I'm sitting at my desk, a cold cup of coffee in front of me- my second of the day, if you can believe it- watching my senior field agent watching the clock. He wants to leave. I'm only surprised he's lasted as long as he has without making a break for it.

Don't get me wrong.

Tony's a good agent, and a damn good man. I know, he's been working with me for nearly two years, and although there are certain aspects of his character that would drive any sane man to drink (his insatiable appetite for beautiful women, for example) he's someone I trust with my life. Juvenile sense of humour aside, DiNozzo's instincts are the best I've ever worked with- he's intuitive, able to think on his feet, and he has the street smarts that come with working on the police force for little more than a decade. Combine that with his fluency in several languages, and his expertise with laser and sketch, and you have Tony DiNozzo- an unorthodox, sometimes lazy, always late- federal agent.

The trouble is his attitude- and no, I don't mean towards his job or his colleagues. It's his attitude to himself that scares me. Tony acts like an idiot ninety percent of the time, refusing to let people get to know him, refusing to let anyone see that he's only human. I'm a marine, damn it; I don't deal well with feelings. It's why I'm divorced. Three times in a row, I might add.
I'm sure you can understand why trying to understand Tony leaves me feeling a bit… overwhelmed.
He's too reckless sometimes, too casual about the fact that any given day at NCIS could very well be his last. There are times when I get the impression that he doesn't really care. One thing I can say with any certainty is that Tony likes attention in any way, size, or person. It's not like he's actively looking for it (ok, maybe he is) but he craves it. He needs to be noticed.
Why the hell else would I spend half my time slapping him upside the head?

And yet… despite Tony's reticence, I think I'm slowly beginning to understand what motivates him.
That's no mean feat, I can tell you. Tony is… complicated.
From the little he's told me, from what I've learned from Abby, and from the jumble of mostly inane information I've managed to come across about the DiNozzo family, I've begun to understand that the man beneath the annoyingly ebullient personality is just the tip of the iceberg. There have been signs. Its nothing a stranger would pick up on, but I've been a federal agent for so long that picking up on the subliminal has become a habit. (That, and sneaking up on people, but I don't intend to tell anyone just how I do it.)

Two or three months ago, Tony came over to my place. We had just wrapped up a case that had everyone in a snit. It's seldom that we have all the information pertaining to a case but no murder weapon, and no murderer.
We did find a body, though.
One missing both arms, the left leg, the right foot, and the eyes.
Stuffed in a garbage bag.
Dumped in a barrel.
Buried in a landfill mass.
Already cemented over.
With the foundation laid.
And seventy construction workers traipsing all over it.

Well, Morrow eventually closed the books, and I sent my team home- it's just that Tony didn't stay there. He pitched up just as I was getting started on the boat, looking as though he'd already had a couple of beers. He complained he couldn't sleep, that he was still too wound up, so I handed him a sander and told him to get to work.
That's when I saw the marks. As I've said, it's not something a stranger would have noticed, but there they were. Small, oddly shaped grooves along his lower back that were clearly not scars from bullets or knives. No, if I had to guess, I would probably say belt buckles. I don't think Tony knew I saw them. If he did, then he was comfortable enough in my presence no to mention them. Either that, or they've been there for so long he just doesn't notice them anymore.

That wasn't the only incident.
There was the time we were investigating the murder of a pilot who crashed into the control room on board the U.S.S Huntersdown, killing not only himself but two seamen, a visiting Rear Admiral, and the cook, who, apparently, he had had a grudge with- (would I make this up? The press had a field day with this one) and I turned to break up the start of another cat fight between Tony and Kate, and I lifted my hand to swat him- and he flinched, going so white I thought he was going to pass out. I never mentioned the incident to anyone, and Tony sure as hell didn't say anything to me about it, but that's when I started doing a little digging of my own.

