Disclaimer: NCIS characters and situations borrowed; the original story and scenario from "Believe Again" by Montana-Rosalie, FFN story ID #5047152 .

A/N: Continuing thanks to M-R for the original idea and not minding that I've gone crazy with it.

More A/N: I wasn't sure about adding a Tony chapter and I'm not sure this is what anyone might see as fitting – but at least for my image of Tony, I'm pretty sure it's how he might handle things, at least in some of the moments he's alone with his thoughts or has to come face to face with reality. I still find I prefer to write Tony from others' points of view, and not his own – I'm not sure Tony is the type who wants to be alone with his thoughts (and so the constant input of movies?) Because of all this, I'm crazy curious to hear any reactions you may have to this chap. All input & comments welcome!

IF YOUR PREFER YOUR STORIES IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER: installments posted with the whim of writing but not the story's chronology, so if you prefer reading them more in order after the explosion in Montana-Rosalie's original story, they would probably Ducky (Ch. 5), Abby (Ch. 3), McGee, (Ch. 4), this one with Tony (Ch.6), Gibbs (Ch. 2) and Ziva (Ch. 1).

Believing still

I.

At the academy, they'd done some basic training about entering an unknown situation, but Tony had learned most of the techniques on the job – some in Peoria, but more in Baltimore, especially once he'd made detective, and even more with Gibbs: read the room, fast ... find your cover; find your exits. Assess any threats – weapons, dirtbags. Neutralize any potential dangers, then assess what you have. Use every tool available to you to investigate, to figure out what's out there, what's out of place, what's expected, what's the target –

Tony came to the third door on the right, and stopped to assess. No sounds of anyone else in the hall; very faint sounds of typing from behind the door. The scent of brewing coffee floating near. Faint music from a cheap speaker at his back, probably someone's office. Mouth dry, he drew a breath to steady himself, forcing back any fraying of his self-control. No one behind; no voices inside, and still only the sounds of typing from behind the door. The typist was likely alone...

He knocked, and the typing stopped abruptly. A chair creaked, and the room's inhabitant moved toward the door.

Dinozzo tensed slightly, senses alert for any threat, any needed reaction ... and the door opened.

"Tony, hi – right on time, great. Come on in."

II.

He'd always had an uncanny knack at guessing weight, height and build of just about anyone with only the barest input. Kate had accused him once of being a carney, a sideshow hustler. He might not have been bad at it, either. You'd've thought it would be the profiler who'd be better at that sort of thing, too – but he ran circles around her at it.

Rounded and soft, 5'9", 227 pounds; not athletic, but no wheezing and fairly light on his feet, so maybe a college-professor type, the sort who walks a lot but not fast, more the art-museum stroll type...

"So, you're settled in?"

"Yeah," DiNozzo nodded, his voice light – noncommittal.

"Need anything?"

"Nope."

"Did you get the grand tour, get an idea what's available and where to find it?"

"Yeah." He nodded again. "Thanks," he added politely.

He'd always been good at undercover, too. He'd gotten to play at various roles in Baltimore and with Gibbs, and it was always one of the best parts of the job, the role playing, becoming someone else and getting into the part, slipping into another skin. It trained him to step outside of himself and watch, just as if he was an audience of one to his own live show. It suddenly occurred to him how those two things went together, and maybe why he did both well: playing at undercover means you have to read the other guy just right, know how to play him, to know what your next line should be, your next action. At the revelation, he snorted very softly to himself, far too subtly for the other man to catch it...

"So you've been approved for six weeks here, but I understand you don't think you'll need that long." The statement was more question than anything. For a civilian, the guy wasn't too bad, pretty good, actually. But he was a civilian, and DiNozzo asked questions for a living.

Or ... he did. Before.

He drew a breath and smiled his best self-assured smile. "Well, I hope not. I understand that I'm free to leave whenever I like, though, right?"

"Of course," the other man, introduced to him last night as "Dave Perlman," sounded surprised. "You're not a prisoner, Tony."

"Oh – right," Tony willed a small, polite laugh as he covered his self-directed irritation. Crap – that was sloppy. This isn't an investigation or a custodial interrogation, and any references along that line will make you. Get your head in the game and out of your fuckin' coma...

But the other man went on, "actually, most people find they can use the full six weeks. Some even get an extension to stay longer, and that's when they're just working the one program, not having to split their time with physical therapy as you will be."

The man – Dave – had shifted from an easy, welcoming tone to one that was a bit more wary, even challenging him, as if he had figured him out right away. Shit, DiNozzo thought. Loosen up, relax ... the assignment is gonna be a while. You don't need to start off acting suspicious. Tony smiled again, laughed softly and forced himself to relax his tensed muscles. "You've got a point – I guess I'm trying to avoid being a student again – too much flashback to being stuck in class."

