Hi, just a note to remind people that this work was published at AO3 in October 2015. I was in a hurry to get it done and couldn't take the time to refine it. That's what I'm currently doing now, and as each chapter is corrected, I am posting it here at FF. I am also re-posting the chapters at AO3, so if you see chapter 12 appear here, I am also re-loading chapter 12 there.

CHAPTER 12

Tony wished he were dead. His head was splitting, an ice pick was jabbing at his eyeballs, his tongue felt thick, and everything hurt, from his brain right down to his toes. Tony avoided looking at his pasty face in the mirror while he made a clumsy attempt to smooth down his bed-head hair. "Ow," he groaned as he touched a sensitive area on his head. Even his hair, which refused to lie down, hurt, right down to the roots.

Served him right, mixing bourbon and medication. Apparently someone had summoned a doctor, a physician with a British accent who had chastised him in a firm but kind tone. It had barely been light when Agent Brown had ushered him in. Tony had grunted and put up with the doctor's ministrations, and he'd gone back to sleep the minute the man had left.

Tony staggered into the kitchen around ten, eyes barely open, and Agent Brown joined him. He handed Tony a cup of coffee, and related a succinct version of what had gone down the night before. Rob Tozier had visited. They'd had a long conversation and drinks. Tony had taken some pain pills and when he'd acted drunk, Rob had tried to help him. Brown said carefully, "You were being difficult." Gibbs had arrived unannounced and had thrown Rob to the floor.

Tony had a vague recollection of Gibbs being angry, taking it out on Rob.

"Mr. Gibbs thought Mr. Tozier had slipped you a roofie," said Agent Brown. "He stayed to keep an eye on you."

Jethro had stayed? Things were still fuzzy; he couldn't remember the details of what had occurred. Tony slouched at the breakfast bar with his head in his hands, and managed to whisper hoarsely, "Sorry to cause you trouble." He felt like a teenager again, hung over and guilty the morning after he and his friends were caught raiding his father's liquor cabinet.

Brown laughed a little. "Not the worst I've ever seen. Probably the weirdest though. You thought your fingers were aliens or something?"

Tony blinked heavily. "Oh. Fingies. Yeah. That happens."

The FBI agent poured Tony a big cup of coffee, and said sympathetically, "Looks like you need this."

Tony was partway through the coffee, which stayed down despite his sour stomach, when he peered at Brown and asked in a quiet voice, "Was there…a doctor here?"

"Oh yeah. Dr. Mallard. He said you need to push liquids and do not take anything other than Tylenol," Brown said with a brief, sly smile.

Tony carefully nodded. He had a feeling there was something Brown wasn't telling him, but he didn't have the energy to ask. He drank a glass of water, more coffee, and downed a pair of Tylenol with another glass of water. Then, slowly, he made his way to his bathroom in order to clean up.

It wasn't until Tony was in the middle of a long, hot shower and feeling halfway human again, that it suddenly hit him – he'd kissed Jethro! Tony covered his eyes with both hands and moaned, "Oh DiNozzo, you didn't! Oh fuck, fuck, fuck!" What had he been thinking? God, how embarrassing – far worse than almost ODing and acting all loopy. Now he'd never be able to face the man again. What must Jethro think of him? In frustration over doing such a stupid, impulsive thing, Tony banged his forehead against the tiled shower wall. "Ow!" Okay, that was not a good idea.

He rubbed his forehead and turned off the water. It was not going to be easy, but he was going to have to make this right. Apologies and explanations were in order. At least Rob would probably be understanding and forgive him. Jethro, he wasn't so sure about. Only…hadn't Jethro stayed all night? And woken him up at regular intervals, to make sure he wasn't going to die on him? Or was that a hallucination like seeing his fingers floating around the room?

He had to eat something before he phoned Rob to apologize. Tony knew that if it hadn't been for him getting drunk, Jethro never would have accused Rob of spiking his drink. Jethro, he deserved an apology, too, a big one, but Tony didn't feel up to facing the music. Not yet, anyway. He'd have to work up to that, and it was not something he was looking forward to.

Tony stepped out of the shower, dried off, got dressed, and went out to find something for breakfast that would be sure to stay down.

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

A few hours later, Tony opened his door to Agent Fornell and invited him in with a sweep of his arm. "Something to eat or drink?" he asked, getting himself a glass of cool water.

Fornell looked around the industrial style kitchen, his eyes passing over the steel and granite, to hone in on the coffee maker. He inhaled deeply. "That smells like the good stuff."

