Unmoving. Unable to move. Too close. Too similiar. Blood. Blood on his face, on his cloths. He'd never wear them again. He never did. The blood was gone long ago but he could still see it. Too young. Too close. Too important.

He stared into the mirror and pitied the man he saw. His handsome face was tensed. The beautiful green eyes red. His hair damp around his face where he washed the blood off. Blood. Death. Tears ran down the man's cheek unable to hold them back. Unable to wipe them away. Unable to move.

He had tried it. Tried to take the bullet for him. For the kid. For Probie. For Tim. But he had missed it. Inches. Again he had blood on his face. Blood of a friend. He was too young. He was too important to him. The way he died, it was too close to home. Too similiar to Kate's death. He had her blood on his face. Blood. Then he stared in the mirror for twenty minutes. McGee had called him back. McGee. Tim.

For how long he stood here now? He had no idea. Tim wouldn't come to call him back into reality. He didn't need to be strong for anybody. Not this time. Not for Ziva, she was strong enough. She didn't knew him that good. He didn't need to be strong for Gibbs, he wasn't there. He would deal with it on his own way, alone. He didn't need to be strong for Abby. She had Ducky, Jimmy and even Ziva. He would deal with it on his own.

The shooter was dead. Down in Ducky's morgue. Just as Tim but Tony wouldn't go there. He wouldn't look. Look at the kid. At Probie. He needed to be strong. Strong for himself so he would make it home. Would make it back to work in the morning without taking his gun. He had to keep control to not end it. Not join his friends. Tim. Kate. Friends. Family.

Somehow he made it home. He sat on his sofa, alone. He didn't want to end it. He didn't want to lose them. He felt guilty because he was relieved he did survived another day. Tim was his responsibility. He knew now how Gibbs had felt. He could understand. He even knew why he left. Loss. Lose. The bad boys always win. Even if they lose. The goods win the battle, the bads win the war. He didn't want to lose anymore. Gibbs didn't want to lose anymore. He had lost. Lost Kate. Lost Tim. Lost Gibbs.

They had off until after the funeral. The director asked him to do the funeral oration. He refused. He wasn't able to put Tim into words, noone could. He wasn't able to verbalize his mind. Wasn't able to speak.

The funeral was quiet but nice. The coffin stayed closed. Tim wanted it that way. Tony understood it. He set it in his will, too. He saw Gibbs. He didn't say anything. Didn't walk over. He was unable to go. Unable to speak. Unable to move. Unmoving.

He stared into the mirror and pitied the man he saw. His handsome face was tensed, his beautiful green eyes red. Tears ran down his cheek. Unable to hold them back. Unable to wipe them away. Unable to move.

The man he loved had left him nearly a year ago but still he couldn't move. He didn't blame him. He didn't remember. Had lost most of the last fifteen years. Tony envied him for that.

Two years ago he saw that man in the mirror. Tim had called him back into reality. Tim was gone, reality with him.

„Tony?"

Tony looked into the mirror. He saw himself and tried to hold back the tears.

„Tony, I'm sorry. I didn't remember."

He felt a hand on his shoulder. He fell and was caught by strong arms. He cried. Unwilling to hold back. Big hands soothing over his back.

„Tony, let's go home."

He looked up. Turned to the mirror. He saw himself and the man he loved together. Together alone. They had lost. They had won the battle, the bad guys hadn't won the war. It wasn't over yet.

„Tony. Come on."

He looked into his blue eyes.

„I love you."

He whispered. He wanted to yell. To jump into his arms. But he couldn't.

„I love you,too."

The soft words were followed by a short affectionate kiss. The blood was gone. He couldn't see it anymore. Life.

„Are you ok?"

Tony nodded slowly.

„I'm fine."