Warning/spoiler: A story about Tony leaving wouldn't be complete, imho without dealing with the freakin huge elephant in the room who's wearing a pink and purple polka-dots onesie and has never gone away. Said large pachyderm is the deal breaker which caused a lot of people to stop watching NCIS because it was so egregious, and yet treated as a huge joke by the writers. It is the episode that Tim and Ziva fans insist is a beat-up by people like me and it is one of the most popular story tags for fanfics trying to make it right. If you haven't figured out what I'm referring to yet – what planet are you on? Seriously, if you don't like the Military at Home - Dead Air episode because you think it was a storm in a teacup then do us both a favour and stop reading.

Thank-you to everyone who commented or faved.

One more thing guys - if you've derived enjoyment out of the Anthony DiNozzo character over the last 13 seasons, either by watching the show, writing fan fics or reading them, show your appreciation by voting for Michael Weatherly who has received a nomination for best actor in the EW Poppy awards. Sure it aint an Emmy but it is some consolation for the crap farewell he was given and it might make TPTB sit up and think about how they treated the actor, the character and his fans after 13 loyal years. And TBH, after making a silk purse out of the sow's ear of the character that MW was given, in my book he's more than earned it. Fanfic dot net won't permit me to provide a link for you, so you'll have to Google Poppy-Awards-drama-nominees and vote for the best actor category. Thanks!

Serieux Part 2

Chapter 6 Soul Searching

Dr Grace Confalone sat watching as her client, Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs paced around her office like a feral tiger on the prowl for prey, intermittently ranting. He'd contacted her earlier, sounding like he was in dire straits, so she'd cleared her next several appointments to see him. If he didn't calm down, he was in danger of having another of his stress-induced collapses.

And therein lay the difficulty of this case. Dr Cyril Taft had referred Jethro to her after he'd experienced an attack at work that had landed him back in a hospital bed. After exhaustive tests to find a physical aetiology for his excruciating chest pain, Taft had finally found a minute area on a scan that he'd diagnosed as scar tissue. While it was possible that this had caused Gibbs collapse at NCIS, she thought it was not probable.

Grace suspected that Gibbs 'attack' was psychogenic in nature, and even if the scar tissue was a factor, there was likely to be large psychological aspect to the attack. She had a feeling that Cyril was of like mind, even if he'd suggested otherwise to Gibbs as a sop to his very fragile male ego, but she wasn't certain since discussing this particular case with him hadn't been easy. And therein lay the awkward nature of Gibbs' referral because although he was Taft's surgical/trauma patient, he'd somewhat manipulatively forced Taft into being his 'therapist' via various mechanisms including emotional blackmail and medical noncompliance.

Rightly recognising he was out of his depth pretty much immediately, Cyril had referred him to Grace, except that Taft was also her client, as well in this case as her colleague. Yeah, can we all just say awkies?

So she had somewhat limited information about Gibbs, apart from the medical file on him from his multiple GSW and sparse details about possible PTSD, his attack at work and some grief issues left over from his wife and daughter. Apparently it was this familial loss which had drawn the two men together in a classic misery loves company move. Plus, she was aware that in addition to being a special agent for the Naval Criminal Investigative Service he was a former Marine, but that was pretty much the extent of her knowledge.

Watching him pace and rant about his security clearance and his right to know where his 2IC was going after accepting a new job, Dr Confalone stared at her client in dismay. Something told her that Gibbs' issues ran a whole lot deeper than the mere repercussions of getting shot on the job or losing a spouse and child. Gibbs' rage did not seem to be proportional to what had caused him to lose his gourd. It made Grace speculate about what the hell was going on with the clearly angry man.

The dismayed therapist wondered just how she could acquire his NCIS jacket, including his mandatory psych. evals, most specifically, the most recent one after he'd been shot before he returned to work. Grace mentally ran through who she knew at NCIS or who she knew who knew someone who worked there since it probably would be difficult to obtain. Feeling a measure of concern when watching Gibbs 'emote' she felt it was absolutely imperative she try to get a handle on what was really going on inside her client's head.

