Disclaimer: Nothings mine

A/N: I'M SOOOOO SORRY! Really, words cannot convey how sorry I am for letting you hang like this! First, real life got in the way, and then I had to deal with massive writers block. I didn't exactly overcome it yet, it's more like I climbed it for days just to be able to peek over it for a second.

But maybe you won't kill me when I tell you that I got the stomach flu of the century just a few days after I finished the chapter. I've never felt so horrible in my life. Maybe that's karma, huh?

Anyway, here is the new chapter. Lots of hurt/comfort in this one.

Thanks to AZGirl for her wonderful work on this despite the stressfull thanksgiving time.

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Chapter 14

Usually, Tony spent Monday mornings grumbling about the too short weekend, begrudging the fact that he hadn't been able to watch as many movies as he'd wanted and dreaming about the many women he'd managed to flirt with. Monday mornings were a dreadful affair for the young bachelor. He usually didn't look forward to another long week of demanding work after another too short weekend.

Usually.

This Monday morning however, the young agent had a bounce in his steps and a relieved grin on his face as he entered the NCIS building. The grin on his face and the happy countenance though clashed with the large bags under his eyes and the arm held rigidly by his side. It was still bothering him quite badly, despite the pain killers he had been forced to take over the weekend. His suit was flawless, as usual, but the man within it didn't quite fool even the most casual observer. The broad shoulders were hunched as if bracing for a storm and the red-rimmed eyes were flickering all over the place, not resting anywhere for longer than a second. This wasn't a man who had come back to work after a restful couple of days.

In fact, Tony would tell anyone who'd listen that this had been the worst weekend of his life.

As he'd predicted, the topic of his past hadn't been over after the first tentative breaching of the issue Friday night. Gibbs had barely given him enough time to get his act back together before he'd confronted him again, demanding details and explanations. Tony had been even more difficult about the matter than before and refused to tell Gibbs any more. After the initial shock of that he had confided in someone had passed, Tony's insecurities and reluctance to talk about it had slammed back full-force and he'd found himself tight-lipped and, when Gibbs didn't let up, even aggressive about the whole thing. There had been more than one situation where Gibbs had to run after a furious Tony and drag the man back into the house. One time Tony had even made it as far as the corner and almost gotten into the taxi that he'd called with his cell before Gibbs had caught up with him.

If being dragged back by his arm like a five-year-old runaway hadn't been humiliating enough, some of Gibbs' questions certainly had been. Tony's face was still glowing red when he thought about Gibbs' careful inquiries about the nature of the abuse. It had taken Tony three hours and two temper tantrums – one of which had involved a broken glass and an upturned chair, much to Tony's embarrassment afterwards - to confess that there had been physical abuse in the form of whippings with his father's belt and also being hit with other convenient household items. It had taken him even longer to admit that being locked in the cold, dark basement and told him how worthless he was had been a daily occurrence as well.

When Gibbs still hadn't stopped with the odd questions it had taken Tony way too long to realize that his mentor was wondering about sexual abuse as well. He still shuddered when he thought about the awkward conversation that had followed. A simple outraged 'No' hadn't been able to convey how disgusted the idea of his father doing 'that' to him had left him. Or how very, very glad he was that his father had at least spared him this kind of humiliation. Thank God for small mercies.

The weekend had drained him, emotionally and physically, so despite his easy gait and the big grin on his face he felt anything but rested. The smile faltered when he realized that work would only be a short reprieve since Gibbs wouldn't let him move into a motel anytime soon. In a couple of hours he would have to get into that car again and the older agent would drive him back home and who knows what else Gibbs would ask of him then. Would he want an actual report of the worst memories of Tony's life? Would he sit him down and ask him what kind of brand his father liked to drink when he started hitting him? What else would he want to know?