On a completely unrelated note, I just came across something else relating to Tony's family- Domenic DiNozzo, the president of La Italia Destino, is worth at least three hundred and fifty billion dollars. For furniture. Handmade, genuine imported leather and wood furniture. A single La Italia Destino sofa would set the average man –or woman- back four thousand dollars. A single, bloody sofa.
It boggles the mind.

Tony, we all know, was disowned and disinherited. What that means for the future of La Italia Destino is anyone's guess, but I'm imagining Tony doesn't care either way. When he was shot thanks to my stupidity, he told me some things about himself that I was probably on the verge of figuring out. I can't tell you how it felt to hear him say that I was like a father to him. I've always thought of Tony as the son I never had- but would have liked to- but it's one thing to feel that way and another to hear him say it. When Tony was buried, I was terrified I wouldn't find him in time. I've never lost an agent, and I don't intend to start now, especially if that agent is DiNozzo. It's almost funny- Tony hates admitting that he needs help, and loathes being "weak". He's anything but, but he won't listen to me. When I pulled him out of that glass coffin, it was the first time he's ever admitted that he was vulnerable. It was the first time he's ever asked me to hold him.
When Tony contracted Y. Pestis from that mad woman and I learned that his chances of survival were around fifteen percent, I was afraid I was going to lose him again.

God, but Tony's been through the wars.
He'll make a damn good team leader one day- if working for me hasn't sent him round the twist already.

This time though, I'm afraid I'm going to lose my agent to his own gun. This case is one of the grimmest I've worked- an eight year old boy is dead, and the prime suspect is his father. Ducky tells me that the boy- Andrew Linden- was abused from a very early age. All the evidence of it is there. When I saw the look on Tony's face after Ducky dropped this little bombshell… he looked violated, as though it was himself Duck was talking about. I think I knew it at that point, but I'm not entirely sure of myself. Maybe it's just that I don't want to be. My gut has almost never been wrong. I sense this case is going to have very grave repercussions for Tony- and we haven't even solved the damned thing.

Ah.
That's it. It's just gone five o'clock and DiNozzo is already at the elevator. That's my queue. I've decided to speak to Ducky about it- he was more apologetic about his findings than was normal even for Ducky, and besides that, he's been Tony's physician since he started here. Even if Tony hasn't told him, there's a possibility that Ducky will know anyway.
You know me: I don't believe in coincidences.

I get to my feet and head down to autopsy. As I thought, Ducky is still there, slaving away over the forms I detest. He looks up at me, and nods slowly. Ducky and I have known each other for many, many years, and it goes without saying that I know what he's thinking just from that nod- it's about time. Obviously, I was right all along.
This is one of those times I wish I were not.
God, I really do need glasses. I must have been blind.
It takes fifteen minutes for Ducky to explain his theories, and another five before I'm running out of the building, a key in my pocket and a sick, hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach.
I just hope to God I'm not too late.

The drive to Tony's apartment feels like an eternity. In reality, it's only about twenty minutes, but something tells me that I might not make it.
As I pull into a parking opposite DiNozzo's building, I realise that I'm praying. I haven't prayed since I was in the core, but I am now. I don't want to let Tony down, not now.
I take the steps two at a time, feeling like I'm running through molasses. Finally, I reach Tony's door and I insert the key into the lock with hands that are shaking. I don't ever remember being this afraid. The lock opens and I ease the door open, stepping inside the quiet apartment. Mercifully, Tony is the first thing I see. His face is tearstained, and there's a look in his eyes I would give anything to erase.
That son of a bitch.
It still galls me at how some people can treat their children. Domenic DiNozzo is no exception.
I walk over to him, carefully. For the first time, I don't know how to handle this situation, but then it comes to me and I reach out and pull him against me, just holding him. He breaks down then, crying like a small, hurt child. I sink to the floor, taking him with me, trying to soothe him with nonsense words I suck out of my thumb.

I'll stay like this all night if I have to, and longer.
He needs me, and as much as it kills me to admit it, I was so… ignorant that I missed it.
I don't think I'll ever come to terms with the realisation that I nearly lost Tony DiNozzo.