Hereafter

by unilocular

Tony wakes up in a hallway, but can't remember who he is or how he got there.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the typos. If you recognize it, it isn't mine.

Title: Hereafter
Summary: Tony wakes up in a hallway, but can't remember who he is or how he got there.
Rating: Teen
Spoilers/Warnings: General series spoilers though season two. Minor descriptions of injuries.

Author's Note: This was inspired by an art piece by Red_Pink_Dots on AO3. Please see the story over there to view the art.

This one is a bit different than the norm. I hope you like it.

-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-

He shouldn't be here. Wherever here is.

The darkened hallway stretches for what seems like forever. In both directions, the grimy and yellow-tinged walls bleed into nothingness. In a past life, they were probably a bright and brilliant white, but now, they are old and darkened by years and neglect. There are doors of all shapes and sizes with strange markings. Letters. He is pretty sure they are letters of the alphabet.

Above his head, the drop ceiling is pockmarked and missing pieces like a gap-toothed mouth. The few lights crackle with a strange energy as they glow a sulfuric, dingy orange.

The light directly above him goes dark. He glances upward, feeling suddenly ill-at-ease. As though it might explode and rain down sparks into his hair. He takes several steps away, keeping his eyes locked on that burnt out light. Eventually, it gives a loud pop, an electric zap and returns to life, humming away.

He continues down the hallway, but the vantage point is still the same.

Doors stretch into the horizon with no end.

He doesn't know where he is. How he got here.

Why is he even here?

He grabs the handle of a wood door marked with a Q. It's a peculiar looking one. Perhaps that's why he chose it. A grey one that is as dull and dishwater grey as a river with a black metal handle. When he puts his fingers on the handle, they slide down the side. For some inexplicable reason, there is oil all over the handle. He wipes it against his chest, frowning at the immaculate three-piece suit he is wearing. Light grey like the door with a stiff white shirt.

Wherever he is, he could be overdressed. Or he could be just right.

With a half-hearted shrug, he swallows the guilt at the now ruined suit. He might like it, but he can't remember. He'll feel bad about it later. Maybe. If a wrecked suit is even a reason to feel terrible.

Grabbing the handle again, he attempts to open the door. Of course, it's locked.

He tries another door, one that only comes to his waist. This one is painted a shade of yellow slightly duller than the walls with haphazardly painted gold trim. This one is locked, too.

He bolts down the hallway, rattling door handles and knobs for an entire section. Fear brims up into his chest like a rising ocean current, thrumming with its own life. Leaning back against the wall, he attempts to keep his panic in check. It isn't working.

It feels odds to be alone because he shouldn't be…should he? There should be someone else here with him and in some cases, more than one someone. That much he knows.

He knocks his head against the wall. Nothing more than a little tap. The motion feels all wrong, but there is a comfort in the gentle strike. He tries to keep himself in the moment.

My name is Tony and I'm a –

That's as far as he gets. He taps his head against the wall again.

My name is Tony and I'm a –

That's all he remembers.

Tony scrubs his hands against his temples as though he could dig the memories from his brain. He can't find them, but they are at the edge of his fingertips. If he could remember, maybe he would know where he is. And then maybe, just maybe he could figure out how to leave.

He catches movement out of the corner of his eye.

Down the hallway. About twenty feet, give or take.

A figure shifts into the darkness where there was nothing before.

That space was empty just a moment ago.

Pivoting off the wall, Tony reaches for his right hip. It's empty, as it should be, and he doesn't understand why he did that. Yes, his hip is empty, but it doesn't feel like it should be.

The figure is diminutive and graceful like a dancer. As it draws closer, it doesn't even appear to move by walking. It almost appears like it's floating, but that just doesn't make any sense.

He squints against the darkness, surprised to find what appears to be a little girl. Her blonde hair hangs in ringlets around her baby-cheeked face. She wears a frilly, lacy dress that comes right to her knees. Her clothes are a stark, almost blinding white and she, herself, might be glowing. If he weren't so unnerved about being lost himself, he might ask how she got here.

As soon as she looks at him, he blurts out: "Grandfather, do you know any blue stories?"

Her smile is slight, a bare wisp of her childish lips.

"Do you even know where that's from?" Her voice is as pure and perfect as a bell's ring.

He opens his mouth to spew the answers, but nothing comes. It feels like everything else of his previous existence, a yawning chasm of nothing. An abyss where there is everything on the other side—a life, memories, who he is—but he only sees the darkness between the shores.

