Tony's eyes opened the next morning and he groaned out loud before remembering where he was—and with whom he was sharing a room.

Shit.

"I'll second that," Gibbs said from a chair near the window, and Tony had the ridiculous urge to ask him if he meant the groan or his thought.

Tony sat up and felt a wave of dizziness wash over him. His mouth felt like a furry critter had curled up and died in it, and his hands were shaking like he had palsy. "What time is it?" he asked, rubbing sleep out of bleary eyes and wondering if he would have to pay extra for a room that spun like a carnival ride.

"Almost 0900," Gibbs answered.

Tony groaned again, sliding out of bed and staggering toward the bathroom. "No wonder I'm still drunk."

Gibbs heard the door shut, but the thin panel wasn't enough to keep him from hearing DiNozzo throwing up. Ouch, he thought. Probably should have cut him off before he about finished that bottle last night. Probably should have cut myself off, too. I'm too old for hangovers like this.

Gibbs decided he'd wait five minutes after the gagging stopped before making himself get up and go check on DiNozzo to make sure he was still breathing and not collapsed in some alcohol-poisoning-induced coma. Try explaining that to the director.

Four minutes and thirty seconds later, Tony opened the door and sagged against the frame, his eyes on the floor as if needing the contact to remain upright. When he raised them to meet Gibbs', the lead agent winced at their bloodshot redness.

"You okay?"

Tony pressed a hand to his roiling belly and thought about puking again. "Relatively," he said, moving to sit on the nearest bed. "Still breathing. I figure that's a start."

Gibbs nodded, watching Tony watch his own hands shake. Gibbs was surprised when Tony looked up nervously at him.

"Uh, Boss?" he asked, as tentative as Gibbs had ever seen him.

Gibbs just waited, meeting his tired eyes.

"About last night—"

"I swear, DiNozzo," Gibbs cut him off, holding up a hand. He would have headslapped him if he didn't think Tony would puke on the spot. "If you even think about apologizing…"

Tony gave him a sheepish smile. And he changed tracks. "I was just, uh, thinking, and I guess I'm a little, well, foggy on the details, but I hope I didn't, um—"

"Spit it out, Tony," Gibbs said, but he was starting to worry about the stuttering mess his usually confident agent had become.

Tony's eyes hit the floor again. "I hope I didn't make a fool of myself last night and cry all over you or something. I mean, I appreciate you letting me talk, but I'm not sure I could handle that… Even if I don't remember it."

"You were fine, DiNozzo," Gibbs said honestly. "Not a single tear." I wish you would have cried, though. Or screamed or yelled or thrown things. Your zombie-ness is more terrifying than the actual flesh-eating things. And maybe you'd feel better now. If you can feel anything other than what has to be the world's worst hangover, that is.

Gibbs left out the part about catching Tony's suddenly boneless body when the younger man stood up from the piano too fast after the most bizarre rendition of "Chopsticks" Gibbs had ever heard. He left out the part where Tony had rested his head on Gibbs' shoulder and mumbled a heartfelt if slurred nearly beyond recognition "thanks for everything, Boss," and passed out cold.

Gibbs found himself checking Tony's cheek for a mark from where he had slapped him to wake him up before someone found them. He decided to leave out the part where Tony had come around with a giggle and began singing "99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall" as Gibbs half-carried, half-dragged him back to the room.

Because he was watching Tony's face, Gibbs saw the moment everything about why they were here came crashing back through his liquor-soaked consciousness. He watched Tony take a deep breath, the younger man's eyes going to the window.

"There's no right answer, Tony," Gibbs said, watching DiNozzo smile softly and knowing he'd nailed his thoughts.

Tony didn't speak for a long moment, and he was so still it made Gibbs wonder if it was possible to pass out sitting up. But Tony's face was anything but still, and the longer Gibbs watched the emotions assail him, the more he wanted to grab Tony, shove him in the car, and take him home. To get him as far away from all this pain as fast as his classic car would go.

But it wasn't his decision, and Gibbs wasn't about to force his will on him.

"There's no easy way out, either," Tony finally said, wishing with the fervor of a child that there was. He wasn't sure he had ever wanted something so badly in his life—except maybe to have his father's attention, his love. Don't, he mentally shouted at himself despite his raging headache. Don't even start down that road.

Gibbs snorted. "Like you ever take the easy way," he said, watching Tony raise an eyebrow at him. "Not when it matters, you don't."

Tony just put his aching head in his hands. "I'm going back," he said, resigned and resolute at the same time.

Gibbs nodded. "I know."

