TWELVE.

"TONY, BABY, STOP squirming." Abby begged, as she attempted to change the nine month olds' diapers.

He giggled and kicked his legs up in a fit of joy—Tony had to be the happiest baby Abby had ever seen. Even as an infant, Abby noted with some pride, her Tony had always been a talker. Animatedly, the baby went off on rants every few minutes. No one had any idea what it was he was saying, but he always seemed quite pleased with himself, smiling lopsidedly.

"He is so tiny." Ziva said, stepping into the Goths' lab covertly.

Abby looked down at the little bundle on her desk, a hint of sadness in her eyes, and nodded dully. "I thought after we saved him from the bad guys we'd find a cure and Tony would be okay again—but," she paused, on the verge of tears. "It's only gotten worse, Ziva. It's been four days and he's gone from three years old to nine months, he's getting smaller and smaller and he'll keep getting smaller and then—and then…" just as Abby stifled a sob, baby Tony let out a startling wail that resounded against the four walls of her office. His little hands reached out for Abigail, large green eyes brimming with tears. Ducky had explained to them that infants often reacted in tune with the emotion filling a room, and Tony at the moment, was no different. Abby bounced the baby on her lap, putting on a smile for him, and pecked his chubby cheeks playfully. Tony quickly went back to giggling and waving his hands about enthusiastically.

Ziva sighed, and her index and middle finger tip toed across the infants' head gently, making him squeal happily. Tony adored the attention—something that was very unlike their usual Tony, they'd all acknowledged. When Abby had hugged Tony for the first time, she remembered with a tight grimace, the senior field agent had stiffened immediately and something in his eyes had dulled. It had taken a year for Tony to react any differently, and another year for him to start initiating the hugs, himself.

"The doctor is still claiming to be as clueless as we are about the drug—he insists that he was attempting to reverse the effects of the drugs and turn Tony into an adult again." Ziva recounted to the forensic lab tech.

"If that's true, he made it worse." Abby tried to keep the anger out of her voice when she said it, as she was still holding baby Tony, and didn't want to frighten him.

"Gab!" the baby squealed, and both Abby and Ziva turned around to see Gibbs approaching, Kate at his heels. The infant held out his stubby arms and his fingers flexed, begging for Jethro.

Gibbs took Tony from Abbys' arms and cradled him close to his chest.

"So, what did Sheppard say when you informed her of…our current predicament." Ziva inquired, curiosity getting the best of her. They had hidden Tonys' condition for a little over two weeks, but after seeing a baby toddling about in the office that morning, the cat had been let out of the bag.

"The director is sending us home effective immediately." Kate updated them. "We're all on probation for keeping her in the dark about this for so long, and she doesn't want Tony here in the building, in case someone starts suspecting something and goes to the media with this story."

"So she's suspending us? What are we going to do about that child-knapping doctor in holding? We still don't have anything on him." Abby fretted.

Gibbs sighed, "Sheppard promised she'd keep him and currently has another team covertly working on the case and searching his labs and trying to get as much out of the guy as possible. For now, I agree with the director; we should all go home and get some sleep for the time being—Duck, Palmer, and McGee already left. You three take your leaves too, and I'll call you guys if anything happens with Tony." With that, the three remaining members of team Gibbs were dismissed, albeit reluctantly.

"Gab!" baby Tony yelped, when two strong hands lifted the bundle up.

Gibbs wandered to the kitchen with the small child in his arms and sat him atop the table. He could hardly believe this tiny being was his senior field agent. He ran his hand through the babys' soft tufts of hair very gently. "Oh Tony." He sighed—it seemed he'd been doing a lot of that lately.

The baby grinned happily at the interaction and leaned into Gibbs' touch openly, something the adult Tony would never have done. The only contact Gibbs ever had with Tony was in the gym or the occasional head slap around the office. "I miss you Tony." He whispered, kissing the babys' forehead softly.

"Gab!" The baby exclaimed, ducking his head, as if coy.

Gibbs smirked slightly. Even as a child, Tony had been a real character. "Let's get you to bed, kid." Jethro scooped up the baby, almost expecting him to quip, 'What? No dinner first?' and shook his head at the thought.

It was four in the morning when he heard it; the noise was faint but Gibbs trained ears were able to pick up the quiet sobbing coming from down the hall.

Gibbs had taken his daughters' crib from storage and set it up in her old bedroom for Tony when he'd turned into a toddler, and as he peaked inside, past the bars, was shocked to see how incredibly small Tony looked inside the thing—he hadn't looked this small before, surely? Reaching in to pick up the crying baby, Gibbs realized with dread, that in the last few hours since he'd put Tony to bed, he'd de-aged once more. It was frightening. Tony barely weighed seven pounds. Gibbs cradled the crying infant in his hands and tried not to panic. He was as tiny as his daughter had been, the first time he'd held her in the hospital so many years ago.

"Shhh, shhh, its okay, I'm here." He comforted the infant, gently rocking him back and forth in his arms. Tony was a mere speck in his arms—he couldn't get over that. This whole de-aging process was moving too quickly, they needed more time. To do what, Gibbs wasn't sure, entirely. To find a cure? Was there even a cure?

Thirty minutes later Ducky was in Gibbs living room. "God Jethro, our boy is but a few days old right now." He uttered, and then there was a moment of heavy silence that followed the statement.