He clamps his lips shut before offering a one-shouldered shrug.

She sighs sadly. "Oh, Tony."

He hadn't noticed it before, but the whole place is quieter than a graveyard. And her voice carries down the hallway into a melancholic whisper. It takes a few seconds, but he catches an echo. He swears there's an echo from within the walls. It repeats his name. He swallows his rising fear.

A playful smile pulls at his lips. "You know me, but I don't know you."

"You can call me Shirley."

"Surely, you can't be serious."

She nods. "I am serious."

"…and don't call me Shirley," he adds. For some unknown reason.

When Shirley smiles, her cheeks grow huge. "Where's that from?"

"It's from…" His mind is completely blank. "A movie…a movie called…"

Deep inside his gut, his stomach somersaults. He should have something to say because there should be more to the moment than this. But he can't remember any of it. He drags his hands against the back of his head, through his hair, against his face as though it could unlock all his secrets.

Watching him, Shirley wears a curious look. Her eyes narrow slightly, her smile bemused.

"It's like that," she offers.

He peers between his hands. "What is?"

"Here," she replies, gesturing at the dingy wall with her fingers.

Her earnest eyes meet his and a calming wave crashes over him. Tony allows himself a small smile. He should be more worried. Maybe even terrified or overwhelmed like he just was. Yet now a pleasant sensation is ebbing through his entire body. His heart lifts in his chest. He feels so deeply and perfectly calm. That sets his teeth on edge. It makes his skin crawl.

There are other people who should be with him. He shouldn't be alone.

"Have you seen anyone else, Shirley?" he asks.

She smiles, sweet as pie. "Like whom?"

He begins to speak, but he loses his voice. "I don't remember."

After throwing him a knowing nod that is far beyond her years, Shirley skips down the hallway. As he watches her go, he considers whether he should follow or stay put. There should be someone looking for him. His gut tells him that much.

And she is a minor child, after all. In this…well, whatever the hell this place is.

The overhead light zaps, crackles, and pops. The world around Tony goes dark before flickering back to life. He glances at Shirley, but she hasn't even turned around. He might be afraid here. Maybe just a little, but he won't admit it to himself. She's a child, after all, and she definitely—probably, maybe—needs his help.

He jogs to catch up to Shirley.

Once he reaches her, he asks: "Where are your parents?"

She waves indifferently waves her hand. "Gone. And where are yours?"

He licks his lips, shrugging. "I don't know."

And that admission is the end of their sparkling conversation. The silence wraps around them, oppressive and suffocating like a blanket tucked too tight. The only sound is the thudding of Tony's shoes against the scuffed and beaten hardwood floor. As they walk, Tony's feet begin to ache. He glances down, surprised to find his shoes are expensive-looking and extremely uncomfortable. He can't fathom why he would get so dressed up to go –

I wish I knew where I was.

On their journey, the only things to change are the letters and the shapes of the doors. The shapes and the colors and size combinations begin to repeat at some point. They walk for a long time. After a while, they end up back at the beginning of the alphabet. Huge and light red door marked with a J, followed by a toddler-sized yellow white door marked with a T. Then a Tony-sized grey door marked with a G.

If they hadn't been moving straight, Tony might they went in a circle. They never deviate from their course, they only keep moving straight.

Eventually, he stops beside a door. His feet are aching, the muscles in his legs are screaming at full force. His body is aching. He presses his back against the wall, which is freezing cold under his touch. If he ever makes it out of here, his damned shoes are going in the nearest dumpster. It'll be sneakers and slippers forever from this moment.

"Why don't we try to get out of here?" he asks.

When she turns back, Shirley's ringlets bob against her face. Her hands grip the sides of her skirt and even still, it's perfectly pressed with no wrinkles. Her expression is as impassive as stone, but there's a confusion settling in her eyes. She doesn't look like they've been walking for miles.

"Why?" she asks.

"Because we shouldn't be here."

She raises her chin. "We are right where we are supposed to be."

Tony's face folds into a question as he tries to understand what's going on. She can't be more than eight or nine, no more than a child really, and yet, she acts like a fully grown adult. She seems to know the answers to his predicament, but she gives nothing away. He should be angry.

"Tell me where we are." He is begging and he knows it.

All she offers is a tight-lipped—and oh-so-frustrating—smile that displays her deep, deep dimples. And with that, he reaches for one of the doors.

"They're locked. They always are," she says as though it explains everything.

