A/N: Hey guys.
Here's today's chapter. Short, but here's where we really begin a new part of the plot, and you'll soon see why. I'll say this much: Tony isn't dead. I know with all the stuff happening to him in this story and past stories, you might think I just like to kill off our favorite characters. Not true. You'll see why this is so important in the next chapter, and how it's actually a lot different than in the past.
See you soon! Don't forget to review.
Tony sat at his desk, his fingers tapping at the desk underneath his hands in boredom. He yawned. Gibbs had ordered him not to do anything until he got back, and though Gibbs wasn't allowed to headslap him for a few days, he knew the consequences that he would face were he to disobey those orders.
McGee sat at his own desk, typing furiously, searching through Tony's list of enemies. After several sarcastic jests, Tony had finally worn down the younger agent with spitballs and now they sat in silence.
"So how did Gibbs ever convince Metro to let us have the case?" Tony interrupted the silence.
McGee stopped typing hesitantly. "Said it made sense,"
"Made sense?"
"Said he had reason to believe it was connected to NCIS, what with Ziva,"
"Both had bombs," Tony realized. "Still, it's not much to go on,"
"Metro doesn't know that," McGee said.
"Ah," He replied, returning to tapping his fingers on his desk. He opened his desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of pills. He took three with a large gulp of the cold coffee that sat on his desk. "What can I do, Boss?" He wiped at his forehead, feeling the sweat that had moistened his head. He pulled of his jacket, glad to be wearing some more casual clothing—it was far too hot in the squadroom tonight. The humidity seemed worse than usual.
Gibbs looked around. "Go to Autopsy,"
"I knew I annoyed you, Boss, but I didn't think you'd wish me dead,"
"Get some sleep," He ordered. He knew what Tony was doing. It was what he had always done. He was hiding behind his humor, his jokes. He was protecting himself.
"Okay, Boss," Tony said after a moment, suddenly realizing finding himself exhausted. He walked over to the elevator and pressed the "down" button. He rubbed at his aching head. The elevator opened quickly. Figures. It was two AM. Hardly anyone was in the building. I'm tired of pretending.
He stood in the elevator for a moment and the throbbing in his head grew at an amazing rate. He could feel his heart begin to speed up. He threw his hands to his head, doubling over. Too many memories. Too many emotions. They were filling his mind like water to a car. He couldn't get them out. And when they were in, he couldn't block them out. He was drowning is in own head.
"Agh!" He cried a little, his face contorted. Sweat moistened his forehead and neck as he began to lose control. His breathing was growing heavy and uneven. He groaned loudly as his knees buckled and he fell to the ground. He clutched his head, voices running through his mind at the speed of light. He felt his lungs closing up.
Ding! He could hear the elevator doors open, but he only groaned more loudly, unable to stand, unable to call, unable to think.
"Tony?" A far off voice called.
He couldn't answer.
He was gone.
I'm here with you.
I'm here with you.
I'm here with you.
Poor Tony. Check back soon for a new chapter. Please review!