Tony felt his jaws fall slack and peel apart in shock. He quickly cast a look around the bullpen to see if anyone else had heard the silky threat that had been issued and his heart immediately sank. Tim was on the phone, warring with the company that they had just come from. Ziva was beating her non-responsive computer in somewhat of a manic frenzy and Gibbs was still nowhere to be seen. Stan, for his part, was swinging back and forth in his chair as if nothing whatsoever had happened. Swallowing, Tony did his level best to keep it together. If he went over there now and smashed Burley's teeth in, Gibbs would think he was being a jealous toddler and skin him alive for sure, chalking up another victory in Stan's book of horror. No, he had to be cleverer than that. He might not be an MIT grad like Tim, but he was still a million miles away from stupid. Closing his eyes and thinking rapidly, he was pleased to find a sense of purpose blossoming in the pit of his gut.

All he had to do was treat Stan like a perp, and all perps' screwed up eventually. The trick was not to get sucked into their net and subsequently strangled in their web. He leant back in his chair and smiled at Stan, smiled widely. Dropping his head back down to the stack of files on his desk, but not before he'd clocked the look of shock that had sprung to Burley's face, he smiled a private smile of his own. It wouldn't be easy, but he had to treat Gibbs in much the same way he was planning on treating Stan. The boss was blinkered when it came to Burley and in his defence, Tony could see why. He'd worked with him and trained him, it was natural and in keeping with the old man's character, that he was going to think the best of him and protect him.

Just then, Gibbs himself swept back into the bullpen.

"Boss," Tony said quietly, giving no indication of their recent disagreement. "I think I have a lead on the other suspect we were running down. Seems like someone's been using his credit card pretty religiously over the last three days, but CCTV footage doesn't match up. I think it'd be a good idea to run down to the bank, seeing as the card user took out a substantial wad of cash there just yesterday, and see if the teller's remember anything. That ok?" Stopping short in front of Tony's desk, unaware of Stan's eyes boring into his back, Gibbs was speechless for a moment. To be frank, he had expected Tony to give him the silent treatment he always reverted to when he felt he'd been slighted, on the rare occasions when they could only agree to disagree. Blinking, but recovering, he nodded approvingly. He was more than impressed with the professional and civil way the kid was conducting himself.

"Sure. That's a good call, Tony. Take McGee and get going then."

Standing, the younger agent chewed his lip for a moment. "Actually, Boss, if it's all the same I think this would be a good gig to take Stan along to. You know how prickly banks can be; it'll be good for him to get back into the swing of dealing with uncooperative witnesses." He cast a pleasant glance over Gibbs' shoulder and the silently staring Stan and quirked a brow. "Right, Burley?" Gibbs twisted just in time to see Stan smile a good natured smile that somehow managed to meet his cold eyes. "Sure thing DiNozzo, that's a good shout. I could do with stretching my legs again anyhow." Seeing Tim look at him in moderate hurt, Tony tilted his head slightly, in a way his own protégé of sorts could understand. Not knowing what was up, but knowing something was up, Tim nodded imperceptibly. Feeling more than wrong footed but knowing that to question anything would result in the situation smouldering again, Gibbs cleared his throat and nodded his permission.

"Alright then. Move it, no more than an hour."

Swinging out from behind his desk and falling into step with a now suspiciously glaring Stan, Tony whistled all the way to the elevator with a spring in his step. In truth, he felt icy cubes of anxiety slide further and further into his gut, but he couldn't let it show. Stan's plan, whatever the hell it was, was undoubtedly predicated on him losing control. He wouldn't do it. He would merely go about his merry way as if he had not a care in the world. When the elevator doors swallowed them, with Gibbs left staring at the metal cage in utter confusion and mounting trepidation, the two were finally all alone.

"What are you playing at, DiNozzo? What's your angle?"

