8

Hold on to your temper, Ducky said. Think before you speak, Ducky said. Listen when he talks, Ducky said.

When he talks? Looked like Ducky had underestimated the inner workings of DiNozzo, too.

As for Abby's "You tell him he's not going anywhere, Gibbs. Yes? Tell him we won't let him!" - complete with stamping foot – he was glad he'd not used that as a template. He'd have been spitting teeth by now.

That had been close. For a few seconds, he'd been sure Tony would go for him.

Wouldn't have blamed him if he had, but he was damn glad he hadn't. Quite apart from the fact that with that kind of red mist, he could have done quite a bit of damage from ferocity alone, the kid would probably have been beating himself up for it the second he finished, and he was in a bad enough state as it was.

And that was his fault.

Unequivocally.

Inescapably.

If he hadn't been so wrapped up in his own damn guilt…

If he'd been paying more attention…

If he'd done his damn job properly…

If he hadn't made that stupid, stupid comment…

If ifs and ands were pots and pans, there'd be no need for tinkers…

He'd definitely been around Ducky too much lately.

Heaving a sigh, he sat down heavily on the couch and thought about what to do next.

Tony had been off so fast there was no chance of following him – he'd not had that turn of speed fifteen years ago, let alone now.

Of course, that didn't rule out finding him, but if he tried that without at least having some idea of what he was going to do when he got there, then he'd likely do more harm than good.

Again.

Really, he should check in with Ducky. They'd all be waiting for an update.

And say what, Jethro? That you've screwed it up worse than it already was? That you've got proof you're better at breaking things than mending them? That you're definitely the wrong man for this job?

Maybe not.

Sitting here in indecision wasn't going to help, though.

And he only had himself to blame. Knew that three weeks ago, long before he'd had to come face to face with his own thoughtless joke reflected back through the other man's perspective, to excruciating effect.

Abby had known it had been a bad decision before he had; he'd found out the hard way later on. He shouldn't have had DiNozzo tailing a suspect alone. Damned arrogance to think the rules and reasons for backup didn't apply to him and those he was responsible for.

He'd been too wrapped up in finding his quarry to think about consequences.

Single-mindedness was one of his best qualities. It was also one of his worst.

He'd refused to listen to anyone who suggested they might get him back in anything less than resale condition. Of course, while that had been all well and good for focusing the team, it hadn't stopped him thinking about all the might haves and what ifs.

He had a new nightmare in his collection.

Thankfully, his declaration to Abby had been proved right – Tony could take care of himself. He'd gone ahead and done so, working his ass off to get the pair of them to safety instead of sitting around waiting for the rest of them to show.

So it had been a good result in the end. One marine, still alive, if rather the worse for wear. And one DiNozzo, battered and bruised, but on surprisingly good form, for all that.

And yes, in the days afterwards, he'd been subdued and edgy, but that was only to be expected. He knew he'd bounce back – he always did. He knew he'd be alright.

He had to be alright, because the alternative was unacceptable. Because if he wasn't alright, that would be a direct result of his own poor command.

So he'd cut him some slack, and accepted every 'I'm fine' at face value, because it was what he wanted to hear. He'd put the uncharacteristic quietness down to – how had the other man phrased it in Lionel's? A normal human reaction.

He'd avoided him. When he looked at Tony, he saw his own failings.

"If you forget one time – call in late – don't bother coming back..."

So he didn't look.

Another mistake. If he'd spent more time on the welfare of his people instead of wallowing in guilt and allowing himself to be fobbed off, he'd have seen that.

He was in charge. It was his job to deal with issues, not cause them.

He wondered if there was a limit to how wrong you could get things. He hoped so, because he had to be getting near it by now.

No doubt if all the people who'd spent half the day telling him he had to talk to Tony had had any idea how it would turn out, they'd have told him to stay the hell away instead. And they'd have been right, too. Ducky or Abby would have been much better at this. A softer touch. More understanding, less blundering around in the dark in hob-nailed boots.

But here he was, and there was no backing out now. Even with only a partial grasp of the situation, he got that walking away now and leaving his friend hanging would be a bad move. Another nail in… don't finish that thought.

He was a marine – surely he could see a conversation through?

A comment from the interview with Atlas floated out of his memory, one that had made him smile, if only for the disbelief in the injured marine's voice.

"Your guy in there – where's he get his nerve from? He's telling me off for not being marine enough!"

"That's DiNozzo. Was he wrong?"

A rueful, respectful look. "Nope. Apparently the marines he knows don't ever quit. He was very clear on that. Hell of a motivation technique."

He'd second that last comment.

So. He had a reputation to live up to. Quitting was not an option. Not that it ever had been.

Which left solving.

He needed to look at this with his brains, not his emotions.

No. That wasn't right.

He needed to look at this with his brains before his emotions. No way he'd get anywhere without making some sort of connection – and he wasn't going to get that without being willing to meet him halfway. While he'd be on the more solid end of that limb, he'd be crawling out on it first.

Problem was, he didn't know how to go about making that connection – that was, if he got a chance to try in the first place.

Come on man, you're supposed to be an investigator. Facts first. Use your brain, goddammit.

So what did he know?

He knew he was bewildered. He knew the whole damn mess was his fault. He knew he was angry, and frustrated, and wanted to hit something. Anything.

Anything, but not anyone. He'd told nothing but the truth. He wouldn't have hit him back. He wouldn't have lifted a finger, because he'd have agreed with every blow he landed.

Hell, he'd hit himself if he could.

He'd made way too many mistakes in the past three weeks, and Tony was paying for every last one of them.

All things considered, why wouldn't he want to leave?