Tony left the hospital alone. He made sure that no one knew he was going to be discharged and signed himself out an hour earlier just in case. He didn't want anybody there, didn't want anyone to witness just how hard a time he was having, and he couldn't keep up the mask, not in front of his friends, not in front of the people who knew him.
He had tried. He'd tried so godammned hard when Kate and Abby and Ducky and McGee had visited. They all came, sometimes alone, sometimes in pairs. They came, and he tried to convince them that he was the same old Tony, tried to glue the mask that normally hid his real emotions so well, back in place. Except the mask kept slipping, could no longer cover the cracks, and when his friends saw what was underneath he saw the one emotion in their eyes that he could not live with. He saw their pity.
It made him want to hide in a dark corner, not that he really needed a physical place; the whole of the inside of his head was dark. . .scary. . .and he was alone in that darkness, even when the room was full of people and light, he was alone there, in the dark.
He didn't know how bad it was though, not really. Not until he walked out through the doors of the hospital into the early afternoon sunshine, not until he approached the taxi, the car.
He was standing back inside the hospital, sweating, shivering, fighting an overwhelming desire to cry, and that was almost more frightening than the patchy memory of how he'd found himself back in the building.
Tony hadn't cried since he was six.
'Boys don't cry' It had perhaps been the only thing he'd learnt from his father, well, that and maybe that he didn't want a career in high-pressure finance. Anything that could drive you to drink yourself into oblivion every night couldn't be worth it, no matter what the financial reward, but the 'boys don't cry' was a lesson he'd learnt well. If he closed his eyes he could still remember the smell, the stench of whiskyd breath, the tight grip on his arms, the looming face so close as to make the features almost grotesque, bulging bloodshot eyes, slack skin, saliva dribbling from a half closed mouth as the words slurred out. "Stop it, stop it," the words had been repeated, accompanied by a shake. "Boys don't cry. Do you hear me? Boys don't cry." Saliva had sprayed his face, coating his skin with a fine film causing the stench to increase and linger. "Answer me boy!" Another shake, had there been a question? "What don't boys do?" Ah, there it was.
"Cry sir," he'd answered, trying to keep the terror from his voice, not that his father had ever hurt him, but the lack of control was visible even to a child's eyes. "Boys don't cry."
His father had nodded, satisfied "Good boy."
He was never sure in the years that followed if he held to the adage because of the fear, or because those two words were the closest his father ever came to praising him for something. There were times when he would have welcomed any sort of attention, even violence. At least it would have been some acknowledgement of his existence, of the fact that he meant something to the man.
Whatever, he hadn't cried since that day, but suppressing the urge now, seemed somehow harder than usual, memories of the indifference and pain of his childhood were bubbling too close to the surface, closer than they'd been in years, and he didn't need them now, couldn't deal with them now. He had other traumas to deal with and that was all so long ago and. . .
He forced himself to take deep breaths; using the relaxation techniques he'd been taught. Techniques reiterated every time he saw a psychiatrist or psychologist, every time he'd been involved in a traumatic 'incident'. Normally he didn't need it; normally he coped fine, normally. . . The word seemed to catch in his mind, nothing felt normal. He concentrated his attention back on his breathing, as more recent memories returned vaguely. The cab driver calling after him as he turned, the smell of blood and cordite, the steps back into the building, the bright droplets of blood on the gun butt, the fear.
"Are you all right, Sir?" The young nurse had a gentle hand resting on his arm.
Tony turned with a slight start, settling as he saw the concerned eyes. "Yes. . .I. . .er?" He looked back through the doors in time to see the cab pull away. "I was. . ." He struggled to pull himself back to the present, struggled to produce a coherent sentence. "I've just been discharged and. . ." Damn, how was he going to get home now?
"Tony?"
Tony closed his eyes briefly, not sure whether to be happy or upset, as he plastered on a smile and turned to see Kate weaving her way past the other visitors and patients towards him. He looked sideways back at the nurse. "Thanks, that's my friend, I'll be OK now."
She studied him for a moment, her expression sceptical. The pale complexion and thin sheen of sweat that covered his features were cause for concern, but the smile seemed genuine, even if it didn't reach his eyes. "OK, I'll be at the desk if you need me."
Tony remembered not to nod. "Thanks." He brightened the smile before turning his focus to Kate.
She stopped a few feet away, studying him carefully before she said anything. "Gibbs was right."
"He usually is," Tony allowed, "about what?"
"He said you'd try to leave without letting us know, persuaded Dr. Preston to give us a call when she was discharging you."
"Hey, that's a breach of Doctor- patient confidentiality," Tony protested, trying hard to sound annoyed.
Kate shrugged, "Technically not, she didn't actually use the words; she just coincidentally gave Gibbs a call this morning. In fact, as far as I can tell, she actually asked Gibbs out on a date?"
"A date?"
"She is a redhead," Kate stated, with a slight grin. "Anyway, we were just finishing up a crime scene," She pointed to the blue NCIS jacket and cap she was still wearing. "Gibbs sent me in the truck to come get you."
Tony stared for a moment; Kate was here in the truck, not a car. He could have kissed her.
Kate was a little disconcerted, unable to read his reaction. "I know the truck's not the most comfortable form of. . ."
"No," Tony interrupted, "no, the truck's just fine. Truth is I didn't want to bother you, I was just going to get a cab home." Well it was part of the truth anyway.
