"We all carry within us our places of exile, our crimes, and our ravages. But our task is not to unleash them on the world; it is to fight them in ourselves and in others." - Albert Camus


Jethro had ranged throughout the whole of Rome, using and threatening every last one of his contacts to track down information on his one suspect, the only link between the two dead young men. Much to his irritation, that one suspect had turned into a victim himself, and Jethro was beginning to lose his patience. One boy drowned, another crushed, and now a third body, a fully grown man, who should've been able to defend himself, burned. This sort of thing wasn't supposed to happen in Vatican City, especially not with Jethro as Special Investigator of the Swiss Guard.

He'd caught the sickeningly sweet smell of burnt flesh before he burst into the suspect's room, only to find the heat-twisted corpse laid out on the stone floor. He'd called a doctor to examine the body, but he could already see the shattered state of the man's skull, meaning that he'd been knocked unconscious to ease the murder. Jethro spent the rest of his afternoon trying to get the reluctant citizens of Rome who shared in the squalor of the victim's building to answer his questions, but whether any of them saw a thing, none of them were willing to talk.

By the time Jethro made his way back inside Vatican City, his patience was worn to the breaking point and people scattered out of his path in terror. His temper had been flaring up for days since being forced to deal with the drama of Timothy, a lesser, but still beloved, cousin of the Medici. The lad had come to pay his respects to the female painter, Ziva, as her patron, and though in and of himself the boy wasn't too worrisome, trouble seemed to follow him.

After spending all his time in the City with Sister Katelyn, Timothy had decided to become a Priest. The Medici family hadn't taken the news well at all (particularly because the boy was engaged to the only child of Donald, Duke of Edinburgh). Timothy was bred to form his family a powerful alliance with the British Isles, and now he'd gone and gotten himself smitten with the Church. (Though if his love affair was with the religion, or the library, Jethro couldn't quite tell.)

Timothy was too mild a personality for Jethro's tastes, but Ziva and Sister Kate seemed to think he was worth all the fuss he'd created. And considering that Ziva was the only artist who didn't drive Jethro insane, and Kate the only nun who didn't make him feel like a wretch, he trusted their opinions.

On the whole he hadn't minded looking after the lad, even when he was causing an aristocratic uproar, until the Medici's sent someone to bring him back into line. When Jethro met the family's negotiator, he wished he'd never set an eye on Timothy if this was the bane he brought with him.

Jethro had been happily married until the moment he was robbed of his wife and daughter in a freak accident. He'd drowned himself in drink until an old companion from The Guard hauled him out of a tavern, dried him out, and demanded that he get his life back together. And from that moment, Jethro had. He solved some of the most wretched crimes that spilled over into the Holy City from the dregs of Rome, and occasionally went on special assignment for the Papal Office. Such an assignment had been tending to Timothy, and little had he suspected letting the boy into the library would cause the exact sort of problem The Church had been trying to avoid.

But now, Jethro was paying his penance for that mistake tenfold.

The Medicis had sent Timothy's favorite cousin, Anthony, to collect him. Apparently Timothy had a history for being stubborn when he made up his mind, and Anthony was the only person who could ever talk him out of it. Anthony was a youngest son of a youngest son, born to nothing greater than his fine surname paying his bills and greasing open young women's legs. But Anthony had become more than that. He was the Medici's 'fixer'. He'd been blessed with a warm smile and a silver tongue, and it was Anthony they sent to solve inter-family problems with no fuss and no gossip.

Not to say that the boy wasn't still a cad, despite his abilities. That smooth tongue got him in everywhere (including, from what Sister Kate said, a nun a night since he began his stay). It didn't help matters that the youth looked like he'd been cut from Roman marble, and ought to pictured somewhere being held up by a satyr while wrapped around a nymph.

The week had started off so pleasantly and now there was a murderer on the loose in his city, and Pan torturing his dreams. The worst of it was, Anthony had these flashes of tenderness, moments where he was so gentle with a confused Timothy, and made stoic Ziva laugh aloud, to say nothing of getting perfect Kate to stoop to flirt. He was so breathtakingly human that Jethro could barely stand it, so he spent his time away from the problems of the Vatican and hunting this murderer.

