A simple arrest. That was all Tony wished for. Just once, it would be nice if the bad guy stopped running at the mere sight of the agents. Was it that much to ask to have the door answered on a knock with hands in the air, instead of pointing a shotgun at the door and pulling the trigger before Tony could even say NCIS?

Obviously, it was. When Tony and Ziva reached Eric Johnson's apartment, they already had all the evidence neatly processed. They knew he was the one who killed Naval officer Dwayne Johnson, his own brother. Abby's work gave them the last nail on Eric's coffin, so to speak.

Because this was an arrest and not a social visit, Tony and Ziva positioned themselves at the front door to Johnson's house, weapons ready, giving McGee enough time to circle around and guard the back entrance. Once they were all in place, Tony knocked on the door.

“Eric Johnson? This is Agent DiNozzo, from NCIS. We need to talk to you.” Tony called out, pulling away from the door in case Johnson started shooting. Nothing happened. There was no sound, no movement. Tony frowned, hoping Johnson hadn't already left the city. Exchanging a look with Ziva, Tony shrugged.

“Eric? We are coming in.” Not waiting for a reply, Ziva kicked the door in, while Tony aimed the weapon at the hall. It was empty. They both entered, careful and making sure their backs were covered. The kitchen was clear and McGee met them at the staircase.

“Fan out,” Tony ordered in low voice, sending McGee to check the living room and small office while he and Ziva took the upstairs.

It was Tony who found him. sitting cross-legged in his bedroom, on top of a bed. For a second Tony thought he was already dead, but then he saw the man's chest move. Or rather, he saw the vest of explosives raise and fall on Eric's bare chest. Surprisingly, that made sense. Because Eric worked at demolitions. He knew how to obtain explosives. Why he would put them on himself was another matter entirely. Tony froze, weapon aimed uselessly at the man. There was no sound except for the ragged breathing of both of them. They could hear a pin drop, so Tony barely contained the jump when he heard footsteps. His brain kicked in and he cleared his throat.

“Eric?” He spoke, loud enough to be heard in the hall, but not too loud to startle the man. The footsteps froze and Tony was thankful for Ziva's prompt reactions. At least someone was reacting, he added to himself, as Eric was yet to move or speak.

“Eric? Can you speak?” Silence. Tony could feel Ziva coming closer and he gave her a slight shake of head, hoping she could see. He needed to let her know it wasn't safe.

“Eric, did someone put the explosives on you?” That at least got a reaction. Ziva seemed to freeze just behind the door, but Tony didn't pay her much attention. Eric finally moved. Slowly, he turned his head to look at Tony... And smiled. Not the smile of a man scared for his life. It was a smile that promised pain, a smile that set alarm bells ringing and caused Tony's stomach to shrink. Eric Johnson wasn't a sane man, and it had nothing to do with the fact he killed his brother in cold blood. Tony instinctively took a step back.

“Who do you think would do something like that, Agent DiNozzo?” Eric asked, his voice sounding relaxed, as if he was asking how's the weather or who drank the last of the milk. Tony was confused but tried to hide it.

“I don't know. Maybe the man that killed your brother?” He asked and jerked when Eric laughed. Tony hoped Ziva had left the hall and had gone in search of McGee, to appraise him of the situation, call in back-up and possibly a bomb squad.

“Why, you're right, Agent DiNozzo. And it didn't take you more than two days to figure that out. Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Tony said uneasily, and tried to remember every piece of advice he ever received about dealing with a psychopath. Somehow, none of it seemed like a good idea.

“So... Were you waiting for us, or just decided it was a good day to... I don't know... Wear a vest in bed?”

“You mean a vest filled with explosives, right? I would be rather disappointed if you don’t recognize the design, Agent DiNozzo,” Eric said, raising an eyebrow at Tony, who for once didn't have a clue.“Ah, of course. You are a mere agent. You were never in a war zone, you can't know what it looks like, how it feels.” Eric's eyes darkened and Tony grit his teeth. He wanted to tell him about Baghdad, about Somalia, but Eric didn't deserve the truth, didn't want it. So Tony just shook his head in silence and tried to get a better look at the vest. There were enough explosives to bring down the whole house. Maybe not enough to do damage the neighborhood, which was kind of good news. What wasn't good was the left hand curled into a fist, clearly holding on to something with a wire leading right into the vest. It was a trigger button, one that had already been activated. Eric seemed to notice Tony's look, and with a grin held up his hand.

