The oatmeal James had been given was too thick. It stuck to his bowl, his spoon, his tongue, his throat, and eventually dropped heavily into the bottom of his stomach. He knew enough not to complain about it. He had learned early in his life not to complain about anything. It was safer to keep quiet.

Across the table, Uncle Tony was staring. Again. James tried not to look too closely. If he didn't look up at Uncle Tony, James could remind himself that Uncle Tony wasn't Daddy back from the dead. He was James' uncle, a completely different person. It wasn't so easy to tell himself that when he was looking at Uncle Tony. He couldn't see the difference, and Uncle Tony's eyes gave James the creeps. Hazel, just like Daddy's, but Uncle Tony's eyes had life to them. They sparkled when he laughed, and when he was thinking they went kind of soft. Daddy's had always been hard, and then, on that last day, right before they went all shiny, they softened. It was just for a second, but it was enough for James to know: Once upon a time, years ago, Daddy must have been nice. Did that mean that, years from now, Uncle Tony would be mean? Would James even see it coming, if that was the case? Maybe it would happen today, or tomorrow. Next week. He could never be certain. It made him nervous.

When he finished his oatmeal, James carried it to the sink and tried to wash it, but the soapy water made his hands slick and he dropped the dish. He watched it fall, his breath catching in his chest. It crashed against the linoleum floor, pieces of the ceramic bowl shooting in every direction. As if that wasn't bad enough, James saw that he'd chipped the corner of the linoleum tile. He imagined how much trouble that was going to cause him, and his breath began to come in short gasps. His ears roared. Uncle Tony stood up and walked towards him, and James thought that he might pass out.

He ran instead. He heard his uncle hollering after him, and it egged him on, faster and faster, toward the front door. He yanked the door open without another thought, bowling past a grey haired man who was coming up the drive, and heading for the woods. Faster, faster, nowhere to hide. His ears were roaring, his breath coming in shorter and shorter spurts. He was going to be sick. White smoke was infiltrating his vision. He was blind. He tried to scream, but the sound wouldn't come out. Suddenly, he felt very, very light, and then, he felt nothing at all.

"Easy now. Can you open your eyes?"

The voice sounded far away, and it took James a second to realize that it was directed towards him. He tried to answer, but his tongue was stuck in his mouth. Instead, he fought against heavy eyelids and opened his eyes. There were trees overhead, the sun glimmering through their leaves. Beside him, a man was crouching in the dirt, his expression serious but at the same time kind of soft. James noticed the blue eyes almost immediately. Bright blue eyes, framed by a chiseled face and salt-and-pepper hair.

"I ran past you in the driveway." His voice sounded dry. He frowned, swallowed, and tried to figure out how he ended up on the ground. Or was it the ground? He was all wet… After a minute, he realized his pajamas were soaked through with his own sweat. "What happened?"

"You fainted."

His mind clearing up by the minute, James had come to the conclusion as it was being told to him. It was an obvious solution, really. It had happened a couple of times before, although the doctors hadn't yet figured out why. He reached a hand up to rub between his eyebrows. He actually felt okay now. He decided to try sitting, and pushed himself up off the ground. The man next to him held an arm out as though to catch him if he fell, but it wasn't necessary.

"Where were you running off to, anyway?"

James frowned and then he shook his head. You weren't supposed to say that you were running away from home, ever. If you did, the government sent people to spy on you, and if you did something bad, like if you didn't make your bed right, they took you away to someplace where rats would eat all your fingers and toes while you slept.

"Can you tell me your name?"

"James," he whispered. "James Nuka DiNozzo."

The grey-haired man smiled, half of his mouth turning up. "I'm Gibbs."

James smiled, too. He'd never heard the name before, but it was kind of cool. Cool like Nuka, a name most people hadn't heard before. He liked that it made him kind of special.

"Can you stand up?"

