2

He'd had maybe two hours sleep once he got back, and then it took another long hot shower and half an hour of psyching himself up before he felt remotely ready to face the office. But he was proud of himself for not faltering once he got there.

By the time he got out of the elevator, brand new knife strapped onto his ankle, he felt sick to his stomach and ready to scream, but he plastered the smile on, and burst into the bullpen in normal fashion. He made for his desk, carefully not thinking about his desk yesterday, and pretended not to notice as Kate eyed him up critically.

"Up all night Tony?"

So he did look a little rough round the edges. A comment like that still deserved a leer. "Wouldn't settle for anything less!"

She harrumphed softly. "You get any sleep?" It was pointed, and irritated, and all the easier to handle for that.

"A little."

"You are… I don't know what you are, Tony. Do you take anything seriously?"

Me? Yeah. A lot more than you'd think. "Would you feel better if I told you I'd spent most of the night contemplating mortality and fate at St Mary Queen of Martyrs?"

She snorted, narrowly avoiding spraying water over the desk. "You? In a church? No, Tony, I wouldn't feel any better if you started lying to me."

See Antony? Told yourself, didn't you kiddo? They don't know you at all.

"DiNozzo!"

Uh oh, here we go. I really, really don't want to have to do this. Is it too late to call in sick? "Boss?"

"What are you doing here?"

"You borrowing my lines?" At the look he got, he hurried on. "I work here, boss." I mean – it wasn't that bad a screw up, was it? He scanned the area, looking for any McGees heading towards his – that – desk, but came up with nothing, except a sharp stinging sensation on the crown of his head to remind him that his attention had slipped from where it was meant to be. "Sorry." Perfect. Now he sounded like a sullen 12 year old.

"Aren't you on sick leave?"

"Erm – no, I don't think so. I feel fine." Physically, in any case…

"Doctor agree with that?"

Doctor?

Gibbs evidently took the pause for exactly what it was. "You did get checked out?"

Oh shit. "I got clean, boss, and then… I guess I forgot."

"He was well enough to spend the night carousing. He'll be fine to work."

Thank you Katie. That piercing gaze had narrowed in his direction, and then its owner stepped forward, crowding into his space. "Look, I-" A hand shot out, and he only began to breathe again when it returned holding a telephone receiver.

"Ducky. I'm sending DiNozzo down. Yes… Ducky! Check him out. If he's not there in five minutes, let me know. If he's not fit for work, let me know."

He jumped a foot when the phone slammed back down.

"You still here?"

"No!" He shot out of the office before either of them could say another word, breathing a sigh of relief when he found himself alone in the elevator. Enough time to get his balance back before the next round. Get his face back on.

***

Evidently life had decided to give him a break. Ducky had pronounced him fine, in the broader sense of the word, and after two of his Vietnam stories sent him back up to the bullpen. It was long enough and soothing enough for him to be feeling about as settled as he had before he came in. He'd answered where necessary, and otherwise just let the words wash over him and help him detach.

The feeling of wellbeing wasn't exactly lasting, but that was only to be expected while he was writing his report. Keeping it factual was a blessing at last, and he could almost forget the hole in his chest and the ever-present sense of nausea while he worked. Gibbs had vanished, and nobody else was bothering him.

"You still here?" Was he? On balance… maybe not any more. If he ever had been.

***

"Ducky?"

"In here." After a moment, the older man emerged from behind the door, wiping his hands. "Good timing, my friend – I've just finished up with Mr Dalberg for Agent Ross's team. How can I help you?"

"Is DiNozzo really ok?"

The smile was replaced by a more thoughtful expression. "He's just a bit banged up, Jethro. Nothing that won't disappear in a week or two." He watched as the tension in his friend's shoulders drained out a little.

"But? No, don't give me that look, I've known you too long. What's the but?"

"I'd be pleasantly surprised to find out he got any sleep last night. And he seems… most on edge. Easily distracted. I don't know exactly, he just didn't seem quite – himself."

"Yeah."

"Not just my observation then? Well, I would imagine it's probably nothing to worry about. All that – it must have been a horrendous ordeal for the lad. He'll bounce back in time."

"Nothing keeps him down for long, huh? You're probably right."

***

One day had been enough. Just the report, and then onto cold cases. Little more was said about the events of yesterday outside the professional, except by Carla in the break room who oohed and cooed over the dark circles and bruising that he wasn't able to hide.

It was time to move on. He couldn't stay, not knowing that he didn't fit, that he'd never belong with these people. It was clear enough now that no matter what he did, he'd never be seen as anything more than an annoying screw up who got underfoot. He knew himself well enough to know that now his eyes had been opened, he wouldn't last long as an outsider in their team. Not without inflicting some fresh and interesting scars onto his psyche.

The time had come. On to the next city, the next job, the newest invention of the Tony DiNozzo personality. See if he could come up with one that would work this time. Find somewhere he could be useful, and become someone else he could discard if circumstances called for it.

He sat on the couch in the dark, with Prokofiev in the background and another strong coffee he didn't exactly like, and pretended he didn't need an hour long hot shower to try and wash the emptiness away, and that there wasn't a seriously overparcelled set of clothes on his balcony that he couldn't bring himself to look at, let alone deal with. Then he pulled out his phone and started to make some calls.