Tony kicked off his shoes and immediately regretted it. There was no way in hell he was just going to sit here all night, alone. While the prospect of a nap was enticing, he knew he needed to stay up or he would never be able to sleep that night.

And it was much easier to find company now than at three in the morning.

He thought about pulling out his rarely used little black book, but he quickly shook off the thought. What he really needed was to spend some time with someone who knew him better than he knew himself, someone who would let him brood, or talk, or simply drink. He wanted someone who could match him shot for shot and wouldn't judge him in the morning.

He wanted Abby.

And then he chuckled when he realized that description fit Gibbs, too. He got up, wondering why Gibbs hadn't offered—or insisted—to stay, but then he saw the blinking light on his answering machine and knew his boss had seen it too.

"DiNozzo? It's Sciuto," Abby's voice came, making Tony grin at their inside joke. Abby had once said that because they called each other by their first names at work, they should go with last names in their off time so hanging out would never feel like working. Tony shook his head, thinking about the sheer volume of Red Bull and vodka that had led to that conversation and remembering the hangover had been worse than work. Worse than the worst day of work imaginable.

Think Gibbs during a coffee embargo worst.

"Don't be mad but McGee was super-worried about you because you were all zombie-Tony and we all know you only get like that when something really, really bad has happened. Like Exxon Valdez playing slalom with icebergs resulting in oil-flavored North Atlantic cod bad. So we brain-stormed things that could be that bad."

He heard Abby pause to draw a guilty breath.

"And then we might have come up with a theory. And then we might have traced your cell phone. But don't be too mad because we traced Gibbs' too. And for the love of all things unholy, please don't tell him that." Another guilty pause, and Tony could practically see her twisting a pigtail nervously. "But I guess it doesn't matter because McGee and I also might have called him. It also might have taken us hours—and several very, very strong drinks—and a trip to Taco Bell—to work up the courage to actually call. But then we just hung up because we were scared. But we tried to call back in the morning but both of your phones were off. I know that means hospital, Tony. A really good hospital in New York with really good doctors. Please tell me you're not sick. I mean, I know you can't tell me now because we're not really talking but the first words you say to me had better be 'I'm not sick.' Well, not your first words ever to me because those were 'I think your kilt shrunk, lassie,' but you know what I mean."

Tony laughed at the memory, wondering if the tape was going to run out and then remembering it was digital. He wondered idly about the world record for messages as Abby continued. He frowned as her voice lost all of its bubbliness and dropped to a whisper.

"Is it your dad, Tony? Is he sick? Or not sick—but not well either? Did he die, Tony? Call me, okay? Sick or not sick, people living or dying or dead, just please call me? I need to know you're okay."

Tony stood there, smiling even though his chest felt like there was an elephant lounging on it. The raw concern in Abby's voice—for him, for his well-being—warmed him better than several shots of the good stuff.

He debated for a second, then grinned, deciding there was no reason not to bask in that kind of warmth.

Tony leaned against the doorframe of the lab, watching Abby bounce to her latest favorite manic rhythm. He frowned and straightened, intent on sneaking out before she saw him—or heard the rattling ice in the Caf-Pow! he had brought. He thought about leaving it on the long shiny table but didn't think he was that stealthy. And seeing her shimmying with such obvious happiness, he didn't want to wreck her good humor with his bad news.

"Tony!" Abby squealed just as he turned to leave. He cursed himself, wondering why he had even decided to come here. He turned back, trying to find the energy to paste on a plastic smile.

"I'm not sick," he said, still trying to smile.

He let the poor attempt fade when he saw the understanding in her cool green gaze. He practically melted into the soft hug she wrapped him in. "I'm so sorry, Tony," she whispered against his throat. "He died, didn't he?"

He could only nod, and he felt her arms tighten around him. The embrace was still gentle, unlike her usual crushing hugs, and he couldn't help thinking about how they were standing in almost the exact same position as the night they lost Kate. He wasn't entirely surprised when she gently pulled him a few feet closer to the window, her soft breath never leaving his neck.

He was glad for the change, wondering if it was strange that he didn't want to compare this pain to that of losing Kate. He mostly didn't want to think about how her death had hurt so much more than the death of his own flesh and blood. If he hadn't ever realized it before, he suddenly knew that she had been more like family to him than his own ever had been, ever would be.

Tony and Abby stayed melded together for several long moments, Tony soaking in the comfort like a brand-new sponge.

