A/N: Okay, the deal's this: I never intended for this to become a multiple chapter piece. Nonetheless, here's the second installment. I've got a vague storyline in mind, so expect more. Just don't expect it soon. College starts in a few days.


Tony is alone. The bullpen is empty, the entire floor silent in what he assumes to be a period of mourning. Gibbs is in MTAC, resinding his resignation and arguing with an air of desperation to be allowed to search for Ari Haswari. Something tells Tony that he will be looking with permission or without. Easier to ask forgiveness, and all that crap. McGee has gone on a dinner run with Abby, though nobody asked him to, and very few people will be consuming whatever they bring back. Tony suspects McGee just wanted an excuse to get Abby out of autopsy. There was something strangely morbid about her insisting she watch Kate's post-mortem examination.

Tony shudders at the thought. He is the only member of the team that hasn't gone down to autopsy since...it happened. Kate was a vibrant person, full of life and energy even on her worst days. That's how he wants to remember her, not laying naked on a table in the morgue with a hole in her head waiting to be cut open like a slab of meat. She is...was...more than that.

He rolls his shoulders, in a waste of energy attempt to loosen the knots there. He feels like he's been wound tighter than a spring board for as long as he can remember; he's forgotten the mood that usually led to the playful bantering that so often inhabited this workspace. He wonders if work will ever go back to the way it was, but then decides that maybe it would be better if it didn't.

"Anthony?"

He looks up at the sudden voice in the otherwise quiet. Ducky's staring down at him with something akin to fatherly concern, but Tony's unaccustomed to such attention and it slides off him like water does a duck. He glances down at the other man's hands, thinks that just moments ago they were covered in white latex dripping with his partner's blood.

"What is it, Ducky?" He turns from the worried contemplation that's making him entirely too uncomfortable, and pretends to focus on the report that has been unable to capture his thought for the past two hours. He frowns in fake concentration and taps at the keyboard, though the letters are random and he's not even in the word program. "I'm a little busy here."

"Have you eaten yet, my young friend? You do not look well."

Tony's hands pause over the keyboard; hanging in the air like leafless branches on a tree. He turns slowly in his chair, favours the medical examiner with a deadpan look.

"How am I supposed to look? I just watched my partner of two years, the only woman whose ever been able to put up with me for more than forty five minutes at a time, my goddam mother included, gunned down in front of me by the terrorist who by all rights, should be dead by our hands. How the fuck am I supposed to look!"

It's the surprise in the older man's eyes that clues him in to the fact that he's lost control. He glances down at his hands, sees they're shaking like he suffers from tremors. He looks past his desk, to where McGee and Abby have paused in their dinner ministrations to gape at him in a sort of expected shock. Gibbs is standing on the landing of the stairs in the middle of the floor, a file in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. There's a look of disappointment in his eyes that cuts Tony to the core, hurts him more deeply than all the slaps to the back of the head combined.

He stands quickly, so quickly his chair tips over backwards behind him. He didn't mean to take his anger and frustration out on unsuspecting Ducky; he hadn't even realized he felt that way until the words started pouring from his lips. Colour infuses his face, and he's overcome with the need to get out. But as he turns to leave, to sidestep Ducky and get away from those goddam awful looks of sympathy, he's blocked by someone, an unfamiliar face in a building where unfamiliarity doesn't exist.

"Special Agent Dinozzo?"

Tony frowns, and suddenly the pressing need to escape melts away to nothing. Ducky moves to stand next to him, by his side despite being chewed out, and he sees Gibbs approaching from the other direction. He knows he's not alone, no matter what this stranger has to say, but that comes as little consolation.

"Who's asking?"he says. The coldness in his voice sounds like someone else, but he doesn't care to think any further on that.

"My name is Kevin McLean. I work for NCIS's legal department."

Gibbs appears across from him, both file and coffee gone to be replaced by three-hle punch, held in his right hand as though he might use it as a blunt instrument. "So what are you doing here?"

McLean glances over at Tony, but it's Gibbs he's addressing when he says, "I handled Agent Todd's living will and testament when she was hired by NCIS. She had a stipulation in her will to be executed within hours of her death."

Tony's knees begin to feel weak, and he wishes absurdly that he hadn't knocked his chair over. He catches Gibbs' eye from across the space between them, and sees his own concern mirrored there. "What does that have to do with me?"

McLean surverys the group of onlookers/supporters that's gathered, one that's grown by the addition of McGee and Abby. He swallows almost nervously, then says, "Perhaps we should discuss this in private."