"Well, I think you'll find the instructors here are pretty laid back – most of the program is individualized, and you'll have a lot of input about what's working for you and what isn't. We're just here to show you what's available out there, make some recommendations based on your interests and skills, and get you started in training for the things you want to try."

Tony nodded, a passive smile still plastered in place. "Sounds reasonable," he agreed.

"You know, Tony..." Dave's voice shifted again, the wary tone resurfacing subtly, and Tony worked to avoid showing that he'd heard it. This guy has no poker face, I bet, he thought, adding to his assessment. Or if he does, he needs to control his voice better – especially in a place like this, with everyone is relying on their ears... "We would be able to do so much more for you if you'd be willing to tell us something about yourself – what your interests are, what you do for a living..."

"Did," he snapped, correcting the man immediately. "What I did for a living, because..."

Shit.

He had to hand it to Dave, he'd caved like an amateur – although he suspected it was less Dave and more his own inability to focus and stay above it all. He whacked himself in the back of the head, mentally, and imagined Gibbs telling him to get his head on straight ...

" ... because I haven't worked for nearly five months now," he resumed, his tone settling back to an even keel again, "and I don't think they're interested in me coming back."

"Well, something similar, then?"

"Not an option." Tony worked to keep his face impassive and pleasant, despite the stab of despair he felt in saying the words. Not an option ... not even in Peoria...

"Look, Tony," Dave had shifted, his voice dropped a little in volume and timbre; he leaned forward a little.

Ah, Dave, now you're getting to what's been bugging you, Tony knew. In interrogation, the recognition might have given him an edge. Here, though – he suspected it wouldn't change things. It sure didn't hand him any glib explanations to offer in return...

"... you're not the first person in the program to want to keep your past confidential, either all or part of it – although, admittedly, it doesn't come up all that often. Usually it's either the circumstances that caused the injury or loss bringing the person to rehab, or it's the perception that the person can't go back to their former life. If you're not married or a criminal or a politician caught in flagrante delicto with a barnyard animal, then it's usually the latter – just like what you said, that you think you can't go back without sight. Of course, I don't know if that's your concern, but I gotta tell ya, way more times than not, you can get really close to what you were doing before. If we knew what it was, we might be of some help getting you back there."

Tony managed to keep his expression perfectly neutral, nodding as if considering Dave's words. "But ... I can do the programs I signed up to do, either way?'

"Well, yeah," Dave sat back, blinking, I just know it, Tony assumed, 'cos he didn't expect that I'd just ignore his pitch. "But we can make the time here much more productive and appropriate for you if you'd let us – just give us an idea of what background or education you have, what you did before."

Tony nodded again, this time unable to hide the smirk. Play with guns? Shoot at people, kill them, for a living? his thoughts offered. Make sketches and take photos of dead people? Walk the scene, gather evidence? "Trust me, Dave – nothing too translatable."

"Tony, I..."

"Look – " His voice escaped him; it was like steel, like Gibbs', commanding, allowing no quarter – and he immediately back-pedaled mentally. "– Dave – I appreciate your interest, but ... believe me ... there's nothin' there to work on. I promise I'll give some thought to what you said, though – okay?"

There was a pause; he felt himself being assessed. Disconcerting to be stared at, but okay if it makes ol' Dave here think he's won something, he decided, 'cos maybe he'll leave you alone...

"So you were a cop."

Tony blinked in total surprise, and knew that his reaction was as strong a confirmation to the other man as an admission would have been. Shit, he thought again. So roll with it, DiNozzo, he could hear his mental Gibbs prod him on... "Ah ... good one, Dave," he smirked, nodding the point to the man assigned as his 'case manager.' "So ... you understand, then. There really isn't much point." And who'd've thought he'd ever be a "case," anyway? If Gibbs hadn't imagined this, no one would have, and since Gibbs had kept him on the team all this time, even he must not have seen it coming...

The chuckle he heard in reply and Dave's own decision to 'roll with it,' further surprised him, shaking him out of his musings. "Okay, Tony – for now, at least. In the meantime, you refuse to give us a last name, it makes it kinda hard to file your paperwork in the alphabetical client listing, here. What do we call you – Mr. X?"

DiNozzo sat unmoving for the moment, the dawning realization of who actually won this round making him wonder what he had ahead of him, after all. Still, no matter what – he would not let Dave – or anyone – see him break.

He drew another breath, sat up straighter, and offered a quiet smirk. "What's wrong with just plain 'Tony?'"

"Nothing," Dave countered smoothly. "But I really was holding out hope for 'Mr. X' ..."

III.

Tony knew he was being assessed – irritating, frustrating, but not something new. Lots of times when he was undercover he'd gone through that moment, when the bad guys assessed, tried to figure out if he was who he said he was. He'd always passed before...

