Anthony DiNozzo slumped against his steering wheel, the hard plastic digging into his forehead and creating a point of focus for him to cling onto.
Was he still Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo? Or had he left that man behind, shed the fun-loving, loyal NCIS agent the day he'd decided to become Professor Anthony DiNardo? The DiNozzo that trailed behind Gibbs like a particularly well-trained Labrador retriever would never have lied to his boss like this, never have snuck around behind his team's back.
Logically, that meant that he wasn't Anthony DiNozzo anymore. If DiNozzo wouldn't do those things, then he couldn't possibly be DiNozzo.
He wondered distantly if Gibbs had noticed that DiNozzo had slipped away and left a changeling in his place.
His head throbbed, pain radiating from the crack in his skull he'd received earlier while pretending to be Agent DiNozzo. He shook his head, trying to clear the pain, and only succeeding in causing the world around him to tilt on its axis. Nausea assailed him and he thought he heard a groan, but he couldn't hear clearly through the blood thundering through his ears.
He fumbled around for the bottle he'd been using to self-medicate, desperately seeking the relief from pain the alcohol would give him. The liquid burned on the way down his throat and he coughed, tilting his head back against the headrest and squinting through his blurred vision.
He wasn't sure if it was the head injury or the alcohol that was turning his world into this confusing mass of conflicting thoughts. Or maybe it had always been like this, and he was only seeing it properly now.
The nausea hit him again, twice as strong this time, and he desperately clutched at the door, barely managing to fumble the handle open and retch onto the asphalt. Bile splattered onto his shoes and the hem of his dusty pants, and he gripped the door weakly to stop him from tilting forward into the mess, pulling himself upright and swaying.
Horror trickled through him as he peered upwards and realized he was standing in the carpark of Jeanne's apartment building. Jeanne, who had no idea who he was. Jeanne, who couldn't possibly miss the fact that he was hiding something when he'd lost the ability to order his words along with his control over his stomach.
He felt his keys dropping out of his hand, not sure when he'd picked them up. They clattered against the ground and he thought for a moment about scooping them up, getting back in the car and driving away.
He'd been at NCIS longer than any other job. Maybe it was time to go, before he lost every part of himself in the act of staying.
He left the keys where they were and walked away, not sure where he was going but knowing that it wasn't here.
.
.
The call had been slurred and incoherent, dropping a cold lump of forbidding into Gibbs' stomach.
"Gibbs," he'd answered the phone curtly, sandpaper block held loosely in his other hand ready to be pressed against the wood of his boat again. "This better be good, DiNozzo."
The sucking sound of a breath being drawn in through clenched teeth issued into his ear, followed by a shuddering exhale. "Boss," Tony said, and his voice sounded as though he was a million miles away.
Gibbs dropped the sandpaper block and moved towards the door, recognising the tone instantly even with only one word through a broken connection.
"Where are you?" Keys, wallet, out the front door, jogging to his car.
"I don't know. I don't know who I am anymore."
Gibbs tucked the phone between his shoulder and ear, tires squealing as he backed out, thoughts racing as he tried to work out where his agent would be. "Give me a location, DiNozzo. Talk after."
There was a soft moan and when he spoke again, Tony's speech was thick. "Bridge. There's water."
The car practically shuddered under him as Gibbs' foot pressed hard against the accelerator. "Why you there?" he asked, the answer already haunting him. Not Tony, not Tony, never Tony.
"I don't know. I'm lost."
Gibbs swore to himself. "I'm going to hang up, DiNozzo, and when I call back you better answer or I'll have your head. Got it?"
A mumbled noise that could have been a yes, and Gibbs cut the call short, fingers already dialling the number he needed. "McGee. Can you trace a phone?"
.
.
He knew who was walking towards him without turning his head, the familiar pattern of footsteps permanently engraved into his memory. "Boss," he slurred without lifting his head, staring dully down at the water.
Cool fingers found his chin, tilted it up so his green eyes met the grim blue ones examining him. He squinted, head throbbing monotonously at the movement. The fingers left his chin, traced across his jawline and brushed gently around his hairline, probing. He hissed as they found the careful stitches where the perp had smacked him with a pole earlier that day. "I know Ducky didn't clear you go wandering around DC," Gibbs grumbled, pulling away fingers that were tacky with blood. "The hell you doin', DiNozzo?"
"Trying to find myself," Tony told him, half truthfully. At this point in time, he'd have been happy to find a bed or even a couch. In a dark room. With a bottle of water. He shifted his gaze back to the water below, thirst drying his throat and sticking his tongue to the roof of his mouth.
Something gripped his arm painfully, making him yelp and twitch away. Gibbs crouched next to him, face inscrutable, the only sign of his tension in the white-knuckled grip he'd managed on Tony's limb. I'm not planning on jumping, Tony told him calmly, or at least he tried to. Somehow the words got lost between his brain and his mouth, and instead he groaned and retched emptily again.