Tony smirked as he poured Fornell a mug of the rich coffee. "Now, why did I even ask? Coffee is like nectar to cops."

They sat in the living room, facing each other in comfortable armchairs. Tony drank some water, and wished he was still in bed, enjoying the ignorant bliss that came with sleep. His head and body aches had improved, but he was still feeling a bit out of it. The only thing that had lifted his spirits, when he dressed earlier, was finding a red hoodie neatly folded on the chair next to his bed. He had picked it up and found it had USMC emblazoned on the chest. It wasn't new, and when he had lifted it to his nose, Tony had detected a faint smell of sawdust. That Jethro had remembered to bring him a replacement for the hoodie they'd cut off him in the ER, made it all the more special.

Fornell was eying Tony's sweatshirt over the rim of his coffee cup. "You joining the Marines, Congressman?"

Tony looked down at the USMC sweatshirt, and smiled tiredly. "Jethro brought it over. They cut the other one off me in the hospital."

"You look beat," Fornell observed.

Tony sighed and raised his glass of water to the FBI agent. "Apparently it's a good thing I don't remember much about it." He knew he had been stupid, mixing pills with alcohol. His extremities had felt like they belonged to someone else, his head had felt huge and unwieldy, and he had acted like a horny 18-year-old. God knows what he'd said. "I hear that Jethro almost killed Rob. He thought he'd dosed me with something, but I want to make it clear that it was all my fault."

With a mild shrug, Fornell said, "No harm done. I had a word with both Robert Tozier and Gibbs. Ruffled feathers are all smoothed over now."

Tony's heartbeat accelerated just at the sound of Gibbs' name. Of course Agent Fornell wouldn't know about the impromptu make-out session he'd had with Jethro, although Tony was pretty sure that Agent Brown had been present when he had thrown up and passed out soon afterwards. Doing his best to summon his smooth, sincere Congressman persona, Tony said, "I talked to Rob a little while ago and we're good. But thank you for calling Mr. Gibbs. I doubt that smoothing his feathers is as easy a task as you make out."

Tony had already phoned Rob that morning, concerned about the way Jethro had knocked him to the ground. Tony had apologized to Rob about the evening-gone-wrong. After Rob had taken Tony to task for being such a dumbass for taking pills with a bourbon chaser, he had ended up making fun of the way Tony got loopy so easily. "You're a cheap drunk, DiNozzo." They'd laughed a bit, and then, just like that, everything was back to normal between them.

Rob had said, "I guess I shouldn't be too mad at Gibbs. He was watching out for you. Of course I would have preferred it if he hadn't come storming in like an angry bull and stomped on me."

"Yeah, he's a bit like that," Tony had agreed.

"All alpha, and with that military and Navy cop background? Recipe for trouble…or for a great time in the sack," Rob had joked.

His heart pounded as he wondered if Rob knew something about the lip-lock he and Jethro had exchanged. Tony decided to play ignorant. "Why, are you fantasizing about being taken down by a Marine?"

With one eyebrow raised, Rob had said, "Uh, no. I get the feeling it wasn't me he was interested in, Tony."

Tony had given a laugh of disbelief. "You think he's interested in me? No way, not like that. I'm just some politician he rescued and got saddled with. I'll be eternally grateful, but that's as far as it goes."

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, but the man stayed with you last night, didn't he," Rob had said with a laugh. "Are you really okay?"

Tony wondered how Rob knew that Jethro had volunteered to be his night watchman, but assumed his friend had overheard Jethro and the FBI agent talking. "My head's pounding away and I think I licked a carpet or something equally gross, and there are some blank spots in my memory. Reminds me of our frat house days." He was about to add that he hadn't been coughing much when it started up; it took a minute before the coughing ceased. "I'll be fine by tomorrow," he assured Rob.

Rob heard the tiredness in Tony's voice because he wound up the call, saying, "Go make yourself one of those disgusting DiNozzo Defibrillators. Call me tomorrow when you feel better and we can set up a meeting to go over our next move with the Stop Harming Our Kids resolution, okay?"

Now, with Fornell looking at him like he thought Tony was a bit of an asshole, Tony wondered if he was becoming his father despite his best efforts to the contrary. "I'm not like him," Tony blurted without thinking.

"Like who?"

