Damage - Part Three: Disintegration - 3/3

[xanthefic]

Walt was waiting for Gibbs when he arrived at the coffee house, long legs stretched out in front of him, baseball cap perched on his head.

“Here you go.” Walt pushed a cup of coffee towards him. Gibbs took a sip – it was hot and strong, just the way he liked it.

“Cyndi still got you on decaf?” Gibbs asked, gesturing with his head towards the cup Walt was cradling. “I don’t know how you can drink that swill, Walt.”

“It’s either that, or I sleep on the floor.” Walt grinned at him.

Gibbs gave a wry little chuckle. Cyndi was five foot nothing of pure steel. She and Walt might look comical together, Walt towering over his diminutive wife, but Cyndi was definitely the one in charge in that relationship. Walt was more of a gentle giant kind of guy – except in a fight. Gibbs could only think of one other person he’d prefer to have by his side in a fight, and he was having his hand sewn up in the hospital right now.

“So, I kicked your ass yesterday, and you wanted me to kick it again today,” Walt said, taking a sip of his coffee. “What’s eating you, Jethro?”

“You didn’t kick my ass. You’re getting fat and slow, Walt,” Gibbs retorted. “Too much fine living. I don't know why the hell a man your age retires.”

“I'm semi-retired – and am I hearing this from the same Leroy Jethro Gibbs who took off to Mexico a few years ago and swore he wasn’t coming back?”

Gibbs grinned at him and gulped down some of his coffee.

“And you haven’t answered my question,” Walt said, leaning back in his chair. “What’s going on, Jethro?”

Gibbs swung the coffee around in the cup, wondering where the hell to start.

“You said yesterday that it was both work related and personal,” Walt prompted.

“Yeah.” Gibbs wondered how anyone found this talking stuff through shit easy.

“She a redhead?” Walt asked.

Gibbs shook his head. “Not this time.”

“Thank God for that,” Walt said in a heartfelt tone. “No offence, Jethro, but I’ve watched you climb into and out of marriage with too many Shannon clones to know that it never works out.”

“Well, this one isn’t anything like my last three wives,” Gibbs growled.

“Good. What is she like?”

“Fucked up.” Gibbs took another gulp of his coffee. “Hurting. Scared. Vulnerable.”

“Jesus.” Walt shook his head. “How long have you known her?”

“Eight years.”

“Eight?” Walt echoed, in disbelief. “How come you never mentioned her before?”

“I was trying not to, you know, give into it.”

Gibbs watched as Walt took off his baseball cap and scratched his bald head thoughtfully.

“Why?” Walt asked. “There something wrong with her?”

“No.” Gibbs shook his head. “Just – we work together and that never works out.”

“Well it didn’t work out once, with Jenny, but that doesn’t mean it never works out,” Walt sighed. “Although trust you to extrapolate a whole life lesson from one failure. I bet you even have a rule for it, don’t ya?”

“Rule number twelve,” Gibbs said promptly. “Never date a co-worker.”

“Stupid dumb rule. If I’d followed that rule I’d never have married Cyndi – she was my secretary,” Walt pointed out.

“I know. This is more complicated than that though."

“Why?”

“There’s a case,” Gibbs said, unsure where to begin. “Bad case – the kind that makes me want to pound my fist into the wall.”

“Knowing you, I suspect you did actually pound your fist into a wall,” Walt sighed. “That why you were taping your knuckles before we sparred yesterday?”

“Trust you to notice. I never could hide anything from you, Walt.”

“Well, you’ve hidden this woman from me for eight years,” Walt grunted. Gibbs winced.

“It isn’t a woman, Walt,” he said softly, and then he waited. Walt gazed at him steadily for a few seconds and then rolled his eyes.

“Damn it – why the hell is Cyndi always right about everything?” he muttered.

“What?”

“Never mind. Does this guy have a name?”

“Tony.”

“He your second in command at NCIS? The one who took over when you went to Mexico?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’ve been pretending not to like him for eight years?” Walt asked incredulously.

“It’s easily done,” Gibbs grunted. “Look, I can’t tell you the details, but Tony is mixed up in this case I’m working on. Something bad happened to him – and I mean really bad, pretty much as bad as it gets - and I told him I’d see him through it. He’s counting on me, Walt, but I keep thinking I’ll fuck him up even worse than he already is. He’s staying at my place at the moment and Christ, this morning I even found myself telling him some stuff about Shannon – stuff I’ve never told anyone.”

Walt gazed at him steadily. “You want to know what I think?” he asked.

“That’s why I’m here.” Gibbs braced himself. Walt had that no-nonsense look in his eyes. The same one he’d had sixteen years ago when he’d told Gibbs he was done with pulling him out of bar fights, and he had to get his act together.

“I think you’re scared, Jethro,” Walt said. Gibbs felt himself bristling. He knew himself to be many things, but he wasn’t a coward. “I’ve watched you,” Walt told him. “I’ve watched you all these years. I understood all the drinking and fighting after Shannon and Kelly died, and I sure as hell understood all the one night stands. Then I thought you’d got your shit together, but you hadn’t – not really. You just replaced the drinking, fighting, and fucking with working instead. You work like other people breathe, Jethro.”

“I like my job, Walt,” Gibbs growled.

“I liked mine – didn’t make me want to do it eighteen hours a day,” Walt retorted. “And I watched those Shannon clones. They wanted you, and they made all the moves. They pursued you, and you let them. They climbed into bed with you, and you let them. They moved in with you, and you let them. They married you, and hell, you even let them do that. Then they left you – and you let them, because the truth was you didn’t really give a damn. They never touched you – not any of them. You were safe, Jethro, because you never let yourself care. I bet the people you work with think you have a heart made out of pure stone, and I can see why.”