Remaining utterly and annoyingly saccharine, Tony stared straight ahead. "What angle? You're pretty much on this case with us, makes sense that you get as much exposure as possible. Thought you'd appreciate it." Stan's eyes bored into the side of his skull, but Tony resolutely continued to stare right in front of him. "Come off it you little weirdo," Stan spat, his pleasant persona slipping fast. "You know I'm here for your job, so why the best buddies act in front of the Boss?" Taking an almost primal satisfaction in how quickly Stan's mask was slipping, Tony screwed up his face into puzzlement. "My job?" He shook his head." Dude, I thought you were messing around up in the bullpen, just letting off some steam." He laughed. "You want my job? You can have it, my neurologist will thank you. He say's my skull is caving in from all the slaps Gibbs cracks across my noggin. If you want it, you got it."

Stan gaped.

"Really?"

Tony spluttered with pleasant laughter. "Naw, not really Stan. Unless Gibbs kicks me off his team, I'm pretty much here to stay. If it's any consolation, he threatens me with a pink slip on a weekly basis, so you shouldn't have to wait too long." He winked then, as the doors opened and led the way into the car lot. As Stan slipped into the passenger seat of his car with a rather dazed expression, Tony was seized with the savage desire to slam his fist into his dopey jaw. But he resisted, with great reluctance, he resisted. He kept up a friendly banter all the way to the bank which seemed to confuse Stan more and more as they sped along the sun soaked streets. Apparently satisfied by the time they got there that Tony was some kind of a half wit who simply couldn't understand a threat when he received one, he slowly began to return the banter with a hint of his prior mask. By the time the two returned to the car after tag teaming the haggard teller, Stan was breathing a hell of a lot easier. He'd already come to the conclusion that Tony was a moron, but as his good fortune would have it, he was even more moronic than a mere moron.

He was a complete and utter simpleton of epic proportions.

Taking his job would be easier than candy from a baby. As they strolled back into the bull pen, he felt Gibbs' eyes on them and made a point of slugging Tony playfully on the shoulder as they landed in front of his desk to give their reports. For his part, Tony rolled his eyes good humouredly and launched with a jaunty voice into the recollection of events at the bank. Leaning back in his chair and staring up and his former and current second-in-command's, Gibbs' head began to hurt. He was bizarrely reminded of his two most complicated ex-wives. Shaking his head to swiftly remove that image, he listened half heartedly to the report and nodded his acceptance. "Alright, get back to work on the original leads then." Peace and silence reigned supreme for the rest of the day as both DiNozzo and Burley sloped back to their desks and cracked on with the case. Gibbs watched them subtly throughout the rest of the day. They'd had cause to interact with each other three times and three times they had conducted themselves in a professional but distinctly friendly manner.

Gibbs reached for painkillers before the clock struck six.

As they team broke up for the day, Stan was seized by a sudden, sly inspiration. As McGee and Ziva said their goodbyes, he cleared his throat. "Hey, Boss, seeing as I picked up more food than I should have, maybe Tony could come over for dinner tonight? I could sure do with picking his brains on what makes a good SFA these days, the game seems to have changed." He gave a small, self deprecating chuckle. "I'm definitely rusty anyway." He looked to Tony who was frozen in the middle of stuffing his laptop into his bag and raised a brow. "Tony? What do you say? You're up for it, right?" Glancing over at Gibbs who appeared shocked for a moment before his face gave away to a genuinely happy smile; he swallowed and nodded his head, plastering a smile on his own face.

"Sounds great."