The first two victims had been foreigners on a tour with their friends, seeing the Holy City for the first time. In fact, save for the brown hair and green eyes, it almost seemed that the killer had chosen his victims at random, solely based on opportunity. It had taken hours of seemingly pointless questions to discover that other than the city, the only thing the boys had in common was that they'd stayed in the same hotel just outside of Rome, and each gotten into a fight at the hotel's tavern. They'd only stayed for one night, and not at the same time, but still, it was something.

He'd gotten a description of the man each boy had fought, and it sounded like the same wretch. Jethro had arrived at the hotel seeking the brawler just as the proprietor had come stumbling out, screaming about a corpse. The room belonged to a man matching the description Jethro had: a green-eyed, brown-haired ruffian known for picking fights with tourists so his partner could pick the pockets of onlookers while they were distracted. The murdering bastard had killed another man, all while Jethro had been wrapped up in questioning the tourists and getting distracted every five seconds by thoughts of Anthony.

The bastard had even left a note tied to the body, telling him, "Maybe you missed something? I suppose I'll just have to try again and again until you figure it out." Jethro didn't like murderers in the first place, and on days when he already felt like he was going out of his mind? Jethro vowed that this man would be a corpse himself before the end of the week.

XXXXXXX

Tony found Tim curled up in one of the many nooks of the great Vatican library. Considering Tim's unwieldy love of the written word, Tony wasn't surprised that the chance to spend the rest of his days wrapped up in these books played a part in his unexpected decision to stay. His choice wasn't even really about the books, or the chance at some peace and quiet, it was about the pressure crashing down on him. Every step of Tim's life had been hand picked for him, and now he had found his form of rebellion. (And only Timothy would find becoming a priest a good way to rebel.)

It wasn't that Tim didn't want the future they'd handed him on a silver platter, it was that he wanted to chose it all for himself. Tim loved Abigail, he loved Edinburgh, he loved the Scottish people, and he loved the chance to be a proper Nobleman who looked after all the people in his care. He had the sort of giving heart that should be tending to others as a shepherd tends to his flock, but sweet Tim felt unnerved that he was so perfect for it. Silly lad thought he was supposed to waste a few years doing exactly the opposite of what he was told before he settled down on the path he was designed for, whether he actually wanted to roam away from destiny or not. Anthony supposed that this was a result of his influence on his cousin, but of all the things he'd hoped to teach Tim, that wasn't anywhere near the list.

Anthony stepped into the alcove, sure to make enough noise that Tim would know he was coming and not startle at his approach. Tony crashed down onto the floor before Tim's chair, looking up at that cherubic face, perfectly lit by the glowing colors of the stained glass in the dying sun of early evening. "I need you to answer two questions, just two, and then I'll let you stay here if that's what you really want."

Tim just sighed, "I know they won't let me stay, even if I want to."

Tony snorted, "Tim, you may finally be telling the family what you want to do, but you still don't know how to actually pull off being wicked. Sure, they may want you to stop you from becoming a priest, but they can't stop you if you've already taken your vows."

Tim jumped so much he nearly dropped the book he was holding. He leaned forward and with an intense whisper asked, "You'd really let me do that?"

"I promise, Tim. If you answer my two questions, and you and I can both live with them, I'll stand by you myself when you take your vows, and no one short of The Holy Father himself will stop you."

"Alright: Question one?"

"What about Abby?"

Tim flushed and fidgeted, uncomfortable with the only thing he'd really regret leaving behind. "What about her?"

"What am I supposed to tell her, Tim? That you just woke up one morning and you weren't in love with her anymore? 'Cause you are in love with her, even if you're too distracted to remember it right now. You love her more than any other woman you've ever met before, and we both know the family has paraded plenty of them past you."

"It's not that I don't love her, Tony, I just ... I want to live my own life."

"And that's not supposed to include her? Two months ago you were so excited to spend the rest of your days with her that you were practically singing!"

Tim thumped the book down on a nearby table and leaned forward with his head in his hands. "I know Tony, I know. Can we, can we skip to your next question while I think of an answer to the first?"