“You know, this isn’t helping me yet, Walt,” Gibbs muttered.

“Yeah, well, the truth isn’t always pretty,” Walt replied briskly. “You walled up that heart of yours after Shannon died because you’re just too chicken to let anyone else in, Jethro. That’s why you’re freaked out right now.”

“Freaked out?” Gibbs frowned. “Do I look freaked out?”

Walt grinned. “Judging by that cut above your eye that I gave you yesterday, and those torn knuckles you gave yourself – yeah. This is how Leroy Jethro Gibbs looks when he’s freaked out. And do you know why?”

“I know you’re going to tell me.” Gibbs sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Too right I am. You’re freaked out because this Tony person is as fucked up as you are, so you can't hold him at arm's length like you did all those ex-wives of yours. You lowered your guard and gave him a tiny peek inside your soul, and now you’ve let him in you don’t know how to get him out again. You’re not scared of fucking him up, Jethro; you’re scared of loving him. You remember how much it hurt when Shannon died, and you don’t want to go through that again.”

“You done?” Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

“No. It does fucking hurt, Jethro. It hurts for all of us. Love is like that. So get your head out of your ass and join the human race. Eight years. Eight goddamn years.” Walt shook his head.

Gibbs swallowed down the last of his coffee. “See, this is why I prefer fighting to talking,” he growled.

“Yeah. I know.” Walt gave him a rueful grin. “Look, Jethro – is the fact that he’s a guy holding you back?”

Gibbs thought about it for a moment. “I’ve never had a relationship with a guy, only sex,” he said finally. “Never even considered it. But is it holding me back? I don’t know. Maybe. Probably.”

“Well don’t let it,” Walt told him firmly. “Because there isn’t a woman in the world who’ll ever be good enough for you after Shannon. At least with a guy you stand a chance.”

“Maybe.” Gibbs nodded, thinking Walt did have a point there.

“What’s he like?” Walt leaned forward, his brown eyes curious. "I mean really like – not the fucked up stuff, the other stuff. Why do you like him?"

“He talks a lot. He likes movies. He’s strong, intelligent, independent, and capable. He can be an idiot. He goofs off and gets himself into trouble, but he can be surprisingly serious just when you least expect it. He's got a sensitive side he never lets anyone get close enough to see, and he empathises with people far more than you'd expect from someone like him. And he’s funny. He makes me laugh.”

“Sounds a lot like Shannon,” Walt grunted, finishing his own coffee.

Gibbs smiled. “Yeah.”

“Does he feel the same way? Does he like you?”

“Yes.” Gibbs nodded.

“So what’s the problem?” Walt asked. Gibbs glared at him. Walt always did have a way of simplifying everything down to nothing. “Except for the fact you’re chicken,” Walt added, with a grin.

“I told you, he’s fucked up…”

“So are you.” Walt shrugged. “So what? Does that mean that neither of you is allowed to be happy? Just take it one day at a time.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Gibbs grunted.

“It’s as complicated as you make it. Look, Jethro – don’t screw this one up. He sounds like he might actually be good for you. Besides, Cyndi wants you to find someone, so I’d take it as a personal favour to me if you’d get on and do just that, so she’ll stop bending my ear about it.”

Gibbs laughed out loud and then glanced at his watch. “I gotta go. Next time can we make it the gym instead of the coffee place, Walt?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Walt sighed, rubbing his solar plexus absently. “And you’re welcome, Jethro.”

“I didn’t say thanks,” Gibbs growled.

Walt grinned. “You will. One day.”

~*~

Abby glanced up hopefully when she heard footsteps outside her lab and then sighed when McGee entered the room.

“Problem?” He raised an eyebrow.

“No – I just thought you might be Gibbs,” she said, turning back to her screen. “Where *is* Gibbs, McGee?”

“Well, I don’t know,” McGee shrugged. “Doing, uh, case-related stuff I expect. He left me in charge.”

“Yeah, right.”

“He did!” McGee protested.

“McGee, there is no way Gibbs left you in charge of a case this big. If he had to go somewhere he’d have left Tony in charge.” She frowned. “Where *is* Tony, McGee?”

“Uh…I don’t know that either,” he said evasively, sitting down beside her and opening up the laptop he’d brought with him.

“You do!” She turned on him. “What’s going on, Timmy? Spill!”

“Nothing. I mean…look, I really don’t know where Tony is, but Gibbs definitely did leave me in charge of this case.”

“Something is hinky,” she said. McGee flushed. “And you know what it is! Come on, Tim, tell me!”

“I can’t,” he said earnestly, flushing up to the tips of his ears. “Seriously, Abby - I just can’t.”

“Yesterday I found Tony helping Ducky with dead people,” Abby mused. “Why?”

“I really have no idea – honestly.”

"And Tony and Ducky both came in really late yesterday. Together." Abby raised an intrigued eyebrow at McGee.

"Maybe they're having an affair?" he said, rolling his eyes.

"Don't be stupid, McGee!" She thwapped his arm. "There's no way Tony and Ducky are having an affair because Tony is crazy in love with…" She stopped herself just in time.

"Tony is crazy in love with who?" McGee questioned.

"Himself!" She grinned. "Talking of Ducky - where is he, Tim? He isn’t here, either.”

“I’m here, and as I’m in charge I’d like you to get on with some work please,” McGee told her, pointing at her screen. She smiled at him happily.