James nodded and stood easily. He actually felt better than before he passed out, like his body had reset itself, but the memory of the panicky feeling he'd had when he went blind for a moment made him wary. He ran a hand through his hair, damp with sweat, and looked Gibbs over again. Obviously, Gibbs knew his uncle, or he wouldn't have been heading up the driveway. Did that make him safe to talk to, or was he still a stranger? He decided to be cautious, for now.

"We need to get you back to your uncle's house so you can get some water into you."

James wanted to tell Gibbs how mad Uncle Tony was going to be. He remembered one time, back home, when he broke a glass… Daddy hadn't been pleased. That was bad enough, but running away always made things worse. James knew it, and yet he continued to run when he got scared. Stupid, stupid.

"I'll take care of your uncle," Gibbs said.

James flinched as a hand came towards him, but it merely rested on his shoulder as he was steered out of the woods. Dimly, he realized that the hand was to tell him not to try running away again, because he'd get caught, but he wasn't dumb enough to do that twice in a row. His mind was racing. Would Uncle Tony thrash him the second he got home, or would he wait until after Gibbs left? And what had Gibbs meant when he said that he'd take care of Uncle Tony? Was Gibbs going to thrash Uncle Tony for losing him? That would get him in way more trouble! Who was this man, anyway? It couldn't be Uncle Tony's father- James knew he was dead.

By the time his uncle's house came into view, James was a bundle of nerves. Without thinking, he huddled closer and closer to Gibbs' legs, to the point that Gibbs was struggling to walk.

"Once we get inside, I want you to get yourself a glass of water, alright?" he heard Gibbs ask.

James nodded mutely. Now they were at the porch steps. He took one shuddering step, and then another… The door flew open, and his uncle came out, muscles tense, hair askew. James felt his heart lurch in his chest. He spun around, only to run smack into Gibbs' chest.

"None of that," Gibbs said, catching him around the stomach and pinning him to Gibbs' chest. James could feel his heart pounding, hard, and was sure that Gibbs strong arm, holding him tightly, could feel it, too. He couldn't help but choke back a sob. Uncle Tony had promised! He'd promised that he would never hurt James, but he'd lied. Everyone had lied to him, promising him that things would be different now.

"DiNozzo, control yourself!" The command was harsh. James froze, only to see that his uncle was freezing as well. James would have laughed- they were both Dinozzo- but this was hardly a humorous situation. He felt Gibbs' chest move up and down slowly as though he was taking a deep breath and figuring out the situation.

"James, when I let you go I want you to march yourself straight into the kitchen and get a drink. Understand?"

James nodded, and he felt a weight suddenly off of his chest. He walked forward, giving his uncle a wide berth before darting into the kitchen towards where he knew the glasses were. He watched the water pour from the faucet, the cool, bubbly liquid filling his glass. When it was full, he turned the knob on the faucet again, and the tap shut off suddenly, leaving the house silent. He walked over to the table and sat, drinking the cool liquid slowly. It felt soothing in his throat.

Voices drifted in through the screen door. His uncle and Gibbs. He bit his lip, knowing that he wasn't supposed to eavesdrop. How was he going to avoid it, though? He had to drink his water at the table.

"…was just checking to make sure that he was alright."

"If I hadn't been there you'd have had him running for the woods again."

"It's not my fault he's so skittish!"

"Who's the adult here?"

"Not me! Ask anyone, I'm not an adult. I never have been. I didn't ask for this, Boss. I'm not the fatherly type. I don't know the first thing about kids, much less abused kids."

"You'd do well to remember that he didn't ask for this, either."

Silence. "I didn't mean to scare him. I wasn't thinking about what it would look like to him; I was just worried."

"Well, keep yourself in check next time."

"Next time? I thought that-"

"Did you or did you not say that you wanted to continue to see him, in the hopes that he would eventually grow to realize that you aren't your brother."

"I did."

"Then there may very well be a next time, Tony, and you'd better handle it a lot better than you did today, because at that point you will have 'asked for this'. Am I clear?"

"Crystal."