For now, she was concerned about his blood pressure due to his over the top fury and against her better instincts she handed him a strong cup of Marine coffee. Knowing that caffeine could theoretically elevate his blood pressure, she also knew when it came to Gibbs, coffee was like breast milk to a fractious infant. Standard means of trying to calm him were counterproductive. She knew – she'd already tried deep breathing, relaxation exercises and meditation. That'd just made him angrier – which just left coffee which she'd surreptitiously slipped a very mild muscle relaxer into. Just in case!

Forcing him to sit and savour the aroma of his coffee, focusing in on the smell, she noticed a vein pulsing over his eye and she wondered what the heck she'd got herself into. Visions of him stroking out in her office made her wonder what that would do to her malpractice insurance premiums.

~o0o~

Grace tapped her fingers on her cherry wood desk, as she waited for the NCIS psychologist, Dr Wendell Jacobsen to respond to her request. She had to say that she wasn't exactly sanguine about her chances but still, she had to try.

"Grace, I'd like to help but you know I can't release Special Agent Gibbs file to you unless you have a signed authorisation from him giving us his permission to release it to you. Which you've already indicated you don't have," and even over the phone she could hear genuine regret in his rich tenor.

Confalone sighed; honestly she'd expected as much. Still it didn't hurt to ask cuz you just never knew. However, she was really hoping that she could find out more about Jethro's collapse several months ago and his psychological evaluation, post shooting before he was cleared to return to field work.

"Fine Jake – I get it. But I'm concerned and I'm also groping in the dark, here." She confessed into the phone, deprecatingly. "What can you tell me about his attack in the bull pen or his evaluation after the shooting – just in general terms? Not asking you to betray your professional ethics or anything." Well she had been but now she knew Wendell wouldn't play ball she was changing her approach – not yet willing to give up.

She and Jacobsen had sat on a few panels together on PTSD in the military and she was hoping that it might give her some sway with him.

"Look, all I know about his collapsing in the bull pen is scuttlebutt so I'm not bound by any professional ethics not to share what I've heard with you… considering your role. We're just shooting the breeze and frankly, you have my sympathy for having to work with Special Agent Gibbs. It's the least I can do."

"But you won't share anything from the psych eval he had after the shooting?"

"Can't, Grace."

"Okay…but maybe we could speak hypothetically, so you're not betraying any confidences," Grace suggested carefully.

"I think you misunderstand me. I can't share anything with you because there's nothing to impart, since it never took place." Wendell clarified his meaning.

Confalone stared at the phone in her hand, shocked. "How is that possible?"

The NCIS psychologist shrugged – well obviously she didn't see it, but it was apparent in his voice. "It's Gibbs, Grace. Basically, the guy does whatever the hell he wants... and The Powers That Be don't have the stones to stand up and tell him no! He simply refused to submit to a psychological evaluation after getting shot."

"Then who the hell cleared him to returned to work?" She demanded, incredulously. This was not the way it worked…not ever. The system was in place, not only for the agent's welfare but for the safety of their colleagues, the agency and most importantly, for the protection of the public.

"He wasn't cleared, obviously. He came back after getting shot and refused to submit for a psychological evaluation and like I said before… no one called him on it. And before you ask; the rumour mill reckons he knows where all the bodies are buried which is the only way he could get away with half of what he does. People joke that he could probably get away with murder."

The psychologist no longer felt conflicted over her questionable ethics in contacting Jacobsen. Her intuition had been pinging today as Gibbs ranted about what seemed a minor occurrence – a team member leaving to take up a promotion and him not being able to be read in on the agency he was heading up.

As the NCIS psychologist read her in on the basic scuttlebutt surrounding her client, it was beginning to become crystal clear that this was so much more than a case of trauma following the shooting in Iraq and Gibbs' unresolved grief. Jake warned her that the man was not only a Marine sniper – he was also Black Ops and her visceral reaction to him in her office today had been to wonder if he might be a danger to himself or someone else.

