Title: What Could Have Been

Author: Tearsofamiko

Rating: K

Disclaimer: See part one

Spoilers: Kill Ari: Part 1

Summary: Even when it all said and done, it's the 'might-have-beens' that kill you.

A/N: ^^ Yay for emotionally torturing Tony. ^^

Barely Fast Enough

Tony reached over and flipped the switch, freezing the elevator in the midst of its climb. Feeling the fine tremors run through his entire body, he leaned against the mirrored wall, the cold of the metal seeping through his shirt. Smothering a groan, he buried his face in his hands.

The memory of what had happened and what had almost happened ripped through him, tearing him apart. They replayed over and over again in his head, a permanent cycle that threatened to break him, if he let it. He'd been able to push away his emotions about what had happened, but after what could have happened? He let himself slide down the wall, settling himself on the floor with his legs out in front of him as the images played through his mind.

The sound had barely registered in his mind before he threw himself across the space between them, hurling them both to the floor. He'd recognized the sound this time, remembered the whine of the bullet from earlier, cursed himself for not having noticed it up on that rooftop. Maybe it would be enough that he'd heard it this time. Maybe.

He looked down into her wide hazel eyes, saw the almost blank look within them, and knew she hadn't yet realized what had happened. Instead, she complained about his weight, caught on that one tangent despite his asking about her welfare, despite his catching her hands and literally dragging her into the corner. His Sig appeared in his hands almost without conscious thought and he peaked through what he could see of the window. He was intent on his task, more than wanting the shooter to be visible, when he felt her hands tracing his thighs and butt.

"Hey, is this how you deal with being shot at?" he asked her, his whisper harsh as he struggled through the emotion and physical weakness he was still dealing with after having the plague.

"I don't know, it's my first time," she replied and he saw the realization dawn on her, saw the panic take root and start to build.

Gibbs appeared then, plunging the lab into darkness with swift movements. He'd taken charge in an instant, despite the worry he exuded and the water that streamed from his clothes. It almost hurt to watch Abby cling to him, to have her flee to her Silver Fox even though Tony had saved her. It almost hurt, but he knew he didn't have the strength – emotional, mental, or physical – to be the rock that she needed. He let her to someone strong enough to support her and threw himself back into the job at hand with such abandon Gibbs'd had to trip him to be able to remind him to be careful. He glanced back at his boss and saw the instability in his eyes, knew what damage would have been done if Tony hadn't been fast enough, if he hadn't recognized the sound.

That knowledge haunted him now. In Gibbs' blue eyes, he'd seen desolation and half-madness, near-blind panic at the thought of losing Abby so soon after losing Kate. That sight, that bone-deep turmoil joined the other images rollicking around in his head, each with enough of an edge to shred his soul: Kate's laughing brown eyes so suddenly blanked; the barely controlled panic in Gibbs' expression as she fell to the ground between them; Kate's brave, tremulous smile as she sat under the blue lights with him – God, was it only a few weeks ago?

And that final image, the one that might have been but wasn't, the one he'd managed to prevent but so easily could have happened – Abby's beautiful hazel eyes, blank in the same way Kate's were.

He shuddered and drew in a stuttering breath, felt it catch at the back of his throat, triggering a coughing spasm that left him gasping for air. As soon as he could breathe, he launched himself off the floor and slapped the switch. He didn't need to be alone so soon after having the Plague; someone needed to be around if he passed out from air loss. And there was a job to do, a task he'd been given, justice to be dispersed. He wouldn't be able to even consider sleeping until he was sure that Abby would not end up like Kate.

He only gave himself the time it took the elevator to finish its ascent to pull himself together. McGee wouldn't be able to handle Tony without his control firmly in place and Gibbs needed his Senior Field Agent to have his head screwed on right. With shaking hands, he scrubbed at his face, wiping away any traces of emotion. By the time the door opened with their usual chime, he'd managed some semblance of calm, enough that McGee, waiting in front of the elevator doors, didn't look unduly worried. He must have caught some glimpse, though.

"Tony?" he asked. "Is everything okay?"

He told him what Gibbs had asked, made sure the order was understood. Confusion shone within the younger agent's eyes, but no part of the request was questioned. Tony figured it was just as well; the poor Probie'd take hearing that Abby was shot at better if he could see she was safe. He headed to his desk to help McGee make the arrangements for what Gibbs wanted. He could feel the emotions lurking at the edges of his mind, waiting for a weak moment to set them free. He refused to acknowledge them, but they were there: the knowledge of what had been and what could have been.

As his living nightmare continued, as he did his job and was there for those that needed him, he fought the emotion, tried to close himself off from it, to banish it completely. But it was a part of him now, as much a mark on his soul as almost dying from the Plague.

It really was his brand-new bête noir.

Good night, Katie.

(A/N: Stupid dividers are being wonky. ::Gibbs glare:: Anyway, wow, there was. . .lots o' angst in this one. . .hmmm. . .)