Fic: Family 1/2

[xanthefic]

Title:  Family
Author:  Xanthe
Fandom: NCIS
Genre:  Gen (I know! Gasp!)
Categories:  Angst, Tony-centric character study
Rating: PG-13
Status: Complete
Wordcount: 17,500ish
Spoilers:  Show to date, including Season 7
Disclaimer: These characters belong to DPB, CBS, Paramount, et al. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author’s notes:  This fic might be a tad controversial. I've tried to find a plausible explanation for the way Tony has been portrayed on NCIS since around mid-season 6. I believe it's a valid interpretation of the character’s viewpoint, but not everyone will like it (which is fine!). This story is all from Tony's pov; I've deliberately kept the viewpoints and motivations of the other characters ambiguous (rather like the show!) so please don't think I'm judging any of the other characters. I think this story has a happy ending, but it's not the usual kind of happy ending I do.
Many thanks to: tejas for beta, and nikitariddick for encouragement. Any mistakes are my own.
Summary:  Tony is injured working a case – and comes to a shocking realisation.
Extract: “So, some psycho is holding your team hostage… he’s got a machine gun, and you know he’s a killer because he’s murdered two people already. He’s standing right there, just beneath you, and you have a clear shot - but you hesitate. Why is that, Tony?”



Family
By Xanthe

“Take a seat, Agent DiNozzo.”

“Tony.” Tony gave a broad grin. “Call me Tony. Makes things less formal – I'd prefer to be on first name terms with someone who’s gonna be rummaging around in my head for the next hour.”

“Tony – if that makes you feel more comfortable.” Dr. Farley gave him a pleasant smile.

“It does. Hey, I’d shake your hand but…” Tony gestured with his head to the sling encasing his right arm.  He used the movement to take a good look at Farley. He judged him to be in his mid-forties; he had thinning dark hair and a round, almost cherubic face. He was fat and looked like he dressed more for comfort than for style. He was wearing a chunky cardigan in a particularly unpleasant shade of green, buttoned up over a plain beige shirt. His only really interesting feature was a pair of perceptive and unusually dark brown eyes.

Tony glanced around the room, taking in the neutral coloured walls, comfortable chairs, and state of the art computer system. “Nice place you’ve got here. You sure you work for the Navy? You’ve got cooler tech than we have. McGee would be so jealous.”

“Please sit down, Tony.”

Tony did as he was told. “Wow – these are comfy. Is it all part of the deal? Make it so comfy we forget we’re in a shrink’s office and feel like we’re at home, relaxing on the couch in front of the TV? That how it works, Dr. Farley? Is that what I should call you, by the way? Or maybe you want me to call you by your first name – part of the whole making-things-cosy deal?”

“What makes you most comfortable?” Dr. Farley gazed at him from bland brown eyes.

“Well, most people are more comfortable with first names – creates an illusion of intimacy even if it doesn’t really exist.” Tony shrugged. “Ooh – see what I did there? That was a deflection. But you know that already – see, I figure being a shrink is like doing an interrogation, and I’ve seen Gibbs do enough interrogations to know all the tricks.” He leaned forward and spoke in a low, cold tone. “So you’d better be good to get past me, Dr. Farley.”

The other man gazed at him impassively.  Tony grinned. “Hey, lighten up. I’m just kidding. What is your first name anyway?”

“Simon. You can call me that if you want.”

Tony laughed. “No. I just wanted to know what it is. When you get to know me, you’ll realise how nosy I am. I’d prefer to call you Dr. Farley.”

Dr. Farley didn’t react, which was kind of annoying. Tony liked people to react.

“Which is interesting,” Tony continued. “Because it implies I’ve cast us in certain roles, doesn’t it? You as the “Doctor”, the authority figure – me as “Tony” - maybe I’m more comfortable in a deferential, even subservient role. Or maybe I just want you to view me as unthreatening - and kinda cuddly.”

“Is that how you view yourself?”

Tony laughed. “Sure – I’m very cuddly.” Dr. Farley didn’t smile. Tony could see this one would be a hard nut to crack. “You don’t believe me?” he asked.

“No – I think *you* don’t believe you,” Dr. Farley replied. “I think you think you’re the complete opposite of unthreatening and cuddly.  You think that you’re very dangerous indeed.”

Tony’s smile broadened, and he sank back into his chair. “Oh, I knew this was gonna be fun,” he said. “If my arm wasn’t in this damn sling I’d be rubbing my hands together in glee right now.”

Dr. Farley gazed at him thoughtfully. “So, tell me about your injury, Tony.”

“What do you want to know?” Tony shrugged and then winced slightly as the movement hurt his shoulder. “It’s all in the report - they gave you a report on me, right? I mean, it’s why I’m here. I got shot, and it’s in the regs that before I can return to duty I have to see a shrink for a psych evaluation.”

“I’ve read the report. I’d like to hear about the incident from you.”

“I’m not traumatised by it, if that's what you're wondering. I’ve been knocked out, beaten up and shot at more times than I can remember. Oh, and someone once deliberately infected me with the pneumonic plague. I didn’t have to see a shrink before they let me go back to my job then. Although I guess the people who write the regs probably didn’t think to include a clause on the plague. It’s so medieval, dontcha think?”

“I think it sounds terrifying. I note that you nearly died on that occasion.” Dr. Farley glanced down at his notes.