“I do like a man who takes charge. That sounded almost Gibbsian, McGee!”

“Gibbsian?” McGee raised an eyebrow.

“It’s definitely a word. Like hinky.”

“Hinky isn’t a word, Abby.”

“McGee! How can you say that?”

McGee sighed. “Okay, hinky’s a word.”

“Okay then. Back down the salt mines.” She clicked her mouse and brought up a photograph. “You ever hate your job, McGee?” she sighed, looking at yet another picture of a boy with sad eyes.

“At the moment? Every single day.”

~*~

Gibbs had just returned from the cold case filing room and sat down at his desk when Tony walked through the door. He had a massive white bandage on his hand that stretched half-way up his forearm.

“Tony! What on earth happened to you?” Ziva exclaimed.

“I walked into a door,” Tony said with a grin.

“I do not believe you.” She perched on the side of his desk and examined the bandage. “That sounds like the kind of thing women say when they are being beaten by their husbands.”

“You’re right, Ziva,” Tony agreed. “I was beaten by my husband.”

“No – you are still lying,” she said, rolling her eyes. “What really happened?”

“He walked into a door, Ziva, like he said,” Gibbs growled. “How did it go at the hospital, Tony?”

“Fine. I’ll need the dressing changed every day until the stitches can come out though.”

“Me or Ducky can do that,” Gibbs said, getting up. He picked up the massive pile of files on his desk, walked over to Tony’s desk, and dumped them on it. “Cold cases,” he said. “All for you, DiNozzo.”

“Aw, Boss!” Tony protested. “C’mon! There has to be a dozen of them!”

“Then the sooner you get started, the sooner you’ll be done,” Gibbs said pleasantly.

“Yes, Boss,” Tony sighed.

“Tony is not working on the Parrish case?” Ziva asked, in a surprised voice. “But there is so much to do, Gibbs. We need all the help we can get. The cold case files can surely wait?”

“Not Tony,” Gibbs told her. “He’s not working this one.”

“But Gibbs…”

“Tony is not working this case,” Gibbs repeated icily. He glanced at Tony, who had picked up one of the files and was burying his nose in it studiously, pretending he wasn’t listening. Gibbs’s phone rang, and he picked it up.

“Uh, Boss?” McGee’s voice. “Abby’s had a breakthrough down here, and I think you should come down and see it.”

“On my way.”

He stopped off for a Caf-Pow and took it along to Abby’s lab. She took it and lifted her cheek in anticipation of a kiss.

“Not yet, Abs. I want to see what you’ve got first,” he told her, with a little smile.

“Gibbs!” she protested. “I’ve hardly seen you in days!”

“You saw me yesterday, Abby,” he pointed out.

“For about ten minutes!”

“Well you’re seeing me now. What have you got for me?” Gibbs glanced at McGee.

“I went through all the missing persons data but didn’t find a match on any of our boys,” McGee told him. “Abby sent all the photos to the National Center for Missing or Exploited Children but so far we’ve had no matches there, either. Then Abby had a great idea. Abby?” He gestured with his head. Abby grinned.

“It *is* a great idea,” she said. “Even if I do say so myself! I picked the clearest photo of each boy, and I began ageing them.”

Gibbs glanced at McGee, who made a little movement with his eyes.

“Then I ran them through the facial recognition software and matched them against pictures in the criminal database,” Abby said proudly. “I thought that some of our boys might have grown up a bit hinky after what happened to them, and that they might have criminal records.”

“Good thinking, Abs,” Gibbs said. “What did you come up with?”

“Oh…I’m not done yet. I’m taking it one boy at a time.”

“She’s up to Boy 41 now,” McGee told him meaningfully. “That’s why I called you down. So you could…uh, see for yourself.”

“And – we have four matches,” she said triumphantly. “So I started a spreadsheet.” She pulled it up onscreen. “Boy One – Justin Merrells. We know about him already. Boy Fourteen – Ben Parkes.” She brought up the picture of round-faced, blond boy. “Lots of minor drugs charges. He’s in prison right now. Boy 34: Leo Baranski. He died a few years ago in a car accident. He had a few convictions for DUI though, so I’m thinking it’s related. And Boy 39: Xavier Ramirez. He’s currently doing ten years for aggravated assault and battery.”

“Good work, Abs.” Gibbs leaned over and kissed her expectant cheek. “McGee – go and interview Parkes and Ramirez. See if they’ll talk about these photos and confirm they were forced into underage sex. Find out if they know the names of any of their abusers.”

“On it, Boss!”

“And do some digging - see if Baranski had any connection to Quinn or Parrish,” Gibbs added.

“We’ve got a first name for Boy 32 as well,” Abby said, pointing with her mouse at her spreadsheet. “He’s wearing an identity bracelet. I managed to blow it up and his name is Ryan. Not much – but it’s something.”

“I have one more name for your spreadsheet, Abs,” Gibbs told her quietly. “Boy 43.”

“Yeah? Cool!” She put her fingers on the keyboard and waited expectantly.

“Anthony DiNozzo,” he told her quietly. She looked up, confused.

“What?”

“Boy 43.” He nodded at her spreadsheet. “Anthony DiNozzo.”

“Gibbs!” she protested. “That’s not funny.”

“No. It’s really not,” Gibbs agreed.

“It’s true, Abby,” McGee said quietly. “Tony is Boy 43. That’s why he hasn’t been around much lately.”

“But Boy 43…he’s the one who looks so scared,” she whispered. “Whenever I see him I always want to reach in there, scoop him up, and take him home with me.”

“Well I’ve done that,” Gibbs muttered.

