Take a Deep Breath
by scousemuz1k
AN: Be warned; this breaks three of my personal canons, things that I said I'd NEVER write. 1: Tony leaves permanently. 2: Tony has OC female romance. (He'd never get a male one with me anyway...) 3: One character is good and the rest are... not so much.
I always said I wouldn't write one like that because it's not balanced or accurate. The show isn't like that. They all have their good and bad points, but remain 'family' and no-one's completely horrible or completely wonderful. But hey, the story's been in me for a long time, and in the end it had to come out. Never could resolve some things on the show in my mind...
If you don't fancy a story with those elements, stop reading now, please don't message me and tell me I'm being rotten to anyone. I KNOW.
Two chapters (I think) and an epilogue. Begins at the end of Boxed In.
As the cold wave of humiliation splashed over him, and washed the colour from his face, he swallowed. Whoa, whoa, whoa... He schooled his expression into blankness instantly, as he willed the flush that had followed the pallor to subside. Come on, process... rationalise. It can't be that bad... has to be a reasonable explanation...
He looked across at McGee, and as his stomach sank to his boots he read in a moment that no amount of rationalising was going to deal with this. Tim's expression was still smug, gleeful, and downright anticipatory, matching Ziva's. He knew, and he was set to enjoy the reaction. Tony kept his expression neutral, but the long stare he gave his friend... colleague... had the Probie arranging his features into bland, 'who, me?' innocence at once.
If he hadn't seen that look on Tim's face, he could have kidded himself that no-one but Ziva knew she'd left him out of her dinner – no, party, Abby had said... but clearly, he had been denied that mercy. Who else knew? Gibbs? That grin... what happened to 'you don't waste good'? Or rule 1?
Not here... not here...
He fought to maintain some sort of equilibrium against the roaring in his ears and the feeling that his thoughts had grown little angry fists and were trying to pound their way out of his brain. Angry? No... not that... stunned. Hurt.
Nobody was looking at him; Abby was bouncing as she enthused about the slow-cooked beef, and all attention was on her. Tony slowly pulled his arm from the sling, which he removed and dropped on the floor behind his desk. Scratch? Bullet wound? Yes, he'd been milking it with the 'who know what happened' thing... but he honestly did have no idea; he hadn't been aware that his arm was hurting, or that there was blood on his sleeve, until they'd stepped out of the container. In the ER he'd peered at it, but it just looked like a bit of a gouge. No idea from what... He picked up his favourite jacket and looked at the darkening patch on the sleeve, shrugged, and put it on anyway.
It's my own fault for teasing McGee just now... but hey, he didn't put up with it for long, he never does these days, does he... yeah, but maybe if I hadn't teased him he wouldn't be so pleased I got a put-down. Should I have been so surprised? Maybe I had it coming.
Not here... not now...
Abby had moved on to squealing about a triple chocolate maple tart, and the racket she was making was hopefully enough to cover anything he did, as he stood up slowly, reaching for his pack with his left hand.
As he stepped from behind his work-station, though, of course it had to be Ziva who noticed him.
"Tony!" Her voice was sharp with reproof. "Why have you taken your sling off?"
"Because I can't drive with it on, Zeevah," he told her. Well duh, wasn't it obvious?
"You cannot drive anyway!"
"Of course I can. It's just a scratch from a box, remember?"
"But I will drive you home tonight after we have eaten."
He gave her a weary, slightly mournful look. "Ziva, dinner's a really bad idea right now." After the look you just gave me? I'd probably choke on your food... "I need a shower, and my bed. I don't really feel like eating."
He muttered a joyless goodnight to the room in general and headed towards the elevator.
"DiNozzo!" Of course, Boss, you must get your ten cents worth.
Tony turned slowly. "Gibbs?"
"Let Ziva drive you home."
No freaking way. He shook his head slowly. "It's just a scratch, Boss, I'll be fine." He turned back to the elevator and shut out anything that might be going on behind him. He held the cool indifference until the silver doors closed behind him, then leaned back against them, banging his head, and letting out a strangled gasp that could have been a sob.
NCISNCISNCIS
He'd emptied his mind of everything except concentration on his driving; the truth was, it did hurt a bit more than he expected it to, and it was his gear shifting arm , so he'd taken everything slowly and carefully. He had no intention of damaging his Princess, and anyhow, he'd wanted to get home in one piece to do some thinking.
Now he dropped his pack in the corner, and his damaged jacket with it; he wasn't normally a slob but it could wait. Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, he flung himself down on his sofa, making the springs twang in protest, and let out a long sigh. Time to face the music. Take a deep breath, Anthony.
Maybe she heard you talking to Marchetti about the mud-wrestling, and decided there was no point in asking you, Anthony thought reasonably.
