The silence reigned all the way to Tony's apartment building, and Gibbs tried futilely to come up with something to say, but he couldn't remember the last movie he had watched and he hadn't been keeping up with the football season so he stayed quiet. And there were just no words to make what had happened at the Harris house make any sort of sense.

Gibbs pulled his car into a visitors spot and cut the engine, waiting for Tony's protest.

It came, and the exhaustion in his agent's voice almost made Gibbs give in. "You don't have to stay."

Gibbs just looked at him. "You really think you should be alone right now?"

Tony ignored the question. "I'm just going to sleep," he said, turning his wrist to check his watch.

"Don't worry about getting to the office today, DiNozzo," he said, feeling both exasperation and a touch of pride. "Take the day off and get some rest." Somehow I doubt you'll be sleeping—until your body overrules your mind and you pass out.

Gibbs wasn't sure if it was the actual words or the soft concern in them that had Tony looking away, as though shamed, but he kicked himself anyway. DiNozzo was a study in contradictions, and Gibbs knew it: The man who shamelessly begged for attention when all was well always shied away from it when all was not. It made Gibbs wonder if it wouldn't be more kind to just leave Tony alone.

But Gibbs knew that once the shock wore off, the pain would set in with a vengeance at being ignored so long. All kinds of pain, he knew from experience. And while Gibbs knew the injury to his agent's chest was likely superficial, the damage to the man's psyche was far less certain.

In short, Gibbs just couldn't leave Tony alone with his thoughts, his demons—all that pain.

"Traffic'll be a bitch by the time I get even close to home," Gibbs tried again. "You mind if I crash on your couch?"

The look in Tony's tired eyes said he didn't buy it for a minute, but again he gave in without a word, just a shake of his head as he got out of the car. Gibbs watched him wince and then blink in surprise, as if disbelieving that getting shot in the chest at close range should actually hurt. But it didn't surprise Gibbs because he knew Tony always put his own pain last—even in cases like this when he was the only one left to feel.

As he followed his agent to his front door, Gibbs wondered why he himself was barely reacting to the child's death. Kids always got him. Always. Especially kids close in age to his own lost daughter and especially when those children died violent deaths.

Kevin's death had certainly been violent. But Gibbs had stepped over his body, closing his heart as firmly as the case file because that was the only way to get through it. It wouldn't do anyone any good if there was nothing left of Gibbs to offer his suffering agent.

He followed Tony through the door and wondered just how he planned on offering that comfort, just why he thought he was capable of giving it or Tony was capable of accepting it.

But it didn't matter. He knew he had to try.

Gibbs watched Tony drop his keys into a drawer of a small stand in the entryway, and he muttered, "Not gonna steal your car, DiNozzo."

Tony turned, reminding Gibbs too late of his impeccable hearing. "No, but a thief might."

Gibbs just raised an eyebrow.

"Advice from my first partner," Tony said, sounding as if he were on autopilot—as if it were the only way to function after such numbingly senseless violence. "First thing a smart thief takes is keys—to cars, boats, storage sheds. Hell, sometimes they even come back with the house keys, just in case the victim is too dumb or too lazy to change their locks. Smitty stayed with me during his divorce and he harped on me every day about my keys. Gave me that table as a thank-you for putting up with him."

Gibbs watched Tony's eyes thaw slightly as he spoke so he asked, "You still talk to him?"

The ice returned—in liquid form—and Tony blinked back the sudden tears, saying quietly, "Died last year. Shot while trying to stop a robbery off-duty."

Gibbs winced. "Damned shame," he said, wondering why he could offer an "I'm sorry for your loss" to a victim's grieving family but couldn't do the same for this man he loved like a son. "Sounds like he was a good guy."

"He was," Tony said, his overused voice cracking again.

They stood there, the silence awkward as Gibbs watched Tony fight more tears as he stared at the table. Gibbs was sorry he had brought up another painful subject, but he didn't know how to take it back anymore than he knew how to offer the apology.

"You should go wash your face," Gibbs finally said, not unkindly.

Tony nodded slowly, distantly. "Make yourself at home," he said, flinching on the last word and turning away to hide a face red with both embarrassment and a child's blood.

Gibbs watched him go and tried not to sigh, thinking again that maybe he should have just left. He went and sat on the couch, waiting to hear the bathroom door open again and wondering if words of comfort would magically appear when it did.

After a long while, Gibbs realized he hadn't heard a faucet or a shower, and he felt the first tingling in his gut—and the conviction that he had been right in not leaving Tony alone. He forced himself up from the softness of the couch and moved silently down the short hall, waiting outside the bathroom for some sign of life inside.

He got nothing.

He forced aside images of DiNozzo lying in pools of his own blood and told himself he knew Tony would never take his own life.

But just because he told himself that didn't mean he was sure he believed it.

Gibbs shook his head and knocked on the bathroom door, only to have it swing inward, revealing Tony staring in the mirror at a smudge of blood beneath his right eye. Gibbs started to back away, kicking himself for having doubted his friend, but he stopped cold at Tony's soft words.

