“The headache would be worth it.” Tony thought as he stared at the liquid amber trapped in the bottle. As it swirled around, he lifted it close to his face. Liquid relief is what they called it, oblivion in a bottle. He sat up against the wall in his apartment, one of the few spots near the door where nothing cluttered the space. His knees pushed loosely against his chest in a parody of a fetal position; but he refused to let his arms do anything but hang. And hold a bottle of good old Jack. Slivers of light hit the liquid, illuminating the room with splashes of amber. Was it evening already, or dawn? He shook his head, he’d forgotten how easily the days could blend into one another, how day could become night with only the light outside as a sign. He stared at the bottle clutched tightly between his fingers like a lifeline, seemed like he’d forgotten a lot of things lately.

Tony wiped his hand over his face and felt stubble. He hadn’t shaven in days, over red-rimmed eyes he was sure there were lines he’d never noticed before. In the background the radio switched songs, from “Like Payer” to “Who can mend a broken heart.” How indeed? He snorted at the irony. Gibbs was probably still at the office doing paperwork, he should be there too. He should be doing paperwork; but even the thought of being in that room, looking at that empty desk staring at him from across the room. Suddenly he felt the spray of warmth on his face, heard a thud and for a moment he was there again, on that rooftop staring at the empty air where Kate had stood only moments ago. He looked down and there she was. Except it wasn’t Kate anymore, just an empty shell. He gasped and gagged, nearly spilling what little he had eaten, when was last time he’d had something to eat?

Anthony rubbed his eyes so hard spots replaced that terrible vision. He clutched at the bottle with a new determination. Liquid courage, he wondered if this is how his father had felt when his mother had died. Had he sat leaning against a wall and clutching a bottle, thinking about dead eyes and cold hands? Is this how things started, one bad day, one bad fucking move and then a burning sensation in the pit of your stomach, then oblivion?

Tony stared hard at the bottle. “How easy,” he thought, “how Goddamn easy was it to take the plunge?” His father had done it enough times.

“Walking the line is hard,” someone once told him, “because sooner or later the line blurred and you wouldn’t know which side you’d ended on ‘till it is too late.” Tony felt like he’d lived there most of his adult life. Always careful, never too much, because he was never sure if he started, he would be able to stop. Now, though, he couldn’t muster the energy to care. The bottle meant sanctuary, limbo if only for a little while.

“Look at me now, Kate. I’m about to take the plunge and there’s no stopping me now.” He sing-songed and laughed a deep throaty sound that had nothing to do with humor, and somewhere along the line he whispered reverently, like a prayer. “Can you seem me now Kate? What would you think of your fun-loving Tony now?”

“She’d probably think you’re an idiot.”

The familiar but unexpected voice made him jump. He almost dropped the bottle in the process. A pair of brown loafers landed in front of him, worn but well kept, clean to military precision. They were an ugly pair, cheap and for a fleeting moment he thought about making some smart-mouthed comment about them; but then sense and a well-seeded sense of self-preservation kicked in. A sound escaped him, it almost sounded like a giggle, but it couldn’t be, because Anthony DiNozzo did not giggle.

“Are you drunk, DiNozzo?” Gibbs knelt down at eye level, those frosty blue eyes scrutinizing. He took hold of the bottle and stared at it with that same intensity he had when studying a crime scene. “Never met a man that could get drunk just by touching this stuff.”

Tony wondered how the bottle had left his hands so easily. He then wondered how the hell had Gibbs gotten in before remembering the spare key he’d given to his boss in case of an emergency. To his knowledge, Gibbs had never used it before today.

“You going to drink this or stare at it all night?” The gruff tone made Tony look harder at those razor-sharp eyes. The skin around them was creased with age. He looked older, but strong in a way few people could and so very jaded. It was a look Tony hoped and dreaded having one day. Those eyes had steel in them, harder than jade and miles ahead of everyone else. Something in his face, in his own eyes must have shown because those eyes softened almost imperceptive. A small chip in that wall that a select few ever saw. With a sigh, Gibbs sat next to him leaning against the wall.

“Kate would probably find this funny.” He said when the silence between them grew unbearable. “Don’t you think boss? She’d be laughing and calling me an idiot.” Or something, something funny and unflattering and he would love every minute of it. Funny, but in a way that made his stomach churn and his heart ache in a way it hadn’t since the day his mother chugged down a bottle of pills.

Gibbs said nothing, didn’t even move, if Tony hadn’t felt the warmth next to him, he’d had thought he’d imagined Gibbs.

The silence grew and grew and Tony stopped feeling the warmth next to him, He stopped hearing the sounds of breathing next to him and turned to his boss and saw unblinking brown eyes, glassy in death. “Boss?” He asked weakly. Those dead eyes following his every move, “Boss?” That face turned, a bullet planted firmly in his forehead. He gasped, stumbling as he tried to put as much distance between him and those eyes.

He moved and pulled but then an unyielding force held him in place. “DiNozzo!” The sharp command had the effect of a bucket of icy water, and Tony was plunged back from that rooftop and those eyes he knew would haunt him ‘til his dying breath. He blinked and was back in his living room kneeling next to the unmovable object that was Jethro Gibbs. And cold, so very cold, and after a moment of consideration, shaking badly. “Easy there, Tony, easy.” The soft tone, one he’d rarely heard coming from this man, made him blink, and blink some more until the world no longer shifted. Threatening to send him over some edge he didn’t know he was on.

Tony blinked and from one moment to another, he was back in the same position he’d been earlier. He looked up as something warm was draped over his shoulders, making the icy tendrils a little more bearable. He looked at his boss crouching in front of him at eye level, eyes that were very much alive. “Boss?”

“Drink,” The command was soft and gentle, but had steel in it.

Tony stared incomprehensibly at the man, a drink? Then at his hands clutching a cup of warmth between them. He wondered how it got there as he took a tentative sip, and then he looked at his boss. Anyone else would never have seen the mirage of emotions flicker over those steel eyes. He opened his mouth to make some smart ass remark, to make this situation okay because it had to be, they had to be okay; if not fine, normal at least. Because normal wasn’t him sitting on the floor of his apartment, shaking like some green-eyed probie who had his first brush with death. Normal wasn’t his marine boss, kneeling in front of him with those eyes that should be steel; but were slightly cracked by the last four days of hell. Or Abby sitting quietly at her workstation, music off with an untouched Caff-Pow melting on her desk. Normal wasn’t McGee looking like a feather might knock him over. It wasn’t Ducky stopping short when he would normally go into one of his anecdotes. He didn’t feel this, didn’t allow anyone to get close enough to cause whatever this was.

“She’d find this funny,” Tony said because in his mind he could hear her laughter, could hear the mocking tones. “She’d be laughing, don’t you think, boss?” One day this might be okay, it would be okay, not fine, nor normal because normal was Kate at her desk with him throwing spit balls, paperclips, pens or pencils at her. Those murderous looks she’d sent his way that held too much amusement for him to take them seriously. Not this silence that hung around the office like a wraith.

A rough hand landed on the back of his neck, squeezing lightly at the rock of muscles he’d accumulated. He looked at Gibbs, those intense eyes, not dead he reminded himself, “Yeah Tony, she would be.” He said quietly, and that hand fell, grabbed at the bottle and put it to the side.

Tony smiled, a small parody of his usual smiles. He looked ahead, at the sun’s beams rising through his curtained windows. The flicker of yellow chasing away shadows, and in that moment, sitting in his apartment with his boss at his side, he thought maybe okay wasn’t that far off.


The End