Tony shakes his head, because he doesn't care what the others think, and he sort of likes having them around anyways. With other people around, he's more likely to be able to control his reactions. "It's doesn't matter. What're you gonna tell me?"

He lifts a briefcase that Tony hadn't noticed earlier, sets it down on his desk and opens it quickly. He picks up an envelope and holds it out. "She wanted you to have this, Special Agent Dinozzo. She made it very clear that you were to receive it as soon as possible, should she lose her life on the job."

Tony takes the envelope, holds it carefully between his fingers as if it were some kind of holy artifact. McLean is saying something else to him, but he pays it no mind. He sets the white paper envelope on his desk, rights his chair carefully and sits down in it. He's peripherally aware of Gibbs dismissing McLean, and is grateful for it. His last name is scrawled out across the front of the envelope, in that near indecipherable chicken scratch Kate called writing. His curiousity about the contents is overridden by the fact that the message almost seems to be delivered from beyond death. He doesn't want to open it, because that would kill the illusion. The illusion that maybe she isn't dead, maybe this is all some horrible practical joke, and the punchline is inside the folded white card paper.

"Tony." He looks up, sees Gibbs handing him a letter opener and his support with the same hand. He nodds firmly, accepts the tool and with a quick flick of his wrist, tears the envelope open.

A photo falls out, lands face up on his keyboard. It's a glossy four by six of Kate, with a huge grin on her face and her arms around a mangy looking german shepherd. At least, that's what Tony thinks it it. He's not entirely up to date on his knowledge of dog breeds. He shakes the envelope, and a collection of papers stapled together comes out. He unfolds it carefully, and is thankful to see she thought ahead to type this out.

'Dear Dinozzo,' it predictably starts out. He used to wonder if she even knew what his first name was.

'If you're reading this, it means I'm gone. Assuming you haven't found someway to bypass the lawyer/client confidiallity clause. Although I wouldn't put it past you.' He starts to smile, then remembers what it is he's doing, and the expression melts off his face.

'I always understood that this job was dangerous, and while I was never looking forward to death, I knew it was a possibility. So I'm taking every precaution to make sure my things will be taken care of.' He smiles a little again, despite himself, because she'd often accused him of being the most irresponsible person she'd ever known. Interesting to think she was now leaving something precious to her in his care.

'The dog in the picture I slipped in this envelope is named Moose. He's a german shepherd cross I adopted from the pound right before leaving the Secret Service. He's a very special dog, Tony, and needs special care. He was abused as a puppy, in horrific ways I don't want to get into. He's very dear to me, and I need to make sure he's going to be okay.' He takes his eyes off the paper for a moment, looks at the picture, and thinks maybe he can see a hint of something in the dogs solemn gaze, something that would indicate he has had a rough life. He understands that look.

'I'm writing this to you because you haven't fooled me. I'm trained as a profiler. It's going to take more than sarcastic jokes and a chauvanistic attitude to fool me. I know that despite what you've told us, your life hasn't been the free ride you'd like us to believe. I can see it in your face sometimes, when you don't notice my attention. You've got the look of a survivor.' Tony glances nervously at the demi-crowd still watching him, maybe waiting for him to read the letter out loud. He brings his hands closer to his chest, hunches in shoulders over the paper to protect the words, maintain both his privacy, and hers.

'That's why I'm leaving Moose in your care. I've thought about it long and hard, and I've decided someone who's known that kind of pain first hand would be best for him. And maybe he can do you some good too.' He frowns a little despite himself. There's a reason he never had a pet growing up; he has enough trouble taking care of himself on the best of days. A dog with emotional problems is probably not the best place to start. But if Kate, who despite one anamolous situation, has been a perfect judge of character thinks he can do it, well, then, he might as well give it a try. He reads on.

'You'll do fine. Just treat him the way you would want to be treated. And take care of them, Tony. I know it won't matter how I go. If it's on the job, Gibbs is going to blame himself. Don't let him get consumed. You're a great friend, despite all the evidence to the contrary, and I know I can count on you to take care of Moose.'

The letter ends aburptly with her scribble of a signature. He lets his chin fall to his chest, holds the paper tightly between his hands. He can feel the tenseness of the group around him, waiting with baited breath to be informed of what was Kate's wish so important it couldn't wait a day or two. But he finds he doesn't want to tell them. It seems better, more private to keep it to himself. So he carefully refolds the paper, the second of which is a detailed list of instructions on dog care (it seems maybe she didn't trust him as implicitly as he had assumed) and slips it into the inner pocket of the jacket he had pulled out of his locker and is now wearing.

"You okay, Dinozzo?"