"Sure, Tim. How am I supposed to spend the rest of my life married to your wife?" Tim's head popped up, and Tony met his shocked stare with his own firm glare and continued. "Because that's what Abby will always be. Your wife. I know you'll always love her, so I can't let her spend the rest of her life married to anyone who'll love her less than you would. And that's got to be me. I'll love her differently, but I'm the only man alive who'll be just as good to her. So tell me, how am I supposed to spend the rest of my born days married to my best friend's wife? How am I supposed to raise children that were meant to be his? How am I supposed to be you, Tim? I don't have it in me to be good like you are, so I need you to teach me how to have your soul, so that woman, and those children, don't miss out on the man they're supposed to have."

Sweet Timothy's bottom lip was quivering, heartbroken at the thought he'd never had. He always seemed to miss the sort of selfless love that Tony had for him until Tony did something wretchedly stupid for the sake of that love. "Oh, Tony." Tim sniffled, fighting the urge to wrap his arms around Tony and cry into his shoulder. Tim loved Abby, he always had, always would, it just felt like too much some days, like fate was patiently waiting for him to man up and walk down that road.

Tony just patted Tim on the cheek, pulling the younger man in for an obviously much needed hug. "You can take your time Tim, but those are questions that need answers before you up and leave your life behind."

XXXXXXX

Jethro was storming around his office like a bear with a sore paw. The whispered word had filtered though the Swiss Guard that the murderer he was tracking had decided to play with him, and Jethro wasn't taking it well.

One of the guards had dropped by Ziva's studio, asking her to just come and sit with Jethro, because her mere presence usually brought out his innate desire to nurture, and that would bring him out of his funk. Ziva refused to talk about the meeting they'd had, but according to the Guard who'd been eavesdropping outside the door, there had been yelling, and the crashing of objects against walls. If questioned, each and every guard would swear that the objects had thrown themselves into walls, all without the help Jethro's temper.

Next, they asked Sister Kate drop by, betting that the good sister would either be able to logic, cheer, or guilt Jethro out of his foul temper. They bet wrong. Sweet Kate emerged from the office with tears streaked down her face and for the first time since taking her orders, cursing.

None of the other Guards could figure out what it was about this case in particular that was pushing Jethro off the edge, or why in the hell he thought taking his anger out on those around him was the best way to find the killer.

But Tony understood it. The bastard was doing penance for the deaths by isolating himself. With a few pointed questions Tony discovered that Jethro hadn't really trusted anyone else to share his load in over a decade, and somewhere in his guilt-addled mind the fact that the killer was still free meant that he hadn't been shouldering enough of the burden.

Tony knew that Jethro would keep driving himself like this until the killer was caught, or until his soul couldn't take the weight of the anger anymore. And since there wasn't much he could do to help catch the killer, the best Tony could do was to throw himself on the altar of rage and hope he could burn enough of it off that Jethro could remember how to function around people.

He tapped lightly on the door to Jethro's office, fully expecting the shout of "Go away!". But Anthony ignored it and sauntered in with his most irritatingly false grin plastered over his face. That had always irritated Jethro, even in the bits of their history Jethro couldn't seem to remember.

The first time Anthony had met Jethro he'd been no more than a boy, coming to visit the Holy City for the first time in the company of one of his more prominent uncles. He'd gotten himself wretchedly lost in one of the gardens and fallen down a hill, scraping his knee. That's where a much younger Jethro had found him, curled up in the dirt and sobbing miserably. Jethro had been about to leave the Guard to raise a family with his lovely fiancé, and the man Anthony remembered from that day had been all quick smiles and gentle jokes.

From the tenderness of that single day Tony had spent the rest of his life in love with Jethro. He'd begged and pled with their great-grandfather to be allowed to follow after Timothy to the Vatican, for the sole purpose of seeing Jethro again. Through the family network of informants Anthony had been keeping tabs on Jethro through all the intervening years, and marked his own life by the passage of Jethro's. He rejoiced the day Jethro's wife gave birth to a daughter, sending an unnamed gift even grander than would've befit a son's birth (because when he was still young he'd wanted the position of Jethro's son to belong to him). When that same wife and child died, Anthony's heart had grown to that of a man, and with that mature soul he'd wept for his true love's pain. And when Jethro had climbed back out of the bottle, Anthony had pulled a few strings from behind the curtain to secure him a position with the Guard once again, no matter the priestly objections.