She wasn't exactly comforted by what she'd managed to uncover, although it sounded like the object of today's tantrum might be wise to watch his back. She wasn't entirely sure that Jethro was, to use a highly technical term – playing with a full deck.

~o0o~

Tony had finished up at Legal after almost an hour long consult. Leon had already notified them about his impending departure and they had already begun figuring which cases he could be deposed for and which ones needed him to appear in person to testify in. The consensus was that five weeks would take care of all the outstanding cases.

Tony had decided to detour on the way back to the bull pen. He wanted to have a private chat with Ellie and he figured the staff cafeteria was the best place to do that. It should be fairly deserted at this time of the morning. After finding a quiet spot where they could talk and not have anyone sneak up on them unawares, he grabbed a bottle of fruit juice before trying to decide how to get started when Bishop's cell phone chirruped an incoming text message.

He didn't know whether to laugh or throttle Fornell, who seemed to be having a whale of a time today at the expense of Tony's workmates. He'd sent Bishop at least four texts so far, demanding a sit. rep. on her totally non-existent protection detail which had the Probie on tenterhooks and her head on permanent swivel. Tony was getting seasick trying to follow Ellie's eyes which were bouncing around like a Pong ball between two bats as she tried to watch for imaginary threats.

"Bishop…Ellie," he groaned in frustration after she received what was her fifth text. "Give me your phone," he ordered her, holding out his outstretched palm, forestalling any objections.

Calling Fornell on Bishop's phone he barked, "Knock it off, Toby. We're trying to have a sensible conversation here. Go piss off someone else." Terminating the call, he returned the phone to its owner and smirked at Ellie.

She smiled tentatively, no doubt wondering if Fornell would rip her a new one when they returned to the bullpen. "So is this about the advice you wanted to give me, Tony?"

"Yeah, Bish. What?" he asked her, seeing she had questions too.

"Did Tim really refuse to listen to you when you warned him about the poison ivy?"

Tony sighed, resignedly. "We were looking for a baseball bat - the murder weapon and I tried to tell that he needed to watch out for poison ivy – leaves of three, let them be… but he interrupted me. He told me he knew how to conduct a search of a wooded area and he wasn't an idiot and I should stop treating him as such.

"I tried to tell him I didn't think he was an idiot - that I was just trying to impart a little wisdom. As a cop I didn't encounter poison ivy in Peoria, Philly or Baltimore, so I learnt the hard way when I was in Shenandoah Park on a double murder, my first year as an agent. But before I had a chance to share my experience - because I did have nine years to his six months of field experience – he proceeded to tell me that he graduated top his class at FLETC. That he was sure he could handle it.

"So I decided to leave him to it… to respected his wishes and we all know the result. Honestly, Probish, you can lead a horse to water but you can't make them drink. Tim was so sure he knew more than I did, so I thought if he learnt the hard way he might be more willing to take advice the next time."

"Did it work?"

"Not really. Apparently someone as dumb as me couldn't possible teach him anything of value.

She nodded. "I'm sorry, Tony… and the second time he got poison ivy in the field?"

"Gee, I don't know. I guess he took a piss at our crime scene – the Army Navy Golf Course where a IED exploded. A Marine Colonel died and I was interviewing his young son who'd just been accepted into Princeton. McGee must have brushed against the poison ivy and then touched his ah…junk. It wasn't anything to do with me... the first I knew about it was after we were back in the lab and he started itching."

"Oh." She looked contrite. "I'm sorry I believed him without investigating further and I wish I'd offered to help you apply calamine lotion. I thought Tim was being really noble offering to help you when you'd been such a jerk. I told him I wouldn't be so forgiving and he should have let you suffer."

Tony looked sad and didn't mention to her that Tim hadn't exactly offered to help – he'd strong-armed him into doing it. "Don't worry about it, Bish, I'm used to it." It was true too, although it didn't make it hurt less even if he should be used to it by now.