Tony glared at Gibbs' back now, cursing him for all the sleepless nights he'd had and those still to come. His only consolation was that Gibbs looked as wretched as he felt: hunched shoulders and dark bags under his eyes that spoke of his own sleepless nights. In fact, when Tony had lay in his bed at night, not able – and sometimes not willing - to sleep, he had been able to hear the man moving around downstairs. It had sounded as if he had walked up and down the hallways and sometimes there had been the sound of the liquor cabinet opening and closing. Tony thought Gibbs had been pouring himself a drink, but every time he looked inside the cabinet during the day, he would discover that not one drop was missing. When he'd discovered that, images of the man standing on front of the cabinet had filled Tony's mind, fingering the bottles and desperate for a drink, but also aware of the young man upstairs who probably wouldn't react all that well to a drunken and angry man.

This whole business wasn't only hard on Tony, and somehow the Italian couldn't help but feel sadistically pleased about that.

It was wrong, he knew that. He didn't understand this sudden resentment for Gibbs when the man was only trying to help. And maybe resentment wasn't quite the right word for it. It felt a lot like it, but even in the midst of his worst depression, Tony was quite convinced that he could never resent Gibbs for anything.

But whatever it was that he felt around Gibbs right now, it wasn't a nice or even grateful emotion.

The man had forced him to live through the worst moments of his life. Had taken him on an emotional roller-coaster, not even allowing him to get out of the house to collect his thoughts in peace. No, the only reprieve he'd been allowed was to work on that boat when things got too much, but not even then would Gibbs leave him alone. They had worked in stony silence, and even though the repetitive movements and the silence had really proven to calm Tony's frayed thoughts after a while, he'd always been painfully aware of Gibbs' eyes on him and the promise in them that once they were upstairs again, the emotional puking fest would continue. That's how it had felt to Tony after a while: puking. You may feel grateful and relieved while doing it and getting the crap out of your system, but afterward you didn't feel better at all but even worse.

Hollow.

No, what Tony felt about his boss right now wasn't nice at all, but he was willing to put this behind him and forget it, no matter how hard it would be. You had to forget and move on if you wanted to get somewhere in this life and he was sure that Gibbs' opinion of him as an agent, especially after the debacle with Tommy, wouldn't improve anytime soon as long as they kept mulling over his less than stellar childhood.

The problem was that he didn't think Gibbs was quite as ready to move on as Tony was. The man had looked positively livid when Tony had told him about his father's idea of discipline. He'd looked ready to break something, preferably a multimillionaire's neck.

Tony chanced another glance at his boss just in time to catch those icy blue eyes when Gibbs looked over his shoulder to say something. The moment their eyes met Gibbs' words seemed to get stuck in his throat and after a second of expectant silence, he turned back around and continued his way to the elevator.

Tony stared at his shoes and followed. Not for the first time he wished that he'd never given in to Gibbs' prodding. Things were so awkward between them now. They hadn't spoken one word since getting into the car that morning. Given the fact that they had done nothing but talk the whole weekend lent this current silence between them an ominous feeling of foreboding. Almost as if, now that the facts were on the table, they didn't have anything to talk about anymore.

Tony hated it.

They entered the elevator and Tony almost smiled when not even ten seconds after the doors closed Gibbs pushed the emergency button, bringing the cab to a grinding halt.

Gibbs watched him for a second and Tony tried not to show how relieved he was when the older man finally broke the silence.

"You okay?"

Tony shot him a look that clearly said 'What do you think?' but what tumbled out of his mouth was, "I'm fine."

Gibbs watched him more openly now. His hand ran though his hair and Tony recognized it for the sign it was. His boss was just as out of his depth as Tony was. It was kind of soothing to know that you weren't the only one having a minor panic attack in your head.

"What you told me, during the weekend, it will never leave that house. You know that, right?"

Tony nodded. He wondered how much longer they would refer to it as "The Weekend" in their heads. Like some kind of disastrous event someone wrote a book about. Now, that was a funny thought. Maybe they would even make it into a movie. Tony wondered who would play his part and couldn't help but smile as the names of all the actors who would be able to portray the awesomeness that was Anthony DiNozzo ran through his head.

"Tony?"