"Shit." Gibbs muttered, placing his head in his hands. "We're out of time, Duck, it's over." He whispered, voice cracking.

Ducky swiveled around and turned to his oldest friend. "Now Jethro, we are not giving up, there must be something we can do, anything!"

Gibbs eyes widened; he couldn't remember the last time the mortician had looked so desperate and out of his element.

More silence followed.

Gibbs rocked the infant in his arms, lulling him to sleep. "I'm sorry Tony." He whispered into the babys' soft hair.

Tony squirmed in his arms, snuggled deeper into Jethros' warm chest, and let out a contented sigh. In a day, in a couple of hours, in the next few minutes, even, there'd be nothing left of him to hold…

Apologizing now meant nothing, as the infant couldn't possibly understand him. He needed to say so many things to Tony. Say sorry for not being able to save him, above all, but also sorry for never having been able to get up the courage to tell the younger man how much he meant to him. The kid was like a son to him, and now, in his last hours, Gibbs' regret over not having told the adult Tony how much he loved him, was overwhelming.

"I'm so sorry." Gibbs hugged the tiny baby gently. Oh God, he was sorry. So sorry.

"I should've told you, all those years ago, when I hired you. You were so damn loud, DiNozzo." Gibbs scoffed, reminiscing fondly. "So hyper and flirtatious with anything that had legs—Abby wanted to punch you, remember? She griped about having you around, said you were nothing but a muscle-head pretty boy jock and called me crazy for keeping you." Gibbs grinned. She later ate those words. They were best friends now, for heavens' sake. "She was so blinded by her experience with the jocks in her high school days she didn't realize all those bright smiles and cheeky one liners were a mask." He nuzzled the babys' forehead softly. Tony 'mmm'ed and let out another sigh.

"It was after you and she got held hostage at that café near NCIS, after you saved her and all those people from those three gunmen, that she knew you were more than fake grins and all that superficial flirting. I can't remember head-slapping you harder than I did on that day—how could you risk your life like that? You're important too, you know." Gibbs sighed. "Abby went to hug you afterward and you practically cringed, completely stiff. Even today, you still look uncomfortable and awkward for a second before letting yourself relax." Gibbs would love just ten minutes alone with the man who'd fathered Tony, in a soundproof room. Just ten minutes would do.

"I'm sorry Tony." He wasn't entirely sure anymore for what he was asking forgiveness for. "I'm so sorry."

It was seven am when he woke up a second time in the AM. He must have only fallen asleep an hour ago maybe, with the baby snug against him on the bed. Even his internal alarm clock wasn't that good, Gibbs thought, wondering what had woken him in the first place. Reaching out for the infant, his hand recoiled instantly. There was a faint warmth next to him, but nothing else. "Oh God." Gibbs breathed, laying very still on his bed. He could hear the beat of his heart in his ears, it was so incredibly loud. He'd been prepared for this Damnit. They'd made no progress for weeks, it was inevitable. "Oh God." He heard himself say a second time, in a voice not his own.

Abby would slaughter him—he hadn't had the decency to call the team over to say goodbye. Ducky had stormed out abruptly after their argument, but he too, had not been able to bid the senior agent ado. Hell, Gibbs hadn't had the chance to say goodbye. How could he? "Oh God, God, oh God." Tears welled in the rim of his eyes. Breathing suddenly hurt. His chest felt heavy, like something was pressing against it hard. "Tony…" the word broke his voice. Oh God.

Gibbs laid there, the silence too loud and the air too thick to live off, the warmth at his side fading. He couldn't do this. He couldn't get up from this bed and go on with everything. How? The possibility seemed very unreal and far away. Could he just lie in this bed and wait to disappear, too?

How did people do it? How did people lose something so important and precious and perfect to them and then keep going on? He'd done it before—his mother had died and he'd continued with life, two good marines had died beside him at one point and he'd gone on, he'd lost a partner at NCIS, and he'd strived on, the tragic deaths of his beautiful wife and his gorgeous daughter—two irreplaceable people in his life—had overwhelmed him terribly and shattered him, but he had overcome the loss and now thought fondly of his memories of them. Oh, he still missed them, achingly, but he still had it in him every single day to get up out of bed and keep moving.

So why not now? Gibbs' entire body felt heavy and motionless. His limbs weighed him down like anchors on a ship. He couldn't do this again. Gibbs closed his eyes.

"Boss! It's almost 8, I made breakfast, so get up!" a voice shouted from beyond his room.

Gibbs laid stock still for a minute.

"Boss, you're gonna' be late to work." A tiny toddler, around the age of three or four was standing at his door, looking exasperated, holding a spatula in one hand, covered in flour and syrup.

"Tony…" Gibbs uttered.

The toddler raised a brow, "Gibbs. Breakfast. Downstairs. Now." He mocked.

Gibbs practically leapt off the bed, the springs twinging beneath his feet, and he picked up the unprepared, startled child and hugged him so tightly to his chest, Tony could hardly breath.

"Boss, you're suffocating meeeeee." The toddler whined, wondering what on earth was wrong with Gibbs.

"Shhh, just stay like this." Gibbs whispered into the toddlers fluffs of baby soft hair. "Just…stay." He mumbled.