“Nah.” Tony waved his free hand. “Gibbs wouldn’t let me die. Apparently there was an 85% chance I wouldn’t make it, but Gibbs told me I had to live. So I did.”

“Do you always do what Agent Gibbs tells you?”

“He’s my boss.”

Dr. Farley raised an eyebrow.

“Does the raised eyebrow mean something in particular? Just, when Gibbs raises an eyebrow it usually means ‘shut the fuck up, DiNozzo’. I talk a lot. You might have noticed.”

“Any reason you didn’t want to answer my question about doing whatever Agent Gibbs tells you to do?”

“I did answer it.”

“No, you deflected – but, as you pointed out, you’re a veteran of many interrogations, Tony. You know that.” Dr. Farley sat back in his chair and clasped his hands together over his substantial belly.

“Gibbs is my boss. I obey his orders.” Tony shrugged. “If you’d met Gibbs, you’d understand why.”

“I have met Agent Gibbs,” Dr. Farley informed him blandly.

“Ah yes. Ari.” Tony remembered the shot to the shoulder Gibbs had taken six years ago. Presumably Gibbs had taken a psych evaluation back then too. “Man, I don’t envy you having to get inside Gibbs’s head. Bet that was scary.”

“I can’t discuss another patient with you, Tony.”

“But you can discuss me with him, can’t you?” Tony said, in a harder tone than he’d intended. “You’re a Navy shrink, Doc, and this psych eval is a regulatory requirement. Any report you write will go to my boss. And yes, I did call you ‘doc’ just then to belittle you, bring you down a peg or two, make it clear you don’t intimidate me. Hey, maybe I don’t like being in a subservient role as much as we both thought, huh?”

Dr. Farley smiled. “We could talk about it. I note from your file that you once turned down an opportunity to have your own team.”

Tony flicked a piece of lint from his jeans. “There were reasons. It was complicated.”

“You haven’t had a promotion in eight years. Does that bother you?”

Tony glanced up sharply. “I’m happy in my job. I like it where I am.”

“Okay.” Dr. Farley nodded.

“Let’s talk about how I got shot,” Tony said firmly.

~*~

Tony lay flat on his belly under the broad beams. They cast shadows over the upper level of the barn, acting as camouflage, concealing him. Clutching his gun in his hand, he slid a few inches closer to the edge and peered down into the main area of the barn beneath.

Gibbs, McGee and Ziva were sitting there, just a few feet away from him – and they weren’t alone. Their suspect, Lieutenant Mark Collins, had them sitting on ammunition boxes with their hands tied behind their backs. Tony watched as Collins came into view, directly beneath him. He was carrying a massive machine gun – no surprises there, as the man had a fascination with weaponry going back to kindergarten from all the info Tony had dug up on him.

“You’ve seen too many action movies, Collins,” Tony muttered to himself. “Think of yourself as quite the Rambo, dontcha?"

He was surprised that his hunch about the barn had paid off. He hadn’t expected Collins – or his illegal weapons cache - to actually be here. Neither had anyone else on the team, judging by the sighs and rolled eyes that had been their reaction to his suggestion that they check it out. They’d only come here in the end because they had no other leads.  After an hour and a half in the back of the car with Gibbs driving, half of it cross-country without a road in sight, Tony had jumped out of the car the minute they arrived and immediately thrown up.

They’d left him there to recover while they went to check out the barn. Had they been sloppy? That wasn’t like Gibbs, but they’d clearly walked straight into Collins’s lair. Tony wondered who'd been more surprised – his team or Collins?

Tony had sat beside the car, still feeling green around the gills, for about twenty minutes. When they hadn’t returned after that time he’d become worried. He’d crept up a flight of rickety old wooden stairs on the outside of the barn and entered it on the upper level – to find that his entire team had been taken hostage by the psychopath they’d been hunting.

~*~

“Were you scared?” Dr. Farley asked.

“Of course I was damn well scared!” Tony rolled his eyes. “But you have to understand what it’s like when you’re out there, Doc. The adrenaline kicks in, and you don’t feel the fear.”

“Were you annoyed that nobody listened to your suggestion about the location of Collins’s hideout?”

Tony shook his head. “No – it was just a hunch.”

“That wasn’t what you said earlier. You said you’d done some digging into Collins’s background. It sounds more like a solid piece of detective work than a hunch. Yet your team reacted with irritation when you voiced it – why is that?”

“It’s my manner. I like to wind them up. They like to shoot me down.”

“Interesting choice of words.” Dr. Farley nodded at his injured arm.

“Metaphorically – they like to metaphorically shoot me down,” Tony growled. “I’m annoying – I annoy them. On purpose.”

“Why?”

Tony frowned. “I don’t know. It’s just who I am. I like to jerk a few chains. It amuses me. Can we get back to the shooting now?”

Dr. Farley shrugged. “If you want, Tony.”

~*~

Collins was a killer. No doubt about it. Ducky had two of his victims in his refrigerator back at Autopsy, so shot up they were almost in pieces. Collins really did like his machine guns.

Tony risked peering over the edge again. Collins was talking to Gibbs – or maybe ranting was a better word for it. Gibbs replied in a calm voice, trying to talk Collins down, but Tony could see that Collins was becoming increasingly agitated. He hadn’t expected to be found like this. He'd been caught out and was thinking on his feet - and the conclusions he was reaching were all too obvious.  The entire team knew what Collins would do – they’d spent enough time in this guy’s head over the past few days.