He could have stayed there all night, but he finally said, "Abbs? This is nice, but I should let you get back to work."

She pulled back and he was surprised to see tears shining unshed in her eyes—until he realized how miserable he had sounded.

"I'm done for the day," she said, keeping her hand on his arm. "Dinner?"

He felt like a kid just given a puppy. "Thanks, Abby."

He smiled as she dragged him to her office, obviously unwilling to break contact to even grab her bag. She looped an arm through his and led him to the door, stopping short when McGee suddenly appeared in the doorway. She saw his eyes land on Tony's cast, and she willed him not to say anything. She smiled at her mental prowess when he turned his gaze to her face.

"Hey, Timmy," she said. "We were just going…"

She trailed off, uncertain how to handle telling him Tony might not want extra company.

But Tony just said, "To dinner. Want to come?"

McGee blinked in obvious surprise. He saw the death glare Abby was giving him and decided turning down Tony's offer might not be so good for his health so he nodded. "Sure."

"Ziva still here?" Tony asked. He honestly wasn't sure he wanted a ton of company right now, but he didn't want anyone to feel left out. And he was also thinking about Gibbs' words when he had said his friends might actually want to be there for him. At McGee's nod, he said, "Let's invite her too. Maybe we can get her drunk and quiz her on English slang."

McGee grinned and moved to Abby's computer to instant message their teammate. A moment later, he said, "She's in. Said she'll be down in a tiffy."

Abby and Tony were still giggling when the agent walked into the lab. "What is so funny?" she asked, her eyes on Tony's cast for only a second before moving suspiciously up to his face.

"Jiffy, Ziva," Tony corrected with a smile. "Down in a jiffy."

"Ah, I thought it looked funny when I typed it," she said, smiling wickedly as she looked pointedly at the cast again. "But at least I can type."

Tony felt Abby stiffen beside him but he just rolled his eyes. "At least I'll be able to type the correct words. And contractions, too. Like I'll and I'm and can't. And let's, as in let's go because I'm starving."

Ziva smiled. "Sure, Tony. Let's go."

Tony put his undamaged hand to his chest in mock shock. "My God! It's finally happened! I didn't think it possible!"

"In that case," she said, "you'd be wrong."

"Okay, seriously," Tony said, anything but serious—and god it felt good after everything that had happened. "You should stop that. It's freaking me out."

"Sure," she agreed amiably. "I will not do it again. Promise. Now where are we going for dinner? I am starved as well."

They all looked at Tony and no one was surprised when he named his favorite pizza place. They agreed and were heading for the door when Tony stopped them, his tone low again.

"You should all probably know," he said, slapping on a fake smile, "because I might get drunk and sloppy tonight," and then the smile faded and he continued honestly, "that my father died over the weekend. That's why Gibbs and I were in New York."

Ziva pulled him into a surprisingly gentle hug and when she pulled back, her dark eyes were sincere. "I am very sorry for your loss, Tony."

He nodded. "Thank you, Ziva."

McGee just put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed very briefly. "I'm sorry, Tony." He smiled, shooting a devious glance at Abby. "And I'm sorry I let Abby talk me into tracing your cell phone. It was all her idea."

"McGee!" Abby cried, punching his arm and making him wince theatrically.

"Ow!"

"You think that hurt, Probie?" Tony asked. "I also know you traced Gibbs' cell, and I'm thinking about holding that over your head for the next, oh, I don't know, maybe twenty years?"

Gibbs found that exact moment to sweep into the lab. "Should have kept your mouth shut, DiNozzo. I know now."

"Oh, hey, Boss," Tony said. "We were just headed to dinner. Wanna come?"

If anyone was surprised when Gibbs agreed, no one showed it. They left the lab, Gibbs asking Tony, "So how many lies have you told them about that hand yet?"

Tony just laughed. "None. Yet. I'm thinking about making up a different story for everyone who asks. It'll keep me entertained while I'm on desk duty."

"Oh I think you'll be plenty busy, DiNozzo," Gibbs returned. "I've got a whole stack of cold cases with your name on it."

Tony groaned, but he was still smiling.

Just before they separated to go to their cars, McGee shot a tentative look at DiNozzo. "So, Tony, I've got to ask."

Tony waited for it, waited for the questions he thought he had avoided. Was he sad? Did he miss him? What was he like? Was he a good father?

But all McGee asked was, "You don't really think Aquaman would win versus Batman, do you?"