“I see you’ve noticed my little helper. I wasn't sure when you people would arrive, so making a timer was kind of useless. Remote control trigger works just fine. I pushed the button the moment you entered the house. Tsk, tsk, tsk Agent DiNozzo. Maybe next time you won't call out and warn your suspect. Oh wait... There might be no next time,” Eric finished with a huge smile and Tony felt sweat running down his back. This was bad.

“I don't understand. What do you want Eric?”

Eric only raised an eyebrow and gave a slight shrug. “Why don't you tell me what I want, Agent DiNozzo?”

“Because I don't know!” Tony growled, and then took a deep breath. This was useless. Hell, pointing a gun at this guy was useless. What could he do? Shoot him before he released the trigger? Maybe Gibbs or Ziva would know where to shoot so that the muscles in the hand froze up, if that was even possible, but Tony didn't. Lowering his gun, Tony shook his head in frustration.

“Think, Agent DiNozzo. Come now, you have the rest of your life to figure it out,” Eric added with a smirk and Tony frowned, getting tired of the game.

“Why did you kill your brother?” He asked, hoping to at least figure out the motive. That was the only thing they didn't have. “What made you do it?”

Eric looked at Tony, the emotions running over his face at an alarming speed, and Tony realized this man was sick. Something wasn’t working right in his brain. Still, Tony didn't think he would get an answer, so when Eric spoke, he blinked in surprise.

“He deserved it.” Those three words were filled with so much hate Tony wondered what Dwayne had done to his brother. Had he tortured him as a kid? Had he stolen his girl or killed his puppy?

“Why? What did he do to you that was so wrong?”

“You don't know?” Eric looked at Tony, surprised and in clear disbelief. “How can you not know?”

“All we know is that Dwayne served in the Navy for the last six years. He served three tours in Iraq and Afghanistan,” Tony softly recited what the records and several of Dwayne's friends and colleagues had told them in the last few days. “He was a good soldier. And when he came home from his last tour, he decided to visit with you. Three days later he was found in the river with a knife wound in his neck. A wound made by your steak knife. We know he came to you and decided to sleep over before returning to base. There were no signs of a fight and no drugs in his system so we figure you must've killed him in his sleep. Am I right so far, Eric?” Tony asked, watching the man on the bed looking at him with cold eyes, all the emotions gone. “What we don't know is why, Eric. Why did you kill your only brother?”

“Because he deserved it,” Eric said, his voice nothing more than a whisper. Tony blinked.

“Why?” Tony repeated and this time the question brought the fire back to Eric's eyes.

“Because he was a killer! He went out there and shot innocent people, all in the name of our country. Then he came home and was proud of it! He killed children, for God's sake. How can you not understand? How could you give him a medal for it?” Eric was shouting and Tony raised his hands in a calming manner.

“What are you talking about? Your brother was in technical support! He never shot anyone during his tours!” Tony tried to keep his voice down, but it was hard not to give into the tension that was filling the room. He heard some muffled voices from behind him, but he couldn't risk a look back. He had a feeling that the moment his eyes went off Eric, the guy would simply let go.

“No, you're lying. I know you're lying, I heard him that night!”

“What did you hear?” Tony asked, having a feeling he knew where this was going, and not liking it a bit.

“It was the middle of the night. Dwayne was sleeping on the couch and I was thirsty. When I was in the kitchen, I heard him talking.”

“What was he saying?” Tony pushed, needing Eric to talk, needing him to realize the truth.

“He was screaming. No, no! Don't shoot! They're just children! He was repeating it over and over until he just stopped and woke up. I found him sitting on the couch gazing at nothing. So I asked him what was wrong. And he told me.” Eric seemed to daze off for a second, but then he blinked and the cold look was back on his face.

“He told me how they entered a house and started shooting around. How they killed a whole family, with children. In cold blood. How he got a medal for that.” Eric frowned, his free hand going up to rub at his temple. “How he deserved to die.”

Tony stood there, only a few feet dividing him from a man with a bomb. How could he tell him he’d made a mistake? How could he tell him he killed his brother for no good reason at all, when he had a thumb on the trigger of a bomb? On the other hand, what else there was to do?

