"Dead," Dr Mensen announced, with just the right amount of dramatic flair. "I mean as in dead, dead," he added, as though there was a rising scale of deadness and Gibbs was in danger of catching a particularly bad bout. "In one to two days, tops. He's surpassed expectations in staying alive this long, I personally have come to the conclusion that he's too stubborn to die. But he will, eventually, he will. I am seriously overstepping my bounds here and feel absolutely free to report me to the administration, but I can't stand by and watch my patient die from stupidity. I know I'm being unprofessional, this is the most unprofessional thing I have ever done, but you have to go back and talk to him. He's…there's a lot going on under the surface, Mr DiNozzo, and you have to go back there and talk to him. His life depends upon it." Tony stared, his eyes cold, a mere five feet from Gibbs' room. That's as far as he'd gotten before being halted in his staggering steps.

"It's Agent DiNozzo."

"Yes of course, my apologies, Agent DiNozzo," said Dr Mensen, reminded forcibly of his patient's maddening insistences on being addressed by his professional title. "But please think on what I have said. I will say no more and leave you to your thoughts and like I indicated, feel free to report me. I have never done anything like this before but…" his eyes cast over to the direction of Gibbs' room, "I've never had a patient like Mr Gibbs." He shook his head and corrected himself before Tony could. "Agent Gibbs, I mean Agent Gibbs." With that, he gave a professional if slightly haggard nod of his head and swept down the corridor, his white coat billowing out behind him. Watching him go and leaning on his mobile IV stand for support, Tony for the first time in his life, felt old.

Really damned old.

His head was still turned into the wall as he shuffled back through the doors, his movements and gait stilted. Assuming he was a maddening nurse, Gibbs kept his head stiffly tuned upon the wall, the tears that had spilled on Tony's departure having dried into stale tracks upon his face. Sitting down with a grunt of pain, the entrant cleared his throat pointedly. Rolling his eyes and mistaking the visitor for that imbecilic Dr Mensen, Gibbs sat up straight as a rod with a glower on his face. Shock quickly replaced the anger as he stared at Tony, mouth agape. "I thought I told you to leave?" he barked, quickly conjuring up his defensive strategy, feeling the energy seeping like a leech from him in the process.

Tony inclined his head.

"You did, but here I am. I am not leaving. I don't know if I'm unconsciously masochistic, or I have long term Stockholm Syndrome, but I'm not leaving. I asked you…what seems like a lifetime ago now, in your basement, why it had come to this, and then I convinced myself I didn't need to know. But I do, Gibbs, I do need to know. I need to move on from this. I need closure. I need to know what went wrong. I need to know why you would rather die than ask for my help. I need to know why you hid your illness from me, when you knew I could save your life. I need to know why you hate me so much that you would rather lose your life than have anything to do with me." His throat constricted, the enormity of the past few months weighing and piling in, "I need to know what I did wrong, to make you hate me this much. Please, Gibbs…at least give me that?"

It was an act, and it was a damned good one.

Tony had been Gibbs' student for a long, long time. And in being so, had learned as much about the man teaching him the job as the job itself. As the years had gone by, he'd had less and less to learn about the job but more and more to learn about the man. And if there was one thing that would set him off, it was self pity. And when he got mad, he got truthful. There was no time to pussyfoot around anymore, if that Dr Mensen was to believed. Time was something that Gibbs didn't have. He carefully sculpted his face into that of wounded pleading as the elder man cast a look at him, his knees drawn up to his chest. In that moment, it really struck Tony that Gibbs looked nothing more than a frail old man, lying in a sickly state in some sterile dump of a hospital. But apparently, he remained sharp.

"You think I don't know when you figured out that little trick of yours, DiNozzo?"

Tony blinked.

"What trick?" Smirking a shadow of his former smirk and wincing as the effort bit at him, Gibbs shook his head. "The one you figured out on the DuPont case, about six years ago. The one where you deliberately try and work me up by putting on that damned puppy look of yours so I'll get so mad I can't help but shout out some truths. But stellar job on the acting, I'd almost believe it. Tony…would you just go would ya? There's no point in you sticking around here for this. Go, look after your team. That's your job now. They need you, I don't." Tony felt his heart ice over. "They don't need a piece of my liver to stay alive. You do. And you've known that you do for the longest time. I'm guessing since your hospitalisation from the ship shooting? That's when they found the cancer, isn't it? And that's when they searched for possible donors and I, being an organ donor with my details in the system, appeared as a one in a…whatever it is, match. A perfect match. I know I might not be perfect in life but I am a perfect match. And you knew about it, and didn't tell me. Didn't even give me the chance to make my own mind up and it was around then you turned on me. Why?"

Gibbs let out a long, painful breath.

"Damnit, Tony, would you leave it alone? We've said all we had to say to each other. There is no going back from where we are now, even if I had all the time in the world. You need to move on from me. From everything to do with me. You need to stop asking why and just move the hell on. People change, life changes. You need to get used to that and stop asking why all the damned time. There is no why, alright? There is no "why" about me getting shot by that kid. There is no "why" about me dying from cancer and there is no "why" about why I chose to keep my personal business, personal. There is no damn why. So stop asking for one and just go, live your life. Now. You need to go and start living your life now."