Tony looked down and judged the distance between himself and Collins. He should be able to make a shot like this; Gibbs was always making them practise in the firing range, and Tony always turned in damn good scores. Okay, so he wasn’t in Gibbs’s league where accuracy was concerned, but the guy had been a sniper for a living so who was?

At that precise moment Gibbs looked up, over Collins’s shoulder, and caught sight of him. Nothing in his expression gave Tony away, but he looked straight into Tony’s eyes and made a tiny motion with his head, giving Tony the order to shoot.

Collins was standing almost directly beneath him, within clear range of fire; this was Tony’s chance…

~*~

“Did you shoot?” Dr. Farley asked.

“Not then, no.” Tony shook his head.

“I thought you said you had a clear shot?”

“I did.”

“And Agent Gibbs gave you an implicit order to shoot.”

“Yes.”

“And you always obey Agent Gibbs’s orders. You said so yourself.”

“I know.”

“So why didn’t you take the shot?”

Tony gazed at him helplessly. “I don’t know.”

~*~

Gibbs was engaging Collins in conversation, trying to keep him still, in one place, giving Tony a clear and easy shot at him.  Gibbs trusted him to get it right. He trusted Tony to make the shot and take out the bad guy. Hadn’t they done this kind of thing countless times before?

Collins moved suddenly, unexpectedly. He brandished the machine gun, pointing it at his captives. Tony wiped away the sweat trickling into his eyes. He had to focus. His hand was shaking – and he could see Gibbs looking up at him, clearly wondering why the hell he was hesitating.

~*~

“You’ve killed people before,” Dr. Farley said, glancing down at his file.

“Yes.” Tony nodded. “Plenty of times.”

“How did you feel about it?”

“It’s an occupational hazard.” Tony grinned. Dr. Farley looked straight through him. “Look, I don’t like it, nobody does – well, maybe Ziva does, but most *normal* people don’t. But you do it because they’re scumbags and usually it’s either them or you. I don’t like it, but I can handle it.”

“Were you worried you would fire and miss? It sounds as if you were putting a lot of pressure on yourself. You compared your shooting skills with those of Agent Gibbs and found yourself wanting.”

“Hey – I’m not in Gibbs’s league but *nobody* is. Gibbs’s superhero skill is being able to hit any target, anywhere, from any distance. He once shot someone in a moving helicopter from the ground for God’s sake! He’s a fucking legend.”

“What’s your superhero skill, Tony?” Dr. Farley asked, with a little smile.

“Pissing people off?” Tony answered, with a smile of his own.

“You think so? I think it’s keeping them out,” Dr. Farley replied. “Pissing them off is just one of the ways you do it.”

Tony sat back in his chair and crossed one leg nonchalantly over the other. “Well, as you have all the answers, why don’t you tell me why I found it so hard to pull the trigger?”

“I don’t know.” Dr. Farley shrugged. “Only you know that. I’m just here to help you find out. What happened next?”

~*~

Tony gripped his gun hard and took aim. If he waited just a few more seconds then Collins would blast his team to smithereens.  Then they’d just be three more corpses for Ducky’s steel tables, their bodies torn into bloody strips of ribbon like Collins’s other victims.

Tony could feel Gibbs’s gaze on him, boring into him, telling him to shoot – ordering him to shoot. Tony gripped his gun even harder, willing his hand to stop shaking. He’d delayed too long. His team didn't have much time left. He had to do this *now*.

He lifted his hand quickly and fired.

And missed.

All hell broke loose. Collins turned and fired off a hail of bullets in his direction. Tony threw himself down behind a pile of hard, wooden boxes, hearing them splinter and shatter as a round of machine gun fire ripped through them. He landed on his side with a thud and rolled over to see Gibbs moving in the barn below. Gibbs’s hands were free, and Tony saw a glint of silver before Gibbs embedded the blade of his knife in Collins’s back.

“Rule number nine strikes again!” Tony giggled to himself.  Gibbs had clearly cut through the rope binding his wrists with his concealed knife while he’d been keeping Collins talking.
 
Everything slowed down – it was almost comical to see the surprised look on Collins’s face as the knife went in. Collins gurgled something and blood streamed out of his mouth and down his face. He took a step forward, then another, and then he fell onto his knees. Tony was fascinated to see that he was already dead even as he fell, slowly and gracefully, onto his face.

~*~

“Why did you laugh?” Dr. Farley asked.

“It was funny.” Tony shrugged.

“Why was it funny?”

“I don’t know. It just was. You know, me missing an easy shot at relatively close range, and Gibbs being the one to save the day, despite having his hands tied behind his back. Gibbs has more than one superhero skill, Doc! That’s probably why some of us missed out on our share when they were handing out the superhero skills.”

“You hero-worship Agent Gibbs,” Dr. Farley commented.

“Yes.” Tony nodded. There no point in denying that; everyone knew.

“That must make it hard for you to admit that you also resent him.”

Tony blinked. “Why would I resent Gibbs?” he asked blankly.

“You had a chance at leading your own team, but you passed it up. Says in your file that you were concerned about Agent Gibbs’s brain injury on his return from Mexico – you thought he had some gaps in his memory. You were worried about him – and your team. You ran that team for four months during Gibbs’s absence and according to Director Shepard's notes you did an excellent job. Then Gibbs returned and shunted you back down into the second in command position – and in a rather unceremonious way, judging by these notes.”

