Shame colored all of it, for not being smart enough to know when to stop, shame shared with Gibbs for seeing something so deep and primal. Shame that Abby knew, that he had been part of something that made her hurt, and that made her afraid for him and, worse, of Gibbs. He could understand, he had been afraid until it happened and as soon as fist met flesh, he saw it. He saw Gibbs fall, all the anger, all the strength, everything he loved and loathed and admired and wanted to be, crumbled behind those eyes. Just for a moment, but long enough for Tony to understand.

He didn't know how to tell Abby that it wasn't just that Gibbs apologized. Tony had forgiven him, that part was easy. The hard part was knowing that Gibbs would never forgive himself. She was right about one thing, he was lucky his jaw hadn't been broken. Gibbs had pulled the punch at the last second, the moment when Tony saw, as if he realized then just how far gone he was. There was too much force behind it to stop, but it could have been worse. Gibbs could have meant it, and Tony was afraid to think of what would have happened if he had.

Most of the time, he agreed with Abby that there was no excuse for violence, no way of rationalizing it, but he understood the urge. He couldn't imagine Abby ever hitting anyone, although he knew she had. Self-defense was different though, self-preservation.

These thoughts surrounded him as they approached the front desk. Abby was in charge of the logistics, and he barely listened as the clerk attempted small talk as well as customer service. He forgot how strong her hands were, they always felt small when he held them, and he watched her now, handing her card across the counter. She looked so tired and he had to stop himself from touching her again. He knew she was angry, but it was the sadness that poured off her in waves even as she smiled and took their keys. She barely glanced at him as she headed for the elevator and he sighed, following a few steps behind.

"We're sharing a room," she finally spoke as the doors opened on the thirteenth floor.

"I'll go back to the desk, see if there's something free," he said. He hated the idea, hated where they were and the distance that had developed between them. Hated the way she was looking through him.

"No. That's stupid. It's not like we haven't slept together before," and there it was, that funny half-smile that he'd come to know meant she hadn't entirely forgotten but they were okay. And she was making double entendre, not that they had ever... and he wasn't sure he'd say no but...

"So, that's why you were so anxious for me to come with you. Want a little DiNozzo, huh? I knew you could only hold out so long," he teased, slipping into familiar territory.

"Kate was right, you are a pig," she grumbled, but he could see her dimples as she ducked her head.

*
Abby yanked out her headphones, even the sounds of Merchant Death Syndrome wasn't enough to drown out the voices in her head. Sleep was not going to come for her. They needed to leave for dinner soon anyway. Tony's mumbling stopped as he shifted, drawing in his arms and legs as he rolled onto his side. She hated to wake him, she knew he'd slept about as much as she in the past week, possibly less. Plus, he was kind of pretty like this, almost innocent. In these moments she could understand why women fell so frequently and so hard for him.

She had known boys like Tony growing up, farmers' sons convinced of their immortality. So certain that strength would carry them through, the sort of boys who never seemed to think past the moment. The ones who thought admitting to feeling anything but hungry, horny or amused made them weak. Cocky and athletic, often pretty and impulsive, these were the boys given a free pass by most people, written off with an exasperated "Boys will be boys" from their mamas and later from their girlfriends. Abby learned that sometimes there was more to them, substance beneath all that sun-baked skin and those muscled arms. Usually, there wasn't much, but sometimes.

As a kid, she'd been a tomboy, one who was never afraid to take a dare, and that made her one of the boys. As she got older, she built a reputation for keeping her mouth shut, and that made her an ally, a sort of secret keeper for boys with crushes, boys with fears, boys with fathers who beat them and mothers who ignored them. Every boy that had come to her in her life told her something, some with words, some with the ways they kissed her, or didn't. And she always thought of them as boys, even Gibbs, with his age and silver hair, because at heart so many of them never grew up, not really. So many of them were just searching for a mother and didn't even know it.

All of them told her something and in return, she gave them what she could. She gave them what their pretty girls would not, what their dead or distant mothers could not, a safe place and soft arms. She didn't mind it because it made her matter to them. It was how she survived high school when the popular girls tried to break her, her boys found quiet ways to deflect the barbs. Now, it was how she survived NCIS, getting her caffeine habit fed, trading a listening ear for a backrub, subtle manipulations but if they thought they were taking care of her, they would let her take care of them. That way, none of them ever had to admit that they needed her, even though she knew it.

Abby took another look at Tony, again talking in his sleep, but looking at peace. She decided he was better off dreaming and headed for the shower.

*

Tony was standing on the front porch, fumbling for his keys in his backpack. Somewhere in his head he knew this was all wrong, this wasn't his house, hadn't been for a long time, but he knew he had to get inside. He found the right keys, in the pocket of his lettermen's jacket, and stepped through the door, bare feet sinking onto broken glass spread across the grass. A stadium full of people screamed his name as he ran, ignoring the pain spreading from the soles of his feet. He slipped into the huddle, Gibbs calling plays to Kate, McGee, Ziva and Shepard, faces barely recognizable beneath helmets. Tony followed them to the line and looked at the opposing team. There was row after row of players, football gear packed under street clothes, and the player facing him growled.