Gibbs' smile spread wider. Maybe he was just being a suspicious old fool. Maybe the two men were really going to get along just fine. Breathing a sigh of relief, he nodded his own approval and suggested he drive them back to his place. Tony could catch a ride in the morning and pick up his car. Within a matter of an hour or so, all three men were chatting around the table amiably. Usually, Tony and Gibbs would crack open a beer over steak, but this time they drank water. It was unsaid, but Tony knew the reason why. So Stan wouldn't be tempted. His forehead wrinkled as he laughed at some stupid joke or other Burley was telling. Did he even believe that he was a recovering alcoholic? He eyed him carefully. Probably not. But it was a good sob story to work with. Unproven because investigating, to Gibbs, would be a breach of trust. Something Stan would know and would use to high heaven. As the plates cleared, Gibbs suddenly let out a mammoth sigh as he read the message that chirped from his cell. "Crap. Boys', I gotta run out for about thirty minutes. Duck's tried to put together a bookcase."

He wiped his face and shook his head and the two matching glances of inquiry.

"Great doctor, bad carpenter," Gibbs explained, "I'll be back in a few. Throw on a film or something." He stood and thought better of something. "Tony, when I say throw on a film, I mean something you'll both like. You know your tastes can be a little…unique." Grinning in admission, Tony nodded. "Sure thing, Boss. Will do." Stan, as if not to miss out on the approving little smile Tony received, cleared his throat. "I'm sure I'll like whatever Tony's got up his sleeve, Boss. We seem to have a lot in common anyhow." Setting down his water glass, the younger of the two nodded his head with the acting skills that should have landed him in the one of the movies they were discussing. "We sure do," he agreed easily, before chuckling. "Even though I am the slightly more handsome." Rolling his eyes as the two laughed easily, Gibbs felt the last of his unease melt away.

Tony and Stan, they were great. Getting on like a house on fire. Misconceptions forgotten.

As he closed the front door and set off to aid Ducky, he heard the wafts of laughter from the warm kitchen and was still smiling as he slid the car out of the driveway. Back at the house, Tony stood to clear away the table and Stan sprang to his feet to aid him. The two chattered as they cleaned, each keeping a private but sharp eye on the other's responses. Tony didn't know how Stan was feeling, but he for one, was bloody exhausted. The pretence was a draining experience when being next to the intruder who literally made his skin crawl. But he took a deep breath and soldiered on. He had no choice, not really. When the last dish had been dried and put away, he made a beeline for the sofa, the weariness beginning to get the better of him. As Stan dried his hands and sloped into the living room, he suddenly spied the delicate little crystal clock sitting atop the mantelpiece. Crossing the room and picking it up, he read the fine inscription quickly.

"Abby got him this? It's not very…Gibbs-ish."

Looking up from the remote, Tony blanched when he saw what Stan was holding. "No, but he loves that thing, because Abby got it for him. Stan, seriously, put it down. That breaks and the boss will have a complete and utter meltdown." Rolling his eyes and tossing the clock in his hands to feel its weight, Stan looked at it in boredom. Shrugging at Tony's repeated urges to put it back; he reached up to do just that but misjudged the uneven wooden beam and dropped the transparent clock. As the crystal splintered on impact, two sets of eyes were riveted upon it in horror. The broken face stared back up at them, fine shards of crystal scattered around it like blood splatter. Tony's face dropped two colour tones. "You idiot," he hissed, "look at what you've done! Gibbs is gonna go mental. He's going to absolutely do his nut. I told you to put it back, I didn't say throw it back." He rubbed a hand over his tired eyes and breathed deeply. "Jesus, we need to clean it up. Before he get's back and sees it all over the floor."

Stan was muted, staring in horror between the smattering mess and his own hand.

"I'll say you did it," he eventually muttered as Tony dragged himself off the sofa and made to bend down to the mess. Straightening up at Stan's oddly strangled whisper, he felt himself pale even further. "What? You can't do that. You are the one who broke it. You have to tell him it was you. He'll be pissed for a few minutes and then he'll get over it, you'll probably have to apologise to Abby too, but that's it." Stan shook his head wildly, "No, no. I'll say you were fooling around; acting the big honcho and it fell over when you ran past it. I tried to stop you, told you to quit acting like a fool but you wouldn't listen. Yeah…yeah, that'll work." Tony's stomach dropped down into the iciest of ice pits as he stared at the completely serious, yet completely demonic look on Stan's face. "You son of a bitch," he snarled, his ability to pretend all but gone in that moment. "What the hell do you have against me? Why me?" Stan smiled then, a bizarrely genuine smile and spoke softly.