“That’s just Gibbs.” Tony shrugged. “He’s never been great at social niceties. I didn’t take offence. Hell, I was happy to have him back. I missed him. We all did.”

“Do you think he values the job you do?” Dr. Farley asked, gazing at him intently. “Do you feel valued on the team, Tony? The team that you once led, even if only for a few months?”

“Sure. I mean, we bicker all the time, but that doesn’t mean shit. Abby always says we’re like a family.” He gave a wry grin. “A really dysfunctional family! And no matter how much we tease each other, we always have each other’s six out in the field.”

“And you really believe that?” Dr. Farley’s brown eyes were curious.

Tony rolled his eyes. This idiot had clearly never been out in the field – hell, he’d probably been a desk jockey his entire life. “No offence, Doc, but you have no idea what it’s like out there – you have to trust the people on your team to have your six, or you’re dead. “

~*~

Time speeded up again. Tony was dimly aware of Gibbs inspecting Collins to make sure he was dead and then using his knife to free Ziva and McGee. Tony closed his eyes. They didn’t need him for this bit. It wasn’t as if he’d been much use so far anyway. Gibbs had saved the day despite his own incompetence.

“DiNozzo? DiNozzo!” Gibbs’s voice. In his ear. He struggled to open his eyes. “Christ, DiNozzo –okay, hold on. Tony – hold on.”

He forced his eyes open by a great act of will. Gibbs was crouching beside him, his hands covered in blood. He was pressing down hard on Tony’s shoulder.

“Hurts, Boss,” Tony muttered.

“Yeah. He got you. Shoulder wound.”

Tony closed his eyes again. He wasn’t sure how much time passed. He could hear Gibbs barking orders, and Ziva yelling into her cell phone for paramedics.

“Should send a ‘copter,” Tony muttered, eyelids fluttering open again. “Wouldn’t wish that journey on anyone on wheels,” he explained, with a little grin.

Gibbs was gazing at him searchingly from puzzled blue eyes. Tony didn’t want to see the question in them. Or maybe he didn’t want Gibbs to see the answer in his own. He closed his eyes again, and this time he kept them closed until he was safely in the hands of the paramedics, on his way to the hospital.

~*~

“Did any of your team accompany you to the hospital?” Dr. Farley asked.

“Nope.” Tony shook his head. “Oh wait – don’t read too much into that! My injury wasn’t life-threatening, and they had a crime scene to process. There was a dead body and enough military hardware in that barn to run a small war. I didn’t need any of them to come with me in any case. I’m a big boy, Dr. Farley - I don’t need anyone to hold my hand.”

Farley nodded. There was a little pause. Farley looked down at his notes and then up at Tony again.  “You likened your team to a ‘dysfunctional family’.  What do you feel your place is in that family, Tony?”

“Oh that’s easy!” Tony grinned. “I’m the annoying big brother. You know, the one with the fast car who goes out and gets all the hot babes and pisses off the other kids. I cause trouble, and Dad has to slap me back down for that every so often, but everyone knows I’ll always look out for them, even if I do wind them up.”

Dr. Farley looked gently amused by Tony’s description.  “Dad?” he queried.

Tony laughed. “No prizes for guessing that’s Gibbs. He’s the stern father figure – he doesn’t say a lot, but he hands out the discipline and the tough love whenever we need it. He’s damn good at his job, and he demands that we are too. He gets the best out of us that way. We all want to please him – not least because he’s a total bastard when he’s pissed off.”

“And Ziva David? What’s her place?”

Tony gave a twisted little smile. “She’s the scary step-sister. The kind who pulls the wings off insects in the back yard. She’s hot, but she’s dangerous. Good to have on your side in a fight - bad to have staring down at you from the barrel of a gun.”

“Hmm. And Timothy McGee?”

“Geeky little bro. He knows some stuff that comes in useful every now and then, and boy does he go on about it. It’s all ‘MIT’ this and ‘Johns Hopkins’ that. I have to teach him how to toughen up, so he’ll survive out there in the big bad world. He can kill whole armies online, but he’s not so tough with real life bad guys. He’s getting there though. In fact…he’s grown up a lot lately. He probably doesn’t need me kicking his ass any more.”

“And Abigail Sciuto?”

Tony smiled softly. “She’s our baby sister. Everyone loves Abby. She’s got a heart of solid gold, and she’s always the smartest person in the room – but you’d never know it. She’s kind of a child under all the leather and chains and the Goth make-up. ”

“What about Dr. Mallard?”

“Ducky? Maybe he’s grandpa?” Tony hazarded. “Or Mom? Don’t tell him I said that though! He fusses over us – but don’t be fooled by that polite, rambling and occasionally befuddled exterior – he’ll kick your ass if you go too far. He’s the only one who can kick Gibbs’s ass.”

He chuckled to himself. This was fun – at least he’d gotten Farley distracted and off topic.

“So, some psycho is holding your team hostage,” Dr. Farley said. “And they’re not just your team, they’re your *family*; your dad, your little brother, and your step-sister. This bastard’s got a machine gun, and you know he’s a killer because he’s murdered two people already. He’s standing right there, just beneath you, and you have a clear shot - but you hesitate. Why is that, Tony?”