“Tony is staying with you?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Good! I hate to think of him being alone in his apartment while this is going on. I’m so glad he’s got you, Gibbs.”

“Yeah, well, this is tough for him, Abs, as I’m sure you can understand.”

“Is he okay?” Her pale green eyes were wide and worried.

“Not really.” Gibbs shrugged.

"Boy 43 is one of the younger kids in those photos." Abby twirled one of her pigtails anxiously in her fingers. "I mean, he looks really young."

"He was twelve," Gibbs told her quietly.

That took a moment to sink in. “Twelve? And did Parrish…?” She broke off, looking horrified.

“Uh-huh.” Gibbs nodded. “That’s why Tony can’t work on the case, Abs. You can’t let him touch any of the evidence. Understand?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “Where is he?”

“Upstairs. Working on cold cases.”

“He’ll be hating that.” Abby made a face. “Is that why he was helping Ducky yesterday?”

“Yup.”

“Who else knows?”

“You, me, McGee, Ducky. That’s all.”

“Ziva?”

“Not yet. She’ll have to know at some point, but at the moment he’s really uncomfortable with people finding out,” Gibbs explained. “I wouldn’t have told you, but you’re on Boy 41. In another half an hour you’d have been ageing up Boy 43, and then you’d have found out the hard way.”

“There isn’t really an easy way to find out something like this, Gibbs.”

“No,” he agreed. “There really isn’t.”

“I need to see him.”

“Well, he’s upstairs. Just don’t…you know, make it any worse for him than it already is,” Gibbs told her.

“I won’t, I promise,” she said quietly.

~*~

Abby accompanied Gibbs and McGee upstairs in the elevator, still reeling. She couldn’t even begin to get her head around this, but she hurt inside just thinking about it.

She ran into the squad room and found Tony sitting at his desk with a big white bandage wrapped around his hand. He was nose deep in a file and surrounded by dozens of others, almost as if he was hiding.

“Tony!”

She was glad of the bandage because it gave her an excuse to hug him. He looked surprised as she ran over to him, pushed him back from his desk, sat down on his knee, and threw her arms around him.

“Your hand! I didn’t know you’d been hurt!” she exclaimed, burying her face in his neck, so he wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes. She hugged him tight, unwilling to let go. She felt his hands go uncertainly to her back, and he patted her feebly.

“Okay, Abs, let me breathe!” he joked, panting in an exaggerated way, sounding just like the same old Tony DiNozzo.

She drew back and looked into his eyes, seeing shadows in them that she hadn’t seen before. Or maybe she’d seen them but just not registered them. There had been times when she’d caught him off guard, in an unexpected moment, and seen a glimpse of a stranger in his eyes. Then he’d always smiled at her and the stranger had disappeared, and she’d forgotten all about it. Now she remembered all the times that had happened, and she wondered who that stranger was.

“What happened to your hand?” she asked, taking hold of his hand and examining the bandage carefully, more for something to do to stop herself crying than anything else.

“He *says* that he walked into a door,” Ziva told her.

“He *did* walk into a door,” Gibbs growled.

“How do you know?” Ziva frowned.

“Because it was my kitchen door, Ziva!”

“Oh.” Ziva looked completely confused. “So you really did walk into a door, Tony?”

“Yes, Ziva, I really did,” Tony grinned.

Abby felt sorry for Ziva, but she understood why Tony was uncomfortable with people knowing about this. She felt guilty that *she* knew. She felt bad that she’d spent the past two days sitting downstairs in her lab looking at such intimate, shocking photographs of him. She couldn’t begin to know how he must feel about that.

“Ziva, would you like to come with me? I’m uh, going to prison,” McGee said. Ziva’s eyes widened.

“Now that is an invitation I cannot refuse,” she replied, with a little grin.

Abby waited until the two of them had left, and then she turned back to Tony and hugged him again, burying her face in his neck, never wanting to let go.

“You know, don’t you?” Tony said in a quiet voice in her ear.

“Yes. I’m sorry, it’s just I was ageing up all the photos, and I was on the boy in file 41 and you're Boy 43, so Gibbs had to tell me, or I’d have found out anyway,” she replied into his neck.

“It’s okay, Abby,” he said softly. “I’d have told you myself, but it’s – you know – hard.”

He sounded strange, kind of small and childlike. She drew back and looked into his eyes again, and for one strange, dislocated second, found that she was looking into the eyes of Boy 43. It was the same scared, desperate, trapped look; the same lost expression; the same sense of sadness. Now she knew, she wondered how she could ever not have known. It seemed so obvious now.

Then the look was gone, and the old, familiar, joking Tony was back.

“Abby, your studded bracelet is kind of digging into my neck,” he said with a grin, and she laughed and moved her arm.

“What really happened to your hand?” she asked him.

“He really did walk into a damn door!” Gibbs roared behind her.

“Oops.” She and Tony shared a little ‘Gibbs is mad’ grimace, and then they both laughed.

She rested her forehead against Tony’s, and he put his arms around her and held on tight.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry, Tony. I hate that this happened to you. You’re one of my closest friends – you’re *family* - and I love you so much.”

“Love you too, Abs,” he whispered into her ear. “Don’t treat me any differently though, will you?”

“Uh…I’ll try. I might need to hug you a lot though – for awhile at least.”

“Okay. I can live with that,” he chuckled into her neck.

She drew back. “Oh wait! I have a cool idea!” she exclaimed. “I’m going bowling with the sisters tonight. How about you and Gibbs come along?”

“Uh…” Tony held up his bandaged hand. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Abby. Do you, Boss?” he called across the room to Gibbs. Gibbs shrugged.

