A/N: This tory was written a few days before Valentines day because, well, to be honest, I'm really split down the middle when it comes to being a Tate or Jony fan. I absolutely will bow down Tate as my OTP, however I also quite enjoyed Tony's relationship with Jeanne, because it showed a side of him we hadn't seen yet. I tried to make this initially the Tibbs ship that my friend had asked for, yet somehow I had to turn it into a Tony/Jeanne story.

That said, I hope you'll enjoy. (And I apologize in advance for any errors/mistakes. I'm really coy about trusting others with my work/art, and so I often have to beta my own writing, which ironically, I kinda hate doing. Do enjoy!)

A/N (From Feb. 12, 2011): The idea of this came to me a few day ago, mostly because I wanted to write a Valentines Day fic. I had seen episodes of NCIS in the past, but just recently started watching it from the beginning (thank you, Amazon, for my seven season disk set!), and I've pretty much ironed out who my OTPs are. That said, I hope you enjoy this.

You Belong With Me

Tony sighed, running a hand through his hair. He'd bailed on work today, hadn't really talked to anyone, and was lonely beyond all doubt. Today was certainly making him realize just how NOT over Jeanne he was.

He wiped the tears still settled on his face and slipped off the couch, walking over to his kitchenette. The dim lighting from the candles lit in the house made him want to puke. Somehow he'd gotten up this bright idea that maybe Jeanne still had feelings for him, and she would turn up. He hadn't seen her in almost 9 months, but his heart hurt for her. Not a day went by that he didn't regret falling in love with her. He felt like an idiot for putting himself that far out onto a limb, when he knew there was no possible way that it could work out in the end.

He always was the odd ball out though. Of course, he would choose to fall for the one person he wasn't allowed to. It didn't help that Kate was dead, either. For all the worth in the world, he felt completely abandoned. He should've been used to it at this point, but what was new? Tony DiNozzo was always blind to the things that were going to hurt him the worst, until they smacked him right in the face.

He blew out the candles and walked over to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of straight vodka. He knew it was going to burn drinking it, but he didn't give a damn. All he wanted to do was drown all his sorrows away in alcohol and maybe muster up the strength to not eat his gun.

Tony walked out of the kitchenette and down the hall, into his bedroom. He dropped against his bed, screwing off the cap to the bottle of vodka and tossing it across the room. It hit anticlimactically against a wall and fell onto the carpet. Tony tipped the bottle back, taking three large, burning gulps. He relished the ache in his throat, glad to be feeling pain somewhere besides the middle of his chest.

He picked up the box next to him and opened it. Various little notes and trinkets sat inside of it.

He reached in and pulled out the platinum band. His bottom lip trembled as he looked at it. Anthony DiNardo. Psych Ward. A whimpered escaped his mouth as he slipped it onto his right wrist. He had stopped wearing it when Jeanne had accused him of murdering Renee.

The 'temporary' psych ward bracelet also rested in the small box. He had put it there when she'd gotten him the platinum band.

Below that rested hand-written letter that Tony had received from her on his birthday last year. He pulled it out from under the plastic bracelet and unfolded it slowly, running his fingers over her curly penmanship.

Somehow I feel like we're living the life of The Notebook when you work so much that I don't get to see you, but I guess that would make you Allie, and me Noah. You're not going to run off and realize you're in love with a different woman some day, are you? I'm just kidding. I truly have come to understand Allie's love for Noah though, and I would read our history to you at eighty years old if you forgot. I love you.

The letter had been filled with little anecdotes, referring to movies and music, and even small conversations they'd had. She had said to him the night before they broke up that she wanted to marry him one day. It had genuinely made him nervous. Not because he knew the relationship wouldn't last, but because he still felt so new to commitment. He had wanted to run.

The last thing she ever wrote to him, was a letter she had sent him after he had told her he made everything up. He'd read it so many times that the folds were worn and the paper was starting to rip where it was folded.

I often feel stupid because I truly thought you loved me. I know you told me you weren't one to commit to relationships, and this had been new to you. Somehow now all I can do is picture you sitting in a bar at the end of the night, laughing with your coworkers about how you were screwing me.

Your boss told me how she told you to sleep with me. It makes me sick to think that I was sleeping with you because someone ordered you to. I hate that I love you, because I mean nothing to you.

Tony threw the letter back into the box as a whole knew wave of pain rushed through his chest and tears flooded down his face. He hated her for writing him that letter. He hated her for making him love her. He hated Jenny for making him take the mission to begin with.

He moved off his bed and walked into the bathroom, pulling his pocketknife from his pocket. After downing several more gulps of the vodka, he settled on the floor next to his toilet. His brain flashed back to the last time he was on a bathroom floor holding a bottle of Vodka.