"Yes I know." Tony sighed. Of course he knew that Gibbs would never betray his trust like that. If nothing else, he'd known from the start that his secrets were safe with the former Marine. That knowledge didn't make any of this any easier though.

"You should really think about what I told you."

"I am thinking." Tony assured. "Been doing nothing else." he added under his breath. Of course he was thinking about Gibbs' words, his advice and encouragement to confront his father and maybe even press charges against the man. But thinking about it was the only luxury he allowed himself.

Gibbs looked doubtful, but knew that pushing things wouldn't get him anywhere. He set the cab back into motion and Tony finally relaxed. He wasn't opposed to these kinds of meetings but right now he'd rather not be trapped with Gibbs in a small room any longer than he strictly had to.

They arrived at the floor where the bullpen was but before Tony could get off, Gibbs stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "I want you to get down to Ducky, and let him check your arm."

Tony wanted to protest. His arm was still hurting, but he was really not in the mood for a long stay with the no less protective older doctor. He knew that Ducky had wanted to visit him during the weekend but that Gibbs had asked him to stay away so they could discuss things on their own without any disturbances. It suddenly occurred to Tony that Gibbs probably wouldn't accompany him to Autopsy and that this would be his first chance to get away from the older agent for a few minutes. He immediately felt bad for wanting to do so but Gibbs' next words decided the matter for him.

"He's pretty worried about you."

Tony sighed. Of course he couldn't say no, now that he knew that he would cause the nice doctor unneeded worry by staying away.

By the smirk he saw on Gibbs face, just as the doors closed, the bastard probably knew it too.

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Tony expected a lot of things when he entered Autopsy a few minutes later, but he certainly didn't expect to see Ducky's rear end sticking out of a cooler where they usually stored the corpses and hearing the doctor mutter and curse under his breath. He was pretty sure that he'd managed to smother the giggle that threatened to escape, but Ducky's voice soon proved him wrong.

"If you are quite ready being amused at my plight dear Anthony," Ducky said, his voice eerily echoing in the cooler. "Maybe you could bring yourself to help an old man."

"Are you stuck?" Tony tried really hard not to laugh. "And how did you know it was me?"

The old doctor pulled his upper body free and gave him a pinched look. "As you can see I am not stuck. As for your second question, some of my ancestors were actually mind readers. They traveled through Europe with their show. Once, my great-great-great-great grandfather was almost hanged because he'd claimed to have read some very naughty thoughts in the mind of a nobleman's daughter. That had been quite a scandal as you can imagine."

Tony nodded savagely. "Totally." he agreed before he wiggled his eyebrows. "How naughty exactly?"

Ducky tried to look stern but the twinkle in his eyes betrayed him. "Dear Anthony, that's not quite the moral of the story."

"You mean there was actually a lesson in there somewhere?"

"Every story has got a lesson, my dear boy." Tony opened his mouth, but Ducky cut him off and patted the examination table next to him. "But I know what you are trying to do and I won't be sidetracked. Let's have a look at your arm."

Tony pouted, but hopped on the table obediently. The faster he complied, the faster Ducky would be done and the faster he could get out of here. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy the company of the old man, but he'd tried his best to ignore the pain in his arm and Ducky poking and prodding it certainly wasn't helping.

So Tony bravely suffered the examination. He looked everywhere but at the gash on his arm. Every time he looked at it, he felt nauseas and broke into a cold sweat. It wasn't a deep gash or even very messy. It didn't even hurt too bad. In fact it wasn't the wound that caused Tony pain, but the memories and feelings that came every time he felt a pang or caught sight of the marred flesh.

"It's painful, isn't it?"

Tony was momentarily taken aback by the quiet voice but shrugged it off. "Not really. It smarts from time to time, but nothing I can't handle."

Ducky stopped in his ministrations and Tony was aware that the doctor was trying to catch his eyes. After a moment's consideration, he turned his head a little, just enough to give the man what he wanted but not far enough that he ran the risk of looking at his arm.

"That's not the kind of pain I meant."

Tony swallowed. He knew it had been a mistake to come down here. Ducky was too perceptive for his own good. "What do you mean?"