"Always double check." He doesn't know why he says it, but it feels right.

When he tries out for the one marked with a G, the knob turns under his hand. He doesn't know what could be over the threshold, but it must be better than a grimy corridor. As the door creaks open, Shirley's eyes widen, just a little. She might be surprised, but she is trying to keep it a secret.

There is only blackness.

Tony holds out his hand. "Come on."

Shirley gives him a strange look before she shakes her head. He heads through first, but only after she starts to follow him. Behind them, the door slams shut with a terrifying finality. There is only darkness, a blackness deeper than Tony ever experienced before. It presses into him, pinioning him in place and sealing off his air. At least, it would be. Until that moment, he hadn't even noticed he wasn't breathing. He closes his eyes, draws his attention inward. Strangely, he doesn't even hear his heartbeat.

It grows lighter.

Slowly.

Slowly.

Slowly.

The darkness recedes into bits and pieces of grey as the world around them comes into focus like a slowly developing photograph. Just an ordinary scene in a boring office. A small room cut out of a large one with cubicle walls and four desks in a rectangle. On a stand, there is a weird television. The word plasma rises into Tony's mind, but he doesn't think that's an actual word.

"Where are we?" Shirley whispers, shock edging into her voice.

If he knew the answer, he might feel more triumphant at having the upper hand for once. He continues to stare at the scene as it grows sharper.

"I've been here before," Tony says. "I spend most of my time here."

"At an office?" Her brow knits in confusion.

"Yeah…at least, I think…"

Two figures, a man and a woman, are growing clearer now like they're surfacing from a lake. The man is young, baby-faced with his jaw set in determination as his eyes are locked on a computer monitor. There's a ferocity in his gaze that doesn't match his actions. When Tony checks over the man's shoulder, the screen is a jumbled mess he can't read. Tony moves around the young man for a better look at the computer. When he places a hand on the back of the chair, Tony's hand glides right through it.

Tony's mouth forms a noise. He starts, "Mc…" But that's all he had. There's a name stuck on the tip of his tongue, but it won't come out.

"I know him." Tony sounds so certain.

"Who is he?" Shirley asks.

"He's my friend."

With her hands clasped behind her back, Shirley studies the young man as though he is an exhibit in a museum. Her lips are pursed, her head tilted. Wonder and surprise grace her features as she shuffles around him for a better look.

Tony claps his hands. "Tim! His name is Tim!"

When the sob rises in his chest, Tony shoves his hands against his mouth. He scrubs his fingers against his lips as a hysterical laugh bubbles up. That's all he remembers of this place and these people. Not why they were here or what they do, but he knows them and he…yes, he likes them. And most of the time, they might just like him too.

Turning slowly, he glances at the woman. Her hair is dark, the edge of her lips pinched into a deep frown as she glares menacingly at a piece of paper on her desk. She is gorgeous in a way where she can either punch your lights out or kiss you until morning breaks. He is certain he has stared into her eyes, but he doesn't know which way he feels. He sneaks behind her, rolling onto the balls of his feet as though readying to scare her. The action feels as natural as breathing.

He wishes he knew why.

"Hey Katie." He shakes his head, licks his lips. "No, she hates when I call her that."

He smiles at her angry face because it's cute, in a way.

"Hey Kate," he says instead.

When he tries to rest his hand on her shoulder, it passes straight through her. He stares at his hands, eyes wide and mouth gaping. Horrified.

Shirley closes the distance between them, her face folded into a question as she studies Kate as well.

"You know them," she says.

Tony hugs his useless hands to his chest. "Of course, I do. They're my friends."

"But…but you aren't supposed to," Shirley says, biting her lip.

More questions should be rising to the forefront of Tony's mind, but he can't think of them. Whatever bizarre thing is going on here, a strange and radical acceptance washes over him. In his heart, he knows he should be yelling and screaming and kicking and trying to figure out what's going on. Instead, there is a strange numbness in this peculiar place. He should be working, he thinks. Attacking paperwork and a computer like a soldier in a warzone, like Tim and Kate.

He should be working like Tim and Kate.

There's a hazy anesthesia-like fog hanging over him. He feels like he might've been drugged. Except he doesn't take them. At least, he'd like to think he doesn't.

Tony's eyes rove around the room containing them. It's still shades of grey, but they're going hazy around the edges. Blurring out like a photograph left in the sun too long. A fading memory, he can't hold onto.

Tim and Kate, they haven't moved. They're still locked into whatever their life should be like here.

