"Anthony." Al DiNozzo's tone was surprised and quite possibly a little irritated. But Gibbs kept his grip on Tony's elbow, thankful that Tony's vision seemed to be returning and that the younger man had strode through the door to his father's office with his usual public confidence. That beneath his hand, Tony's muscles tightened and released in minute spasm wasn't something that Al DiNozzo would know.

"Dad," returned Tony stopping just inside the doorway.

"There is no need for you to be here. Mr," Tony's father caught the narrowing of Gibbs' gray eyes and corrected, "Special Agent Gibbs and I will settle this between us."

"What, you gonna box him, Dad? 'Cause I can assure you, he'll win."

"You can wait outside, Anthony," he reiterated.

"Of all the pompous, asinine …" Tony took a step forward, Gibbs' hold tightening automatically against the lurch, "this is my son we're talking about. My son."

"My grandson," Al DiNozzo retorted, "and there's nothing to talk about. Given your … lifestyle—"

"Okay, yes, I've had lovers, Dad. Of both sexes. And maybe you can make that out to be I'm queer. Even worse, I'm a crippled queer. But I never seduced a 15-year-old. Can you imagine what will happen when it gets out that not only did you raise a fag, you fucked the nice little underage high schooler down the street? The country club grapevine had it that you were fucking her mother, too. You ever get a two-for-one?"

Gibbs' quick step intercepted Al DiNozzo's raised hand.

"That's enough confirmation for me," said Gibbs coldly.

"Rumors won't get you anything," Tony's father observed, pressing against Gibbs' restraining hand, finally wrenching his arm free.

"But Patricia Chaney's testimony will. And she's more than willing to give it. It's something I would think about Mr. DiNozzo."

"I will not be threatened, Mr. Gibbs."

"I believe you just were," observed Gibbs as neutrally as he could manage, watching Al DiNozzo give ground and retreat behind the mahogany security of his desk.

"Get out of here before I call security, and take this sorry excuse for my son with you."

Gibbs nodded sharply, placing his hand back on Tony's arm. "Come on, Tony."

To his relief Tony gave a crisp nod, turning and walking out with as much composure as he could muster. It was only once they were in the car that Tony's tremors turned to shudders, but even then Gibbs merely pulled smoothly from the lot giving nothing for Al DiNozzo's security cameras to see but the back end of the Buick. He drove a few blocks before stopping, pulling over in the emergency lane to unbuckle his seat belt and pull Tony into his arms.

"Low blood sugar?" grinned Tony weakly, unable to stop shaking.

"I don't think so," Gibbs whispered warmly in his ear.

"Really, I don't usually fall apart like this, just because he's an ass."

"I know you don't," soothed Gibbs, "it's okay."

Embarrassed, Tony pulled away. "I'm together Gibbs, it's okay." He pushed a hand through his hair. "Really."

"Yeah," Gibbs agreed, giving him his space, cranking the engine. "Let's go home."

Two days later, Tony held the piece of paper close to his eyes, squinting at the ten-point type. "I won't let him do this."

"He's not going to do anything," countered Gibbs, struggling against the desire to simply take the letter out of Tony's hands. "It's a bluff. He has no intention of telling Morrow."

"I can't let you ruin your career."

"Hey," this time Gibbs did remove the paper from Tony's grip, "it's just a letter. It means we've rattled him. And when we don't back down, it will rattle him some more."

Tony closed his eyes. "You don't know him."

"I know my gut and he's just baiting us."

"You don't understand, we've given him the perfect way to hurt us. Practically handed it to him on a silver platter."

Gibbs watched worriedly as Tony hitched himself up.

"We were wrong, Gibbs. Confronting him just gave him more reason, not less."

"Tony," he rose and grabbed Tony's arm, then stepped back, surprised at the force used to shake him off. "Tony…"

"I need to be alone for a while." Tony stopped. "Just, please, when I was upset I used to get in the car and drive."

"You can't drive, Tony."

Tony winced at the observation. "I think I know that, Gibbs." He limped his way to the door. "Don't follow me, okay. Just …" one hand swung dismissively, "just … don't."

He made his way down the stairs, an unharnessed Rufus following after him and being sent back. Gibbs watched him settle on a riser and he coaxed the distraught Great Dane back into the hall intending to give Tony his space.

He heard the low drone of Tony talking to someone on the cellphone, but by the time he heard the taxi pull away from the curb a few minutes later, it was already too late.

"Tony?"

Gretchen crossed her arms against the silky fabric of her robe self-consciously as the concierge smirked at her from behind his desk.

"Tony?" she repeated, her growing irritation dissipating when she got a good look at the way he leaned, exhausted, over the curve of the chest-high reception desk.

He startled at the touch on his shoulder then mustered a weary, "Hey, Gretch."

"How … how'd you get here?" Gretchen scanned the lobby. "Where's Gibbs?"

"Can I see him?"

Gretchen frowned at the doorman as well. "See?"

"Sam." Tony straightened, one hand's hard grip on the counter balancing him. "I need to see Sam. Before I lose the chance."

Gretchen switched her glare back to at the man behind the desk until he shuffled his newspaper in an audible crackling.

