Gibbs came awake suddenly that night and saw Tony was gone from the room. He yawned and stretched, noting that it was almost three in the morning and wondering where the agent had disappeared to at that late hour. He thought back over their evening, trying to remember how Tony had been while he showed Gibbs some of the sights and over dinner at a little Italian place Tony remembered going to with his mother years ago.

"How do you know it'll still be there?" Gibbs had asked when Tony brought it up.

Tony just gave him a look. "It's an Italian place," he said as if that explained everything. He saw Gibbs' blank look and continued, "A good one. Those places don't go out of business unless someone dies. And even then, they end up getting passed down through generations."

"And if they run out of heirs?" Gibbs asked, smiling a little at the slow return of Tony's accent, which the lead agent knew usually popped up only when Tony was drunk or extremely tired.

Tony just laughed. "Italians tend not to run out of offspring," he said. "Big, usually Catholic families and all."

Gibbs knew that Tony had played it off easily enough, but he had also seen the slight wince at the word "heirs" and knew the exchange was representative of the whole night. Tony had gone from faking fine to nostalgic to sad and back to faking levity all evening. Gibbs hadn't been surprised when Tony passed out early. That much acting had to be exhausting.

Gibbs pulled himself out of bed and saw his keys on the desk in the corner where he had purposely left them out. He knew Tony would probably never take the car—even with express permission—but he had wanted to leave the option open just in case. He winced when he saw Tony's cell sitting next to the keys.

Those options out, Gibbs dressed and made his way down to the hotel bar, surprised to find it nearly half-full of well-dressed people drinking and swaying to soft piano music despite the hour. City that never sleeps indeed, he thought as he scanned the patrons for his missing agent. Not finding him, Gibbs went to the bar and ordered a drink. He had no idea where Tony would have gone and he wasn't about to go wandering the city this late. He thought briefly about checking the hospital, but something told him that wasn't where Tony had gone.

Finding himself suddenly not tired, Gibbs sipped his bourbon and scanned the patrons again, noting that most were young and still going strong even at this late hour. He envied their youth and carefree state for a moment before shaking his head. He had made a lot of mistakes in his own youth and had no desire to repeat those learning experiences—even if it meant he could drink and dance until dawn again.

Gibbs sipped, working on his second drink by the time most of the patrons had cleared out. The piano player continued to wring beauty from the shining instrument despite his shrinking audience, and Gibbs was surprised to find himself suddenly on his third drink and alone with the bartender.

"I'm headed out," the man said, eyeing Gibbs' half-full glass. He nodded to the piano in the adjacent room. "But you're welcome to go join him. He bought a bottle so I'm guessing he'll be there a while."

Gibbs nodded and picked up his glass, following the man out of the bar but unsure if he wanted to join a stranger at four in the morning. But the music was soothing and beautiful, and Gibbs found himself sinking into a chair far behind the man, who stopped for a moment to sip from the rocks glass on the lid in front of him.

The graceful movement made Gibbs realize the man was dressed casually in jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt and that there was something familiar about him.

"I hope I didn't wake you when I left," Tony said, making Gibbs almost drop his drink.

Gibbs grinned even though he heard the hesitancy in Tony's voice, like he was a child who got caught doing something he wasn't supposed to instead of a man revealing a gift no one knew about.

"Nope," Gibbs said, watching Tony's long, slender fingers twitch on the keys and willing him to start playing again. This was as relaxed as Gibbs had ever seen his agent. "I had no idea you could play like that."

Tony turned and smiled softly, almost shyly. He lifted a shoulder. "Never really came up in conversation."

"Don't let me stop you," Gibbs said, wanting him to keep playing. He saw Tony's hesitation and moved to get up. "I can go. I didn't mean to disturb you."

The stiff sentiment made Tony wince. "Stay," he said, turning back to the piano.

Gibbs grinned as he watched Tony down the rest of his drink. "Help yourself," Tony said, gesturing to the bottle before launching into Beethoven's Fur Elise—his mother's favorite. Gibbs listened to the soft music, watched the skill with which Tony played the piece and felt his grin had barely moved once Tony's deft fingers touched the fine instrument. He got up and poured himself a drink, noting Tony's shy little flush upon seeing Gibbs' smile. Gibbs saw there was no sheet music in sight and marveled at Tony's skill.

Unsure if it was rude to talk while Tony played, he opened his mouth and then clamped it shut again before taking a chair off to Tony's right.

"Hmmm?" Tony murmured, seeing the movement.

"Unless you're hiding a tiny piano at your place, where do you play?"

"There's a bar near my apartment," Tony answered without missing a note. "They trade me my fingers for alcohol so it works nicely."

Gibbs nodded, listening to the soft strains and thinking about Kelly's piano, kept in perfect tune in a back room in his house. Maybe it was the thoughts of Kelly's love for the instrument, maybe it was Tony's relaxed face after a day that had been anything but easy, maybe it was the bourbon humming warmly in his veins, but Gibbs found himself saying, "I've got a piano that no one uses anymore."

Tony's fingers faltered on the keys at the soft offer and he grimaced at the discordant thunk, but he recovered quickly. "That's a really kind offer, Gibbs."

Gibbs felt his face blush bright red. "You know, if you ever need one outside business hours."

Tony grinned, his fingers moving fluidly again, finishing the piece with a flourish. He refilled his drink and turned back to Gibbs, feeling awkward and suddenly left wide open. It was a feeling he didn't really like, but he forced himself to hold on to the calm the piano had brought over him like a familiar, worn-soft blanket.