She looked nervous. "So what was it that you wanted to tell me?"

He looked at her searchingly. She might not appreciate what he had to say but perhaps one day she'd look back and be grateful. So he took a deep breath and forged ahead.

"Probie, I want you to know that you have the potential to be a really good field agent and investigator but this last year you've taken some dangerous decisions. I'm really concerned about where your head is. Your strengths are your analytical skills and your goofy off the wall memory.

Eleanor, you don't need to be some kickass Xenia Warrior Princess type fed. It's not who you are." When he saw her starting to object, he shook his head and waved his finger at her.

"No, no…it's not a bad thing. You're Gabrielle – the bard and the moral compass to keep the team from straying to the dark side, which is way more important in the scheme of things. Plus, she was pretty hot, too." He smiled at the blonde pocket rocket.

"Go with your strengths. You're super smart, you're kind, caring and trust me… you don't need to live up to Ziva David or Caitlyn Todd, who were ball busters, sure. But you are already so much more than that, plus, you're observant, and really good with people and that's priceless in an investigator, pinky swear."

Hooking their pinkies together playfully he admonished her, "To thine own self be true. Stop trying to be someone else."

He squeezed her hand encouragingly. "I get that you've had your whole world ripped apart and your heart crushed, but your ex did not cheat on you and destroy your marriage because you aren't good enough, Ellie. Jake cheated on you because he's an idiot and a jerk. Stop trying to reinvent Ellie Bishop, she's already one of my favourite people. But you've scared me lately, running around like some brainless ninja, and I'm not going to be around to watch your six anymore."

He noticed that she'd gotten teary when he started talking about her divorce and he understood that it had shaken her. He'd had a similar experience with Wendy Miller when he'd first started out with the agency. It had messed him up but good and he'd thrown himself into his job and a meaningless merry-go-round of casual dating to make sure his heart didn't get broken again.

"Please Ellie, I've lost too many people I care about, I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you because you think you need to be some cyborg super- agent. Promise me you'll stop these stupid badass stunts, especially without backup. Special Agent Eleanor Bishop is way good enough just the way she is."

By this stage she was sobbing and ended up crying on his shoulder and leaving him with a large wet patch on his shirt, but he didn't feel guilty about making her cry. He felt like she needed a wake-up call. Maybe if someone had been there to support him emotionally after Wendy, he mightn't have embarked upon empty relationships to avoid getting hurt. He might have avoided subjugated romantic fulfilment for the ultimately futile path of trying to earn the legendary Leroy Jethro Gibbs' professional approval. It had finally dawned, 15 years too late that it was never going to happen.

When she finally stopped crying so hard and was sniffling with the occasional hiccup, he handed her a pristine monogramed handkerchief and she smiled at his thoughtfulness. "I'm sorry for breaking down, Tony."

"Don't apologise for feeling emotions, Probish. It's part of what makes us human."

"Gibbs doesn't bawl like a baby."

Tony quirked an eyebrow. "Gibbs is hardly the poster child for emotional maturity, Ellie. Don't pattern yourself upon him or me for that matter, especially in regard to your social and emotional life, kid-let." He took a sip of his juice, looking at her sadly.

"You'll end up bitter, angry, lonely and alone. No one deserves that, especially not you, Probish. You deserve to be happy…you hear me, Special Agent Bishop?"

Once Ellie collected herself and promised that she was going to go with her strengths and look before she leapt in future, she smirked tentatively at him. "Thanks Tony. Was that all?"

He bit his lip, not sure how to say what he felt compelled to share with her, even though he felt like he was being intensely disloyal. Seeing him so obviously conflicted, she hugged him gently, trying to cheer him up. It had been a pretty tumultuous morning after all and tempers were definitely frayed.