~*~

Tony let himself into his apartment.  “Hey, honey, I’m home!” he called.

Jeff emerged from the bedroom, his forehead creased up in an anxious frown. “Where were you? I was worried when you didn’t come back last night.” He saw the sling on Tony’s arm and ran over to him. “Oh shit, Tony - what the hell happened to you?” He traced a finger over the sling. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Tony gave him a tired smile and threw himself down on the couch. “It’s okay, Jeff. Don’t get your panties in a wad.  I got shot. I was in the hospital all night and most of today while they patched me up and checked me out, but it’s fine. I’m fine.”

“You got shot, and you think that’s fine?” Jeff sat down opposite him, looking anxious again. “Tony, I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you…”

“Nothing happened to me.” Tony shrugged and then gave a pained grimace. “Man it hurts.” He reached into his pocket for the bottle of painkillers they’d given him at the hospital. “This is the good stuff,” he told Jeff with a big grin. “Better than anything you can buy over the counter. And I think I know just the right thing to wash them down with.”

He went over to his wet bar, retrieved a bottle of vodka, and brought it back over to the coffee table.

“Oh, Tony, I don’t know. Are you supposed to drink alcohol if you’re taking painkillers?” Jeff asked.

Tony laughed. “C’mon, Jeff – when the hell do you and I ever do what we’re *supposed* to do, huh?” He went back to the wet bar, got two glasses, and then returned to thump himself back down on the couch. He was so damn tired. “Join me?” He held up the bottle of vodka. Jeff gave him a sly grin, and Tony laughed again. “Knew you would. Hey – wanna watch a movie?”

“A Tony Curtis movie?” Jeff asked eagerly.

Tony sighed. “Okay, if we must. Which one?”

“The Vikings!” Jeff said excitedly. “I love the bit where Kirk Douglas gets his eye ripped out by Tony Curtis’s falcon.”

“Yeah. You would,” Tony grunted. “Here.” He poured two glasses of vodka and then swallowed his painkillers down with a gulp, draining his glass. “Damn that’s good. It’s been one hell of a couple of days.”

He put the movie into the DVD player and sat back on the couch to watch. Jeff made happy little noises every time someone got hurt or killed.

“Bloodthirsty bastard,” Tony said, with a roll of his eyes.

“Yeah – but you know that about me, Tony.” Jeff grinned at him.  Then he went very still and his face creased up into that anxious frown again. “Hey – the guy who shot you - did you kill him, Tony?”

“No, Jeff, I didn’t kill him.” Tony sighed.

“You sure?” Jeff asked suspiciously.

“Absolutely. I did shoot at him, but I missed.”

“Really?” Jeff looked surprised. “But you’re such a good shot, Tony.”

Tony shrugged. “Maybe I was having an off day. Gibbs had to knife him in the back.”

Jeff’s eyes gleamed in the dark room. “Gibbs used a knife?”

“Don’t go there, Jeff,” Tony warned.

“I’m just asking.”

“No – you’re fishing for the gory details, as usual. Now shut up and watch the movie.”

He leaned back, sipping on his drink. The painkillers and alcohol were combining to make him feel nice and woozy. At that moment there was a knock on the door, and Jeff jumped up, startled.

“Who is that? Were you expecting anyone, Tony? Should I go?”

Tony nodded his head in the direction of the bedroom. “Just lie low, Jeff. I’ll see who it is.”

~*~

“Who’s Jeff?” Dr. Farley asked, frowning as he examined Tony’s file again.

Tony hesitated. “Jeff’s my roomie,” he said eventually.

“I didn’t know you had a room-mate.”

“Yeah. I sub-let my apartment when I was an agent afloat. Jeff’s a great guy – known him a few years. He moved in while I was gone – then I came back kinda sudden, and I didn’t have the heart to evict him.”

“So Jeff’s just a friend,” Dr. Farley commented neutrally. Tony let out a delighted laugh and clicked his fingers in the air.

“Ah – I know what you’re thinking! You’re thinking you shouldn’t ask, so I won’t have to tell!”

“Tony, you may investigate military crimes, but you’re not in the military; you’re a civilian. If Jeff is your boyfriend, it’s perfectly okay for you to admit that to me,” Dr. Farley told him.

Tony shook his head, still chuckling to himself. “Jeff isn’t my boyfriend, Doc. He’s a friend – a really good friend. Best friend I ever had. Kinda friend you can be yourself with, y’know? Kind of friend who likes you for what you are - doesn’t judge you.”

“Okay.” Dr. Farley nodded slowly. “Where’s this going, Tony? I thought you were going to tell me why you hesitated before shooting at Collins.”

“Patience, Doc! I’m getting there.”

~*~

Tony got up with some difficulty, staggered towards the door and opened it. Gibbs was standing there.

“Oh – hey, Boss. They let me out of the hospital,” Tony said stupidly.

“I know. Just came from there. Was gonna drive you home, but they said you’d checked yourself out early.”

“Yeah – can’t stand those places. Got a cab.” Tony stood there, leaning heavily on the door.

“Sure that’s it, DiNozzo?” Gibbs glared at him. “Thought maybe you were trying to avoid me.”

“Why would I do that, Boss?” Tony gazed at him blankly.

“In case I asked you a question you didn’t wanna answer.” Gibbs looked over his shoulder. “You going to let me in, or do we have to have this conversation in the hallway?” he demanded.