“I don’t see why not. You’re always telling us you could beat us at any given ball sport with one hand tied behind your back, DiNozzo.”

Abby laughed.

“Yeah, but not my right hand, Boss!” Tony complained. “I mean, this here is my bowling hand!” He surveyed his bandaged hand sadly. Abby leaned forward and kissed it.

“You’ll have to be a southpaw for the evening, Tony,” she told him. “Because I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“Boss!” Tony called frantically across the room. Gibbs looked up again, with a grin.

“You heard her, DiNozzo. What’s the matter? Afraid the nuns will kick your ass?”

“No, I’m just afraid of them period,” Tony muttered. “Well come on! Bowling nuns? It’s freaky!”

“Tony! These are some of my best friends. You’ll love Sister Rosita.”

“Why?” Tony looked intrigued. “Is she hot?” Abby thumped him gently in the ribs. “Ow!” he complained with a grin.

“She’s not hot – but she *is* totally cool,” Abby told him. She kissed his cheek and then got up off his lap. “And I will see you both tonight.”

She gazed at him again, but Boy 43 wasn’t there any more and just Tony gazed back, with the usual hint of mischief in his glowing green eyes. She wondered where Boy 43 had gone, and whether she’d ever get a glimpse of him again.

“Problem, Abs?” Tony asked, and she realised that she was still gazing at him.

“No,” she frowned. “Just…” She leaned forward. “It’s Boy 43. He’s okay. I like him. You don’t always have to hide him.” Then she ran back down to her lab before he could reply.

~*~

Tony gazed at himself in the bathroom mirror. He felt tired, much more tired than he had any right to be after sitting on his butt all day going through those damn boring files. True, his throbbing hand had made things harder than usual – simple things he did every day like pissing and typing now took twice as long - and the painkillers zonked him out a little. Even so, he didn’t think he should feel *this* tired. He’d been injured far worse during his time at NCIS, and it hadn’t affected him this much.

He was dreading going to bed later. Today had been okay – the cold case files, boring though they were, had been a distraction. Knowing Gibbs was watching him with that laser-sharp gaze of his had helped keep him on track, even though the compulsion to zone out had been there a couple of times during the day. Tonight though… He went cold every time he thought of lying in bed in Gibbs’s spare room. Luke lurked in the shadows everywhere, and Tony felt as defenceless against the man now as he had been when he was a kid.

“C’mon!” he muttered to his reflection, trying to access his usual levels of high-octane energy. “There are only so many things you can smash or break in Gibbs’s house.”

His reflection gazed back at him, green eyes completely stony.

“Your problem is you have no sense of humour,” he told the man in the mirror. “Lighten up! We’re going bowling. At least that’s one place Roy never took you as a bribe to keep you from telling anyone about him fucking your underage ass. Whore.” He grinned at himself. “Remember all that stuff you got for keeping your mouth shut, Tonio? All the roller skates, sneakers, skateboards, trips to the movies, burgers and all that shit? Boy, you were cheap.”

The door opened, and Gibbs appeared behind him.

“You gonna be in here all night, DiNozzo?”

“Sorry, Boss - everything just takes longer with only one hand,” Tony explained, holding up his bandaged hand.

“You okay with going bowling?”

“Didn’t know I had a choice,” Tony muttered.

“I’m not trying to run your life for you,” Gibbs growled. “You don’t want to go, we don’t have to.”

Tony sighed. “No, it’s fine. At least if we go out, then there’s no danger of me subjecting you to another lecture on the history of film.”

Gibbs gave a quirk of a grin. “Actually, it was pretty interesting." Then he shrugged. "Well, the bits of it that made any sense.”

Tony grimaced, remembering the verbal diarrhoea of the previous evening. He finished drying his hands, ran his fingers through his hair, and then walked over to the door. Gibbs stopped him as he passed and put his hands on Tony’s shoulders.

“You did good today, Tony,” he said, looking straight into Tony’s eyes.

“Yeah, I didn’t attack anyone, or fall apart in an elevator, or smash up any of the fixtures and fittings,” Tony joked, looking away.

Gibbs put a hand on the side of his face to make him look at him again. “You did good,” Gibbs repeated firmly. Tony gazed at him in surprise, and then he nodded.

“Thanks, Boss,” he said quietly.

The bowling alley was busy when they got there, and that made Tony feel tense. He had kept control of himself all day, but being around people was becoming increasingly difficult. Sometimes he felt that he was holding on by the barest thread, and it might break at any moment. Supposing there was some kind of trigger here? Supposing he lost it again? The last thing he wanted to do was make an idiot of himself here, in such a public place.

Abby introduced him to the nuns, but Tony found it hard to remember all their names. He wanted to access his usual easy charm, but he couldn’t seem to find it. There was a buzzing sound in his head, his hand throbbed, and he was so damn tired. All he wanted to do was sleep, but he dreaded the thought of closing his eyes for even a second.

Gibbs was first up to bowl, and as Tony sat there, watching, he realised that he’d never been in this situation before. He’d never been with people who *knew*. All his life it had been his secret, and one he’d tried his best to keep hidden, but now it was out there. More and more people were finding out every day, and he didn’t have a clue how to handle it.

Who was he? Now that they knew, now that he didn’t need to hide himself any more, who the hell was he? Was he Tony, who goofed around and kept everything from getting too serious? Or was he the boy he'd packed away in a box years ago - a quiet kid with a shy, reserved personality?