"Come on, Tony. We'll call Gibbs." She caught him under the arm, urged him forward with a hand locked around his waist.

"Where is he?"

Gretchen held a finger to her lips and waved him into the dimly lit living room. Not so dimly lit that he couldn't make out a glowering Lloyd Stebbins sulking in a leather arm chair in the dim lights reflected from the harbor.

To his surprise, Gretchen took his hand, pulling him along toward the bedrooms, pushing the slightly ajar second door open to reveal the sleeping duo, snuggled in the colorful animal-print bedding. Both father and son dead to the world, Tony's arm curled protectively around the smaller body, his leather coat still on over his shirt and jeans, braced leg hanging stiffly over the edge of the twin mattress.

Finally tearing himself away from the picture in front of him, Gibbs nodded apologetically at the woman beside him. "I'll get him."

The hand that stopped him was small and warm. "No, just leave them," she whispered in reply. "It's okay." She motioned him back from the doorway, closing the door with a soft click. "Let them sleep." The look she gave him was almost accusatory. "Tony looked like he could use some."

"He could," admitted Gibbs, studying this apparent emotional turnabout.

"I'll sign the papers."

"What?" Gibbs whispered in surprise.

"I'll …" she hesitated a moment under the weight of his stare, "I'll sign the papers."

Then she left him, dumbfounded, in the shadows of her hallway.

Gibbs leaned against the wall and let out a long sigh.

The sides of the plastic chair, made with a preschooler and not an NCIS agent in mind, bit into the backs of Gibbs' thighs and when he let his mind drift, the soft exhalations from the bed beside him lulling him toward his own exhausted sleep, he was in serious danger of toppling unbalanced onto the thickly carpeted floor.

Gibbs roused himself with another shake of his head, tired eyes fixing on the finger of rising sunlight beginning to creep under the drawn shade. He squinted at the illuminated dial of his watch, then moved his arm further away from his body and squinted again. Six-twenty. From the direction of the hall he could hear the grumble of voices and, disturbed, Tony jerked slightly. The beginnings of the morning's spasms. And God knows when he'd taken his last dose of meds.

When the spasm shook him a second time, Gibbs laid a hand on his shoulder and softly called his name.

"Tony," he repeated when the first attempt received no reply.

"Come on, babe," he wheedled, firming the grip on the leather-clad shoulder, amending, "easy," when a particularly strong spasm shook Tony's legs.

"Where?" Tony jerked back from the unfamiliar bedding then pressed forward soothingly as Sam mumbled sleepily. "Hey, kiddo."

Gibbs got to his feet, a hand on his stiff back, in time to see drowsy blue eyes blink open only to close again, the small body snuggling back toward Tony's warmth. Tony's hand stroked the blond hair softly.

"Gretchen called you?" presumed Tony, looking stiffly over his shoulder at Gibbs' nod. A deep breath caught and held in Tony's chest. "I know it seems nuts, but it felt like it was my last chance to see him."

Not arguing, not sure that Gretchen's declaration would still be there in the light of morning, Gibbs only asked quietly, "Do you think you can get up?"

Tony's laugh was tight. Answer enough, and Gibbs leaned over, scooping up the small, sleeping body. The blue eyes opened to regard him skeptically.

"How about some cartoons, munchkin?"

"'Toons?"

"Yep," said Gibbs, heading with his charge through the door.

"'kay …"

Gibbs settled him on the sofa, shaking a nearby afghan over him, flipping the TV on. Feeling a gaze settle on him, Gibbs turned to find Gretchen leaning around the corner, observing. She nodded her silent approval, vanishing back into the depths of the apartment.

Tony had managed to turn to his back, riding out the worst of the spasms with clenched fists. Gibbs gently pushed his trembling legs over, and sat, kneading the muscles of the thighs through the denim, working his way around the brace on the right leg, silently massaging until the tremors died down. He got him up with a strong pull on Tony's arm, helping swing the braced leg. Tony pushed up from the bed and took a swaying step.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Tony ran a hand through his hair, making it stand even more on end. "Need to go apologize."

The knock at the door startled them both, Tony's precarious balance giving way, Gibbs hand pincering under his arm as he started to fall.

"God, Gretch, I'm sorry …"

Turned to keep his partner steady, Gibbs' back was to the door and he winced at the beaten tone in Tony's voice.

"Gibbs tell you?"

"Tell me what?" His head whipped in Gibbs' direction but the older man only shrugged, still not trusting that the ordeal had simply … ended with Gretchen Hale's word.

"I'll sign custody over, Tony. I got a look at what your father must be like when you showed up at the door at 1 a.m. I saw you a lot of ways with Greg, but I've never seen you defeated … until last night. You're a good man, Tony. And anyone who could do that to a good man is not who I want raising my son."

Tony squinted up at her. "You'll … you'll sign the papers?"

"I'll sign the papers giving you custody. But I want visitation rights."

"Sure, Gretchen, anything."

Tony felt Gibbs' hand close on his shoulder. "I can call our lawyer this morning."

For a moment he saw hesitation in her expression but then with a deep swallow she conceded a soft "okay."

Thanks for the feedback on the last bit, guys. Thanks to C and Aly for continued patience, it is gratefully appreciated. All mistakes are mine, all mine.