"I really want to just go home in the morning," Tony said, glancing at his watch with another wince. "Er, today."

Gibbs watched Tony study him over the rim of his glass as he sipped slowly. "If that's what you want, then we'll go." He flicked a glance at the half-empty bottle on the shiny piano lid. "Once one of us is sober enough to drive."

Tony smiled again, realizing Gibbs was probably about as drunk as he was. "Might be a while."

He stared into his glass long enough to change his mind. "I should say goodbye."

Gibbs just waited, unsure if Tony meant to his father or to Marianne. But after he did not speak, Gibbs said, "She seems like a pretty smart woman. I think she would understand if you didn't."

Tony just shrugged, wishing he hadn't started this conversation—especially half in the bag and at well after four in the morning. "I can't believe she's been with him for five years. I keep thinking how much easier this would be if he had just introduced me to her back then."

Tony sipped slowly again even though he knew his tongue was already too loose for this. "That's longer than he stayed with any of them. Longest before that was just over a year. That was number two. I made the mistake of falling head over heels in love with her. I hated number one. But it wasn't really fair. I would have hated anyone who was the first woman he tried to replace her with. She might have even tried to be nice to me. I don't really remember because I was so lost in my grief. But number two, she never tried to be anything she wasn't. She treated me more like a little brother than a stepson, though, so that's probably why I liked her. I remember asking her early on if she wanted me to call her 'Mom,' and she just laughed and said I'd better not. She didn't want to feel old. Melanie. That was her name. I really liked her."

Tony's attachment issues just kept making more sense the more the man opened up. And as he spoke, Gibbs could practically see his walls melting, probably thanks to the late hour and massive amount of alcohol.

"I mostly ignored the rest. I just couldn't handle getting to know them because I knew they would all leave eventually. He drove them away, and I don't even think he knew he was doing it. But I think deep down he knew there was no replacing my mother. She was just that special. But he couldn't stand to be alone, I guess, and I wasn't enough to fill that void so he just kept finding them, marrying them and then sending them on their way." Tony slid a glance at Gibbs. "You've probably wondered what I did to get disowned at age twelve?"

Gibbs nodded, knowing he couldn't lie—and get away with it. His curiosity was legendary.

"I refused to attend their wedding," he said, shaking his head. "Number four in as many years, so it made perfect sense to me to just not bother. I'm sure he couldn't have cared less if I attended, but the wife, Carla? Carrie? She really wanted me there, apparently. And when he found me in my mother's music room, lounging around in jeans and a T-shirt and playing the wedding march with my own distinct flair, he lost it. Stormed out of the room like the hounds of hell were after him and I thought I'd gotten my way. Until he returned with my tux—and my baseball bat."

Gibbs flinched at Tony's sudden crooked half-smile, and the older man felt like he might be sick—and not because of the sheer volume of alcohol he'd ingested. He knew what was coming.

"He gave me a choice, but I didn't really see how I could choose. I told him to go fuck himself, and that's when he took the first swing."

"Goddammit, DiNozzo," Gibbs breathed, watching Tony's emotionless face, the broken smile long gone.

But Tony just shook his head and lifted a casual shoulder. "Oh, no. The first swing wasn't at me. It was at the piano." He winced, looking pained as he ran a hand over the smooth instrument he was currently seated at. "You know what it takes to reduce an eighty-six thousand dollar Steinway baby grand to a pile of chopsticks? About a dozen well-placed swings with a Louisville slugger."

He breathed slowly, almost carefully. "I cried. I screamed and cried and begged, but it didn't matter. He was beyond reason after the first keys went flying."

Tony's eyes darkened fractionally and Gibbs would have missed it if he hadn't been looking for the anguish. "And that's when he turned the bat on me. Because I wouldn't shut up, and he had a houseful of guests."

Gibbs felt his short fingernails bite into his palm, and it was all he could do not to walk down the block and finish off the dying man in the hospital there. But even worse than the awful story was Tony's complete lack of emotion as he continued dully, his words only the slightest bit slurred.

"He beat me half to death that night, and I don't remember much after the first couple of swings. I woke up in a hospital to an assortment of broken bones and one of his lawyers informing me that I was no longer his son and if I kept quiet about what he had done to me then he would pay for military school."

Tony paused, gently rubbing his left wrist as if it hurt. Gibbs doubted he even knew he was doing it.

"I still wish I would have had the courage to tell him to take his money and shove it."

Gibbs couldn't keep silent any longer. He forced his volume just below an outraged shout and said, "You were twelve, for god's sake, Tony. Alone and hurting and probably scared out of your mind."

Tony lifted an infuriatingly disinterested shoulder again. "It worked out okay for both of us, I guess."

Gibbs closed his eyes and counted to ten. When he opened them, he set his drink aside and placed his hands on Tony's face, just like all those years ago after that fiasco in the sewers. "Listen to me, Tony," Gibbs said, his voice low as he struggled for control. "You turned out better than okay. No, listen to me. I was proud of you before I knew the hell you've been put through. And knowing the man you've become despite all that just makes me even more proud of you. I mean that. You have every reason to hate the world, and yet you've chosen a career to try to make it a better place. You're a damned fine agent, Anthony, and you're a good man. I'm proud of who you are."

Tony swallowed hard at his normally reserved boss's sentiments. He couldn't think of anything to say, and Gibbs' warm hands on the sides of his face were bringing back memories so he asked, "I guess that means I'm still irreplaceable?"

Gibbs laughed, patted Tony's cheek and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, DiNozzo. You're still irreplaceable."