"Bela?" but she didn't even like football. It had been one of the things that charmed him, her indifference to his chosen sport, the way she humored him as he tried to explain how the game was played.

"You missed dinner, again, Tony," she said just before the game resumed. He knew the play, knew where he needed to be, but Bela blocked him. "You were late and you could have stopped this. All of this."

"Not now, Bay, I've got a game to finish," he rushed past her toward the end zone, crashing into another player. They landed on the barn floor, hay flying.

"Always want to be the hero, don't you, Special Agent DiNozzo?" Bela's voice still spoke to him, but it wasn't her. He couldn't quite place her but she looked familiar.

"Do I know you?"

"You could have saved me, you could have stopped this, but you were too late," the woman said, shoving him away from her. He stumbled, finding more broken glass on the hardwood floor. The woman shrank in front of him and multiplied. Three children spoke with Bela's voice, "We didn't have to die. You did this. Always want to be the hero but look at you."

"I... Bela?" he shook his head, holding a hand out to steady himself against the wall of his apartment.

"She won't help you, Tony. She's dead and you let her die. Just like me," Kate sat at the dining room table, fork paused half way to her lips. Blood dripped down from her forehead onto the plate, but she didn't seem to notice. Gibbs and Abby turned to look at him, McGee pulled out a chair. Tony sat down, and the arms of the chair snaked out to wrap around his waist and pin his arms to his side.

"You have so much blood on your hands, Tony. So much blood," Abby shook her head, holding up her own pale hands. "Mine are clean. See? Not like you."

"But I didn't..." he protested weakly. A hand reached from behind him to stroke the side of his neck, and he felt something warm run down his shoulder. More blood, from Bela's open wrist.

"But you did, baby, you did. And she'll never trust you, never again because you lied," Bela's lips touched his ear and they were in bed, Bela on top of him, rocking slowly. "She can see what you are, what you've done. You want her to be me, but she's not. We all see what you are, Tony."

Blood dripped on to his chest, sprinkled his face, stained the sheets around them as she rode him. As she began to moan, he turned away. He knew he'd come too soon if he watched her, so he looked for that spot on the wall, just where the paint was starting to peel. Instead he found green eyes staring hard into his, framed with spidery lashes and looking afraid.

*
"Tony," Abby knelt on the floor between the beds, touching his shoulder lightly. He curled more tightly into himself but grabbed her hand.

"Bela?" he said softly. It was the same name Abby thought he'd said on the plane, just before she kissed him. Probably a dumb move, but she'd had to do something. Besides, he had really nice lips, and right now, those lips looked like they were a second away from screaming.

"Tony, you're having..." she said, shaking him. His eyes flew open as he sat up. "One hell of a nightmare, from the look of things."

"Abby."

"Hey, sleepy head, you okay?" she eased herself up onto the bed next to him. He shook his head and leaned into her arms. She pretended not to notice the way he was trembling as she rubbed his back. "You're okay, you're awake and I've got you. And I'm certified in kicking the asses of monsters that lurk under little boys' beds, so you're better than safe."

"I'm thirty sev—thirty-something, not a little boy, Abs," he said, but he still clung to her.

"I know exactly how old you are, DiNozzo. I also know that a good bete noire can make us all miss our mamas, so shh..."

"My mother was never the kind to make bad dreams go away. Caused lots of them, but not so big on the comfort."

"Yeah, well, mine was and I learned from the best, so trust me," she stroked his hair, letting her fingers run over the side of his neck where she could feel his pulse racing and she felt him stiffen at the touch.

"Don't, just don't," he pulled away, closing his eyes again.

"Tony, I'm sorry. I didn't know," she said, reaching for his hands. She understood shrinking from touch, from certain caresses. She had a few triggers herself, and even though she didn't know what tripped this one in him, she was sure it wasn't pretty.

"It's okay, pretty girl. I'm okay. You can stop worrying," he lifted her hands to his lips again, kissing them each. "You're right, it was just a bete noire."

"Yeah," she sighed, squeezing his hands. She searched his face for reassurance, and found little. He looked like a man who was being haunted, the same terror and sadness he'd worn after Kate died, the same fear in his eyes that she'd seen the night Ari had shot into her lab. She didn't want to go back to that place and it hurt to see him heading there, especially when he was doing it to himself. It was easier when there was someone to hunt, someone to blame. "Dinner's in half an hour. Why don't you grab a shower and maybe we can make the open bar?"

"Sounds like a good idea," he moved to stand up. "Abs?"

"Tony?"

"Thank you for not asking," he said, kissing her cheek.