“Penny for them, Tony,” Sister Rosita said, sitting down next to him. She was a large woman in her forties, with a happy, beaming smile and a thick Irish accent - which surprised Tony as he’d always assumed from her name that she was Spanish.

“Oh, that’s overpriced,” Tony replied with a smile. “They aren’t worth that much.”

They both turned as Gibbs knocked down all ten pins on his first attempt.

“Typical,” Tony snorted, as Abby threw her arms around Gibbs, and he swung her around, grinning and punching the air.

“Your boss is quite the charmer,” Sister Rosita laughed. Tony looked at her in surprise. “He’s a perfect gentleman of course, but he always has a little gleam in his eye when I talk to him, and he’s quite a flirt,” she said, in her warm, lilting accent.

Tony stared at her, completely taken aback. Gibbs? A flirt? “You’ve met him before?”

“Oh yes! Abby’s brought him along a couple of times – not often because I gather he’s something of a workaholic, but we love it when he joins us. Although...” She leaned forward and spoke to him conspiratorially. "He does like to win, doesn’t he?"

Tony laughed. "Oh yeah. He sure as hell does."

He looked over to where Sister Harriet was engaging Gibbs in conversation, and he saw that his boss looked relaxed and completely at ease. He was talking in a way that was positively animated – for Gibbs anyway.

“And you find him charming?” Tony asked.

“Oh yes! He’s quite a favourite with us!”

Tony thought about how authoritarian and taciturn Gibbs could be at work, but he supposed everyone needed to let their hair down and relax occasionally. Even so, this was a side of Gibbs he hadn’t seen before, and he was intrigued. Maybe everyone had different sides of themselves they didn’t like people to see.

Tony rubbed his forehead with his hand. He wished he could get that buzzing sound out of his brain – it was driving him crazy, and it was hard enough to think as it was without having a swarm of bees inside his head.

Sister Rosita gazed at him thoughtfully.

“That’s quite a burden you’re carrying there, Tony,” she said quietly. He glanced over at her sharply, thinking, angrily, that Abby might have told her about his past. “You have a big, easy smile, but your eyes tell a different story." Sister Rosita gazed at him thoughtfully. "I don’t know what your burden is, but you’re among friends tonight – can’t you rest here awhile and be yourself?”

“Yeah, well, I haven’t figured out who that is yet,” Tony muttered.

“Don't try so hard – just be,” Sister Rosita advised, and then she looked around. “It’s your turn, Tony,” she said, pointing.

He got up and picked up a bowling ball with his left hand.

“Let’s see what you can do, southpaw!” Abby called.

It felt all wrong, and his stride was off as he approached the alley. He released the ball too soon and winced as it crashed onto the floor and then dawdled down to the end where it knocked over a single pin.

“Aw, Tony!” Abby gave him a hug of commiseration. Gibbs just grinned at him.

“What was it you were saying about beating us with one arm tied behind your back, DiNozzo?” he asked.

Tony tried to think of the smart DiNozzo reply, but it just wasn’t there. He couldn't seem to get anything right at the moment. The buzzing sound got louder, and he shook his head and reached up a hand, absently, to stroke his hair.

“Hey.” Gibbs was suddenly beside him. “You just need to adjust your stance to account for the fact you’re bowling with your left hand instead of your right,” Gibbs said, picking up another ball and handing it to him. He stood behind Tony, put one hand on his hip, and stroked his other hand down Tony’s left arm to his wrist.

“You need to put your weight on the other hip,” Gibbs said, and his voice was low and deep in Tony’s ear. Tony felt himself relaxing, which was strange because he usually hated it when people – men – stood close behind him. This felt good though. Gibbs felt good, pressed against his back, strong and warm, close and comforting. The buzzing sound in his head receded, and Tony leaned forward and released the ball smoothly. It rocketed down to the end and knocked over all the remaining nine pins.

“Not bad for a southpaw!” Tony grinned at Abby. She giggled and high-fived him. “Thanks, Boss!” Tony said, sitting down again.

He could still feel the weight of Gibbs’s hand on his hip and the reassurance of Gibbs’s body against his own. He could hear that deep, low voice speaking straight into his ear, and smell the scent of the man.

One by one the sisters came over to him to talk, and he was relieved that nobody expected anything of him. He liked being Tony DiNozzo. He liked being the one who clowned around and got all the laughs. He liked making people like him, and he liked dazzling them so much that they never saw beneath the shiny surface of the face he presented to the world. But being Tony – upbeat, restless, teasing Tony - took energy, and he was all out of juice right now. That stupid damn kid in his head had drained him dry, and there was nothing left.

He rubbed his head again. The buzzing sound was always there, in the background, but if he just sat quietly, and didn't try too hard, it didn't get any louder. He knew it was there though. Waiting.

“Is he okay?” he overheard Abby ask Gibbs. “He’s really quiet.”

“Yeah, well, you told him he didn’t always have to hide Boy 43, Abby,” Gibbs replied softly. “So he isn’t.”

Tony saw her look around, realisation showing in her eyes. Then she came over to him and sat down on his lap. He put his arms around her, and she rested her cheek against his, and they sat there in silence watching the bowling.

A few seconds later, Gibbs came over and sat down beside them. He rested his arm along the back of the seat so that it was touching Tony’s shoulder, his fingers just brushing Tony’s hair.

Tony tightened his clasp on Abby, and she reciprocated, hugging him back. He leaned back into Gibbs's fingers and relaxed as they began stroking the back of his head, softly, rhythmically, soothing him.

None of them said anything. They just sat there in silence. But, for the first time since his mother died, Tony didn't feel that he was alone.