Tony sighed and opened the door wide for Gibbs to enter.  Gibbs took one look at the half empty bottle of vodka on the table and his jaw tightened. Tony was momentarily fascinated by the vein pulsing angrily in Gibbs’s neck.

“You drink all that tonight, DiNozzo?”

“Me? Nope.” Tony shook his head. “Had company.” He nodded at the two glasses on the table.

“You seem pretty damn drunk to me.” Gibbs leaned over and sniffed at him suspiciously.

“I am. Shoulder hurts. Liquor dulls the pain,” Tony said, staggering over to the couch and falling down on it.

Gibbs sighed and sat down opposite him, on the armchair Jeff had recently vacated.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed, Tony,” Gibbs said quietly.

“Noticed what, Boss?” Tony asked innocently.

“Your damn drinking, Tony! Turned a blind eye to it last year – figured you were havin’ trouble getting over Jenny’s death. Thought you’d pull yourself around, get a handle on it.”

Tony gazed at him solemnly.

“But this year it’s gotten even worse. Ever since we pulled Ziva out of Africa you’ve been a mess. Do you think I’m an idiot, DiNozzo? Do you think I don’t know that when you're acting like an idiot, and missing things at crime scenes, it’s because you’re half cut? Your judgement is shot to pieces these days, and you’re pissing everyone off.”

“I always did piss everyone off, Boss.”

“Yeah, but you used to be damn good at your job too – that’s why I kept you on the team. Nowadays you’re barely fit to walk around the squad room unsupervised, let alone carry a gun! I can’t keep cutting you all this slack, Tony.”

“You’ve been cutting me slack?” Tony blinked. “Sorry – must have missed you doing that, Boss.”

“Tony – I should have hauled you into the elevator months ago and told you to get your act together. Never thought it’d go this far.”

“What do you mean?” Tony felt himself going very still.

“I’m going to ask you an honest question, and I want an honest answer,” Gibbs told him grimly.

“Sure. Yeah. Okay.” Tony reached for the glass of vodka on the table; Jeff’s glass was still half full. “Ow!” he complained, as his wrist was grabbed and held in a vice-like grip.

“You’ve had enough,” Gibbs growled. Tony made a face and allowed Gibbs to take the glass of vodka from his hand and replace it on the coffee table.

“You’re right. I’ve drunk too much tonight,” he slurred. Then he blinked. “Did you say you’re gonna ask me a question?”

“Yes.” Gibbs’s blue eyes were suddenly very close. They swam in and out of focus in front of him. “Were you drunk in that barn yesterday, Tony? Was that why you threw up when we got there? Is that why you hesitated before shooting Collins? Because you couldn’t get a good fix on him ‘cause you were too drunk to see straight?”

“You’d smell it on me if I was drunk on duty, Boss,” Tony said solemnly.

“You’ve been wearing a really stinky eau de cologne lately, Tony.”

“Oh. Yeah. Right.” Tony made a face.

“Did you screw up the shot because you were drunk, Tony?” Gibbs asked quietly. “Is that what happened?”

Tony gazed at him for a long time. “Yes,” he said at last. “I was drunk. Hand was shaking. Thought I might miss – did miss. Sorry, Boss.” He dropped his head and gazed at the coffee table.

Gibbs got up. He removed the vodka bottle and glasses, and Tony heard him going into the kitchen. Gibbs returned with a trash bag. He went over to Tony’s wet bar and cleared it out.

“Get help, DiNozzo,” he ordered. “You’re not coming back onto my team until I know I can trust you 100% in the field. You’re a danger to yourself and to the team while you’re like this. You got yourself shot yesterday because you weren’t fit for duty – and we all could have died because of you.”

Tony looked up at him. “I know.” He nodded slowly. “I know, Boss. I know.”

“You’ve got a problem. Deal with it.” Gibbs gave him one last glare, and then he turned and left, taking the contents of Tony’s wet bar with him.

~*~

Dr. Farley was looking at him thoughtfully. “Are you an alcoholic, Tony? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“Hey – it’s not my fault!” Tony protested. “It’s genetic. My dad’s an alcoholic, and so was my grand-daddy. It runs in the family, same as green eyes and a way with the ladies.” He winked at the psychiatrist. “I always knew it’d get me too, one day. Too many strikes against me – do you know the percentage of cops with a drinking problem? It’s high.”

“Why didn’t you want Gibbs knowing about Jeff?” Farley asked.

Tony sighed. “It’s a one bedroom apartment – Jeff sleeps on the couch, but I figured Gibbs would jump to the same conclusion about Jeff that you just did. Last thing I need is Gibbs thinking I’m gay. He already thinks I’m a total screw up – I do not need my butch, Marine boss thinking I play for the other team.”

“It matters a lot to you what Gibbs thinks, doesn’t it?” Farley mused.

“Well, like I told you, he’s dad.” Tony shrugged.

“No, he isn’t.”

Tony looked up, surprised. One of Farley’s eyebrows was raised again.

“We’re running out of time now, but tomorrow I think we should talk about your father, Tony. Your *actual* father.”

~*~

“Hey, Tony – how did it go?” Jeff asked him when he got home.

“Terrible.” Tony made a face.  He headed straight for the fridge and pulled out a beer. “Why are you sitting in the kitchen?”