Wishing he'd kept his mouth shut, Tony gave a one-shouldered shrug and said quietly, "My father, the hard-drinking Senator who doesn't think twice about throwing his weight around. The guy who expects other people to clean up his mess, and they do it."

Fornell looked slightly taken aback. "I never thought you were like him."

"Oh. Good." Tony tried to smile, and it wasn't easy. "I seem to be on a roll here, doing stupid things, ever since…" Tony sighed and couldn't continue.

"You've been through a lot in a short time, Congressman. I'll give you a little leeway. And, for the record, if Jethro Gibbs thinks you're worth fighting for, then you can't be all bad," said Fornell, looking like he meant it. "Dr. Mallard says you're lucky someone was here last night, or you might have come to what he called 'a sticky end.'"

Tony nodded, admitting he was lucky. "Oh yeah, I got a lecture from the doc before the sun was even up. Is he…one of yours?"

Fornell laughed loudly and shook his head.

"What's so funny?" asked Tony.

"Dr. Mallard – we call him Ducky – he's the Medical Examiner at NCIS."

"You mean…he's…Jethro must have thought I was in a bad way if he called the ME," Tony said, smiling even if it really wasn't funny.

Fornell waved a dismissive hand. "Those guys at NCIS get injured all the time. Hot dogs, always jumping into the middle of the fray. Ducky patched them up on a regular basis, so he has had some experience with live people."

"Glad to hear it," said Tony, exhaling loudly, a bit unsettled at being examined by a man who handled the dead.

Now that it had been brought up, Tony found he had a vague recollection of being woken up several times in the night, and swearing at whoever was roughly shaking his shoulder. Had that been Jethro? There was also something about Jethro lying on the bed next to him. Was that possible? Tony had a feeling he'd rolled over and had wantonly draped his arm around Jethro's waist, resting his head on his chest so he could listen to his heartbeat. Talk about embarrassing. It was unlike him to be so clingy, though to be fair, he had still been under the influence of the drugs and booze, and wasn't exactly accountable for his actions.

What he did remember, surprisingly clearly, was grabbing Jethro and dragging him down for a long, heartfelt, impulsive kiss. What had come over him? And what did Jethro think of him now? He was sure that Jethro had kissed him back, had held him tight while he'd plundered his mouth with his tongue and…Why had Jethro done that, reciprocated as he was enjoying the kiss? It had been all Tony's fault for starting it, and now he was beyond embarrassed, and wondered if he could leave the country so he'd never have to face the man again.

There was something about Jethro that had invited him to get close, physically close. The man exuded strength and protectiveness, both admirable qualities, thought Tony. But being physical with another guy, actually lip-locking with a man – was so unlike him that Tony wondered if this was some kind of weird reaction to the trauma of his abduction. Maybe it was a way of regaining the feeling of control and confidence that had been stripped away from him. Maybe he was really into men and had been denying it for all of his adult life, and the kidnapping had triggered a latent sexual preference he had never acknowledged. Or maybe he'd simply been drunk and didn't have a clue what he was doing.

He remembered more than just the act – Tony remembered the taste of Jethro's mouth, the feelings he'd had, of desire and need, and a deep connection. But had he imagined all of this, perhaps as the result of a drug-induced hallucination? Was this a reaction to stress, lack of sleep, maybe PTSD from the kidnapping?

Dr. Pitt had said it would take time before he would feel normal again; getting back to work, doing his usual routine, should help him to adjust. He was right, in that distractions would help. When he was busy, with work or with people, Tony didn't think quite so much about the time he'd spent chained to a bed in the trailer, not knowing if he was going to be killed at any given moment.

There were times when something triggered a memory, though. He'd get a flashback, suddenly thinking he could smell the damp and mildewed trailer, or that he could taste the cloying strawberry-flavored drink he'd been forced to drink, that had turned out to be laced with drugs. All it took was a glimpse of the colorful bruises marring his body to make Tony feel sick. He'd thrown up a time or two before he'd learned not to look at them, not to think about the hand striking his chest, or the cold linoleum of the kitchen table pressing against his chest when a rough hand on his neck forced him down and…No, he didn't want to, didn't have to think about any of that ever again. It was over. Dome with. The bastard was dead. He had to concentrate on rebuilding his life now, on moving on, and making the changes he'd already set in motion.