Until now, he never noticed someone else could be missing. There's a niggle in his brain, something deep and buried that he can't seem to reach.

Four desks.

Tim and Kate and Tony.

Who uses the fourth desk?

Tony can't remember anything about…him.

Yeah, that missing person is a man.

And that's all he dredges up.

"This is fascinating. Utterly fascinating." Shirley is busy admiring a frame on Kate's desk. "None of this has happened before. Ever."

Tony blinks. "What hasn't?"

"Any of this." Shirley uses her hands to gesture at Tim and Kate. "I only meet people like you. I never get to see who was important to them. I only see people as they are after. I never see who they were."

That word makes Tony swallow hard.

"Were?" His voice is small and scared.

Ignoring his question, Shirley takes to admiring Kate's stick straight hair.

"Tell me about them," she says.

Tony opens his mouth to start. Snaps it closed.

He grabs at his hair as though he could rip the memories from his brain. They are right at the edges of his fingertips. He yowls with frustration. Then, he smacks his hands against the back of his head. The hit is raw and brutal, more painful than it should be.

The head smack jars him again and he stops short. It's happened before. Over and over again.

He whacks the back of his head again, gently this time, and yes, that missing person would do this from time to time. He doesn't like how it feels. No, in fact, he downright hates it. It's aggressive and mean-spirited, but right now, it's everything he needs.

He sucks a breath through his teeth, but it doesn't make a noise. Since there is no air, nothing happens. He just wants to go through the motions.

"These two are Kate Todd and Tim McGee," he says.

The names tumble out of his mouth of their own volition, but he doesn't know if they're right.

Staring at him intently, Shirley provides her complete and undivided attention. Her brow knits a little deeper, a concentration line marring her otherwise perfect complexion.

Tony stares at Kate's profile for a long moment before saying: "Kate is tough and bossy and amazing, really. I might be in love with her. Maybe, but I don't know. She doesn't take shit from anyone. Not even me." Then he lets his eyes rove towards the man. "Tim is the smartest person I ever met, but he wants to be more than that. Deserves to be more than that. And I think…I think I've been helping him."

When he moves to the center of the room, he feels oddly at home. He looks from Kate to Tim and back again. He should be waggling his hands around dramatically. That much he knows.

"We're a team," he says suddenly. "But there is someone missing."

Shirley tilts her head, curls dancing against her face. "Oh yeah…who?"

"I – uh, um…" Tony's voice trails as a memory slowly surfaces.

Grey hair, blue eyes, and a barking voice that sends Tony bolting like a reflex. His father, maybe, or an older man who could've been one. He doesn't register the man's features before they're gone, as quickly as they came. He is back to staring at Tim and Kate, giddy he remembers him.

Shirley curls her hand against her chin. She is on tiptoe for a better view of the plasma.

"What does this thing do?" she asks.

Tony's confidence is gone as quickly as it came.

"I can't remember," he says.

"Movies?" Her tone is amused.

"Only when no one's looking," he replies.

"How do you remember that?" she whispers. "You aren't supposed to remember. Until later."

"What happens 'later'?"

Her placid and serene expression evaporates into a one of surprise and confusion. When she tilts her head, her ringlets bounce like springs. She looks at something out of the room that Tony can't see.

Just as he is about to ask, an ear-splitting clock chime shatters the stillness. It cuts through Tony and makes the whole room shudder like an earthquake. Tim and Kate fade a little at the edges, their faces going blurry. Tony wants to reach out and touch them, but there isn't time. He tries to memorize their features, burn the pieces he remembers deep into the forefront of his brain.

Another clock chime reverberates.

The memories flood to him now. Slowly, bits and pieces of the people in his life.

Tim was like the little brother he always wanted, but never had. Kate was everything he could've wanted in a woman, but there was so much in the way. Maybe, they would've been lovers. If only, they had more time.

Another chime echoes. Louder.

Their faces are gone now. Just shapeless blobs of people, cardboard cutouts. Tony holds onto their names, struggling to remember who they were to him. Their faces, how they looked and smiled and laughed and moved are gone. Faded into the nothingness.

Shirley still stands by the plasma. Her expression is unhurried and impassive. He wants to ask what's happening, but the words won't come out. He hadn't looked at her until just now, but her skin has taken a strange glow as though she pulls every trace of color into her body. She glows like an incandescent lightbulb, the world around them going dark while she grows brighter.

There's another chime.