~*~

Tony was silent on the drive home. Gibbs glanced at him every few minutes, wondering what was going on in Tony's head. He looked tired and there was a bleak expression in his eyes.

When they got back to the house, Tony went straight to the kitchen and got a glass of water.

"So I don't need to go walkabout again in the middle of the night," he said, holding it up, a note of bravado in his voice that did nothing to hide the fear in his eyes. Gibbs noticed that his hand was shaking. Tony started to hum.

"Tony – what's going on right now?" Gibbs asked.

"Nothing's going on. I'm fine." Tony looked surprised.

"You're humming."

"So?" Tony shrugged. "What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing – just the humming seems to be part of the whole head stroking and eyes glazing over thing that happens when you're about to fugue," Gibbs said. "So what's going on?"

Tony frowned, looking angry and scared at one and the same time. "There's this damn buzzing sound in my head. If I hum, I can drown it out sometimes, that's all."

"Do you know what the sound is?"

"No. It's nothing. I'm tired. I'm going to bed," Tony said abruptly, walking over to the door.

"Are you scared of going into a fugue again?" Gibbs asked him quietly. Tony stiffened and then turned.

"Yes I'm fucking scared of going into a fugue again, Gibbs," he growled. "The first night after this whole nightmare began, I woke up after two hours stuck inside my own head to find myself half-naked, the guy I was intending to fuck gone, and you and Ducky standing over me. And the second night I smashed up your house, and you had to sit up with me on the fucking couch until I got to sleep. So, I figure I don't have much dignity left where the nights are concerned. I'm wondering what night three has in store for me; maybe I'll run down the street stark naked to complete my total embarrassment."

"We could sit on the couch again, if it'll help," Gibbs suggested.

"No. This is pathetic. I'm a grown man." Tony shook his head. "I can't make you sit up on the couch and nursemaid me to sleep every night."

He turned again and squared his shoulders, visibly, and then took a deep breath and resumed his journey like a man going to his execution.

"Tony," Gibbs said, as he reached the door. "Would you like to sleep in my bed?"

Tony stood there, and Gibbs could see every muscle in his body tense up. He turned back, slowly.

"Just sleep," Gibbs said, because the last thing he wanted was for the invitation to sound sexually charged. Tony had enough mixed-up feelings to handle right now without Gibbs introducing sex into the equation. "If it would help?"

"For God's sake, I'm not going to ask you to…" Tony began angrily, and then he ran out of steam. He bowed his head and gazed at the floor. "Yeah," he muttered. "It would help."

~*~

"Idiot," Tony berated himself around the side of his toothbrush as he cleaned his teeth. "You’re like a six year old kid sheltering in Daddy's bed from the monsters. Christ, you disgust me. You're this fucking lead weight, pulling me down."

A pair of scared but determined eyes stared back at him from the mirror.

"This is a guy I want to respect me," he told his reflection. "And not just that. This is a guy I want to like me. I want him to find me attractive, and there's nothing attractive about neediness. Don't you fucking understand that?"

His reflection shrugged at him.

"Oh, you understand, but you don't care. You just need what you need, and I always give in to you to head off a meltdown. You're so fucking weak. You've screwed up my entire fucking life. I hate you."

He swiped a towel across his face and threw it at the mirror. Then he turned out the light and went into the bedroom. Gibbs was already sitting in bed, reading a book. Tony felt stupid walking across the room towards the other side of the bed. He hesitated when he got there, unsure what to do next. Gibbs glanced up at him over the top of his glasses.

"Just get in, DiNozzo," he said, in an oddly affectionate growl.

Tony slid under the duvet and lay there stiffly, looking up at the ceiling.

"If you feel like you're going into a fugue, you talk to me," Gibbs ordered. "Wake me up – I don't mind. And remember what I said about standing up to that bastard. Don't let him hurt you any more, Tony. Take control of the memory."

"Didn't work last night," Tony pointed out. He couldn't forget the sensation of Luke fucking his mouth all the way to the back of his throat, blocking his airway, one cold fist wrapped in his hair so he couldn't get away. He recalled the desperate struggle, and then the movement of his hand thrusting wildly through the air and the sound of shattering glass.

"Didn't take you for a quitter, DiNozzo," Gibbs said. Tony glanced sideways at him. Gibbs removed his glasses and looked at him. "You try something once, and it doesn't work out so you give up? Try again, Tony. Didn't I teach you anything?"

Tony nodded, grimly. Gibbs shot him one of his rare smiles, and that gave Tony the determination to at least try. He didn’t want to let Gibbs down. Gibbs leaned over, put his book on the nightstand, and then turned off the light. Tony lay there in the darkness, listening as Gibbs settled down beside him.

"You won't get to sleep if you don't close your eyes, Tony," Gibbs told him. "Just relax. I'll be here."

Tony gave a little sigh and turned over onto his side, away from Gibbs, with his back to him. A second later he felt Gibbs turn too, and then he felt Gibbs's chest pressing against his back. Gibbs's hand slid over his stomach and came to rest there, warm and firm, holding Tony close. Normally, that would have been a trigger for him to get out of the situation. He never let the people he fucked hold him like this. Once the sex was over, he preferred them to leave, but if they had to stay then he liked them to stay on their own side of the bed. This was different. This was like it had been back at the bowling alley; instead of making him panic it made him feel safe.

"Okay?" Gibbs asked.

"Yeah," Tony replied softly. "Very okay."

"Good. Now sleep."

Tony closed his eyes, cautiously, and waited. There was nothing. No buzzing, no whispering in the shadows. For now, at least, it seemed he was safe.