...but those were bad guys. As far as he knew, Dave wasn't so much a bad guy, just .... just on the other side. Not the enemy, just ... just the other side. Like teacher vs student, boss vs employee ... dentist vs tooth ...

Brain vs bomb?

He shook off the urge to cave in and face the reality of the situation, and went back to sorting through this particular "assignment" just as Dave drew another breath to speak.

"So you are a cop?" A statement, really, this time.

"Close enough."

"Oh, well then... you have some choices," Dave actually seemed to perk up. "Probation officer? Lawyer?"

"Yeah, right" Tony immediately snorted derisively. "I hate lawyers, so, yeah, let me go become one. Just what I need to feel better about all this, become something I could hate even worse."

He paused, aware that his emotions had been kicked out of whack again by the simple suggestion – really, he had to work on his control – and was also aware that it caused him to lose track of what Dave was doing. Hard to track another's breathing and body movements when you're busy blowing your own gasket, DiNozzo, he filed away. Listening again, there was no movement and barely any sound from the other, so Tony bought time by adding, "besides – doesn't that take, like, another six years or something? And they probably have a lot of reading involved, too."

"Texts can be converted pretty easily to a format you can use. And it's not six years, more like three. You have an undergraduate degree, don't you?"

Tony grunted an affirmative as he considered Dave's reaction – smooth, cool, refusing to react to his tantrum. What he would have predicted for someone with some experience at the job...

"In what?"

"P.E."

"Well, why not teaching?"

Tony snorted again. "Oh, yeah, give me a whistle and a clipboard and put me in a gym with about thirty five bored hormonal teenagers in gym shorts. That's gonna work – and it's kinda hard to score just about anything blindfolded," he griped. "And then there's spring semester, and driver's ed. Sounds like a great plan there, Dave." He felt irritation rippling under his skin, enough that he almost forgot to remind himself not to let Dave get to him...

But Dave was unflappable, now that he had the upper hand, and remained just slightly bemused by it all. "Then another subject? What was your minor?"

"P.E." Tony smirked. "You're looking at the only P.E major/P.E. minor in my class."

"I have a hunch that it if was possible, you'd be the one to do it," Dave mused, "but I'm not buying it."

"Well, I did – on a technicality," Tony smiled.

"And you still won't consider the idea of law school?" The counselor countered.

Tony blinked a moment, reacting to the gibe, then finally grunted in quiet concession. "Probably not," he said honestly, suddenly feeling exhausted from all the effort it took to stay vigilant, without visual access to his surroundings. "Hate lawyers," he murmured. Hate all of this, his mind reminded him...

Which apparently had not been missed by his interrogator. "Well, keep it in mind. We have some time," Dave said quietly, then shifted, his voice taking on a softer but more serious note. "Tony, just let the people here do their jobs – they have a lot of good ideas for getting you back into things. Lots of tricks of the trade, some techniques and tools for filling in what you're missing now. Just ... don't write them off without hearing what they have to say."

Tony hesitated, suddenly not sure what the best response would be, cycling through denial and skepticism and disinterest in quick succession. But underneath was the overwhelming exhaustion that had suddenly hit him, with blind panic – hey, funny, DiNozzo; blind panic – behind them all. Swallowing hard, and pushing all the competing reactions back, he finally shrugged and offered a wan smile which he knew was as wide as he had in him at the moment. "Gotta do something for the next six weeks, right?"

There was only a moment's pause before Dave chuckled, accepting the answer for what it was worth. "Fair enough," he was still chuckling as he stood. Not quite certain of what was coming next, Tony stood too. "But you're all set to get started – over in PT first, I see. C'mon, I'll walk you over."

DiNozzo heard another shift in the man's demeanor and knew he'd been caught at being weak. "No need for that, Dave," he laughed airily, "I can find it."

A less stubborn part of his brain yelled that he was crazy, that he had no idea where PT was and was sure he'd gotten turned around at least twice since he'd been shown everything the night before...

"Nah, I have to go over and pick up a file anyway." Tony heard it was a lie and, in sudden appreciation, decided he owed Dave at least another chance at things. "C'mon, Tony – I'm not going to have them blame me if you're late. And on the way over – maybe we can think up some more ideas for your second six weeks – you know, for when you're out of here."

It was a challenge, and Tony knew it. Maybe he could guess height and weight like a champ, but he had a feeling he'd have a lot more guessing and scrambling to keep up with ol' Dave, here. Oddly enough, just that prospect poked the corner of his mouth up into a grin, and he felt a little less exhausted than he had moments before. "Yeah, Dave – you work on that a while. Just what can be done with a PE major and minor?"

He heard Dave pull the door shut behind them as he followed DiNozzo out into the hall. "You know, Tony – I have a hunch you'll either be my most challenging case – or my most stunning success."

"Why not both?" DiNozzo grinned broadly now.

Again, a chuckle. "Well, now. Why didn't I think of that...?"