If the timing were a little better, Tony might've smiled. Leave it to his boss to try to cover up curiousity with fake concern. It was so obvious that Gibbs wanted to know what was in the envelope just as bad as everyone else that...His train of thought is derailed as he finally catches the older man's eye. The pain in those solemn grey eyes in heart wrenching, and he thinks that Kate's warning was spot on. Of course he would blame himself; Tony is a fool not to have realized it before. Granted, he was a little busy, what with wiping grey matter off his face. But he had always prided himself on his observation skills; in his opinion, it was why he had always had such success in the law enforcement field.

He rapidly amends his first thought. If Tony needs this letter, Gibbs needs it even more. He clears his throat, motions to the picture that remains on his keyboard. "Her dog. She wants me to take him."

Gibbs eyebrows raise a fraction of an inch, and it's clear to Tony he is just as surprised to hear that news. He waits for the jab, for the one-liner with the over shoulder delivery Gibbs has become famous for. But it doesn't come. Instead, something in his face softens, and Gibbs' lips turn up in what might approximate as a smile in some parts of the world.

"I have a key to Kate's place. I'll go get it." Abby speaks up from behind him, and seconds later brushes past his shoulder on her way to the lab. She has changed in the matter of minutes; there's none of the playful spark that Tony had alway associated with his near-Goth friend. All of the look, none of the attitude. There's a brief silence after her departure, before McGee breaks off from the group and follows her. Tony suspects the probie is worried about the possibility of a breakdown, but Tony knows her better than that. Much like himself, if there is something to do, Abby will hold it together. But after the work is done...he hopes fervently that McGee can handle her.

"You'll need a ride, Anthony. Her house is on my way; I can drop you off." Tony wants to refuse the ride; the last thing he wants right now is to be stuck in a small contained space with a sympathetic Ducky. But he has few options. One of the stipulations that he return to work today was that Gibbs pick him up. He's vehicle-less. So combine that with the fact that he doesn't want to hurt Ducky's feelings again by turning down the offer, and he nods.

"That'd be great, Duck."

He stoops to grab his backpack, swings it over his shoulder. A part of him wants to protest; him leaving early means everyone else will have to stay later. Afterall, he's not the only one who lost a teammate. But then Ducky's hand is on his elbow, gently leading him away, and Abby is pressing the key into his hand while telling him to get some rest. Then they're at the elevator, and he thinks it would probably be silly to go back. So he watches with heavy lidded eyes as Ducky presses the button to the lobby, then leans back against the wall and waits for the ride to be over.

Ducky has the good sense not to say anything; he must instinctually know that Tony would not be an ideal candidate for consolation or platitudes. So they wait in quiet, the only sound in the elevator the one of slow moving gears lowering them down to the first floor.

After what seems like a lifetime, the doors open to the lobby, and they are spat out onto the spotless tiled floor. Tony eyes the inlaid NCIS design in the middle of the floor, the mocking words about bravery and courage, and wants to sneer, but even in his state of mind has more sense than that. He feels the eyes of the receptionists on his back, can feel their morbid curiosity through their masks of sadness and sympathy. He starts to turn in their direction, mind spinning up some kind of snarky line that will make them think twice before watching and waiting for someone to fall apart. But then Ducky's hand is on his elbow again, leading him towards the bullet-proof glass double doors that lead out to the parking garage.

"Not today, my boy,"he says quietly, knowingly. "They will get theirs, but not today."

Tony decides Ducky is probably right. Besides, he never comes up with his best stuff, his most biting, hurtful one liners that he learned so well from his father, when his hands are still shaking from rage. It's only when he's able to distance himself from situations that he can really let the insults fly. And being close enough to feel the blood on her face is not nearly distant enough.

Tony lets Ducky lead him to the well-maintained classic 1967 Mustang in the far corner of the parking garage, and by some miracle of self-control, manages not to let his jaw drop to the pavement. The last thing he expected Ducky to drive as a muscle car. Whenever he pictured Ducky driving, which admittedly, wasn't often, he was always behind the wheel of a Buick, or a Cadillac. Something with a orthopedic cushion on the driver's seat, and a bumper sticker that read 'If you don't like the way I drive, get off the sidewalk.'

He drops down into the cream coloured leather bucket seat, and stows his bag away between his feet. Ducky crosses around the front of the car, and slides easily into his own side.

"Duck, this car is fantastic." Tony watches with newly kindled admiration as Ducky sticks the key in the ignition, and the car responds to his touch with a roar.

The medical examiner smiles. "What, did you think because I listen to Frank Sinatra, and talk about the good old days, that I drove a Buick, or some such thing?"

