Okay, so the whole 'staying away from the beers and not getting drunk' thing wasn't going as planned. It's hard when the options are either talk or drink. Guess that was Gibbs' plan though, and Tony kind of walked right into that one.

Tony wanted to forgo the steaks. "I'm really not hungry," Tony had told Gibbs. He was never hungry these days. But Gibbs wouldn't take no for an answer, and if it gets Gibbs to take him home sooner then so be it. Tony can deal with it, can ignore how much the food tastes like crumpled paper against his taste buds.

They have a drink with the steaks. One drink in and he's feeling a buzz; huh, guess he's become a lightweight. Probably doesn't help that he hasn't been eating much lately. The light buzz of the beer takes some weight off his shoulders, at least. It lets him focus on the fuzziness growing around him instead of the alarming and encompassing emptiness inside of him. He feels calmer now than he did in the car, more subdued.

Gibbs put the dishes in the sink. Tony knows he should get up, offer to help clean, but he can't find it in him.

Gibbs makes eye contact. Motions his head out of the room. Tony sighs, slowly stands up, hands supporting his weight on the table, and follows him.

They find themselves in the basement. The intermittent small talk from upstairs died down to eventual silence. Now it's quiet except for Gibbs sanding down his boat, needing to do something with his hands.

Gibbs has questions, doesn't fully understand what's going through Tony's mind. What the problem is, exactly. But he can tell tonight might not be the night for talking.

He doesn't want to pressure DiNozzo to talk, afraid he'll run. But even without him talking, just having him in his line of sight is better than the alternative. At least with him here, Gibbs knows that DiNozzo's safe, somewhere Gibbs can keep an eye on him. After the conversation in the car, Gibbs' gut is telling him that Tony shouldn't be left alone tonight. So he'll just wait him out, he decides. He'll spill what's on his mind eventually , Gibbs tries to convince himself. Gibbs doesn't let himself stop to think about why he only knows how to communicate with people using interrogation strategies- maybe this is why he doesn't have many friends.

So Tony sits on the basement steps and watches Gibbs work; he steadily sips his drink, one after another. He lets himself get lost in the soft sound of the sandpaper scraping back and forth; lets the repetitive, mesmerizing motion soothe him until he can almost forget where he is, forget who he's with, and forget what he admitted in the car earlier that night; almost but not quite. Allows himself to ignore his troubles; after all, this emptiness is normal when he's drunk, gives him an excuse to be feeling this way. He knows it's not healthy, but he'll take what he can get these days.

He opens his eyes that he doesn't remember closing. He doesn't know how much time has passed. He knows he's supposed to be talking, that's why Gibbs brought him down here. It's how things usually go when he has a problem; he's a talker; he talks through them. Not so much lately. He misses those days. He misses the times when he had real, tangible problems to deal with. Easier to talk through a problem when the problem wasn't just his own brain.

The soothing sounds of the sanding have stopped, he realizes. He looks up and Gibbs is suddenly sitting next to him on the hard wooden steps. How long has he been there? It feels a bit like time's moving without him. He feels disconnected with his body. He looks at his hand, the one not holding the now empty beer bottle. Wait, when did he finish that? He clenches his fist and releases it. He knows he's moving it but It's like it's not his. That's not right.

He looks back up and Gibbs is staring at him with those eyes again. Worried. Expectant. Tony can feel his own resolve crumbling. So much for stepping up my act in front of Gibbs.

"Tony," his voice is soft, treading the water carefully. Like talking to a scared animal. Tony's breaths are coming in fast. Oxygen isn't flowing like it should.

Fuck it, Tony thinks, heart pounding. He hasn't been putting up much of a front tonight after all, so why not let it all out? He's fought so long to make it seem like everything is a-okay, but he doesn't think he can take another day of pretending to be strong in front of people.

Why can't anybody see that he's drowning? That he's been drowning.

The thought of admitting he needs help causes the intrusive thoughts to slip back in. Pathetic, they tell him. Moping around like he has any real problems, like he doesn't meet people everyday at work experiencing the worst days of their lives, and he's here complaining about, what, exactly? Feeling like he's drowning in what, exactly? Nothing's happened to him recently that's making him feel like this; he doesn't deserve any support.

No , Tony tries to shut those thoughts out, screws his eyes shut tight. Not this time. This is how his thought process usually goes, when he's contemplating finally reaching out for help. And this is the closest he's come. He's in Gibbs basement, a few drinks in, mask as good as gone all night. Just do it , he tells himself. Gibbs silently watches this internal struggle, present for when Tony's finally ready to speak.

Tony runs his fingers through his hair, elbows resting on his knees. "God Gibbs, what's wrong with me?" Tony finally breathes out. The words exit his mouth, his voice rattling, not feeling like his own.

Gibbs rests a heavy hand on DiNozzo's shoulder, offering his silent but strong support. He keeps his hand there, maintains the steady contact even when his old joints start making their discomfort known, sitting on the hard wooden stairs for too long.

Gibbs isn't good at the emotional stuff; he's a logic-guy, a problem-solver. But it doesn't seem like DiNozzo's searching for that kind of help this time. For how much he's used to Tony talking, well at least the old Tony, Gibbs knows never actually says that much. Gibbs knows he's gonna have to lead him. They'll both be out of their comfort zones.

Tony's eyes remain downward, staring at his hands; he's grateful for Gibbs' unusual display of comfort. The contact is grounding, helping to bring him back to his body.

"What do you need?" Gibbs asks, straightforward but uncharacteristically gently.

Tony chokes out a laugh, if you can even call it that. "I wish I knew" is all Tony replies, giving his head a small, sad shake.