Tony merely shook his head, an odd calmness descending upon him.

"No, I need to do what's best for me. And I get to determine what's best for me, not you. And if I determine that knowing why is what's best for me, the least you can do is give it to me. After all I've given you, that's the very least that you can give me. I don't care if I have to hear it on your dying breath, I'll sit here until I hear it." Gibbs grimaced in ire that his body didn't have the stamina to support. He turned his head an inch more to glare at his once-upon-a-time right hand man, and found to his immense shame, that the tears weren't far off again. Closing his eyes and racking in a breath that caused his lungs to scream in pain, he thought deeply. He didn't have much time left and his biggest regret was staring him in the face, offering him the opportunity of full disclosure. He cracked. In that moment, he caved. The minute the decision was made, his eyes were enervated with a hint of his old steeliness as he locked eyes with a patiently and mutely staring Tony.

"You want to know why I 'turned' on you?"

The younger agent nodded immediately.

"I do."

Gibbs chewed his lip and broke eye contact, staring down at the thin blanket that covered his knees. When he spoke, it was almost as if he were explaining things to himself, not to Tony. His voice was thin and wispy, nothing like his own. His shoulders caved with the effort of his unburdening and the lines of his face seemed to etch a little deeper. Knowing that this was in all likelihood, the last conversation he would ever had with the man that was once his strongest relationship, Gibbs picked his words out carefully.

Something he was far from accustomed to.

"When I woke up in the hospital after Luke had shot me, it felt like I was dead. Everything hurt, everything was slow and every time I closed my eyes I could still see that kid standing over me. His face gets all mixed up with Kelly's, and his voice get's all mixed up with Shannon's. I made the mistake of thinking I knew how to handle that boy and it nearly cost me my life. I was shot, nearly fatally, by a kid. Just when I get my head around that, they come and sit down on my bed with that look that lets you know things aren't good, that doctor look. They tell me I'm lucky to be alive and that I will heal in time, but they found something in my liver that concerned them during my op. So while I was out, they investigated. Cancer. Aggressive, but relatively early. Best treatment plan, a partial, living transplantation. Doctor told me that in a way, I was lucky the kid shot me. Otherwise it would have gone undetected and it would have been too late. They tell me they ran my…whatever you call it through their systems looking for a donor and low and behold, can you believe it, they found one."

He swallowed.

"Anthony DiNozzo, a perfect match. That's what they tell me. As if I should be delighted. As if I should be thrilled to ask you to risk your life for mine, again. They tell me they were waiting till I woke up to contact you. I told them not to. I told them I would sue them all the way back to the stone age if they tried. They hummed and hawed and mewled. Said I was killing myself. Brought in some fancy ass shrink who told me I had PTSD. I've had PTSD, I served, and I know what it's like. I didn't have PTSD. I just didn't have the will anymore. So then they bring in a different fancy ass shrink who tells me I'm depressed. I've had depression, and I know what it's like. I didn't have depression. I just didn't care anymore. I'm not young anymore, Tony. I'm not a young man. That survival instinct, that living at all costs gene, that fades a bit when you get to my age and you don't have a woman, children and grandchildren to live for. So, yeah, I told them not to call you. Live transplantation has serious risks. It can kill. You're not an old man, you still have a reason to live. Life is enough of a reason for you to keep on living."

He continued to speak to the blanket, but sensing that Tony's eyes were bulging.

"All I wanted to do was to get back to work. I didn't want this treatment and that treatment, wires hanging out of me here, there and everywhere. I just wanted to get back to work and do as much as I could, whilst I still could. I passed their stupid psych evaluation and with time, their physical evaluation. I was warned and warned that by doing nothing, I was signing my own death warrant. And that was fine by me, as long as I could do some more good first. So time goes by and I eventually make it back to NCIS, back to the job. But everything's different. Everyone's different, and yet everything and everyone is the same. It's me, I'm different. But I can't see that. My first day back and all I can see is…you. You in my place, you directing my team, you being me and doing a fine job of it."

He scrubbed a hand across his eyes.

"And I took back the reins. You handed them over without a second thought, delighted I was back. But you knew I wasn't who I was, you all did. I saw the way you looked at me, the way you all looked at me. Like I was an accident waiting to happen. I chalked that up, told myself it was to be expected. But it carried on, in a way none of you were even aware. I'd give an order, and Tim…Bishop, they'd look at you instead of me. They'd look at you for the nod, for the go ahead. And you gave it, without even realising you were giving it. I might have been back, I might have been the boss again but I wasn't really. You were, they looked to you. Abby treated me like a frail child, directing the more…gruesome reports to you. Everyone was looking to you. It was as if I were there as a figurehead and nothing else. And I was slower in the field because everything ached. You knew that and you took the lead, putting yourself in the positions I'd always held. I was flanking you, not the other way around."