Tears flooded down fifteen year old Tony DiNozzo's face as his head bounced off the rim of his toilet. Anthony DiNozzo Sr. kicked him hard in the back.

"You stupid boy! You wanna go out and get into trouble, then you can find your own place to live. You want to know what its like to go out and get drunk, I'll show you!"

Tony was yanked backwards by his shirt collar and pinned to the floor as his father forced a full bottle of straight vodka into his mouth. He choked and gasped, having no choice but the swallow the liquid as it poured into his throat. Every few seconds, Sr. allowed him a few seconds to take a breath, and then forced the bottle back into his mouth. When it was empty, he smashed the bottle against the toilet seat and then brought it down against Tony's hip, slicing his side with it.

"Have fun at school tomorrow."

He'd nearly died of alcohol poisoning and ended up with a major liver infection from the alcohol forced into his system. He'd figured long before then that his father hated him and thought he was good for nothing, but it was that night that he finally realized his father wished rather that he was dead.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and flipped it open as he settled the bottle of vodka on the floor. There was only one person he had anything to say to, and he could close that off in a simple phone call that he knew wouldn't be answered.

The phone rang. And rang. And rang.

And then it went to voicemail. He sniffled as he flipped his knife open, listening to the phone line.

"You've reached Special Agent Jethro Gibbs. I can't reach the phone right now, so if your situation is dire, please call 911. Otherwise please leave your name, number, and a brief message and I'll get back to you at my nearest convenience."

The voice changed the automate female voice.

"Please leave a message after the tone. To leave a callback number, press 1. For more options, press five."

The tone blared in his ear as he sniffled again and then coughed.

"Hey boss," he murmured. "I ah…I'm sorry, for everything. I just wanted…I don't know, I wanted to say I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

He slammed his phone shut and dropped it to the floor, taking several more large gulps of the vodka. When the bottle was empty, he tossed it into the trash and picked up the knife, flipping it open. He'd just sharpened it a few days earlier, so he knew it would do the job. He pulled the sleeve of his grey shirt up and looked down at the small scars coating his forearm. He didn't want to think about it.

He brought the knife down onto his left wrist and applied the needed pressure to get the effect he wanted. He felt the vein burst under the pressure. Only a slight fear burst in his chest, but relief overtook it rather quickly. In mere minutes, he wouldn't have to hurt at all anymore. He rested his head back against the vanity behind him and closed his eyes. The world slowly faded out around him, and then everything was black, and silent.

He was awoken violently by something smacking hard across his face. His wet eyes opened slowly and he looked up. Gibbs was hovering over him, holding Tony's arm above his heart and applying pressure.

"Boss," he rasped.

Gibbs leaned forward so that he was at eyelevel with Tony. "Damn it, DiNozzo I knew you were depressed, but if you were this far down you should've told me! You know I've got your six!"

He slowly helped Tony to sit up and lean back against the vanity. Once again he lifted Tony's arm higher, keeping it above his heart.

Tony rolled his eyes, annoyed. "I don't know what you're bothering to do this for. In three days, I'll be out of the psych ward and I'll do it all again."

Gibbs slapped him hard on the back of the head. "Over my dead body. Why the hell would you do this, Tony!"

Tony looked up at him drunkenly. "I'm a good-for-nothing piece of trash that people only seem to want to use and then throw away. My father hates me. The only time I was good for him was when he could use my body. No one gives a damn about me. At least not enough to matter if I was dead."

Gibbs gripped the back of Tony's neck, pressing his forehead against Tony's. "Don't you EVER say that again! You are loved, DiNozzo, and while I would like to use my sniper skills to put a bullet in the back of Anthony DiNozzo Sr.'s head, don't ever doubt that you have a dad. Biological or not, you are my son, and I'm not going to let anything happen to you!"

Tony's breathing quickened as he struggled to not fall apart at what Gibbs was telling him.

Doors opened down the hall and he turned his attention to the voices down the hall. "You called 911!"

Gibbs nodded, leaning back. "You bet your ass I did. You're damn well lucky that Abby needed help moving a couch in her house tonight or you really would be dead right now."

Tony shook his head him, utterly furious. "I hate you for doing this!"

Gibbs shook his head. "No, Anthony." He grabbed Tony's other arm as the paramedics came into the room and took his slashed wrist from Gibbs' grasp. Gibbs lifted Tony's right hand closer to his face. "Don't feed me bullshit about how much you hate me. What you hate is this. You hate that she's not here. Trust me, I know."

Tony nodded angrily at Gibbs. "Your wife died. Jeanne sent me a letter telling me she hated me for everything that happened. She told me she wished she'd never met me. She's never going to forgive me."