Tony leaned his head against the elevator, knowing Gibbs was watching him with concern. It wasn't surprising, considering how bad he knew he looked. And how he had thrown up again when Gibbs handed him a muffin he'd snagged from the hotel lobby while Tony was in the shower.

Tony wished he had forced it down, though, as the elevator dinged and he made his way down the long, sterile hall, because his stomach felt hollow. Tony's eyes came up and he saw Marianne standing in the hallway outside his father's room.

He approached her warily, not even needing her soft words to know.

"He's gone," she whispered, and he opened his arms to her and let her sob against his chest. She shook as she clung to him, her tears soaking his shirt, and he realized she was the only one here. He wondered if she had children, or any other family, and why they weren't here with her.

He realized she was just as alone as he was—maybe even more so considering he was the one with backup.

And so he held her, letting her cry in his arms wrapped tightly around her trembling body. He met Gibbs' eyes over her shoulder and saw the questions in their blue depths. Are you okay? Do you want me to handle her?

Tony gave a little shake of his head and rested his cheek against her silvery hair. He whispered, "It's all right, Marianne. I've got you. I'm so sorry."

Gibbs watched Tony console this stranger, and he felt his anger welling up again. But he couldn't direct it at the shattered woman crying in his agent's arms. He mostly just felt mad at the injustice of a world in which a son had to be kind to his dead father's lover when he was the one who really needed comforting. Gibbs listened to Tony's soft litany of reassurances and apologies, and he wondered if Tony even knew just how spectacular a job he was doing at hiding his own pain from Marianne. But Gibbs saw it in his eyes. He watched varying emotions burn through them and saw the moment Tony started to break. Gibbs wondered if Marianne had felt the change in him because she pulled back, wiping her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Anthony," she said, taking a step back at the anger in his green eyes. "Oh. I…"

"It's not you," Tony said tightly, brushing by her and stalking off down the hall.

Gibbs watched him, suddenly glad they were in a hospital and wondering if he should go stop what he knew was coming. He waited a moment, watching Marianne stare off blankly.

"I'm going to check on him," Gibbs said, and got a faraway nod in response.

Gibbs made his way slowly toward the nearest men's room, knowing he couldn't stand by and watch Tony hurt himself—but also knowing it was likely the only way DiNozzo would vent his pain. He pushed the door open carefully and saw Tony slumped against the wall, cradling his bloody left hand to his chest. It made Gibbs glad he'd chosen another black shirt, and he realized everything Tony had packed was black. He wondered if he had known he'd done it.

Gibbs crouched beside his agent, wincing both at the popping of his knees and the swelling already present in Tony's injured hand. DiNozzo was staring blankly at the floor just off to Gibbs' left, his face not betraying the multitudes of pain he had to be feeling. Gibbs reached out slowly and took the damaged hand in his.

Tony didn't react.

Gibbs prodded the bloody knuckles, not because it was really necessary, but because he needed DiNozzo to snap out of his trance. Gibbs pressed harder. Come on, Tony. I don't want to hurt you, but you're scaring me. He had expected more prolonged anger, honestly. He had expected to be dragging a raging DiNozzo to the floor and explaining to security why the mirrors were suddenly in a thousand tiny pieces.

Tony hissed in pain, and Gibbs loosened his grip but stayed right where he was.

"This from one punch or two?" Gibbs asked, wishing Tony would look at him.

"Two," Tony said numbly, all traces of pain gone from both his voice and his eyes when he finally turned to look at Gibbs. "Didn't think I got it right the first time."

Gibbs sighed, sliding his hand up to Tony's elbow, taking his right hand, and pulling the shaky agent to his feet. "Definitely did with the second," Gibbs said, trying to sound stern.

"Sorry, Boss," Tony said, looking away and dropping his hand to his side even though it intensified the burning pain tenfold.

"Come on," Gibbs said, moving toward the door. "Let's go get that looked at."

"Gibbs, wait," Tony said, not moving from where he leaned against the wall he had used as a punching bag.

"DiNozzo," Gibbs barked, exasperated. "Don't fight me. That's got to hurt like hell and you need to see a doctor."

Tony didn't move from the wall, but he nodded. "I know," he said quietly, surprising Gibbs. "But what do I do about her, Gibbs? She's alone here. Can I really just say goodbye and walk away? What else is there to do? And then there's funeral arrangements, and—"

"Tony," Gibbs said firmly, laying a hand on his agent's shaking arm. "Calm down. Breathe."

Tony did as he was told, but he felt panic rising in him as his swirling thoughts overwhelmed his tired, aching brain.