"That must have been quite awful, to see your friend die like that."

Tony wondered a moment how Ducky knew, but then he guessed that almost everyone had to know about it by now. There had been NCIS agents present at the crime scene, and evidence had been brought to the labs. You couldn't keep something like this a secret for long.

Tony tried to act nonchalant. "I didn't actually see it happen, you know? And it's not like there was much left to see anywa-" And suddenly he realized what he was saying, who he was talking about. His best friend for years. The man who had helped him with his math because he'd totally sucked at it, and the man with whom he'd had his first and only sleepover when his father had been gone on a business trip for weeks and his nanny had promised not to tell the man. His friend, his wonderful, caring, too naïve for his own good friend. Not the pieces of bloody flesh this psychopath had reduced him to in the end. Not just a random, faceless victim of a crime that Tony could treat like any other unfortunate casualty.

His breath came faster and harder, and Tony dimly realized that he was hyperventilating. His gaze fell on the coolers and suddenly he remembered that this case was NCIS' business now and that they would have brought any corpses here to Ducky. "Oh God," he moaned, getting dizzy from gulping too much air into his lungs too fast and pretty sure that he was going to be sick. The old doctor must have seen the direction of his gaze and pushed his head between his legs with a reassuring hand on the nape of his neck.

"He's not here, Anthony. Please calm down, he's not here. Deep breaths now. Anthony, please."

Tony tried he really did, but every time he attempted to calm his breathing he thought about Jim and what he'd almost said about him. Different images whirled in his mind like a perverse slideshow: Jim laughing at him, Jim's rueful smile as he looked at the cigarettes, Jim, opening his front door, turning to say something to him, a small smile on his lips.

Jim's bloody hand, clutched in Tony's bloody fingers.

The gulping turned into chocked sobs and breathing became even harder. Black dots started to appear in his vision. Tony dimly felt Ducky's hand leave his neck. The man would probably get Gibbs now and Tony's panic skyrocketed at the thought of his boss seeing him like this.

But then he suddenly felt the doctor take a seat beside him, pulling him into an one-armed hug, guiding Tony's head to rest on his chest. It was an awkward position, given the fact that Tony was larger and bulkier than the old man, but Tony didn't want to pull away. He could hear Ducky's heartbeat, smell the old-fashioned cologne on the man and a smell that he'd always associated with old people but couldn't name.

His grandfather Sergio had smelled like that. He'd only seen the man once, during a vacation in Italy, but he'd immediately been smitten with the kind, but weird gentleman who only spoke Italian. Despite the language barrier, the two of them had understood each other better than Tony and his father ever had. He hadn't thought about Grandpa Sergio in years.

Ducky's voice was a calm haven in all the confusion and panic and it cut straight through the rushing sound in Tony's head. "It's alright, dear boy. Pay attention to my breathing. Breathe in when I do, breathe out when I do. That's good. You're doing very well. Steady now, Anthony. Everything's alright."

Without realizing that he was doing it, Tony had started to copy Ducky's breathing rhythm, gradually growing calmer the longer they sat like that. He felt the chest underneath his cheek rise and fall and closed his eyes, just concentrating on getting his breath back.

A few minutes passed this way and when Tony was relatively sure that he was okay again, he reluctantly pulled himself out of the comforting warmth that was Ducky's side. He kept his gaze on the floor and tried to ignore the heat on his cheeks which told him that his face must have been redder than a tomato.

He was embarrassed. Not even with Gibbs had he lost it like he had with Ducky just now. Tony acknowledged that this weekend hadn't left too much room to properly grieve for his closest friend, and the sudden realization that Jim was actually dead and the fear that his corpse could very well be in this room right now, had caught him totally unawares. Nevertheless, he was mortified at his behavior. Breaking down in his own four walls with a bottle of scotch to keep him company would have been okay – and pretty much still possible in the near future – but doing so in front of one of the people he worked with? Unacceptable.

"I'm sorry Ducky. Don't know what came over me." He laughed and got to his wobbly feet, determined to get out of here and lick his wounds in private.

