4

Two more weeks had passed grindingly slowly, and his sanity was hanging by threads. For all the moving about he'd done in his life, he'd always hated the in-between, that period of mental transition where here was no longer somewhere or someone he was comfortable with, and there was not yet defined. It always left him feeling like he was twisting in the wind, at the mercy of whatever fate was going to send, and that set his teeth on edge, his nerves jumping and his irritation threshold at an all time low.

And when his current set of colleagues seemed to be doing their best to test the full extent of that threshold, it meant he ended up exhausted every night from the constant battle to remember who he was supposed to be, and how he was meant to be reacting. Keeping up appearances, his father had called it. It doesn't matter what you think about it Anthony. You're a DiNozzo. Look like one. Act like one.

They were all being so deliberately normal that it made him wish that someone – anyone, at this point – would realise he was neither blind nor stupid, and do some straight talking. Instead, he was surrounded by people acting like caricatures and getting on his last nerve. He'd checked, to be sure, and he was right - it was definitely the only remaining nerve he could find that wasn't twanging away to a country rhythm.

Kate was constantly sending him sideways glances, and seemed to be working needling him into an art form. Every time McGee crossed his path he ducked his head and refused to meet Tony's eye, and if he had to speak he stammered and stuttered like an untuned engine. Abby had tried a course of unprovoked hugs, and after surprising him once too often at the wrong moment and getting snapped at, was now sticking to the lab and alternating between remote pestering and cold shoulder.

Ducky had had a little chat about the importance of sleep in the young, which had sidestepped into an anecdote about his University days, a surprisingly impressive string of young women, and a couple of revelations that he'd really rather not have heard.

And Gibbs kept watching him.

Really, he thought, paying minimum attention as Bruce Willis narrowly missed getting shot again, it was overkill. Granted, he didn't look brilliant, but he didn't think he looked that bad either. And he was working well, which was supposed to be the point as far as he was aware. The Baltimore lead was looking promising. Last week's murder had wrapped up easily, without a bruise between them, largely due to the fact that he'd known something was off with the brother right from the start, and had thrown all his nervous energy into discovering what. In the office, he was still trying his damndest to stay out from underfoot; and as best he could see he hadn't really offended or upset anyone in days. Except Abby, and that had been… well. So he didn't chatter so much and didn't goof off and join in with the social life recently. Big deal.

What was it Abby had said after the hug that went wrong? "You know Tony, I used to think you were a nice guy. Get out of here before I change my mind." I'm trying to, he wanted to say. Won't be long now Abs.

"How could you, anyway? Here I am trying to be your friend, and you – you don't deserve me! Out!"

She'd bundled him and his attempted "I'm sorry" out of the door, just as McGee was coming in the opposite direction.

"Timmy! Come on, come on, you have to see this." And she grabbed his hand and pulled him in, not sparing another glance for Tony.

He'd taken a walk at that point, just gone for half an hour while he wrestled with the emptiness, and the hole, and the tears that he been refusing to give in to for three straight weeks. He'd known the rest had given up on him, but had thought Abby was different. She'd still had some use for him, it seemed.

Until she'd blindsided him. He'd not heard her coming until she'd grabbed him from behind, and his instincts were too far ahead of his brains. So he shoved her away, and shouted at her to back the hell off, and everything had fallen apart. And he'd wanted to say "I'm sorry", and "You startled me", but he hadn't been able to get a word in, and anyway, she was right, he didn't deserve her. More to the point, she didn't deserve him and his baggage and his scars.

Let her mother McGee. He'd be gone soon, and then it wouldn't matter anymore, and he wouldn't feel as alone in a city full of strangers as he did now.

***

He didn't make it in to the office until gone two the following day, heading straight out from his apartment to interview thirteen teenage witnesses to a harassment allegation. The bullpen was strangely subdued when he did finally get there, and Kate looked up, shrugged and said "He's been in with the director for the last ten minutes." No question about who he was. His prompt was met with a shrug that said you think I'd know?, and a change of subject to the one that was really bugging her.

"So how was the gaggle of giggling girlies?"

She'd insisted on going to do the job as soon as it came up – apparently, she thought sending him to interview teenage girls was a bad idea. To be fair, he thought that sending him to interview teenage girls was a bad idea too, but Gibbs was immovable on the subject, certain that they'd speak to him, and not to her. That hadn't gone down well, but this was Gibbs, and he'd shut her up and closed the discussion before she got more than a dozen words into her argument.

Hopefully, the fact that each hour of the damn case so far had felt like at least a year by the time he'd sorted out truth from fiction (the overwrought teenage girl version of it, at that) would make her feel better.

If not, maybe he should try a rousing chorus of Luck Be A Lady Tonight. He'd certainly appreciate it if he could persuade the doyenne of fate to come stand on his side of the fence for a change, and Kate would get a laugh either way.

***

The ten minutes had turned into over an hour before the entire building reverberated to the slam of a door opening, followed by the pounding of feet on stairs. He tucked himself deeper into his chair, concentrating hard on a) transcribing, and b) staying off hurricane Gibbs' radar.

Of course, true to form, the hurricane swept straight up to his desk, and stayed there, and when he looked up, the thunderous expression that met his gaze had him quaking internally, despite not having the faintest clue what he'd done this time.

He didn't have long to wait to find out. In a voice that carried a tone of pure menace right across the room, it took just two words.

"Boston, DiNozzo?"

Ah.

When he didn't say anything in reply, he took it one step farther. "Apparently, Todd, we have a vacancy for Senior Field Agent. Our current incumbent is moving on." He was pinned with one more glare, and then his boss swept out of the office, leaving him to face Kate's open-mouthed curiosity.

From all that, he guessed Boston PD had liked his application.