"You look tired" Gibbs points out the obvious.

"I am tired," Tony supplies automatically. The words sink in. "So damn tired."

Silence hangs in the air. Gibbs is waiting for more. Letting him take his time.

This is it. Just say it. It's now or never, Tony urges himself . He might regret this tomorrow, but the immediate relief he's searching for, that this might bring, that he hasn't felt in… he can't remember how long, might make it worth it.

"Tired of what?" Gibbs probes further.

Tony takes a few deep breaths, preparing himself. "I'm tired of having to wake up every day," he admits. "I'm tired of pretending all the time." Now that he's started, it's easier to keep going, to let it out. The words start gushing out of his mouth like they're prisoners finally getting their chance to escape. They can't be stopped now. "You asked what I need?" he continues, "I need to stop going to bed at night hoping I won't wake up in the morning. I need to stop driving to work hoping another car will run a red light and finally end it for me. I need to stop feeling like this, but I don't know how."

Gibbs listened closely as the verbal floodgates were released, his hand automatically tightening its grip on DiNozzo's shoulder with each new confession, afraid he could just disappear into thin air at any moment if he doesn't hold on tight enough.

"And look, I know there's still a few people that care about me, for some reason. I'm not oblivious to that. And I'm not a big enough jerk to do something like that to you all. But something natural? An accident? That's all I want. It'd let you down a hell of a lot easier than thinking I did it on purpose and that you could've done something to stop it. I don't want you to feel guilty. I've been making your life hard enough as is. I've been trying to be better, I really have, boss, but I'm tired. So so tired and I'm not sure how much longer I can keep going"

Listening to Tony's confession filled Gibbs with sadness and with fear. Heartbroken at the thought of his friend, his family, in so much anguish, feeling so damn hopeless.

"Oh, DiNozzo." He thought figuring out what to say to the man was going to be hard, but the words came naturally. More of an instinct to protect than to comfort. He really only had to say how he truly felt.

One part of Tony was bracing for impact, for Gibbs' snide judgment, or worse, his pity. The other part of him couldn't find it in him to care.

"Tony, You haven't made my life hard. You've kept me going even when you didn't know it. You're like a son to me, you know that? And I can't lose another child."

Not what Tony was expecting. He felt something flare up inside him from hearing Gibbs' words.

But Gibbs wasn't finished. "And we'll figure this out, ok? Together. This doesn't have to be all on you anymore; let me take some of this weight; let me help you."

Tony nodded, still in a bit of shock at how supportive and understanding his normally stoic boss was being. He hoped it wasn't just all talk though. Tony asked, voice shaky, "No offense, but how are you going to be able to help me Gibbs? My brains not exactly some murderer you can track down and interrogate. I would've done that a while ago if I could've."

"I'm not saying it's going to be easy. You already know that. But look, you feel like this, you come to me. You need a minute to yourself at work, you need less head slaps, hell, I don't know, you need more head slaps?". Quieter now he continues, "if you don't trust yourself to be alone with your thoughts. I don't care what time it is, where we are, what we're doing. You come to me and we deal with it. You're important to me. And I have your six. Always. I need you to know that."

Tony doesn't cry. Hasn't been able to cry in a long time, save for that lone tear in the car earlier. But some of that relief he's looking for washes over him. He's starting to feel hopeful that maybe he'll feel better some day, feel like himself again. He's exhausted, but he's surprisingly comforted knowing that he's not alone anymore, that someone else knows how he's been feeling.

"Understood. Thanks boss. " Tony gives a weak smile. Gibbs thinks he sees a hint of something real behind his eyes, barely there, but there nonetheless. That's more than he could have said earlier today. And infinitely better than that fake grin that he's been putting on at work. They sit in silence for a few more minutes, but it's not the same heavy silence as before.

The reality of everything that's just happened started settling in, and Tony's not as panicked as he was expecting to be. Exhaustion is taking over instead. "I think I wanna go home now, if that's okay, boss".

Before Gibbs can respond, Tony adds in, "And, hey, what happens in the basement stays in the basement, right?" Tony jokes, trying to ease the slight embarrassment he's just starting to feel, thinking about going into work tomorrow morning and acting normal around the rest of the team after he just spilled his guts to his boss tonight. He's fighting hard to keep those intrusive thoughts out.

"This'll stay just between us DiNozzo. I'm not telling anyone unless you give me the word, but, ya know, the rest of the team would be there for you."

Tony's not sure if he believes that. All he can imagine is their judgment at his failure, or maybe their anger for trying to deceive them for so long, or their guilt for not seeing through his mask, or maybe just their pity. That's the one he'd be most worried about; he doesn't think he could handle pity from them. God, he doesn't know what would be worse, pity from Ziva or pity from McGee. Let's keep it at neither, Tony thinks. Everything's just so much easier when he keeps them at a distance, when he lets them believe his mask. Tiring, sure, but well worth the energy if it means avoiding those interactions.

On the other hand, he was pleasantly surprised at Gibbs' reaction. Although, it helps that the man is basically a robot and as inept at emotional conversations as Tony is. And that Tony trusts him more than anyone else in the world.

"Maybe one day," Tony settles on.

"Alright. Let's get you home. Get some sleep and we'll talk tomorrow, start figuring things out."

A large part of Tony still wishes that won't happen. That he won't wake up tomorrow at all. But maybe not all of him anymore. Feeling better is going to be hard, he knows. But it's nice knowing he's not alone. He knows his upcoming struggles will be different then his current ones, maybe not any less unpleasant, but at least more productive, he presumes. There's now a part of him that's hopeful for the future he's begrudgingly going to be sticking around for.