What would you have done if it were the other way round? It was a despondent Tony who retorted. You'd have asked me to postpone my evening out, or if I couldn't, you'd have rescheduled. Or if you couldn't do that because everyone else – ha! – everyone else couldn't reschedule for me, cos that's unreasonable, you'd have gone ahead but told me about it and said it was a shame but come next time. You would not have gone ahead and said nothing.
Perhaps it was all spur of the moment.
And you'd have said, if you knew I had something else on, ok, let's have our spur a different moment. She left me out deliberately.
The reasonable Anthony sighed. There wasn't really an answer to that. So who knew? Didn't anyone notice he wasn't there? Didn't anyone ask?
Who'd care?
Now you're being maudlin.
Maybe. Can't help it – it hurts. For freaks sake, it hurts like hell! Never mind if I deserve it... I can't believe...
You're not that bad. You tease. You also do things to help them. They've never told you you're that bad...
So this is a freaking cruel way to say they're fed up of you!
The despondent Tony wasn't going to be comforted. He actually felt like crying, which was ridiculous. DiNozzos don't... but it was like a physical pain in his chest and gut, and he curled up into a ball. I wonder if Ducky was there? Surely he'd have said something... you're not the centre of the Earth, Anthony, need to stop thinking you are. He took a long pull from the water bottle, wincing as the five stitches under the dressing on his right arm tugged. He switched the bottle to his left hand.
You know, he told his reasonable self sadly, whatever I did to earn it, I still don't know how I'll get past it. Defining moment in my life, huh? You know... things you never forget? He began to list them, from standing in the middle of a luxury suite at the Maui Hilton and realising he was alone. His Dad had forgotten to take him along, wherever he'd gone. Not knowing why he was being loaded into the limo with a packed case, until the chauffeur told him he was going to RIMA. Kate's blood –
Don't go there. Don't go anywhere. You can't change any of it. His reasonable self was stern. We're dealing with now.
Now, Tony said bitterly, I'm a schmuck who was sailing through life thinking he was well enough liked, and a member of a team. I'm a schmuck who was wrong.
Now you are being maudlin. Look, I know it hurts.
Well gee, thanks for that.
You're welcome.
Ooh, sarcasm.
Yep, come on, straighten up. What are you going to do?
Well, right now, he was going to have a shower. He gave up the inner debate, since both sides had agreed that he was damn well miserable, and had to do something about it.
As he stood under the cascading hot water, (what a marvellous invention the shower was,) he peeled the dressing from over the stitches. He didn't care about getting them wet, he could re-dress them afterwards – didn't he always keep stuff handy? The wound was only an inch long, and he marvelled at how something that small needed five stitches to close it.
It was still uncomfortable, throbbing and smarting, but he blamed that on the hot water dousing. He turned the water off, put the toilet seat down, and sat on it to dry and bandage the cut, sighing ruefully at the fact that he was as adept at it with his left as his right. He'd had plenty of practise over the years. By the time he'd done it, he'd more or less steamed the rest of him dry, so he pulled on sleeping shorts and headed for his bedroom, only to make a u-turn back to the bathroom cabinet. He doubted he'd sleep much tonight, but he sure didn't want it to be because pain kept him awake, so he washed two Advil down with the rest of the bottled water, and fell into bed.
NCISNCISNCIS
By the time the first light of day was making the edges of the sky purple, Tony's prediction about lack of sleep had definitely come true. He'd only come to one decision, but he was firm on it.
He wasn't going to talk to any of them about it. He wasn't going to ask why, or who knew, or was his absence even noticed by those who didn't... or how long ago it had all been arranged. That was a new thought that shook him. Was it spur of the moment – or had she planned it for a long time? Had the others been invited long ago? Whatever, he wouldn't like the answers to any of those questions, and he was having trouble enough dealing as it was without making things worse by asking them.
If anyone attempted to bait him, he'd pretend ignorance, then deflect. He was good at that. But he hoped nobody would say anything, because what would rubbing it in say about their opinion of him?
Everything isn't about you. He shook his head derisively. Oh yes it was; this time it was.
He flung the covers off and got out of bed. His arm still itched and throbbed, so he took another two Advil, and probably ruined their effectiveness by downing a hot, strong (for him) mug of coffee as he stood looking out of his bedroom window, thoughts revolving to no further conclusion. Perhaps if he asked... perhaps there'd be a reasonable answer to comfort him. Then he thought of the two gleeful smiles, and knew just how pointless that hope was.
