He flies round the bend and has to yank the wheel in the opposite direction to prevent himself from spinning out of control. He has never driven this fast in his life.
His agents may comment on his driving regularly, but right now his usual style could be considered safe.
He is actually scaring himself.
After he narrowly avoids slamming into a red pickup he vaguely considers the fact that he should slow down. This kind of driving is meant for a rally track, not the domesticated streets of D.C.
But he dismisses the thought as quickly as it comes. Slowing down is not an option.
Not getting there in time is not an option.
He has to get to Tony.
That is his only option.
He can't imagine how he must feel right now, to be confronted with the person he fears above all others.
That makes him sick, sons are not meant to fear their fathers. Not the way Tony does.
Fear of disappointing them, fear of a lecture or being grounded, there fair game. Fear of a beating, fear of bones breakings are things that shouldn't exist within children.
Tony had to fear the latter, and now the man that broke him so badly is most likely trying to do so again, and he isn't there. He isn't there to protect him, he isn't there supporting him.
He isn't there to love him the way his father never did.
He isn't there.
His guilt is weighing heavily on him, forcing his foot even harder down on the gas pedal.
If he was too late, if that man laid one hand him... he shakes his head and rids himself of the thought.
Tony not being okay isn't an option either.
He finally sees his building and leaves his car sitting haphazardly out front.
Screw parking, there is no time for that.
He races up the stairs, and feels his heart hammering more and more painfully the closer to his door that he gets.
He turns into the corridor, draws his weapon and sends up a prayer.
He prays that there will be something left for him to salvage.
He realises McGee isn't standing by the door where he imagined him to be, he feels his gut churn at the absence of his junior agent.
He approaches slowly. Cautiously, then he hears a gunshot and all thought leaves him.
He races to the door, his own safety unimportant.
The door is slightly ajar when he reaches it, he pushes it open the rest of the way and takes in the scene before him.
Then he just stops.
Nothing could have prepared him for this. This scenario never entered his head because he was so sure he would make it in time.
He didn't.
He was too late.
Oh god Tony.
...
Breathe. Just breathe.
That is all he commands himself.
Breathe through the panic.
Breathe through the fear.
Breathe through the dizziness threatening to send him to his knees.
Just breathe DiNozzo.
He ignores the sick feeling that rises up in him at the name. Right now he would give anything to not be associated with the man standing before him.
The man he so stupidly opened his door to, the man standing there staring at him with icy hatred in his eyes. He never could forget those eyes. They haunted his dreams, there were lurking in his mirror, they followed him around in every moment, tainting everything he touched.
He could feel the panic pulling him under and he had to fight to keep a grip on his erratic emotions. He couldn't appear weak, it didn't matter that he felt like a little kid about to piss his pants, as long as he didn't show it.
So he pulls himself up to his full height and curls his hands into fists to hide their shaking.
"What the hell do you want?"
Was that his voice?
It was hard as steel, cold of ice.
He didn't want to have that voice inside him, he knew where he had learned it. Or more accurately who he had learned it from.
"Is that any way to speak to your father?"
That voice, so achingly familiar, despite the many years since he's heard it sends a shiver down his spine and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and he wonders if he can get himself through this without breaking down.
"You don't deserve the title"
The force of the unexpected blow sends him staggering back several steps and several decades and he has to fight to keep himself firmly in the present.
"How dare you be so disrespectful, have you forgotten the appropriate manner in which to address me?"
He spits blood on the floor before he answers.
"Go to hell"
He doesn't flinch at fury in the older man's eyes, or when he takes a step towards him. He has done this dance before, except this time he isn't a little kid, and he isn't going to stand there and take it. This time he is going to fight back.
He ducks as the first punch comes his way and then shoves him away.
"Why now? Why come here now?"
He needs to know, he needs to have some understanding of the situation.
"I missed you"
He knows sarcasm when he hears it.
"Missed your punching bag more like"
The laugh he gets in response is cruel and bitter and something he hopes to never have to hear again.
"Well there is that"
He doesn't make another attempt to hit him but simply starts to walk around the living area, he sees him sweep his gaze over the furniture, and linger on his expensive television.
"What do you want?"
There is no bite in his voice now, just exhaustion.
"Money"
What?
He's come to ask him for money?