"You're living my life, Tony, and I want it back. I'm going to get it back, one way or the other."

The two stared at each other then and a hazy red mist of anger descended over Tony's eyes. He looked into Stan's eyes and saw nothing there but a steely determination to do as he had so sincerely promised. He looked down at the clock in smithereens and back up at Stan who was now smiling creepily at him, like he was proud of his handiwork, his impromptu set up. Tony swallowed deep. "You are never getting your job back. You need to accept that. Gibbs will never choose you over me. He said as much. Sorry, but that's the truth. He told me that if there was a choice between you and I, it was always going to be me. So, no, you're not getting your "life" back, that life is gone. It's over. Get over it and move on."

The sound of wheels crunching on gravel suddenly alerted them then, Gibbs was back.

Stan moved with the stealth of a ninja on crack. Turning to the mantelpiece, he took one deep breath before stooping down and bashing his head off of it with a disgusting crunch. Barely grunting in pain as blood spurted like a geyser from his nose, he darted forwards and grabbed a gaping Tony's hand. Too shocked to resist as Stan smeared his hands in blood, the younger of the two felt like he was watching some sort of sick horror film in some really bad drive-thru. The hairs on the back of his neck stood as he was rendered speechless. Stan spread one more layer of piping hot blood on his lifeless hands, before dropping to the ground with a loud, guttural groan.

Cupping his hands over his spurting nose, he yowled in pain. Unlike the small grunt he'd given when he'd slammed his own head off the wooden mantelpiece, he was now positively shrieking in agony. Gibbs, with hearing so acute it was like a different sense, heard the screeches before he hit the door and broke into a run. Throwing open the door, he all but dropped to the ground in shock. There, standing over his former second in command, was his current second in command. Tony was uninjured, towering over Stan who was pooling in his own blood, screaming in pain. His eyes darted to the crushed clock on the floor, the blood dripping from the wooden fire surround and the utterly unhurt nature of one of the men. Gibbs felt his heart constrict in his chest as Tony slowly looked from his blood soaked hands to him, with a perfectly unmarked face.

"Boss…" he said weakly, "No…no, no….it wasn't me…."

Stan gasped in pain, right on cue, and staggered to his feet, pointing a bloody finger at Tony's chest. "Boss…" he spluttered, "It was him. He…he smashed my head into the fireplace, all because he broke your damned clock and wanted me to take the blame for it." He winced and yelped as the blood kept pouring. "When I refused, he went nuts. Started accusing me of all sorts. Of planting that USB on him for a start. When I told…ahh, when I told him he was imagining things and to calm down he just lost it…I didn't even see it coming. I turned my back on him and he attacked me. Jesus, Boss, your right hand man is a lunatic." Gibbs, for the first time in his life, was utterly incapable of speech. An eternity passed before he crossed the room in an instant, regaining his mobility in a flash.

There was silence for a moment, before the wailing cries of pain that echoed sharply into the night burst from the living room. They pierced the night air, soared through the open front door, and carried right down the street to where old Mrs Clegg was chatting with her neighbour over their rose bushes. Her voice was a cracked whisper of horror as he risked slipping her back disks, twisting in the direction of the anguished yells and pleas for mercy.

"Oh my God, Masie, someone is getting an awful hiding over at Mr Gibbs' house! Oh my God!"

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A/N: In relation to the A/N I had on Regrette et Regression, about the idea of me posting some original work on FictionPress, I have the first chapter of my first story posted now! I'm under the same name there, Inks Inc, and the story is called "The Term" It's just an introductory sort of chapter but I'd really appreciate it if y'all could pop over for a lookey and read/follow me there!

Inks x

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