Chapter Warnings: None

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"If I could stay then the night would give you up

Stay, then the day would keep its trust

Stay, with the demons you drowned

Stay, with the spirit I found

Stay, and the night would be enough..."

Stay (Far Away, So Close) by U2

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Tony dreamed. A violet flower of behemoth proportions was chasing him through the woods, but he was curiously unbothered by the fact. It seemed almost like a game of tag, and the forest felt like home. "Antonio," the winds whispered strangely, rustling the leaves. "Are you awake?"

The melodic, muted voice drew him to awareness. Tony blinked against pure, early morning sunlight, and turned his head.

High black heels, extending into long, golden legs. A black, tight skirt, and plain maroon blouse hugging familiar curves. Thin, golden arms. And above it all, a somber, lovely face with long-lashed dark eyes.

Tony's heart stopped. He couldn't be awake.

Maria Donatti sat next to his bed, silhouetted in radiant sunlight.

He sat up slowly, breathing erratic.

She leaned forward, unsmiling. Her once two-foot sheet of hair, shaved off for surgery, was a now a soft, three-inch long, shaggy mane framing her face. "It is really me, Tony." The words were slightly slurred—a lasting mark of the bullet that had damaged her brain.

Old realities shifted and collided with the new, grinding together like tectonic plates; shaking his world to the core. "You're in a coma."

"I woke up."

It was impossible. Yet there she was, warm and close and smelling faintly of sandalwood. "Just now?" He tried, trying vainly to accept the vision in front of him.

"A month ago."

Tony shook his head—a quick motion, like a dog dispelling raindrops. "I asked them to call me if there was any change."

"I asked them not to."

The controlled words, the distant tone, were like physical blows. Tony stared at her, stunned, hurt swirling through his chest. "I thought you were gone," he said slowly. "I woke up every morning and wondered if I would ever hear your voice again."

Her fingers twitched in her lap, as though she had wanted to touch him but thought better of it. The silence stretched.

"I was...pretty messed up. When I woke up...it was like it had all happened a second before."

"It's like it happened a second ago for me," Tony said fiercely, holding her gaze with eyes that glinted pained accusation.

She blinked, looking away. "I had to put myself back together." When he didn't respond, she finally reached out, catching his fingers in hers. "Tony. I'm sorry."

Emotion leaked into her voice. Dark eyes beseeched him, helpless regret lurking under exhaustion. The solemn stranger melted away, replaced by the Maria he knew. For a moment, it was just the two of them again, alone. Surviving.

Slowly, Tony squeezed her small hand, mute acceptance and forgiveness in one silent gesture.

Maria dropped her head, resting her cheek against their linked hands. Tony stroked her head wonderingly, fingers catching on scar tissue that would never fully fade.

Alive. Safe. Tony drank in the feel of her—the steady warmth, the way her breath rose and fall, the rhythm of her pulse against his fingers. Here it was—like Linda, but a thousand times stronger. A reprieve. A miracle.

He had never believed more fully in God.

"Are you in witness protection?" Tony asked.

"No."

Alarm. Tony's hand stopped its motion. "They might come after you."

Maria lifted her head. "I don't care."

"He had plenty of enemies, but he still had allies." She had to understand—why didn't she understand? She'd betrayed her whole world.

Maria gripped his hand hard enough to hurt. "Mike will never control my life again."

It was all she said, but the words were solid steel. They struck a chord, resonating deep within Tony's chest. But it wouldn't keep her safe.

"Move in with me." It was a mad, desperate suggestion, forcing its way past his mouth without conscious intent.

For the first time, her eyes filled. "Tony." Her voice broke. The full lips wobbled. "I can't."

"Yes," he tried, and the idea was lunacy, destined to implode and collapse on them both, but he couldn't stop. "We'll figure it out."

Liquid overflowed. Maria brushed the tears away with the back of her free hand, and brought up the fingertips to brush his cheek, in a touch so soft it was almost imperceptible. She tried to smile. "We would never be free of him."