Tony doesn't answer, because he thought exactly that. Instead he leans his head against the cool glass window, because maybe he did work himself a little hard for his first day back. Maybe he is feeling a little light-heated, though how much of that is from recovering illness, or seeing his partners brains splatter against asphalt, he's unsure. Doesn't really care to find out.

He tells himself he's not going to fall asleep. This day is far too important, and he will not belittle it by napping. He tells himself this several times, and regardless of how strongly he meant, he is soon sucked into oblivion.


A light but insistent touch on his elbow is what brings him back from the edge. He feels horrible; sore, stiff muscles, his throat is dry, scratchy and terribly painful, as if he had developed strepp throat in the past...how long has it been?

He looks to his left, meets Ducky's inquisitive gaze. This is strange, Tony thinks. He doesn't think he's ever been in a classic car with the medical examiner. But the clearly vintage odometer, the chrome steering wheel and cream leather bucket seats could be nothing else. He looks out the window, squints a little to see in the receding daylight. The car is parked next to the curb in front of a small, two story red brick house. There's a small garden planted in front of the steps, a few tiny patches of blue flowers, and a shrub surrounded by cedar chips. It's familiar to his fuzzy memory, brings up some kind of unidentifiable, though certainly painful, emotion. He squints a little harder, reads the name spelled out on the wooden mailbox in brass letters, and whatever colour is leftover leaves his face in a rush. Kate...

He finds tears springing to his tired eyes, and he blinks furiously to dispell them. Apparently his nap (or whatever it was) had taken him deeper than he thought. The memories that had remained hidden for a scant few seconds come rushing back, and he remembers what it felt like to have his partner's blood splatter against his skin.

"Anthony? Are you all right?"

Tony nods without looking at Ducky, wipes his sweaty hands on his pants, and opens the car door. He doesn't wince as he heaves himself out of the car, despite the pain radiating from his weak and overworked body.

He's been to Kate's house before; it looks a little different in the fast receding light. But now standing on the grass boulevard next to the road, he realises it's familiarity. He'd only ever been here in a professional capacity, picking up Kate when her car was in the shop. Once when she had a nasty cold and didn't trust herself to drive on medication. They were close, but neither was the type to want to get together outside of work. All that they had been through and that one line always remained.

He feels Ducky stand beside him, rather than see him, because he's developed a sort of tunnel vision. Kate's house, the front door in particular, is the only thing in his line of sight. The rest of the neighbourhood was blurry, non-existent in terms of his attention.

"I can keep you company if you like."

He glances left at his co-worker, manages a smile more for Ducky's benefit than an actual expression of feeling. "I'll be fine, Duck. Gotta do it on my own, y'know?"

Tony starts forward, towards the house, without waiting for a reply. As much as he doesn't want to do this, he wants more to get it over with. He hears Ducky ask that he promise to call him for a ride when he finishes, and Tony agrees, even as he tells himself he won't. He would sooner walk across town than ask for for help again. The car door slams behind him, but the engine doesn't turn over. He pictures Duck sitting in the driver's seat, key in ignition but hands in his lap, watching Tony approach the front door like he was moving towards his own death.

He reaches the first step, and any thought not directly pertaining to the next few seconds vanishes. He's not surprised to find he doesn't want to do this; despite what his co-workers think, he's not a brave man. At least, not in a personal, emotional sense. It's part of the reason why he surrounds himself with people like Kate and Gibbs and Abby. It's easy to pretend he's strong with so many good role models around.

His right hand drops to the pocket of his jeans, and he feels the sharp metal outline of the key Abby fetched for him before he left the office. He wishes now he had asked Abby to come. Or Gibbs. Hell, even McGee would've taken the edge of it. Anything, or anyone, to take his mind off the fact that if Kate was still alive, he'd be trespassing. His hand slips inside his pocket, and his fingers close around the warm metal of the key. Kate seemed to think he could handle it alone, and considering he could count the amount of times her judgement had been off on one finger, he decides maybe he can trust her. Maybe he is strong enough to do this on his own, despite all the evidence to the contrary. Tony takes a deep breath, and steps up to the door.


A/N: I hope this is satisfactory. I've lost people in my life, but never someone my life depended on, and never while I was watching. I have no idea how something like what Tony went through would affect a person, and while I have no desire to find out, I hope I did the resulting emotions justice.

On a sidenote, I also have no idea how inheritance are received. I'm pretty sure it takeslonger than a few hours, but I assumed that since Kate and Tony are both federal agents, things might be a little different. Let me know what you think, I want to know if the premise works.