Tony listened with half an ear as Fornell suggested precautions he should take when the protective custody ended. It wasn't as though Tony didn't already know all about evasion tactics, and the importance of alternating routes and schedules, etc. – it was all in the How to Avoid Being Kidnapped Manual for Dummies. Hell, Tony had taught those very techniques to dozens of people during his stint with Global Elite, as well as when he'd had his own risk management company. But if he was so knowledgeable, then how was it, he asked himself, that he'd been snatched off his front doorstep like some wide-eyed tourist who had mistakenly wandered into a bad neighborhood? They must think him an incompetent fool – the FBI, his own father, Wendy, even Jethro – and although it pained him to do so, Tony had to agree.

Tony realized that Fornell had asked him a question, more than once. "Sorry, just thinking." Tony put on a self-deprecating smile. "Delving into dangerous territory. You were saying…?"

"Do you want me to put you in contact with a private agency?"

"I'm sorry…"

Fornell put the folder he'd brought on the coffee table between them. "I'm suggesting you might want to hire someone for your own peace of mind, Congressman. We've closed the case, and as of tomorrow morning, my agents will no longer be on protection detail."

Tony swallowed hard. This wasn't unexpected, but thinking about the FBI agents pulling out left him feeling oddly vulnerable. "I have to commend all of your agents for keeping my family safe. I appreciate it even if I've given you a hard time, Agent Fornell."

"Let's hope our services aren't needed again," said Fornell with a nod.

"Are there going to be any repercussions from Jethro killing…Frank Beals?" It took some effort to say the man's name without stuttering.

"No, he's been cleared," Fornell said.

"Good. Good. So…what's in the folder?"

Fornell tapped the folder with his finger. "You'll find an overview in here, the conclusions of a thorough investigation. We are confident that Frank Beals acted on his own, and was solely responsible for planning and carrying out the kidnapping. He employed a teenager he met at his mother's youth center to pick up the ransom money, but the kid didn't know the full story about what Beals was up to. Other than that, Beals had no accomplices. He has no record of having committed a crime before, although he has been hospitalized several times for mental health issues.

"During the course of his planning and carrying out your abduction, Beals contacted a lot of people with strong political or social agendas. We questioned every one of them and they all said basically the same thing: Beals spouted anti-gay, anti-government sentiments, and demanded various actions, including the removal of many key government figures, and threatening the people he phoned with dire consequences if they didn't pay attention to him. He had an issue with believing he wasn't being heard. Our analysts surmise that Beals chose to kidnap you because you are a prominent and well-thought-of political figure in the limelight, and holding you for ransom would get him the attention he was seeking."

"So I was just a pawn? He chose me out of the blue?"

"We don't have any reason to believe otherwise," Fornell confirmed.

"My stance on LGBT issues is well known," Tony reasoned. "Plus he may have known, or known of my father, correct?"

"Senator DiNozzo denied any connection with Frank Beals," Fornell reminded him.

"But Beals called my father within hours of when he received the ransom," Tony said, frustrated.

"He called a dozen other people in the hours prior to calling your father, before the ransom money was delivered, Tony. I don't want you going around being paranoid, thinking that you did anything to invite Beals to target you. I think that you were available, and as I said, well enough known that he knew grabbing you would garner a lot of air time."

"Great, so I'm Mr. Popular and an easy mark, that what you're saying?"

Fornell sat back with a patient expression.

After a minute, Tony said, "Sorry."

"It's okay."

Tony coughed a few times, drank some water and gave a big sigh. "Did you know that, years ago, Mrs. Tozier outed Rob by telling reporters that not only was Rob gay, but he was a failure as a person, and she'd given up on him long ago. She declares that everyone who supports putting an end to conversion therapy is going to Hell. Rob says his mother made really big bucks off conversion therapy courses, for years, but all the negative attention about how bogus it is has put a serious dent in her income." Mrs. Tozier was a piece of work, and even if she didn't have a direct hand in the kidnapping, Tony could just see her inciting her mentally unstable son, Frank, to do her dirty work. "Are you certain she didn't know what her own son was doing, the son who was so volatile she watched him like a hawk?"

"Tony…" Fornell cautioned, shaking his head.

Tony sat forward in his seat. "That's not all. I know what my dad's like, and if he worked with Marian Tozier when she was young, you can pretty much guarantee he screwed her. Maybe she's holding a grudge."

"After all this time?"

"I thought you'd been divorced, Agent Fornell. Does time make any difference in the way your ex treats you?" Tony asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Point taken. But what you're saying is far-fetched, DiNozzo."