He looked up at the sterile white walls and smiled a twisted smile of regret.

"And…I began to resent you, Tony. It was as if you were taking the last thing I had left away from me. And you were doing it with a damned smile. The more and more time went on, the more and more the team still looked to you. Tim would run ideas past you and not me. Ellie would ask questions from you and not me. I…well I guess I was jealous. I knew my time was running out and my dying wish as it were, was to run my team for as long as I could and there you were, running it from the backseat. So I started freezing you out. I focussed on Bishop, on training her, on teaching her everything I could whilst I still could. Tim, I've taught nearly everything I can teach, but I focussed on him too. Anything and anyone but you. I was chewed up with anger about Luke, about the cancer, about everything. And you…you were there. You were an easy target. You gave me an outlet because I convinced myself you were taking what was mine and all that I had left, so why not give you hell?"

The effort of his own admission was beginning to show on Gibbs' pale face, but he ploughed on.

"Then, I started getting mad about things that weren't even job related. There you were, on my six for thirteen or more years, and you hadn't moved. You hadn't moved a single rung up the ladder. I convinced myself then that my rage for you was actually for your benefit. I was trying to push you out of the nest, force you to better yourself. I was doing it for you. But I wasn't, not really. All I saw was the possibilities that lay in front of you and the ruins that lay behind me. You could be anything you wanted, you're young. Wife, kids, better job…the works. And I couldn't. All I could have was what was left and you were in the way of that. I…started to hate you, I did. You could have had anything but all you seemed to want was the one thing I could have. The team, the job. At first, I didn't tell you about the cancer or the transplant because I didn't want to risk your life, or hurt you. But as time went on, I guess…I got a savage satisfaction in having something you didn't know about, couldn't take, or alter."

He laughed then, a terrifying empty sound.

"How sick is that? I was nearly happy to have cancer simply because you didn't know about it. It was like having one thing that was still mine, even if was killing me. But I knew you'd figure things out eventually. No matter what's happened between us, you really are the best young agent I have ever worked with. So I needed you gone, and I needed you gone fast. So I kept pushing and pushing. You held firm. Jesus did you hold firm. As I felt myself getting weaker and weaker I thought you'd never go. By that time, I was so invested in hating you, in blaming you, that I couldn't wait to see the back of you. It wasn't about protecting you anymore, it was about protecting myself. I pushed harder and you eventually snapped. It took a hell of a lot longer than it should have, but you're as loyal as they come aren't you? So that night, when you came to my basement, I should have been relieved, right? I had finally gotten what I wanted."

He shook his head, aging another ten years in the process.

"But I wasn't. When you handed me that letter of resignation, it's like a switch flipped in my head. A truth switch. I saw that all the times you took the lead, it's because you were trying to help me. I saw that the way you had kept the team together wasn't an attempt to take what was mine, but you doing the job I'd trained you to do. But it was too late then, wasn't it? The damage was done. I'd kicked you one too many a time and that made me angrier than ever, because I couldn't face it. Couldn't face what I'd done to you, to us. I knew there was no going back, so I lashed out. Clever, right? I've come close to strangling you over the years Tony, but to actually…physically…attack you like I did? There's no coming back from that, even if I had all the time in the world. Because that moment, in the basement, was the time to tell you all this. Not now, whilst I'm wasting away in this damned bed like an invalid. But then. But I didn't because I'm a coward. I couldn't face what I'd done over the past nearly two years, so I got angry. Can't feel guilt if all you feel is anger, the coward's equation."

He fiddled with where his first wedding ought to be.

"Story of my life I guess."

Even if Tony had been capable of speech in that moment, he wouldn't have had the chance.

"So, in summary. I got shot, I got cancer. You were my lifeline, but I worried it would kill you. The risks are massive. So I said no. I'd simply live the rest of my life on my terms, surrounded by you lot. But anger is a festering disease. I was angry at the world and when I came back to was left of my world, it seemed there wasn't enough room for you and I in it. One of us had to go, and I decided in all my stupid wisdom that it had to be you. You were everything I was and everything I couldn't be and I hated you for it. Now I'm dying and my biggest regret is knowing that I tried to destroy the one person who's been there for me, through thick and thin, since the day he knocked me on my ass in a filthy Baltimore alley. I guess death put things in perspective, makes some of the rules you've lived by your whole life seem…irrelevant." He finally turned to look at Tony, who was paler than he had ever seen him in his entire life. "There's something you should know," he murmured, feeling weariness dog him like a thick smog. "Something I should have told you a long, long time ago. Something I know won't help, nothing can, but something I need to tell you before it's too late."

He slumped back on the thin pillows, his face draining of all colour but his voice still audible.

"I'm sorry, Tony."

…..

A/N: Question: I could wrap this up in one more chapter, or I could carry on for a few more with a view to exploring where Tony and Gibbs go from here. Preferences?

Lemme know

(This is just my take/explanation for how Gibbs treated Tony, I know everyone has their own, this is just mine!)

_Inks

…...