Time had changed them both, grief driving Jethro to the edge of sanity, and isolation driving Anthony to sleep with anything that would show him the same tenderness Jethro had show him and purge that ache of loneliness from his chest. He'd do anything for Jethro, always would, even if that anything meant offering himself up to have the skin flayed from his bones in an attempt to save Jethro from ruining everything he'd created since his world fell apart.

Jethro didn't look up from the papers at his desk as he said, "I told you to go away."

"You know me, Jethro. I've never been go at doing as I'm told." Anthony's voice wasn't the one he'd been expecting, so at the sound of it Jethro's head popped up and his eyes darkened.

"What the hell are you doing here!" He spat out.

Tony just laughed, trying to make it as demeaning as possible. "You're joking right? The whole city knows you're in a state over this murderer of yours and you've been shouting at the whole building trying to vent your frustration."

"And why does this matter to you?" Anthony ardently fought the overwhelming urge to drop his eyes and break the glare Jethro had fixed on him. If the man really wanted it, Anthony was sure he would've lit on fire from that stare alone.

Anthony turned his grin lecherous and oh, so, slowly settled himself down on the chair on the opposing side of Jethro's desk, stretching out his long form to the most aesthetically pleasing. "I've been told that I'm quite an excellent distracter."

Jethro actually cocked his head to the side, completely confused as to what Anthony was offering, but the moment clarity dawned, a thundercloud passed over his striking features. "Did you just proposition me?"

"Well, I think I would've found a more charming way to phrase it, but essentially."

Anthony knew he was heading in the right direction when Jethro didn't even bat an eye before replying, "Is this why you're such a good negotiator for your family? You prostitute yourself out to anyone who'll have you?"

Tony had known it was coming, he'd actually baited Jethro into saying it while he was in such a temper, but that didn't make the cut any less. He'd adored this man for over a decade and was now doing his best to become the sole object of his wrath. Fate was certainly a wretch sometimes. "Not just anyone, Jethro. I actually have a very prestigious clientele. Don't worry, normally you wouldn't be on it, but Timothy seems to like you so I thought I'd make an exception."

Jethro clenched his jaw, every inch of him dripping with wrath. "You came to my office just to insult me?"

"No, Jethro. I though I was clearer than that. I'm here to make you forget for a while."

Jethro leaned back into the harsh lines of his chair, saying, "And why would you do that?"

Tony grinned lasciviously, "Partly because you getting laid will make life easier on my cousin, but mainly because I've never had a member of the Swiss Guard before." Tony pitched his tone to the most demeaning he could manage so no man with a shred of self-respect could accept his offer, and a man like Jethro would beat him silly for it.

"So you intend to betray your fiancé and your god to calm me down."

Tony snorted, "She's only my fiancé as long as Tim stays here, and she won't mind anyway, she's used to it. And money is my god, Jethro, it's much more willing to interfere than yours." That did it. Insults to the only two things Jethro believed in – family and faith – and Jethro snapped.

From one breath to the next Jethro was on him, and Tony had a moment to think maybe he had pushed too hard before the fists descended.

XXXXXXX

It was Timothy who found Tony afterwards. Disturbed by Katelyn's report of a much calmer Jethro, he'd gone to make sure Tony hadn't done exactly what Timothy thought he'd done. He found Tony half dressed and sprawled on his bed, contemplating whether it was worth it to stand up and tend to his injuries or just lie there until he passed out.

Tim dashed to the library nook where Katelyn did all her research and told her all in a hasty explanation. She sent Tim back to Tony, following along minutes later with Ziva, who'd had some medical training to apply to Tony.