"Maybe Mrs. Tozier is afraid that my dad is going to speak out against her, and her political career is going down the drain, and she thought she'd get some kind of leverage by holding me hostage," Tony said, knowing it sounded implausible. "I don't know exactly what's going on between them, but my gut says it's something. Besides, it's expensive to run for office, and a few million in ransom money would certainly help finance her campaign."

"Enough!" Fornell raised a hand to stop Tony from speaking further. "I questioned Mrs. Tozier every which way, and investigated her thoroughly, and I got nothing on her. I agree, her practices are questionable, but everything she does, with the church and this therapy, is currently legal. Even if she and your father had something going on, it was years ago. I honestly don't think she was part of any plot to take the DiNozzos down. Look, take my advice, Tony, and let this go. The man who did this to you is lying six feet under. He's not coming back. He can do no more harm. Just…get on with your life. Enjoy your family."

Tony sighed and after a minute he said, "You're right. Believe me, I need to…I plan to get on with my life." Tony thought that that was the end of their conversation, but Fornell looked as though he had something to say, yet didn't want to broach the subject.

After clearing his throat, Fornell finally spoke. "I wasn't going to bring this up, Tony, because with Beals dead, this isn't going to trial."

"Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like this," asked Tony, smiling a little to try to ease the suddenly tense atmosphere in the room.

"I shouldn't have poked my nose in your hospital records," the FBI agent admitted, "but I wanted to see if there was any mention of something."

"Of what exactly?" Tony asked, getting annoyed. "C'mon, Fornell, I'm a big boy. I can take it."

"Your clothing was collected from the scene…from Gibbs' house."

Tony remembered Gibbs helping him remove his wet clothing and giving him dry things to wear after he'd taken a hot shower. He'd left his wet things in a heap on the floor, as far as he knew. Gibbs must have picked them up. Police procedure 101: collect everything at the scene of a crime even if you're not sure if it can be used as evidence. "Gibbs gave you my clothes," he said slowly.

"The evidence went directly to the FBI forensics lab."

All of a sudden, Tony knew what Fornell was humming and hawing about. Tony shook his head. No, no. "Don't. You don't have to–"

There was an understanding look in Fornell's eyes. "They tested everything. The lab results from the clothing you wore when you first arrived at Gibbs' home showed that there was semen in the pants, and–"

Tony rose to his feet, shaking. He'd told himself, again and again, that it didn't matter. Nothing had happened. He blurted out, "It's none of your business."

"Calm down, Tony. Calm down. Please," Fornell said, motioning with his hand for Tony to sit.

Tony remained standing. He could feel his legs shaking. "It is none of your business."

"The doctors who examined you didn't note there being any sign rape," Fornell said evenly.

Angry beyond words, Tony snapped, "H-he didn't…He didn't."

Fornell nodded and kept his calm gaze on Tony's face. "That's good, that's good, Tony."

Tony didn't like the sympathy he saw in Fornell's eyes. "Don't you look at me like that! I'm not a fucking victim!"

"I know you're not, Tony. You're strong and–."

"Then don't talk about things you don't know anything about!"

"Tony…"

"No! Get out. Get out!" Tony said, barely keeping control. He desperately wanted to strike out at Fornell, but somehow managed to keep his fists by his sides.

"Okay." Fornell rose slowly, his hands held out in a submissive pose. "I'm going."

Unable to respond, Tony nodded, refusing to meet Fornell's eyes.

When Fornell was at the door, he turned and said mildly, "Put it behind you, son."

Tony waited until the FBI agent was gone, then moved into his bedroom. He sat on the bed, blindly staring out the window for a long, long time.

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

Alone once again, Tony poured himself some milk and managed to eat a couple of pieces of toast. He eyed the cold lasagna in the fridge but it turned his stomach.

No matter who was behind his abduction, whether it was one man, now deceased, or a collaborative effort, Tony was angry at himself, and deeply embarrassed, for being snatched from right outside his own home, for being made a victim. He still couldn't remember the actual kidnapping, and he'd been drugged for much of the time he'd been held by Frank Beals, but he could still feel the sense of hopelessness and debilitating fear that rushed in and consumed him, sure that any minute he was going to end up in a shallow grave, and his family would never know what had happened to him.

It was obvious that he'd become soft, having spent too many hours sitting in a cushy chair in his office for the past six years. Well, the job would be coming to a finish at the end of the year. He was ready to move forward, to make the necessary changes. He refused to be a victim. Tony swore that he would never again let his guard down.

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~