"What do you want to do?" Gibbs asked.

"This isn't about what I want."

Is it ever, Tony? "Yes, it is," Gibbs said, his voice still as firm as the hold he had on Tony's arm to keep him from fleeing.

"It isn't just about what I want," Tony corrected.

Gibbs just gave him a look.

Tony sighed, pulling his hand up to his chest again to try to ease the fiery pain. He almost laughed as he realized he'd had the presence of mind to use his left hand. He didn't know what he had been thinking when he'd slammed his fist into the unforgiving wall, but he knew that it had felt really good to just feel something, even if it was agony. He was regretting that second punch, though.

"I'll go tell her goodbye," Tony said, leaving it at that because he didn't want to make promises he wasn't sure he could keep. He saw Gibbs nod with an incredible depth of understanding in his eyes.

I don't deserve you, Boss.

Marianne flinched when she saw his hand, and he kicked himself, sliding it into his pocket even though the contact made it burn anew. He gave her credit for not saying anything about it—and might have laughed if he had seen that it was his boss's glare from behind him that silenced her.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Marianne," he said, putting his best warmth-and-sympathy tone behind his words. He reached out and touched her arm, his long fingers lingering for a moment.

"Thank you," she said, not quite sure what to make of this young man and his quicksilver moods. She realized none of it was probably real and wondered why he felt the need to hide from a stranger he would never see again. "Will you be staying for the funeral?"

Tony took a breath, wishing he had simply walked away—it had worked so well so many times for his father that it was almost fitting. "No," he said, keeping his tone even and low. "Have to get back to work."

He saw Gibbs' fingers twitch and marveled at the man's restraint to not headslap him into next week. But Marianne just nodded, looking rather upset.

Tony closed his eyes, breathing slowly. His eyes flicked to Gibbs, who nodded, making Tony deliriously grateful for their ease with nonverbal communication. Good for freaking out suspects AND dealing with grieving strangers who should be family. "When were you planning on having it?" he asked, mostly succeeding in keeping the quiet resignation out of his voice.

Her eyes snapped up to his. "I, uh, there's no need to wait. Tomorrow?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You can pull it together that quickly? It's Sunday," he reminded her, wondering if she had forgotten.

She just nodded. "A family friend owns a funeral home," she said.

"Handy," he murmured without thinking. He cringed. "Sorry."

She just smiled wryly at him and lifted a shoulder. "No, it is."

Tony looked uncomfortable, his stomach twisting more painfully than his injured hand. "What about the rest of the family? They might need more notice."

She regarded him with pain in her brown eyes, and he hoped she wasn't going to touch him again. He wasn't sure he could handle that.

"They knew it could be any day now," she said softly, watching him take that—and all of its implications—like a punch to the gut. "Everything's pretty much already set. They even decided the wake would be at Aunt Daniella's."

Tony swallowed the strangled cry that rose in his throat. Memories of his mother's wake rushed at him, and he forced himself to breathe normally. Marianne looked particularly unhappy, too, and he realized she probably hadn't been given much of a say in things.

"Do they know you called me?" he asked suddenly, feeling ashamed that he didn't know who "they" were. He had no idea which members of his family were still alive, who had gotten married, what schools his younger cousins had chosen, where their lives had led.

She nodded, fear suddenly darkening her eyes.

He read it expertly and was surprised to find himself able to make his tone blank. "They don't want to see me."

Gibbs looked up at that. What the hell could a twelve-year-old boy, beaten into unconsciousness, have done to deserve that?

Tony saw the look. "I don't know the details, but from a drunken conversation I had with a cousin a long time ago, I gather he told everyone I walked away from him. Turned my back on the family for Ohio State and football."

She nodded without speaking.

He surprised her by leaning down and kissing her cheeks, right then left. "Don't rush things for me, okay? I'm not sure I'll even come."

"It'll be tomorrow, Anthony," she said, giving him the details and driving home the point that they had all known the man was dying—and still no one had called him until Marianne.

Tony nodded. "I'm so sorry for your loss, Marianne."

She smiled faintly at him, knowing he was itching to get out of there. "Thank you." She paused, then spoke as he turned to go. "He wanted to call you. He picked up the phone so many times and always backed out, too scared, too stubborn, too proud to admit the horrible mistakes he made with you. But he knew he made them and he was sorry for them, even if he never could tell you that. I know you have no reason to trust me, but believe me, Anthony. He loved you."

Tony nodded, unable to speak. He felt Gibbs' presence beside him as he turned and walked away.