"A business deal went bad, I need a little help to get back on my feet"
"And you came to me? You really think I'm going to help you? After everything you did"
"Still crying about that I see, I thought you would have realised by now it was to help you Anthony"
He can't believe what he is hearing, all that bastard did was hurt him, he never helped him.
What kind of screwed mentality allowed someone to see breaking your 6 year old sons arm as helping?
"You were always such a sensitive child, much too like your mother, I had to toughen you up, turn you into a man, and I tried my hardest but I suppose you were just too much of a lost cause. You're still just as weak and worthless as you were when I started"
It takes all the strength he has left to not visibly react to those words and the calm manner in which they are delivered. He really believes what he is saying. He has always known what his father thinks of him, he can't afford to dwell on it now.
"I think you should leave"
This time he is proud of his tone, proud of how steady his voice is.
"I will, when I get what I came for"
"If you really think I am going to help you, you are just plain stupid. So just leave."
His self preservation apparently has.
Without warning his father picks up a glass and hurls it straight at him, it strikes him on the temple with startling accuracy and the blow sends him to his knees.
He's had a lot of practice at that particular trick.
Before he has a chance to recover he is standing over him and delivers a vicious blow to his ribs, then a smack to face sends him on to his back and he finds himself gasping for air.
As he's lying there something in him snaps, something changes. He has been afraid of this man for years, for his entire life, and he doesn't want to let him rule him anymore.
He is a grown man, he is a federal agent.
He can protect himself, and he will.
That makes him suddenly think of his gun lying on his bed and the various others stashed around the place and hopes to god he won't have to use one of them.
He stands up and ignores the way the room spins in and out of focus.
His father approaches again but this time he's ready and slams his fist into his face, relishing in how good it feels to get one back. He falls but he grabs him back up by his arm and throws into the nearest wall. The movement makes the pain in his ribs spike but he doesn't stop.
He strides to where his father is clutching the wall, intent on handcuffing him. He strikes him off guard when he suddenly turns around and shoves him with strength someone his age shouldn't still possess.
He flies backwards and can't hold in his sharp cry of pain as he goes straight through his glass coffee table. For a moment he can't think, can't breathe, can't do anything but feel the burning in his back where the glass shards sliced right through his skin.
"You see what happens son, when you try to play the tough guy. You're pathetic, you're nothing, you can kid yourself all you want but you will always be worthless"
Tears sting his eyes and he tells himself it's from the pain, nothing more.
He sees a glint of something flash in the corner of his eye, he raises his head to see his father brandishing a small pocket knife and he reads the intent in his eyes.
The knife may be small, but it's big enough to kill him.
...
He races into the apartment, gun drawn, and nerves all over the place.
He spots Tony immediately, lying on the ground, surrounded by what he guesses used to be his coffee table.
He hears the final words spoken by the man standing above him, and wonders where such cruelty can come from. He is so stunned by them he fails to pick up on the knife hanging loosely in the mans hand.
"Dad stop"
He hears Tony's pained whisper as loud as someone screaming in his ear.
His father? How could a father say things like that to their child?
He knew they didn't have a great relationship, but he never imagined it was this bad. That he could hurt him so purposely was so heartbreaking, so wrong and then it dawned on him that this is how he must have grown up.
While he was being read stories and tucked into bed, Tony was probably left hurt and alone.
How could he have never known?
Would he have ever known? If he weren't confronted with the reality at this very moment. Could he have ever imagined the pain the man he looks up to was subjected too?
He's doesn't think he would, Tony would have just carried on pretending that he is all surface, and continued burying the pain with jokes and movie quotes.
His shock at all the realisations swimming in his mind, creates enough of an opportunity for Tony's father to knock him off his guard, an arm wraps itself around his neck and his gun is ripped out of his grip.
How could he have been so stupid?
His training went out the window and his shock took over.
He has the horrible feeling that he has just made everything worse.
...
How is this happening?
How did McGee get dragged into all this?
Most importantly, how is he going to get him out of it?
He painfully drags himself to his knees, trying to recall where his stashed weapons are, and if he can reach them.
He sees his probies struggle for air and knows he has to act quickly.
He flings himself towards the television stand and grabs the gun he keeps taped the bottom self.
He aims it at his father's head, and feels sick.
O god, this is all so wrong, this can't be happening.
How the hell can this be happening?
"Let him go"
He tries to sound forceful, but he mostly sounds scared.