And deep in Tony's chest, his insides are being pulled apart at the seams. He cries out in agony as his body is being ripped apart. Tim and Kate are gone now, replaced by darkness, but Tony still holds on. He can't remember how their faces looked, but he remembers how they made him feel. Happy, annoyed, excited, angry, hopeful and everything in between.

"It's time, Tony." Shirley's voice is gentle and comforting.

Now, she is so bright that Tony can't even look at her. She offers her hand, and he takes it, astonished when she doesn't melt the flesh from his fingers. She begins to lead him toward a spot in the darkness, but he can't seem to move. His feet are rooted to the floor, and it feels as though there are chains around his ankles. Keeping him in place.

Nonplussed, she continues forward. She pulls on his hand until he is taut and ready to snap in two. The grips on his legs are unforgiving. He tries to shake it away, but it won't let go.

Shirley doesn't look back. She moves onward, trying to yank Tony with her. She doesn't break stride, even as he calls out to her. She grows brighter with every passing second.

Tony's fingers slip through her palm. Until it is only their fingers touching and then, they slide away. He latches his index finger into her hand and suddenly, that's gone too.

"Shirley," he calls. "Wait for me."

"We'll go later," she promises.

He watches her move away, slowly, slowly, slowly until she is merely a pinprick in the distance.

My name is Tony DiNozzo and I'm a federal agent.

From the horizon, she expands as though she explodes into a giant fireball. There is a rush of wind against his face, tousling his hair and nearly knocking him over. The brightness rushes toward him at breakneck speed. It slams into him with enough force to leave him retching.

And suddenly, all he knows is pain.

Every inch of his body screams out. The darkness is gone and in its place is a brightness searing his retinas. His body shudders as he takes a loud, gasping breath.

And there's pain. Searing, unfathomable as though his internal organs were removed, rearranged, and hastily stuffed back inside.

Tony is yelling, deep and guttural and feral noises. If they would just stop ripping him apart…

"You're okay, Tony," a man's voice pleads. "You're okay."

He struggles to open his eyes and it takes a moment for the world to blur into focus. White, hospital walls and flurry of people working over him. The smell of blood and disinfectant and medicine assaults his nostrils. Doctors and nurses in blue scrubs with white coats work over him. There are tubes and wires and piles of gauze all around him. There is red. So much red.

He yells again. No, he screams.

"You don't get to die today," the man says.

Just at the foot of the bed, a grey-haired man clutches his ankles like a lifeline. He keeps his blue eyes fixed on Tony's face. There is a determined fire burning in his eyes.

"Gibbs," Tony tries to murmur, but he can't get the word out.

Gibbs watches with tear-studded eyes.

Even though his entire body is a screaming, raw nerve endings, Tony manages to look around the hospital room. He writhes in the bed, but he still catches them standing by the door.

Tim McGee and Kate Todd stand shoulder to shoulder. Their faces, pale and grim, are in the glass window framed by the heavy wooden door. Kate's expression is tight with worry. Tim is hollow-eyed, his face as white as death, and guilt dancing in his eyes. There's red splattered all over his chest and some on his cheeks. Kate keeps a strong hand on his shoulder.

Tony wants to ask them what's wrong. To tell them not to worry, that he'll be just fine, but he doesn't have the energy. Instead, he grits his teeth and grimaces back against the bed.

"You were shot, Tony," Gibbs is saying. "When that perp shot at McGee, you jumped right in front of him. Saved McGee's life and damned near ended yours."

The ache in his chest deepens and he thrashes away from the medical team. One of the doctors tells him that they're giving him more medicine, tells him that he shouldn't even be awake. She is apologizing for him being alert and awake. She is asking Gibbs to leave.

"I won't leave him," Gibbs says, squeezing Tony's ankles again.

Tony can't get the words out.

"Stay here, Tony. We need you." Gibbs gets choked up. "I need you."

As the pain medication hits Tony's bloodstream, the pain and the world slowly ebb away. Their faces slowly blur out of focus, but they're still here. Real and alive and breathing. Tim and Kate and Gibbs.

He remembers everything.

One of the doctors leans across Tony to adjust the tubing in his arm. They're still working frantically, but it doesn't bother him as much. It strikes Tony just how much she resembles Shirley Temple with those ringlet curls and baby fat cheeks and striking blue eyes. He wants to tell her that she reminds him of someone he recently met, but he can't remember where. It's right there, just on the tip of his tongue.

He wonders if she knows any blue stories.