The surroundings were familiar as he walked through the aged house, very familiar indeed. He'd once been as acquainted with this home as he was his own. Everything looked the same as he made his way across the living room floor, but everything was so very different. He'd never expected it to end like this, never even envisaged it. But, as he opened the familiar door…he knew there was no alternative. This was the way it was, and the way it had to be. He'd fought against it for over a solid year, and now… he was tired of fighting.

He didn't feel the rage he's grown accustomed to. Nor the hurt, nor even the confusion.

He felt nothing.

He felt empty.

Pushing open the creaking door, the well known scents hit him hard. How many times had he ambled down these stairs? How many drinks and conversations had taken place in this room? He didn't know, and as he plodded slowly down the stairs, the non caring enveloped him further. The sanding noises didn't cease or desist as he descended the last step. Not that he had expected them to. Holding the envelope in his hand loosely, he took in the hull of the new boat and shook his head.

Some things would never change.

And some things always would.

"Evening Boss," he greeted quietly, speaking to the back of the man who wasn't even acknowledging his presence, though knowing full well who had just entered his basement. Taking his time in straightening up, and slowly wiping his forehead, Gibbs turned to face his visitor with a raised brow.

"DiNozzo," he returned slowly, "What are you doing here?"

Tony smiled an emotionless smile. Couple of years back, before that damned boat shooting, that question would never have been asked. There had never been the need of a reason to drop in. There still wasn't as a matter of fact, for Abby, for McGee and for Bishop. But for him, like everything else, things had changed. He shrugged slightly, and felt the weight of the envelope in his hand grow heavier.

He thought he would find this difficult.

He thought he'd struggle and fumble to find the words. He thought it would be some kind of defining moment. He thought that it would mean something, to both of them.

But he was wrong.

Handing out the envelope to Gibbs, who took it instinctively, he shrugged once more. "I'm here to resign Boss," he explained evenly, "I'm giving you my three weeks' notice. I got a job with DC Vice. Means I can stay in town, but…I'm done with NCIS."

It took all his effort to not to add "and you."

There was a silence to beat all silences, but just for a moment.

"Sounds like a good gig," Gibbs eventually muttered, with an almost ingrained level of nonchalance, "I'm sure you'll fit right in there. Best of luck with it, DiNozzo." He moved forwards slightly, and offered a resoundingly perfunctory handshake. "We'll miss you."

Tony stared at the man and at the hand.

And stared.

The empty feeling he had experienced on the drive to Gibbs', and as he had wandered through the upper level of the house was leaving him now. Replacing it was the leaden anger, hurt and bewilderment that had dogged him for nearly two years. He hadn't expected the man to weep like an infant, or to beg him to stay. He wasn't deluded, nor moronic. But this…this cold, baseline level of disinterest was, even in the overall scheme of change, one hell of a kick in the teeth.

A cold smile spread across the handsome face, as he resolutely ignored the outstretched hand.

"Really are a bastard, aren't you Boss?"

Gibbs let his hand fall to his side, as he tilted his head and narrowed his eyes.

"What was that, DiNozzo?" he challenged quietly, a steely glint boring into Tony's eyes. "You come into my house, and talk to me like that?" He held up the resignation that he had accepted without a single question, after thirteen years loyal service and gave a twisted smirk. "You think just because you're running off to play with the big boys over in Vice, that you don't need to show me respect anymore?"

Tony instantly sensed and smelled that he'd been drinking.

His eyes roved behind the older man and saw the tell tale Mason jar.

He shook his head.

"Been overdoing it again, have you?"

Not needing to look to see what Tony was referring to, Gibbs felt the near constant rage flare up in him with a surging force. "Get out of my house," he snarled, "But don't be mistaken, I want that three weeks out of you before you go. I trained your sorry ass, taught you everything you god damned know. You'll be giving me your all for the next three weeks, or I'll make you regret it." He shot the younger man the look of disdain intermingled with disinterest that Tony had become accustomed to. "Out. Now."

Tony returned a similar look of disgust.

"You didn't teach me everything I know," he contradicted icily; "I am a damned good Agent, in my own right. I was a great cop before I ever laid eyes on you, and I'll be a great Agent long after I've forgotten all about you."

Gibbs smiled a slow smile of eerie contempt.

"You tell yourself that kiddo," he drawled, "Now, run along and get the hell out of my sight. I don't need any more house calls from you." He threw his head in the direction of the stair case. "Why don't you use your great Agent like skills, and find the door. All by yourself."

The calm and almost catatonic feeling was rapidly leaving Tony. The hurt, the misery and the frustrations of the last year or so buzzing within him, threatening to burst their tired banks. He looked at Gibbs and in that moment, felt dizzy. The man had been one of the most important people in his life for such a long time; he was the father figure he'd never had. The one he'd gravitated to, the one he turned to. And for whatever reason or reasons unknown to him, Gibbs had turned.

Turned against him.

And only him.

When Gibbs shot him one last sneering look, and turned back towards his boat…that was when Tony saw red.

Redder than red.

He reached out and sharply grabbed his arm, twisting it in his grasp and preventing Gibbs from turning further. Shock splashed across the older man's face as he looked down at the vice like hold on his arm and the thunderous expression on his disenfranchised protégées face.

"You got one second to take your hands off me, before I knock you on your damned ass."

Tony twisted the arm further, and laughed coldly when Gibbs refused to show the obvious pain.

"You always were one unfeeling bastard, huh?"

The rage that had built within him was frothing at the mouth. He looked at the older man, and saw only the pain he had caused him. The way he had dismissed, denigrated and demeaned him. The way he had used the last two years to expel him from the tight knit group that was team Gibbs. The way, he had spent eleven, nearly twelve years under his tough, but ultimately caring guidance only to have spent the last year or so utterly in the cold. Without reason, or explanation. Without cause, or warrant.

He felt his very core shiver with the cumulative rage and the hurt.

He had put a brave face on it for so long.

Remained loyal for so long.

But now, as he looked into the lined face in front of him, engulfed in the stench of bourbon, he imagined himself implanting his fist between those eyes. He imagined the blood spurting from the nose, and the look of shock on the old man's face when he realised that he was no longer his whipping boy. No longer his puppy to kick, no longer there to expel his demons upon.

"Last warning DiNozzo," Gibbs hissed, his eyes flashing, "Take your hand off of me, before I snap it like a twig."

Tony cocked his head to one side, and obligingly removed his hand, lifting it into the air and examining it with an intense concentration.

"This hand?"

Gibbs merely growled deeply in his throat, his eyes flashing with menace. Tony chuckled with an eerie emptiness, before shrugging nonchalantly. "So you don't want me to hold your hand anymore, Boss? You don't want me to wipe your ass and take your shit? Gonna give that role to McGee now, are ya? Gonna make him your scapegoat, your punching bag?"

He chuckled darkly again, before seemingly being struck by inspiration.

"Speaking of punching bags…"

He smiled grimly once more, examining the hand that he'd removed from his soon to be ex-boss.

Before slowly curling that hand into a fist and landing it squarely on the elder man's jaw.

Gibbs never saw it coming

…..

A/N: Not my usual story, as I'm a huge Gibbs fan. This isn't a Gibbs bashing story, there's a plot to this. Will probably entail maybe two more chapters. Sort of an alternative ending to the last season, which didn't work for me. Will be updating Ohana soon also, for those following that one. Thanks for reading, and please let me know what you thought!

-Inks

….