"When you mentioned Kate before," he said, sounding as dazed as just after the boy was shot in his arms, "it was like catching that bullet all over again." He paused, putting a hand to his chest and taking a shaky breath. "I hadn't even thought about her."

He looked down, causing the tears that had been shining in his eyes to slip down his face, half of them taking nearly dried blood with them. He looked up, meeting Gibbs' eyes in the mirror with agony in his own.

But his voice was unnervingly blank despite the wetness on his cheeks. "A bullet in a vest and blood on my face, and I didn't even think once about her." His eyes closed, sending more pinkish tears rolling toward the floor. "How could I forget about her like that?"

Gibbs froze, feeling Tony's raw pain and wishing for all the world that he could make it stop—for both of them. He offered, "I guess you're just more well-adjusted than me."

Tony coughed a sound that could easily have been a laugh—or a choked sob—and he gave Gibbs a look.

Gibbs tried a small smile in return. "You remember her as she was when she was still alive," he said, and it was only a half-question.

The silence stretched long enough to make Gibbs wonder if he had said the wrong thing, but then Tony just frowned hard and nodded. "I try to."

Another small smile and a nod were all Gibbs gave in return, but he stayed while Tony cleaned the rest of the blood off his face. Gibbs watched Tony dab at the cut on his neck, the thin scab broken by his efforts to wash away the blood. For a moment, Gibbs just watched Tony watch himself bleed, but then Gibbs stepped forward, raising a hand to put pressure on the wound.

Tony blinked back into awareness and stepped back. "It's fine," he said, a slight edge to his tone as he stared down at the red wad of tissues in his hand.

Gibbs' eyes followed and a thought struck him, making him speak without thinking. "Red. What were you trying to tell us with the codeword 'red'?"

A muscle ticked in Tony's jaw and he closed his eyes, biting hard on his lip as if to keep from screaming something. "Nothing," he said, his tone blank again. "It doesn't matter now."

While Gibbs was debating whether to let that go, Tony finished up and brushed by him, only to stop a few steps away and look back at his boss. "You need anything before I hit the rack?"

Gibbs shook his head, and then watched Tony nod and turn away. Gibbs went and retrieved the overnight bag he kept in his car from the living room floor where he had dropped it upon entering Tony's apartment. He went through the motions, not letting himself think—even after he had settled on his agent's comfortable couch.

He closed his eyes, seeing nothing but red—at first just the color, but then images of Kevin's shattered skull—and he realized he had screwed up. He had failed to read the code correctly, failed to make the call his agent had been begging him to make.

He had failed Tony.

Gibbs snapped awake later that morning, the lack of pain in his body telling him he wasn't under his boat, as usual. He blinked several times and remembered where he was.

Unfortunately, he also remembered why he was there—and what his final thoughts had been before drifting off to dream.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

Gibbs sat up, finding Tony leaning against the wall near the kitchen. He didn't like the stiff formality to the words or the suit his agent was wearing. "Time is it?"

"Almost 0930," Tony answered, watching his boss eye him as critically as a crime scene. He forced a dim version of his usual megawatt grin. "I knew I shouldn't have made coffee. Like popping open a jar of honey near a hibernating bear."

Gibbs didn't speak, didn't smile back. He just eyed the insanely expensive suit and brightly colored silk tie and fought down a sigh. He knew what Tony was doing—and he didn't like it one bit. He had meant it when he said he wasn't sure if he wanted Tony to be fine after everything that had happened.

Because Tony wasn't fine.

The dark circles under his still-haunted eyes said as much as the overly sharp clothes, and Gibbs didn't want DiNozzo pretending nothing had happened. A tragedy had happened—right in front of his face—and while Gibbs didn't want Tony to suffer, he also didn't want him feigning false cheer to cover his pain.

"Thought I said to take the day off?" Gibbs said, managing to put some force behind the words.

Tony flinched. But he recovered quickly—much too quickly for Gibbs' liking.

"Come on, Boss, I've got reports to file, probies to harass."

"Would you stop that?" Gibbs bit out, standing and trying to ignore how Tony's carefully slouched posture straightened ever so slightly as he approached.

Tony gave him a blank look, but it was forced blankness, and Gibbs realized from that subtle difference just how affected the agent still was—and how hard he was trying to hide it.

"Stay home, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, finding his shoes and slipping them on. "That's an order."

Tony shoved off the wall with a wince, making Gibbs wonder just how much pain he was in from that bullet. "But Boss, I—"

"Fine," Gibbs said, shouldering his bag and heading for the door. "You wanna come in today? First place you go is to Ducky for a chest x-ray." Tony followed him into the entryway, but Gibbs held up a hand to stop the protest. "You got shot. And even if that bullet didn't go through ya, you still need to be cleared medically for field work."

Tony's mouth was set in a thin, hard line as Gibbs stepped outside the apartment. "That's not fair."

Gibbs snorted. "Life's not fair, Tony," he said, realizing too late that Tony had held a dead little boy in his arms not twelve hours ago and likely knew that hard lesson well. He started to speak, but Tony just closed the door behind him.

"No, Gibbs. It isn't."