The simple words deflated his protests.

She was right, and he knew it. They both knew it.

"What are you going to do?"

Her smile solidified—thin, not precisely happy, but somehow genuine. "My parents want me to move in with them, so I think perhaps I should go abroad. I'll find my way from there."

Tony wished she had something more secure.

"I want it this way." She'd read his face. "For the first time since my brother died, I feel like my life is mine. I have money. I know how to be careful. It will be alright."

She was stronger than he'd ever known.

Maria's voice changed; turned tender, concerned. "What will you do? Do you know?"

He opened his mouth, fully intending to tell her that he was working with Baltimore, but the words wouldn't come. "I think I do." It felt almost like a stranger spoke through him. "There's a job opening in NCIS. I think I'm going to take it."

"Another agency? So soon?" Concern lifted her voice.

"Yes." He couldn't blame her for her worry, but how to explain it? He thought of Ducky, with his kind, peculiar charm. He thought of Abby, exuding warmth and enthusiasm. He thought of Gibbs, gruff and restrained. "It's different this time."

It was the only explanation he could form, but something must have come through in his face, because Maria suddenly smiled.

She rose. "I should go."

Every muscle wanted Tony to protest, tell her not to leave. If she left his sight, he could never protect her. Yet

We would never be free of him.

He let her fingers pull away from his.

Maria picked up her purse from the floor, staring at him with an odd look in her eyes.

Anxiety spiked. "Be careful."

She nodded, face still set in that curious expression. "You can't blame yourself for any of it, you know." The sudden words were as soft as eiderdown.

It was Tony's turn to bend away from the scrutiny.

"Let it go, Tony. I made my own choices. It is mine to live with them." Her voice deepened; grew firm. "I never was an innocent."

For a moment, the weight of her small hand rested on his head. It felt like a benediction.

Slowly her arm dropped. "Goodbye, Tony." The look in her eyes awoke ghosts.

"Bye," Tony echoed quietly. His lips burned with phantom kisses.

The steady clicking of her heels down the hallway was a bittersweet drumbeat of farewell.

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"Are you sure about this?" DiNozzo asked for what felt like the thousandth time. He fidgeted anxiously from his place on the tailgate.

Gibbs rolled his eyes, and wordlessly yanked a cardboard box from the younger man's arms.

"Well, of course you're sure," Tony reasoned out loud. "You're not exactly the indecisive sort, and we're already here. But I still could find a hotel while I'm apartment hunting—"

"Shut up, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, not unkindly.

"Shutting up now!" Tony snapped his jaw shut, performing elaborate zipping and locking motions.

For an impressive five seconds, he swung his legs in silence, watching as the marine continued to ferry boxes.

"I can at least help you carry," he blurted.

Gibbs grabbed another box. "Like hell you will."

"I'm not an invalid," DiNozzo grumbled.

"Three words, DiNozzo: Bruised rotator cuff."

Muttering indistinctly, the Italian subsided. In the blessed silence, a robin sang cheerily. Gibbs inhaled, relaxing in the suddenly tranquil morning.

"It's not like Ducky would know."

Alas, he'd relaxed too soon.

Gibbs sighed at the wheedling tone. 'Stubborn' barely served to describe the kid.

Not that he had room to talk. "He'd know."

"He's not psychic!" In a vaguely unsettled tone—"He isn't, is he?"

"He'd know, DiNozzo, because I'd tell him. Keep your scrawny ass planted."

Still ill at ease, but unwilling to buck him, Tony stayed sitting. "It is not scrawny. Women like my ass."

Gibbs grimaced. Too much information, but he'd set himself up for that one. A change of subject was in order.

"Partner take it well?" He tried.

Success. Tony grinned, diverted both from assessments of his bodily assets and his discomfort at his new living situation. "Yeah. Apparently, he'd been expecting me to transfer since I let you hang up on him."

"Let me?" It was a scoff.