“I like it in here.” Jeff grinned at him. “Your knives need sharpening.” He nodded his head at the kitchen drawer.

“Trust you to notice.”

“Why was it so terrible?”

“Hmm?” Tony took a deep gulp of beer. Damn he was glad that Gibbs hadn’t cleared out his fridge as well as his wet bar when he’d made off with his liquor.

“The session with the shrink? What happened?” Jeff asked.

Tony shrugged. “He’s sharp. He figured out all kinds of stuff that I didn’t think I’d told him.”

“But not…?”

“No.” Tony shook his head.

“Good.” Jeff nodded approvingly. “I’ve seen lots of shrinks, Tony. They’re not very nice people. You can’t trust them.”

“In your case, I can imagine they had enough material for an entire symposium.” Tony grinned at him, and Jeff made a face.

“Be nice, Tony. When are you going back to see this guy again?”

“Tomorrow.” Tony gave a theatrical shudder. “He wants me to talk about my father.” He could have kicked himself when he saw the blood drain from Jeff’s face. “Hey – it’s okay,” Tony said hurriedly. “It’s fine. It’s not like it was for you. My family was screwed up in a whole other way!”

“I know. You told me. I just…I don’t like to think of you going through that, Tony. It sucks.”

“I’ll be fine, but thanks for caring.” Tony tousled Jeff’s hair affectionately.

“Oh! Someone called for you.” Jeff pointed at the answering machine.

Tony felt himself brightening. “Really? Who?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t listening.” Jeff shrugged.

Tony slapped the back of his head, and Jeff grinned at him. Tony went over to the answering machine and pressed the play button.

“Hey, Buddy! It’s Ryan. Look, it’s been ages since I heard from you, and I was wondering if you had any plans to head up this way? Give me a call.”

“Who was that, Tony?”

“What? Oh, old frat brother.” Tony stared at the answering machine glumly.

“Problem?” Jeff asked.

Tony plastered on a bright smile and shook his head. “Nah.”

“Hello! This is me you’re talking to, Tony,” Jeff told him, rolling his eyes.

“Oh. Right. Yeah.” Tony took a gulp of his beer. “Just thought someone from work might have called, that’s all. Tim maybe. I haven’t been in the office all week. Just…you know. But they’re probably busy. Expect Gibbs is working them into the ground, as usual.”

“Or maybe they just don’t care,” Jeff said. Tony looked up at him sharply. “Just saying.” Jeff shrugged. “Why Tim in particular?”

“Just…when he was in trouble this one time, when he shot a cop and was on the verge of throwing his career away…I went to his place. Tried to talk him out of it. Told him about the first time I shot someone – how I peed my pants.”

“You never told me that story.” Jeff pouted.

“Well you don’t like hearing the stories where I’ve shot someone,” Tony pointed out.

“That’s true.” Jeff sighed.  “So, what happened when you went around to Tim’s place that time?”

“Nothing much. I wanted to take him out clubbing, get him out of his funk, but he wasn’t up for it, so I spent half the night there, just talking. And eating his ice-cream.” Tony grinned.

“And you thought he might do the same for you, now that you’re in trouble?” Jeff asked.

“Yeah.” Tony took another swig of his beer. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Gibbs probably didn’t tell them about…” Jeff gestured with his head at the beer bottle. “You know, the alcohol thing.”

“You’re right. He probably didn’t.” Tony shrugged. “But they definitely all know I damn well got shot!”

“Well, I’m here,” Jeff said softly.

“Yeah.” Tony sighed. “You’re the best damn friend I ever had, Jeff!” Jeff’s face broke into a pathetically happy smile.  Tony slapped the back of his head again. “C’mon, let’s go watch Tony Curtis in ‘Some Like it Hot’.”

~*~

Tony was relieved to get a good night’s sleep. He needed it – he had to be on top of his game when he met with Farley today. That guy was sharp – sharper than he’d expected. Tony had worn jeans yesterday, but today he put on a suit. It was too fiddly for him to knot a tie with his wounded shoulder, but he felt better wearing a suit – more alert and businesslike.

Jeff was drowsing on the couch as he walked through the living room on his way to the front door. Jeff half sat up, his hair sticking up messily.

“Good luck! Don’t let the bastard get inside your head, Tony!”

Tony grinned. “Hey – you’re talking to the great Tony DiNozzo here. Nobody gets inside my head, Jeff.”

“Not even me?” Jeff reached for his glasses and shoved them sleepily onto his nose.

“Well, you’re different.” Tony shrugged. “See you later, Jeff. Be good while I’m gone. Oh – and don’t touch the kitchen knives!”

“Aw. Spoilsport.” Jeff made a face, and Tony laughed out loud as he reached for his keys and left the apartment.

Dr. Farley looked as serene and self-contained as he had the previous day. He was wearing an old grey cardigan buttoned up over his substantial girth.

“Anyone ever tell you that you have really lousy taste in clothes, Doc?” Tony asked, as he took his seat opposite the psychiatrist.

Dr. Farley smiled and gazed pointedly at Tony’s suit. “I see you’ve really dressed up today, Tony.”

“Yeah – you should let me take you out shopping sometime. Buy you some designer clothes. You look like you haven’t bought anything new in years. I know all the best places to go. Okay, we might have to shop around – you’re not a very standard shape. In fact, you’re not exactly in shape at all.” He gazed just as pointedly at Farley’s fat belly. “Might be hard to find clothes that will fit you, but if you dressed better that gut wouldn’t look so huge.”