He put the mug in the dishwasher, yesterday's clothes in the machine, and began to stuff the jacket with its bloodstained sleeve in a plastic bag to take to the dry cleaner. He wasn't going to let the night's events put him off one of his favourite garments. He paused and looked at the stained sleeve; there was an irregular hole in the centre of the dark patch. It didn't look like a bullet hole... but he didn't see how he could have scratched himself through the thick fabric either. He shrugged. Checking the place was tidy, as he always preferred not to come home to a mess he'd left when he went out, he dressed in his running gear and headed out into the chilly, fresh early morning.
One of his favourite routes was a circuit or two of a local park. Three miles to run there, two laps another two miles, and three miles back made an ideal distance and didn't take too long to get in on a morning before work. There were long, slow gradients, so he didn't have to alter pace too much, and the view from the top of the hill was easy on the eye.
Not that he cared this morning; he ran at a blistering pace, hoping that the twang of his calf muscles and the pounding of his feet – and his heart, for that matter, would give him something else to think about than slow cooked beef and beans.
As he came to the top of the hill, pounding a path that threaded between shrubs and bushes, he heard a dog's enthusiastic bark from the lakeside below, and being a curious sort of guy, (McGee didn't call him DiNosey for nothing,) he came down to a jog, and looked down. It was unusual not to have the park to himself at five-fifteen am, but yep, there was a large, shepherd type dog emerging from the water with a ball in its mouth, which it brought to the man who waited on the bank. The guy's cheerfully sarcastic voice drifted up.
"Nice one, Guinness... you let it go in the water deliberately, didn'tcha?" The dog just grinned as the man laughed and ruffled his wet coat. He put the ball into the slinger he was carrying, whirled his arm, and sent the dog off on another gallop, this time towards the children's play area, where he dashed in and out among the climbing frames until he found his toy again.
Tony had come to a halt by now, his attention more on the man who'd remained in the one spot until he set slowly off to follow his canine pal. He carried a stick, and walked as if the whole business of moving hurt him, although he was probably Tony's age or younger. One leg took a lot of effort to move, with an ungainly lurch to one side as the man heaved his hip into the air to take a step. Tony thought sadly, former soldier... possibly amputee, and still feeling the effects.
The dog ran back to his friend, and bounced up and down, inviting him to run. "Ah, come on, Guinny, have a heart..." but the guy nevertheless set off at an awkward attempt at a run, because the dog wanted him to. He stopped on the edge of the play park, and sat down on a log, rubbing his thigh and grimacing, but he was smiling and his other hand was scratching the dog's ears. Up on the hill, Tony was making no attempt to conceal himself, but the man was clearly unaware of his presence, as his next action proved...
He took a quick look round to see that there was no-one about, although he didn't think to look up, and hobbled over to the aerial runway. The dog went with him, bouncing as enthusiastically as before. The guy dragged the seat back as far as he could to the back of the launch pad, climbed aboard and kicked off with his good leg, and whooped with delight as he hurtled the forty or so feet to the other end, bounced against the stop and hurtled back again, with Guinness running beside him all the time.
He climbed carefully off, and he and his dog began to walk away, which brought them back in Tony's direction. As they came level with a large notice at the entrance to the play area, the man pointed at it and laughed. It read, 'Adults must be accompanied by a responsible child', and Tony heard him ask the dog ruefully, "Which of us is which, boy?"
Tony wanted to jog down the hill and say hi, but then thought better of it. He was so disgustingly fit and able bodied; he wasn't about to flaunt it in the other man's face. He began to jog on his way, building up speed gradually, and as he did so, he heard the man's cheerful whistling. Something of Sinatra's...
He ran faster and faster, and didn't bother with a second circuit, pounding and crashing down the suburban pavements until he arrived at his own front door, jaw clenched, chest heaving, and dripping with sweat. He'd learned something, and now he needed the warpaint with which to use what he'd learned.
He showered again, took another couple of Advil before the others could wear off, although the breakfast he should have taken them with didn't appeal, and got his best office suit out of the closet. He dressed to the nth degree of perfection, easing the jacket carefully over the dressing on his arm, and setting his holster a little further to the front than usual to make the draw easier. He styled his hair, one handedly, in the most irreverent style he knew how, and stood in front of the mirror checking out the overall effect. If he didn't look at the hollow eyes, the picture was exactly as he wanted.
If that guy could survive the loss of a limb, and his career smiling and whistling, then he could survive being the only one not invited to a freaking party. He could carry on with the rest of his life and get over yet another 'defining moment', and not be a wimp. Course he could. There'd be some changes, but not so suddenly that anyone would notice, and Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo would keep calm and carry on. Maybe he'd buy a mug that said so.
Everything is fine... you are not hurting about this...
He was at his desk by six thirty. He took a deep breath, sucked it up and prepared for a brand new day.