"Shouldn't drink with a head injury," Gibbs said, voice carefully controlled.
"I fucked up, Boss," Tony finally admitted. Gibbs was silent, waiting for him to expand upon that thought before reacting. "I didn't know what to do, whose orders to follow, and I let you down."
Gibbs stiffened slightly and his gaze narrowed dangerously. Tony was pretty sure that gaze wasn't aimed at him but he shivered anyway.
And kept shivering, body shaking uncontrollably making his teeth chatter in his head. His boss sighed, sliding his jacket off and tucking it around his shoulders, the material still warm from his body and smelling strongly of wood shavings and cheap bourbon.
It smelled like home.
"I'm sure you did what you thought was right," Gibbs finally said. "You're not the type to do what's wrong."
"The right thing… what is it?" Tony laughed darkly, half shaking his head for emphasis before Gibbs stopped him with a quick palm steadily held against the back of his skull. "I wonder, if you do the right thing, does it really make everyone happy?"
Gibbs sat next to him, a warm presence pressed against Tony's side from thigh to shoulder, and Tony fought the encompassing desire to lean against him and fall asleep. He could feel his boss's shoulders move slightly as he breathed, grip finally easing on his arm as he seemed to realize Tony wasn't suicidal, just drunk and introspective. "The right thing rarely makes anyone happy, DiNozzo, least of all the person doing it. That's not why they do it."
Tony gave in to the desire and slumped against his boss, forehead smacking into his shoulder bone painfully and causing another wave of discomfort. Gibbs shifted slightly against him, making it easier for him to find a comfortable position. "Why do they do it then?" he mumbled into his shirt.
Gibbs shrugged with the shoulder Tony wasn't using as a pillow. "Because it's right. Even if it takes them a little while to realize that."
Tony closed his eyes, hearing another car pulling up nearby and familiar footsteps hurrying towards them. "How long do I have to work it out?" he asked softly, lowering his voice so Ducky couldn't hear.
Gibbs huffed a breath, turning slightly to make sure the ME had seen them. "Long as you need, DiNozzo. I'm not going anywhere."
.
.
Tony woke up with the mother of all hangovers, a fresh bandage stuck over the crack in his head and a vague recollection of having received a blistering lecture from the usually genial medical examiner. One that was probably going to repeated when he saw him again.
He wasn't in his bed either, the room around him achingly familiar from other times he'd had just one too many drinks during dinner and couldn't drive home. Sometimes he'd suspected that Gibbs pushed that one last drink on him on purpose, wanting the company, or just wanting Tony safe under his roof for a night.
He staggered to his feet, ignoring the disorientation, and carefully meandered his way down the hallway, following the sound of Gibbs being gruff and the smell of coffee. He wasn't as quiet as he would have liked down the stairs, rounding the corner to find Gibbs seated at the table, eyeing him over an open paper.
"Morning, Boss," he said sheepishly, trying for a casual grin to wipe away whatever harm he'd done the night before.
Gibbs made a noise almost like a growl in his throat and lowered the paper. Tony fought off the urge to run like a gazelle faced with a particularly irritable cheetah. "Yeah. You drive last night, DiNozzo?"
Tony tried to think back to find an answer for that and found he couldn't, the night just one hazy blur to him. "Er… I don't know, Boss."
"You better hope not, otherwise I'll save you the trouble and kill you myself before you take someone out with you." Oh boy. Gibbs was pissed. He could forgive Tony a lot of mistakes, drink driving not being one of them.
Tony swallowed nervously and sidled into a seat, choosing silence over the anger he could sense in his friend. After a long, quiet breakfast that Tony barely picked at, Gibbs finally got up and strode towards the basement door, clearly eager to be out of Tony's company.
It's not like he could blame him.
He must have made some small noise because Gibbs paused at the door, turned on his heel to eye DiNozzo with one calm eye. "Problem?"
Tony stuttered in his attempt to deflect. "No, no, I was just… going. I should go. Home that is."
A familiar touch grazed his arm, Gibbs suddenly looming over him with an expression that was terrifyingly close to concern. "You're not going anywhere, until that's better." A finger jabbed against his head. Tony wasn't sure if he was referring to the head wound or just his head in general, and he was pretty sure Gibbs didn't know either. "I'm not going anywhere, DiNozzo. Are you?"
Tony looked up and yeah, that was definitely concern in Gibbs' eyes. He had a hazy recollection of wondering if the older man had noticed him slipping away, distancing himself from the team.
Looks like he had his answer.
"No, Boss. I'm staying," he said finally, truthfully.
Gibbs chuckled lowly, taking a step back as his mouth twitched with the beginning of a grin.
"Might wanna wait until Ducky is finished with you before you make any promises," he warned.
Oh boy. Maybe he should have run when he had the chance.