A/N: Sorry this took so long! Got a few days work and was without wifi the whole weekend so FINALLY, here it is!

Time for a time out to fit in a brief word from our sponsor. And the word is: look the fuck out. Really. In all honesty, Tony's not sure why you even kept with him this far. It's not like this is a pleasant tale, and for fuck's sake, believe Tony when he tells you that this does not end in a sudden moment of clarity for the "bad guy".

A moment of tears, apologies, symbolic lowering of the weapon. Wow, that sounded almost poetic, didn't it? Momentary lapse.

So while you are sticking with this, just keep that in mind.

(~)

Tony's still working out how to narrate this particular part of the tale. We're in the homestretch now. Fourth and goal. To that end, he's decided it really doesn't matter how he got to the apartment or up the stairs (not that he could remember even if he tried), only really matters what he found there.

(~)

Tony has excellent pleading skills. Really, he could put it on a resume.

Oh, stop it. Who's the one telling the story? We're getting to the part where it's relevant.

(~)

"Abuse victims rarely think of themselves of victims."

Makes him useless at any attempt to profile Shayla. She could be as harmless as a kitten to others, not like he'd know. Not like he knows anything.

(~)

She would have had to bleed someone.

You do remember that part, don't you?

(~)

You can probably guess what Tony was thinking when he found her. Carl was circling around her, and she was pale, so pale.

"Mrs. Grueber," he breathed.

Tony supposes you think this may be an appropriate time for him to spring into Federal Agent mode, right? He would, you have to believe that.

Except he always forgets this next part.

Any of you ever stared into the eyes you used to get lost in (girly, he knows) and then take in that person holding a gun on you and a knife at the still bleeding wound of your busybody neighbour?

(~)

Another place, same time. This, too was put together by snatches Tony had collected from various probies.

Vance's persistence had finally paid off. He had tracked Shayla's movements, enough to realize that she had more than enough time to plot whatever scheme her insane mind could come up with.

Apparently, sometime in what seems like the long-past, it had occurred to the team to ask their ME/forensic psychologist for his opinion (seems it wasn't done before because the Duck-man was more than a little thrown about having not seen this earlier. No need, really. Not like Tony did).

"Abuse is control," Ducky had apparently stressed. "Abusers need control over their victims. Someone leaving them on their own accord is the ultimate loss of control, and many aren't set up to handle that."

Gibbs appraised the older man with a long look. "You think she may get violent?"

"It is in the realm of possibility, Jethro." Ducky had sighed.

"Ducky, she didn't ever...not physically, anyway," Ziva said softly.

"Unfortunately, it matters little. Abuse escalates by its very nature, and abusers are extremely meticulous. They know extremely meticulous. They know exactly how to control a situation to their benefit. That's why when the police knock on the door after a fight, they turn smooth and charming. They can concoct a plausible story, because they know they can get away with this."

Silence permeated for several minutes, until Gibbs finally cut in.

"What's she going to do, Duck?"

(~)

No, he was not terrified. I mean, yeah, the knife was scary. The proclivity toward homicide, more than a little daunting. The fierce shaking of his knees, reflex. Or perhaps creep-reflex from that decidedly off-putting smile Shayla was currently giving him. Almost like he was a little boy with his hand in the cookie jar one too many times.

"Sh..Shalya," Tony gasped. He gathered all his pathetic wits about him, trying desperately to think of a way out of this.

No way out, no way out...

She clucked her tongue disapprovingly. "Tony, Tony, Tony. Why did you do it?"

Okay, more than a little confusing. "Do...what?" stupidly forced its way out Tony's mouth.

She sighed, as if Tony is a particularly stupid second grader.

"It didn't have to be like this, Tony. If you had only been stronger, been more of a man instead of running to your partner like a little girl, I wouldn't have had to do this."

And maybe living with Ziva has made him a little stronger, because he did find the bravery to snort derisively.

"Somehow, darling, I doubt me not being able to lift two-hundred factors into your brilliant plan of randomly bleeding and assaulting people close to me."

She took a step towards him, and Tony flinched automatically. He's not sure if that threw the false bravado out the window.

She reached out and smoothed his hair down. Tony squeezed his eyes shut out of instinct, and he figured if the flinching didn't do it, that would.

Shayla dropped her hand and finally cast a look to Mr. Grueber, cowering in a corner, his wide, horrified eyes on the prone form of his bleeding wife. Tony noticed this immediately, and gathered his meagre amounts of courage.

"Shayla...you're right." It physically hurt him to say it, but somehow he managed not to choke on the words.

Her eyes snap back on him immediately. The knife glinted in the light, and he swallowed.

"It was my fault. I'm weak, and insipid and stupid. So...why don't you let Carl go, and then you can punish me appropriately. (No, gutter minds, his mind did not immediately go to the sex place. Cards on the table, it kind of scared him that it didn't.)

Shayla finally looked satisfied, if more than a little hesitant. She clucked her tongue disapprovingly again.

"Do you think I'm as stupid as you, Tony? He leaves, he calls the cops."

Tony shook his head, trying harder than he'd ever tried to look convincing. "Then...then we lock him in here, and move to my – our place."

She laughed wryly, but seemed to consider it for a minute.

"Come on," Tony cajoled. "You probably already cut the phone lines. It's just you and me. No witnesses. Just like in the beginning, before I screwed it all up."

That little nod she gives him feels like an enormous victory, and Tony whirls on Carl.

"Stay here, Carl," he barked.

"No!" the older man squeaked. "She's..."

"We'll get her out. Just stay right here, and don't call the police."

Carl is looking very much like a confused pygmy (too many cartoons) at this point, as his lips form a soundless word that Tony guesses to be "why?".

Tony gathers all his pathetic wits, and laces his fingers through Shayla's.

"This started with me and her. This has to end with me and her."

Which was true, but also mentioning that the FBI was probably already tracking him down had a chance of pissing the psycho off. Carl still looked torn, but Shayla bared her knife again, and Carl whimpered.

"Put a tourniquet on her, and do not move," Tony hisses, and he and Shayla leave for

her place, locking the door behind them.

(~)

Tony'll be honest with you. He hates cliffhangers. That's why movies get the edge over TV. Ending wrap up neatly, no waiting.

Tony supposes you'll all be a little pissed at him for this, but he'd like to take the opportunity to use a Series of Unfortunate Events quote (he'll modify it a bit for you).

"The movie you are about to see is extremely unpleasant. If you wish to see a film about a happy little elf, I'm sure there is still plenty of seating in theatre number two. My name is Tony DiNozzo, and it is my sad duty to document this tale."

And it isn't too late, folks. Really. Why the hell would you want to subject yourself to this story. It damn well didn't benefit Tony, why should this be in your head too?

And if you do insist on continuing, Tony hopes you're scared. This is not a movie about a happy little elf. This is fucking Fight Club.

And in the wise words of Miranda Bailey, "We're all scared! If you're not scared, you're not paying attention!"