Gibbs shook his head again, standing up with Tony and following the paramedics as they pushed him out to the ambulance. He stood and watched as they settled him inside and hooked an IV into his hand in attempt to flush out the alcohol. "I'll meet you at the hopsital."

-
You've become my hope now
You've become my faith somehow
-

Tony yawned, glaring down at the bandaging wrapped around his wrist. The ER doctor had insisted he be admitted to the medical floor for twenty-four hours before he was taken up to psych, but Tony had fought to get sent up sooner. If they were going to make him stay, then he was going to be in and out of the hospital as fast as possible. Now he was sitting up in a private room, still attached to an IV. Apparently he'd drank too much alcohol and they wanted to be sure he wasn't going to lose consciousness from all of the ethanol in his system.

Some of the nurses were talking up at the station, chattering. He could hear them talking about him.

"What's up with the newest patient still being awake," one asked, referring to the TV flashing.

His stomach churned and he felt like he might be sick. He knew that voice anywhere.

"This poor guy, he tried to kill himself," another one of the nurses answered her. "Has to be monitored while the alcohol processes out of his system."

"Why," Jeanne asked.

"Said he was depressed and just didn't want to try anymore. Apparently he was sexually and physically abused as a kid though, and I guess the first woman he really ever let himself fall for, things went bad and she wrote him in a letter that she hated him," the other nurses explained. "Valentines day made him really depressed."

"How sad," Jeanne said empathetically.

"So, anyway, how was your valentines day," another nurse asked.

"I didn't have one," Jeanne admitted. Ever since everything with my dad and…" she avoided using his name. "I'm just not in the mood for another relationship right now. Can I see the file for that patient? What's his name?"

The nurse behind the desk shrugged, looking directly at Tony. "He wouldn't give one, and until he's fully admitted to psych, we can't force him to give one."

Jeanne nodded, taking the medical chart. She flipped through it for a few minutes and then handed it back to them. "How does someone get the plague in the twentyfirst century," she said incredulously.

Her friends just shrugged. "Microbiology lab?"

Jeanne laughed softly and then checked the file once more before turning towards the room. "I'll see what information I can get," she called with her back to them.

Jeanne knocked lightly on the door and pushed it open. "Sir," She called softly into the room. From the sight of the foot of the bed, she could see he was clearly anxious, as he kept kicking his legs under the blanket. He kept everything but the TV off, but considering why he was here, she was sure he probably wasn't watching it.

She walked into the room and scrunched her face. "Tony?"

His head turned and she gasped. A large bruise covered about seventy-five percent of his face. She dashed to his side, running her fingers gently over his face.

"What the hell happened to you?"

He shrugged. "My boss hit me with a frying pan to wake me up."

Jeanne gulped. She walked over to the end of his bed and flipped his file open. She checked the number on the board five times, not able to completely believe that she had walked into the right room. He had tried to kill himself, and it was her fault. Everything that was coming to fruition in he r head was making her dizzy.

"Why did you lie to me," She asked. "You said you didn't care about me, that it was all a lie. Why would you say that?"

Tony started at her, like the answer should've been simple. "I lied to you. I told you I was a professor, that I had a completely different life, when every day what I was really trying to do was bring down your father. I didn't think you would ever let go of me lying to you."

Jeanne frowned. "You should've told me the truth."

Tony furrowed his brow, shaking his head at her. "You don't want my life. I get shot at almost every day. I've been jumped more times than I can count, and I've almost been raped double more times than I can count. Every time I go undercover, I have no idea whether I'm going to survive. I live my life on a wing and a prayer, and I've got no one."

Jeanne sat moved closer up on the bed and grabbed his hand. "You had me, Tony. If you had tried to fight for me, it could've stayed that way. I was mad, and hurt, because I love you. I never wanted you dead."

Tony clenched his teeth, feeling a knot form in his throat. "Did you know you're the first person I ever said I love you to?"

Jeanne shook her head. Tears filled her eyes as well.

"My mom died when I was eight. My dad hated me. I don't do commitment because I've never felt loved. I was an idiot though. I fell in love with the one girl I couldn't have, and I regret it every day."

Jeanne looked down at his arm and turned it over. Tony winced; his entire hand and forearm ached from the cut.

"You're not alone, Tony. You're loved. People want you," she assured him. "I never stopped."

He looked at her, and then down at his hands. He didn't believe her, but she knew he probably wouldn't. Fortunately, she had pull with the psych ward. In a week or two, he'd be stable enough to be on his own again, but she'd be there for him. They'd find a way to make everything work.

"You don't want me," he mumbled.

She shook her head, leaning over and kissing his cheek. "Can't you see? You belong with me."