DiNozzo manufactured an appropriately contrite expression, but his eyes danced. "Since you helped me see the light on the issue of interdepartmental communication?"

"Better," Gibbs mock-growled.

After a moment, DiNozzo chuckled softly.

Gibbs waited expectantly for the coming explanation, but it didn't arrive. The absence of chatter was surprisingly vexing. "What's so funny, DiNozzo?"

Tony pinned him with an uncommonly shrewd, assessing look. "When I was at NCIS, that first day? I knew you were listening."

Gibbs stared at him, trying to process that.

"In autopsy, with Ducky," Tony clarified, rubbing his shoulder absent-mindedly. "I knew you were listening. Well, I guessed."

Genuine surprise stopped Gibbs in his tracks.

DiNozzo's mouth twitched. "C'mon. A stethoscope? For a shoulder injury and some splinters? Ducky didn't even want it."

Well, when he put it like that. Gibbs wavered, caught between chagrin at having been caught in his machinations, and amused pleasure at Tony's sharpness. Then he grew thoughtful.

That painted the conversation, at the time a frustrating one, in a new light.

His lips curved wryly.

"Adam called me this morning," DiNozzo interjected conversationally, shredding a leaf with absent fingers. "They finally got that safe open."

Gibbs' silence served as a query.

"Nothing. No diamonds, no records. Empty."

A pause. Shreds of leaf fluttered away, caught in a rare, pleasant July breeze.

"I'm kind of glad," Tony admitted into the continued quiet. "I'd like it if Linda's future wasn't entirely destroyed."

"She was willing to lock us in there," Gibbs reminded him, unable to quite muster the same concern for her fate.

"I know," DiNozzo said simply.

Gibbs grabbed the last box, giving it an experimental shake. Exasperated, he demanded, "Did you bring anything other than movies, DiNozzo?"

Tony slipped off the edge of the car, and slammed the trunk shut. "Actually," and there was a undercurrent of apprehension, "I brought a host gift."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"Here." DiNozzo pulled a small package from behind his back.

Gibbs took it. It rested heavy in his hand. Silently, he unwrapped it. The wrapping paper—elegant, pinstriped silver and blue, slightly wrinkled, and exuberantly scotch-taped—fell to the ground. A glass flask, filled with amber liquid, gleamed in the July sun. "Maker's Mark Kentucky Straight Bourbon," read the label.

"Abby said you'd like it." DiNozzo had his hands in his pockets, and almost pulled off the impression of nonchalance.

Almost.

"You can keep it if you change your mind about me staying with you—"

Smack.

The exasperated head-slap was on impulse. A second later, Gibbs regretted it. For a tense moment, he waited, wondering if he'd overstepped his bounds.

Again.

But Tony lived to defy expectations. The younger man relaxed, the tension melting out of his shoulders. "Thanks, Boss."

He wasn't fixed. He would probably always be a puzzle. Yet the trust behind the words warmed something long frozen in Gibbs' chest.

Together, they walked up the winding pathway.

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Story Notes: Well, here we are! I've written over 10,100 words since last Thursday. Factor in moderate insomnia, and I am...utterly, thoroughly exhausted in mind, body, and emotions. But I am triumphant. :D

As always, thank you all so much for reading, following, "favorite-ing", and—most of all—taking the time to write thoughtful, encouraging reviews. It has been a joy to share my "brainchild" with you. I hope you found its conclusion satisfying.

In terms of future works: 1. Keep an eye out for Abby's and Tony's story, to be entitled "Of Celery and Sardines". I think it will be entertaining. ;) 2. Some of you have expressed the hope that I will write more stories set after this one in the series. I'm certainly not against the idea; Tony and Gibbs have become such a part of me in the last four years that the idea of letting them go is painful, and I do feel I have left ground uncovered. That having been said, writing fan fiction does use up creative energy and time, which I need for other things. ;) So...I make no promises, but I also make no ultimatums.