"There is no need to apologize." Ducky said and watched Tony put his jacket on. "Losing a dear friend is always painful. It is me that should be sorry."

The Italian paused and turned to give the doctor a puzzled look. "Why should you be sorry? I'm the one that almost lost his breakfast on your floor."

Ducky shook his head with a sad smile. "Mourning a friend is never an act that needs apologizing. But it was very insensitive of me to just confront you with your loss when it didn't even happen more than a few days ago. Very insensitive indeed. There is a reason why I prefer to work with the dead. It's exceedingly harder to hurt their feelings."

Tony saw that Ducky was actually honestly feeling bad. How weird was it that the old man felt bad for his breakdown? Suddenly, the need to run wasn't as prominent on his mind as it had been before and he actually smiled a little when he remembered something.

Ducky saw it. "What is that smile for, Anthony?" There was hope and happiness in his voice. Hope that Tony had forgiven him for his faux pas, and joy because the gray pallor was gradually leaving the young man's face.

"Just thought that Jim wouldn't have agreed with that." It was the first time that he could mention Jim in the past tense without flinching. "He was very scared of ghosts and such. We could never watch any horror movies together because he would lie awake all week afterward, scared senseless."

"Is that right? I hope you didn't tease him too much."

The grin on the young man's face was all the doctor needed for an answer. He was immensely relieved when Tony leaned back against the table and started talking in a voice full of nostalgia and fondness for a childhood now gone.

"There was this one time when some bullies tried to convince him to join a test of courage in the graveyard that a lot of other kids would go to. Luckily he came to me and told me about it. I knew that there was no dare that night and that they'd probably prepared something to scare him. Nobody did that with Anthony DiNozzo's friends, so we prepared a little something ourselves." Tony snorted as he remembered the night sixteen years ago. "Oh, it was a thing of beauty. Screams filled the night, and I think some of them even peed themselves."

Ducky settled back into his chair and unobtrusively disconnected the phone. His break was due anyway and he didn't want any interruptions right now. "Sounds like you two were quite the troublemakers."

"More me than him." Tony admitted without shame and an easygoing smile. "But he was a devil himself, deep inside. In second grade, he was the one responsible for the 'frog incident' that actually led to us becoming friends."

"The frog incident?"

Tony then began detailing the events that led to the forming of a friendship that would survive many years and many hardships. And Ducky, the storyteller, became Ducky, the audience – listening to tales of the mischief of two boys; one he had the pleasure of welcoming into their tight-knit family, and one he wished he could have gotten to know himself.

And unbeknownst to them, a third person stood outside in the shadows and listened as well. He leaned against the wall near the door, not visible to the two inside or to anyone stepping out of the elevator. The figure dared not to breathe too loud or to move, for fear of making himself known to the doctor and the Italian. He strained his ears to not miss anything, even ignoring the phone vibrating in his pocket.

And as Tony talked and laughed, Ducky laughing with him, Agent Burg stood and listened, his face a careful mask, void of emotions.

TBC

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Oh my, what is going on? :) You didn't really think that I would let Jim's death slide like that, right? Tony needed a little mourning time and Ducky was perfect support. I'm afraid I neglected him a little in this story and I promised myself to insert some much needed Grandfather/caring Ducky, so here it is.

Lots of unanswered questions: What's Burg doing? What was Ducky searching for? And what the heck is the 'frog incident`? I'll probably write a little one-shot about it, which I'll post independently. I just have too much fun with little Tony and cute little Jimmy (sorry about the confusion, I totally wasn't thinking about our Palmer at the time which is unforgivable, considering that I adore Mr. Palmer!). Look out for a One-Shot called "The Day of the Frog Incident". I don't know when I'll come around to write and post it but that's the title it's gonna have. Need to stay true to my crappy story names, don't I?

And don't worry, Gibbs is gonna get his hurt/comfort moment with Tony too. As we all know, he is a bit more reluctant to show his feelings than Ducky is, but I'll get him there... 'evil grin'