run down Tony's cheek now, saw him shake his head ever so slightly and yet he knew that it would not be enough for Tony to come back. The younger man stared at him for a few more moments, still shaking his head as if he was searching for something to say, but coming up empty.

"You can't help me, Gibbs," he finally said, his voice even shakier than before. "I don't want any help. I can handle this on my own. I lost them, too, you know? Kate, Ziva, my mom, Tim. It's not just you. You bury yourself in work and your stupid boat and let Abby lick the wounds for you. I can't do that, not when I know it's all my fault. It's just how I'm dealing with all of this and there's nothing you can do. So, please, let it, me, go. Can you do that for me?"

Gibbs stared at him for a long time, watching that one tear still running down his cheek, dripping from his jaw and disappearing somewhere into the old worn and smelly OSU sweater.

"No," he finally answered. "I can't let you go. You made a commitment to me when I hired you in Baltimore and you're damn well keeping it."

With that he leaned forward, completely ignoring Tony's protests and gave him a kiss. Gibbs felt something inside of him give way for a tiny little splinter of hope that maybe they could actually work this out, but he knew, even though Tony was kissing him back in earnest by now, that this wouldn't be the solution to all their problems. For the shortest of moments, though, everything in the world was alright again.

But it wouldn't last.