He laughs that awful laugh again, and this time he doesn't think he will ever be able to stop hearing it.
"You going to shoot me Junior?"
The tone is mocking and arrogant, and the sick feeling is replaced by anger.
"Let him go"
Much better. Much more federal agent like.
"I'd rather make you watch"
Then he smiles the most malicious smile that he has ever seen, and he knows the sight will be forever seared into his memory.
"LET HIM GO"
He is desperate now, pleading, begging, anything to not have to do this.
He knows it isn't going to work, his attempts are futile, there is only one way this can end.
"No"
His father takes the safety of the gun and Tim shudders at the sound.
He can't believe he is actually going to do this, but he has no other choice.
He pulls the trigger before the other man gets the chance to. He watches him drop with a neat hole between his eyes and he drops to his own knees and throws up.
What has he just done?
...
It doesn't take him long to fit the pieces of events together.
He takes in McGee's form, bent at the middle, a hand clutching his throat, gasping for air.
He takes in DiNozzo senior lying near him with open unseeing eyes.
And he takes in Tony, oh god Tony, kneeling on the floor surrounded by blood, glass and vomit. Fierce tremors racking his frame, a gun still held tightly in his fingers.
He knows exactly what happened here and his heart breaks in two for his agent, his friend.
He drops down next to him and gently takes the gun away. He doesn't acknowledge his presence. He is lost, trapped in the horror of the act he was forced to commit.
"Let's get you out of here Tony"
He pulls the shaking man to his feet and then stops short as McGee is suddenly beside him.
"I got him Boss"
His voice is hoarse and scratchy but the conviction in it is strong, so he lets Tim lead him out, knowing that what happened will be something they will both have to overcome.
He makes the necessary calls on the way out of the building, watching with pride at the gentle way McGee handles Tony.
Together they ease him down to sit on the sidewalk while they wait for people to start arriving.
It all happens in a whirlwind, but soon Ducky is on his way to NCIS with the body and the medics are waiting to see to DiNozzo.
He hasn't moved from the spot they placed him in earlier, hasn't spoken, it seems like the only things he is still capable of doing is breathing. He places a gentle hand on his shoulder and tries not flinch at the anguish he sees when he raises his eyes to meet his.
"I won't ask if you're okay"
He already knows the answer, it will be a long time before this man is okay again. If he ever can be.
"You did the right thing Tony"
It won't be a comfort he knows that. But he needs to make sure that Tony understands, that he knows there was no other way.
"I know Boss, that's not really the question though is it?"
Unfortunately, no it isn't. Right thing to do or not. Tony just took his own Fathers life.
It doesn't matter that he was a bastard and destroyed his childhood, it doesn't matter how many black eyes or split lips he gave him.
It doesn't matter that it was to save McGee, to save a friend. It doesn't matter that it was to save his own life as well.
All that matters now is what happens next.
"Nope, question is, can you live with yourself?"
He hopes like hell that he can, but he knows his agent well, this could very well be the end of him.
"I guess we'll find out"
Yeah he guesses they will.
He sinks back into his unresponsive state as the medics look him over.
"We should take him in sir, these gashes on his back may need stitches and he most likely has a concussion"
Gibbs just nods in agreement, wishing for Tony to start protesting, to bring some normalcy to this inexplicable situation.
But he is quiet.
They load him into the ambulance and Tim climbs in with him, he can see how unwillingly he is to let him out of his sight, so he agrees to follow them in the car.
He needs some time to think anyway.
He's trying not to blame himself, Tony shouldn't have to deal with his guilt on top of his own, or McGee's if he read that look in his eyes right. This was all so messed up and he had no idea how to fix it.
He slams his hand onto the wheel to try and rid himself of the hopelessness. But is it all he can feel.
He can't do anything now.
He can be there if Tony lets him, but he can't heal him, he can't order the hurt away.
He can be his friend, but what if that's not enough to pull him back.
He thinks of the lifeless gaze in his agents eyes.
He thinks of the dull emptiness that was so evident in his voice.
He wonders if he will ever get his Tony back
...
A/N sorry for the wait guys! Bit longer than usual to make it up for it!
Thanks to all my fantastic reviewers, your comments truly do mean the world to me. And a thank you to everyone taking the time to read.
Love you all
Kookykey
.x.