“He didn't deserve to die,” Tony said, and got an angry frown from Eric. He raised a hand to stop the protest. “No, hear me out. Your brother didn't deserve to die. He didn't kill those people. He was there when it happened and it was a very wrong thing to happen, but it was a mistake. Not your brother's mistake,” he added quickly. “He and his team were relocating when a girl waved them off the street. Your brother and two other soldiers followed her because she was covered in blood and seemed hurt, but desperate for help. When they entered the house, they found her family, all shot. Two children were still alive. Your brother and his team were trying to save them, but several of the natives arrived, and when they saw them leaning over the bodies they thought they were the ones who’d done it. Your brother and the two soldiers were dragged out and were about to be killed when the girl managed to explain what had happened. Your brother got the medal because he kept a cool head in a bad situation. Because he didn't draw his gun and start shooting the moment the natives came after them. Your brother got the medal because he helped to save one of those children.”

“But... He told me. He told me he did it!” Eric protested, shaking his head and Tony automatically glanced at the hand that clenched the trigger. The hand that was shaking too. Cursing, he knew he had to finish this, soon.

“Your brother was diagnosed with PTSD shortly after that, Eric. When he told you about entering the house and shooting those people, he was talking about the other soldiers. He just woke up from a nightmare. He was confused. I can assure you, your brother had nothing with the death of that family.”

“So it was all in his head?” Eric asked, seeming suddenly lost. Tony could only nod.“Just like those voices in my head?”

“What voices?” Tony frowned, taken aback by the sudden change.

“The ones that told me to kill him. The ones that are telling me, just now, that you shouldn't have come, Agent DiNozzo,” Eric looked into Tony's eyes with something akin to an apology. Tony's eyes went wide and he lunged for Eric, trying to grab his hand, to stop the thumb from lifting. He landed on the bed a second too late. Eric's thumb rose, the remote trigger clattering to the floor with a sound louder than the explosion. Which didn't happen. Tony lay on the bed, blinking in confusion. Eric was staring at the trigger, frozen. Waiting.

Nothing happened.

Seconds passed and they were both still alive. Eric jerked and leaned over, trying to grab the remote. Tony was startled out of his stupor. He grabbed both of Eric's arms, pinning them to his chest. Then he called out.

“Ziva! Someone! I need help!” He shouted for anyone to hear and next thing he knew, the room was filled with people wearing protective gear, closely followed by Gibbs and Ziva. They helped Tony hold down Eric as one of the geared up men jabbed something into his leg. A minute later Eric's form went lax as he fell asleep. Finally Tony was allowed to breathe.

ooo


Later that day, as Tony was finishing his report, Abby came running from the elevator, a plate containing something that smelt suspiciously delicious balancing on her hands. She put the plate down on Tony's desk and then promptly hugged him.

“Hey Abbs, what's the occasion?” Tony asked with a smile, his mouth already salivating over the pie.

“You're alive!”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Tony said, and then grunted when a small fist bumped his shoulder.

“You shouldn't have been!” Abby protested heatedly.

“Gee, thanks. And here I was thinking you like me,” Tony said with mock hurt.

“Tony!” Abby jabbed him again, then gave him another hug. Tony frowned, looking over at Ziva for help, but she gave him a confused shrug. McGee was nowhere to be seen and Gibbs was looking at them questioningly, waiting for explanation.

“Uhm, Abbs. You're kinda choking me. What's up with all the love?”

“Oh Tony. You don't even know how close you were to be blown to smithereens,” Abby told him, looking stricken. Tony wanted to tell her he knew it well enough, that he would probably have plenty of nightmares about it, but he didn't.

“So... Why wasn't I?” He asked instead.

“I just got the report from the pyrotechnics. The bomb was homemade and one of the wires had come loose, so the electric impulse from the remote trigger couldn't reach the detonator. It was a stupid fluke, Tony. You can't be so careless again. I almost lost you,” she added with a whine and Tony felt himself blanching a little. Gibbs saw that and cleared his throat.

“What about the pie, Abbs?” He asked and was relieved to see her face lit up.

“Oh. That's a present! Ducky's always saying how it's good to get something nice after a big scare. You need sugar. And I know how you loved the pecan pie I made for last thanksgiving, then I remembered that my bowling sisters use to bake pies every Thursday and I gave them a call and told them about the scare you had and-”

“Whoa Abbs, breathe,” Tony interrupted her with a smile. Abby smiled back at him a little sheepishly.

“So they brought me this to give to you. It's homemade,” she added just as Tony was reaching for a piece. He froze momentarily, and then with a shrug grabbed a slice and took a big bite of it.

“Oooh,” he sighed, smiling happily. “The taste is just.... explosive!” He added and then ducked, laughing, as several voices called at him indignantly, before joining him.