Kate looked at him again. She wanted to yell at him, to tell him how stupid he was, that, of course they didn't mind helping him out, making sure he got home OK, especially given the state he was in, given how worried they all were about him. She wanted to yell at him, to berate him for his stupidity. She wanted to. . .but he didn't want to hear that, didn't need to hear that, an external acknowledgement of just how bad he was, confirmation that all of his friends knew it. So she cocked her head to one side and looked slightly exasperated. "Well, I'm here now," she stated, deliberately keeping her tone light. "So I might as well take you."
"Thanks," Tony said as she turned and moved, making sure he fell into step beside her.
They walked in silence. Kate didn't speak again until she was climbing into the truck. "Gibbs suggested that I didn't take you straight home."
"Oh," Tony paused partway through climbing up onto the bench seat. "Where'd he suggest you take me first? 'Cos if it's back to your place then I'm flattered really I am but with the injury. ."
"Tony!"
Tony met her gaze he still hadn't climbed up on to the seat, he gave her a grin, the grin he always gave when he knew that he had successfully pushed her buttons. Maybe he could do normal after all.
She tried to smile back, but the knowledge that he wasn't going to like her next suggestion marred her reaction to the tease. "No, Gibbs did not suggest I take you back to my place, which, by the way you could not pay me enough for. . ."
"Then where?" Tony asked his own smile fading a little. He still hadn't made any further moves into the truck.
Kate busied herself with her seatbelt as she spoke. "He wants me to bring you in so that you can give your statement." She clicked the belt into place, and finally looked up again. "He wants to close out the files." She didn't add the 'we all do,' as she watched for his reaction.
Tony swallowed. Giving a statement would mean remembering, he didn't really want to remember. He choked off the bitter laugh before it formed in his throat. Who was he kidding, remembering was all he was doing, every minute, every action, would trigger a memory, a bright technicoloured, surround sound, touch and smell-o-vision memory that he couldn't. . .
"Tony?" Kate couldn't keep the edge of panic out of her voice. Dammit it had been three days now and each time she lost him to those demons that were haunting him it hurt a little bit more, cut a little bit deeper. Each time she was afraid that he just wouldn't come back.
So much for normal, he looked up and met Kate's concerned gaze. "Sure," he said, resuming his climb into the truck.
"Sure what?" she asked
"I'll come in, give my statement," he stated quietly, locking his own seatbelt into place and looking forward.
Despite the fact that she agreed with Gibbs, that she knew this was the right thing to do. That getting this interview over with would help rather than hinder his recovery, she still needed to give him an out. She didn't want to be the one to force him into something he wasn't ready for. "You don't have to, I could tell Gibbs I forgot to ask you, or that you didn't look well enough. . ."
He smiled again. "It's OK Kate, I'll do it. It's something I'm going to have to face so I might as well get it over with." He tried to sound confident, tried to keep his face in a smile as his insides lurched, reorganising in his abdomen in tight knots. He turned to meet her gaze.
"You're sure?" she asked, her eyes searching his expression.
"I'll be fine," he stated and turned his gaze away, because it was so much harder lying to her when she was looking him in the eye.
NCISNCIS
"What do you mean he's gone?" Gibbs voice was loud enough to carry the length of the interrogation room corridor, and nearly deafened McGee who was standing only two feet away.
"Well. . .I. . he . .er. . ." He took a deep breath. "He asked me to get him some water. I didn't think there would be a problem with leaving him alone. I mean its not as if he's a suspect or. . ."
"No, no McGee he's not a suspect, he's a colleague and a friend." Gibbs anger was borne of frustration and fear, but it didn't make the emotion any less. "And he's just spent the last three hours reliving an undercover assignment that almost cost him his life. You saw what that took out of him. You saw the state he was in. I told you to stay with him. Was that such a difficult instruction to understand?"
McGee looked down at his feet. Gibbs had half whispered the words to him by the doorway. He'd taken the paperwork away, gone to check that the statement was processed. That all the i's were dotted and the t's crossed, so that the shoot could be labelled clean and the case files put to bed, but as he'd reached the door he'd taken a concerned look back at the harrowed figure at the table. "Stay with him." The words had been whispered almost reverently before he left. That was all Gibbs had asked him to do and he'd messed it up, but what else could he have done.
Tony had turned to him. "Hey, McGee," his voice had cracked a little. "Do you think you could get me some water," his hand waved vaguely at the empty glass. "I've.. . er. . ." he pulled a prescription bottle from his pocket, looking slightly embarrassed. "I've got some pills I need to take." He'd picked up the glass. "Please?"
It was clear what the pills were for; the pain was forcing visible creases around Tony's eyes. Gibbs had asked him to stay but he'd only be gone a minute, maybe two.
McGee looked back up meeting Gibbs angry glare. "I know I should have stayed with him but he said he needed the water to take his pills. He was in pain, I didn't think. . ."
"No, McGee, you didn't think. Agent Roberts was listening in the next room you could have asked him, or called Kate or. . ." Gibbs cut himself off mid sentence. This wasn't helping them find Tony. "Let's split up I'll take Autopsy, you take the parking lot, get hold of Kate and Ducky and Abby, let them know what's happening."
McGee nodded, pulling out his cell phone as he began to move.
TO BE CONTINUED. . . .