“I feel comfortable in these clothes, Tony,” Farley replied. “And in my own skin.” He patted his large belly happily. “I’m fat.” He gave a little laugh. “I don’t need to dress it up as something it isn’t. I’m at peace with who I am. Are you?”

Tony leaned back in his armchair. “Totally.”

“Good.” Farley gave a little nod. “That’s good, Tony. So, yesterday we were talking about family, and I suggested you might want to tell me about your father.”

“Sure.” Tony shrugged. “Let’s skip straight to the juicy stuff, as I bet that’s the stuff you want to hear. Dad and me have never been close. He and my mom both drank like fishes. Like I said yesterday, Dad was an alcoholic. I had to fix him a drink and give him a report of my day every evening when he got home from work. That was the only time we used to talk when he was actually sober. After that he and my mom would drink the night away.”

“Did you have any siblings?” Farley asked.

“No – but you know that. You have my file.”

“Your parents were wealthy?”

“Yeah – my dad’s dad started a trucking business years ago. By the time my dad and his brother inherited it, the company was huge. We had money coming out of our ears. “

“Were you close to your mom?”

“Not really.” Tony shrugged again. “She was kind of a socialite. A lady who lunches. She liked going out, showing off, being charming. People always say I’m a lot like her.” He gave a self-deprecating grin.

“I see from your file that she died when you were twelve. That must have been tough.” Farley’s brown eyes were sympathetic.

“It was sad, yeah, but we weren’t close. I was at boarding school by then anyway – hadn’t seen her for awhile so it didn’t really…I know this sounds bad, because she was my mom, but she wasn’t part of my day to day life so it didn’t really affect me much.”

“So you weren’t close to your dad or your mom? And you’re an only child,” Farley mused. “Sounds very lonely, Tony.”

Tony gazed at him stonily. “It was fine. I watched a lot of TV, and we had nice staff. The housekeeper, the gardener – I hung out with them a lot.”

“Did they have any kids? Anyone for you to play with?”

“No. Why the hell is that important?”

Dr. Farley looked surprised by his tone. “Well, all children need playmates. Some only children invent them if there aren’t any around.”

Tony laughed out loud. “You’re asking me if I ever had any imaginary friends, Doc?”

“Did you?”

Tony’s jaw tightened. “No. Look, what the hell has this got to do with me being shot?”

Farley gazed at him impassively from those deep brown eyes of his, as if he knew some great big secret that Tony didn’t. It bugged the hell out of him.

“You were a lonely child, Tony, without a strong family dynamic. It makes sense that you would seek to find family structures in your working life, to give yourself that feeling of security and unconditional love that you didn’t get in your childhood. It’s understandable that you would cast your team in the role of family – even assign them individual roles within that family.”

“Uh…okay.” Tony made a face. “See, it’s stuff like this that gives shrinks a bad name. Next you’ll be telling me I want to kill my father and marry my mother.”

“Hmm.” Farley gave a little chuckle, as if at some private in-joke.

“What?” Tony asked, exasperated.

“Well, I was just thinking you’ve cast Agent Gibbs as the father in this little family dynamic you're created, and you do have a lot of unexpressed anger towards him. And the other day your inaction in that barn did almost lead to him being killed, so…”

“That’s ridiculous!” Tony protested. “I’m not angry with Gibbs. Why the hell would you think I’m angry with Gibbs?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?” Farley asked infuriatingly.

“Look, I don’t really view Gibbs as a father. He’s only twelve years older than me so unless he was a very precocious kid, he definitely isn’t old enough to be my dad. I just threw that whole stupid family thing at you to distract you from what I didn’t want to talk about yesterday.”

“Which was?”

“You know, being an alcoholic.” Tony made a face. “That’s not an easy thing to admit, Doc.”

“But you’d already admitted it to Gibbs. Why was it so hard to admit it to me?”

“Because you’re a shrink! It isn’t easy. None of this is easy!” Tony protested. “Also, when I admitted it to Gibbs I was drunk. Now I’m not.”

“You weren’t drunk that day in the barn when you couldn’t shoot Collins, either,” Farley said quietly.

“What?” Tony jerked his head up.

“When you went to the hospital, they took your blood – standard medical procedure. I looked at your medical file – there was no alcohol in your blood that day. You weren’t drunk on duty, Tony. That was a lie. You lied to Gibbs, and you lied to me. The question is – why?”

Tony gazed at him, stunned. Then he laughed out loud. “I underestimated you, Dr. Farley.”

“I imagine that it’s usually the other way around, and people underestimate you, Tony,” Farley replied, with a tight little smile.

“I do my best to make them think I’m an idiot, yes,” Tony admitted. “It works. I’ve caught plenty of bad guys that way. I like being under-estimated. Don’t usually make the mistake of doing it with other people. My bad. But you’re  good,  Doc. Really good. I’m impressed.”

“Mmmm. We’re drifting away from the point here, Tony.”

“Which is?” Tony raised an eyebrow, feeling his stomach clench.

“Why would you prefer your boss and your psychiatrist to think you’re an alcoholic when you’re not? What must the truth be, if that’s the lie you’ve chosen to hide it behind, Tony?”

~*~

Part Two