"It's okay, you can tell me anything." She smiled encouragingly, before biting into her gigantic choc-caramel brownie and moaning in pleasure. "They say that a burden shared is a burden halved and I have really, really high security clearance – maybe higher than Gibbs or even Vance."

She smiled at him winsomely and he wondered if that was true – the bit about her security clearance. The burden bit was probably true but it was also potentially a really selfish act, especially when it was something horrific. Although in his case, there was no question of his sharing what she was hinting he should share.

"I'll even give you some of my brownie," she wiggled it invitingly under his nose.

Tony chuckled as he stretched his long legs out under the chair. "No you evil, evil wench, I cannot tell you who I'm working for. If I did, I'd have to kill you." He joked. Or wipe your memory, he finished mentally before becoming serious again.

"It's funny that you should mention sharing burdens because this is what I've been wrestling with since I decided to accept this job. Look Bish, this is really awkward because I kept this to myself for so long, but if I leave and don't warn you, and then something happened to you down the track, I'd never forgive myself."

"Okay, now you are starting to freak me out, Tony."

"Yeah I know. So there is no easy way to say this," he paused and he seemed to be wrestling with himself before he huffed and seemed to collapse in on himself. "If you ever do undercover work, make sure that you have Gibbs or another agent you really trust, monitoring you on comms in ADDITION to McGee. Don't depend on him (or Abby for that matter) without backup. Chances are he probably wouldn't do it to you but then I also didn't believe he'd do it to me either."

Seeing her confused expression, he sighed as his expression took on a faraway expression and he started to explain. "It was the Military at Home case, years before your time, but I'm sure you'll look it up."

Tony either ignored her determined nod of assent or he was too deeply immersed in his memory. He continued tonelessly, his normally bright eyes focus on the table, avoiding eye contact.

"It was a domestic terrorism murder and we had voiceprints of the killer, who'd shot three people at a local radio station while they were on air. So I was undercover, wandering around a snooty gated community recording voice prints so we could compare them to the radio transcript.

"McGee and Ziva David were nearby in a vehicle – they were my backup, listening in over comms, so if I ran into the killer and he got suspicious or if I encountered unforeseen trouble like – oh I don't know a mass murderer hiding out in the burbs for a decade, then they were supposed to come running. Just remember Probie, when you're undercover, that it is often the unexpected that will come back to bite you on the butt."

"Yeah I'm sure that's true, but I don't think that little gem is what you've been tying yourself in knots over telling me, is it?" she pressed him, perceptively.

He shook his head slowly. "No it isn't. See you are becoming an excellent field agent and highly insightful, which is much more important than any kickass skills. Don't ever sacrifice that quality."

When she just stared at him, he sighed and capitulated.

"Fine… I finished collecting voiceprints from everyone who was available – obviously there were some people not home. So anyway… I returned to the car, got in the back seat. I found Ziva and Tim reading and they acted surprised to see me – but how could they be, because when I finished collecting the last voiceprint I told them I was on my way back to the car and they were supposed to be backing me up. When I called them on it they claimed they'd gotten fed up listening to my voice, so they'd turned down the radio so they didn't have to pay attention to me."

"Why on earth would you cover for them after they did that?" Ellie demanded furiously, because even as green as she was, she realised just how egregious was their lapse in procedure.

"It's complicated." He sighed, trying to explain to Ellie something he truly didn't understand himself – even after all these years of trying to make sense of it.

"So break it down for me, Tony. Why?"

Groaning, his shoulders slumped, his expression was downcast as he tried to explain the inexplicable. "Because initially I was in denial, I think. They were my teammates and I would never do that to them – to anyone." Tony was silent as he considered this statement, and thankfully she didn't hassle him to carry on speaking.

Finally, he continued, "So anyway, I guess I convinced myself it was a joke…a really, really bad one. Then later on, long after the case was closed, I realised that it didn't matter if it was a joke or not. You don't joke about something that critical to undercover work where trust is often the only safety net you have. Trust that there is someone out there that will come to your aid when the shit hits the fan."