Tim had to admit, as talented a painter as Ziva was, she was an even better healer. She gently checked Anthony for broken ribs, then propelled him to a seated position, carefully washing the few wounds that had drawn blood, and finally rubbing some sort of ointment over his bruises. Unlike the caricature Tony had been playing the last few days, he had only respectful words for the woman running her hands over his bare chest. He didn't flirt, politely inquired whether he should be reapplying the ointment, and graciously thanked her, much to the astonishment of Katelyn and the gratitude of Timothy.

Tim plopped down on the bed next to Tony when Ziva moved to wrap most of his chest with gauze and Caitlin thought she'd take the chance to get a straight answer out of him. "What did you do to irritate Jethro so much?"

Tony's eyes flicked up from where he was diligently observing the application of his medication so Ziva wouldn't need to be put out with his care again and said, "Are you sure you want to know Katelyn? It won't be anything you agree with."

"Thank you, I could surmise that for myself from the need Jethro felt to pummel you. What. did. you. do?"

He gave the faintest of grins then calmly stated, "I propositioned him."

"Y-You what?" Kate stuttered out with wide, disbelieving eyes.

Tony's grin grew at the slightest twitch of a smile he was inspiring in Ziva, and he continued. "I told him I wanted to have sex with him." Kate sputtered again, so Tony pressed on, "On his desk … loudly … in the middle of the day."

Kate's face flamed red and she crossed herself, muttered a prayer over Anthony's blasphemy. "Why would you do that!" It wasn't the question she really wanted to ask, but it seemed more appropriate than 'Do you have a death wish?'.

Tony was about to flail out with something impetuous but Ziva replied for him, "Because Jethro is now much calmer." She kept steadily wrapping the wound, ignoring Katelyn's confusion, and Tony and Tim's gratitude at her interference.

"What do the two have to do with one another?" Katelyn asked.

Ziva leveled a disbelieving look on her and said, "Surely you of all people must understand the value of a sacrificial lamb, Sister Katelyn."

Tentative understanding flicked through Kate's eyes and she replied, "You, you made him mad at you instead of mad at everything?"

Tony tried to shrug, but he grimaced at the motion instead. "Figured he'd be easier to deal with if he had a living being who he could actually fight instead of railing against the fates." Tony leaned back with a groan, "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

Katelyn sunk down on the foot of Tony's bed and asked, "Why would you do that?"

Tony looked at her like this was a ridiculously stupid question and said, "Because he loves all of you, and I wouldn't rob him of your guidance, not even on his worst day. He needs you."

Katelyn and Timothy nodded, accepting Anthony's logic that as the man passing through, he was the disposable one. Ziva though, Ziva ran her fingers through Anthony's hair, knowing full well the pain Anthony pretended he wasn't in.

She'd seen how Jethro looked at Anthony when he thought no one was looking, when Tony's brow was furrowed as he a read a text from the library, or basked in the glow of art in the galleries, or defended the little priests when outsiders were giving them a tough time. In the few days Anthony had been here he'd been almost unable to keep his usual deception intact around Jethro, and the part of Jethro not bred out of him by his religious service couldn't help but respond.

She knew what it cost Anthony to make himself the object of Jethro's hate, and they all knew that Jethro wasn't the sort of man to go about forgiving him for such an affront. Some days Ziva thought the fates must have intended for Jethro to have a different best friend than the one he found in Sister Katelyn. Ziva had tried to step up and fill the void, but her pagan beliefs made that path difficult, if not impossible. He needed someone with a gentle hand to stand on the right side of human and lure him back over with a carrot, but neither woman fit the bill. Katelyn lured towards perfect, and Ziva hammered towards human, and neither was enough to persuade Jethro when his mind was set.

A better friend would mention to Jethro that Anthony had irritated him to divert his rage from everyone else, and press on to point out that perhaps the only reason Jethro was quite so irate as he was, was because he had hoped Anthony was truly that quiet, passionate, honorable man whom Jethro had seen flashes of. But alas, there was no such friend to accomplish the task without doing more damage. As it stood, Ziva could only nurse Anthony's body back to health, trusting that the moment he left Vatican City his heart would begin to mend. As for Jethro, he would ache with this wasted chance for the rest of his life, and never really understand why.

Provided, of course, that the serial killer didn't end his pain first.