It was a little after three a.m. when Tony woke up. He slid out of the bed and got up to use the bathroom, then returned and got back in, trying not to wake Gibbs in the process. Gibbs muttered something in his sleep and moved away, over to the other side of the bed, and Tony lay there alone in the dark. He missed the weight and feel of Gibbs’s hand on his belly and the warm press of his body against his own. Tony steeled himself and then closed his eyes.

"Bzzz…bzzzz…bzzzz…" Maybe it wasn't bees. It was a more mechanical, regular sound than that. "Bzzzz…bzzzz…bzzzz…"

He was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. It was a hot day, and above him a ceiling fan was turning. There was something caught in it, and it made a little buzzing sound as it revolved above him.

He gazed at it. It was discoloured – maybe it had once been white, but now it was a yellowy colour.

Someone was looming over him, unbuttoning his blue and white plaid shirt, the one his mom had bought for him just before she died. He lay there, gazing up at the fan, watching it turn. His shirt was pushed open and cold hands slid across his chest. A warm mouth followed, trailing saliva over his bare skin. He gazed fixedly at the fan.

His jeans were unbuttoned and yanked down his legs, then thrown onto the floor. His briefs followed. Cold hands touched him again, so cold they made him jump. He clenched his hands in the sheets and refused to take his eyes off the fan circling above him.

"Didn't you like my present?" Luke asked him.

"What?"

"I gave you a present. Didn't you like it?"

He thought of the little red plastic viewfinder, and the disk of “The Sword in the Stone”, and nodded.

"I liked it," he said, still gazing at the fan.

He was startled by the slap on his thigh, and he jumped and looked down for the first time into a pair of hard grey eyes.

"Then put out for me, you little slut," Luke hissed. "That's what you do, isn't it? You put out for presents? That's what Roy told me."

He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. He didn't like this new man Roy had left him with. He was mean, and Tony was terrified that he would hurt him, like Marco had hurt him. Tony clenched his hands more tightly in the sheets.

"Sorry," he whispered.

"You will be if you don't start trying harder," Luke snapped. "Look at you, lying there like a fish on a slab. Turn over." Cold hands turned him onto his stomach, and his shirt was removed, leaving him completely naked. Those hands roved everywhere, caressing and pinching him. He buried his head in the pillow and listened to the sound of the fan overhead.

"Bzzzz…bzzzz…bzzzz…"

Another slap – on his ass this time. "Open up for me, you little slut. Don't play the shy virgin. I saw those photos. I know you can do better than this."

"BZZZZ…BZZZZ…" The sound was ringing in his ears, deafening him, making so much noise that he couldn't hear anything else. There was something he was supposed to do. Something someone wanted him to do. Gibbs – that was it. Gibbs had told him to do something, and he always did whatever Gibbs told him to do.

"I said open. Roy was wrong. You aren't a good boy at all. You’re a little sack of shit. Now do as I tell you."

"No," he muttered. The noise in his head was so loud it was hurting him. Where was Gibbs? He had said he'd be here, and he fucking well wasn't. Where the hell was he? Tony couldn't do this alone.

“What did you say?”

“I said no,” he whimpered into the pillow.

He was slapped again, harder this time. Luke grabbed his hips and pulled his buttocks apart. Tony scrunched the sheets in his fists and wriggled, trying to get out of his grasp.

"Please don't, please stop, please, please…" he begged.

"You don't want me to stop." The sun was shining through the window, turning Luke into a huge, looming shadow on the wall in front of him, like a giant monster, towering over him. "You like it. It's what you're for. You're a little slut who loves being fucked."

"Gibbs!" Tony shouted. His hands clenched in the sheets as Luke's cold fingers tightened their grasp on his hips. He felt something hard press against him. "Gibbs, where the hell are you? You said you'd be here…Gibbs!"

He was quivering, his entire body covered in sweat, and Luke was pushing against him, demanding entrance. The shadow on the wall in front of him grew even larger, threatening to engulf him completely.

"I am here, Tony," a strong voice said in his ear. A warm, firm hand slid over his stomach, and another stroked his hair. "I'm here. You can do this. Tell him no. Make him go away."

Luke's hips were thrusting against his ass. "Take it – it's all you're good for," Luke told him.

"No," Tony said fearfully.

"Yes, you little slut.”

"Fight back, Tony," Gibbs said. "He can't hurt you. I'm here."

Tony felt a renewed sense of courage. He could do this. He could fight this monster.

"No!" he said again, more firmly this time, and as he said it he felt himself growing. He felt his legs lengthening, his body filling out, and his muscles flexing beneath his skin. He was big; too big to be held down by this bastard. He was tall, strong, and powerful, and he could fight back. He wasn't a helpless kid any more.

The shadow on the wall in front of him was predatory and grotesque. Tony faltered for a moment, afraid to turn and face the man casting it.

"Tony – you can do this," Gibbs told him, and his hand pressed even more firmly against Tony's stomach. "I know you can." There wasn't even a hint of doubt in his voice.

Tony pulled himself up to his full height. He gathered every single ounce of courage he possessed and then turned and looked straight at his tormentor.

Luke didn't seem as terrifying as he once had. Tony didn't have to look up at him now because they were at eye level. Tony gazed at him from the distance of years, taking in the dark hair, the square jaw, and the cold grey eyes, seeing his tormentor properly for the first time. Luke wasn't a monster - he was just a man. Luke gazed back at him, his eyes coolly assessing.

"Don’t fight me, Boy," he said in that clipped, precise tone of voice. “We both know you don’t have the balls. I'm going to fuck you, and you can't stop me.”

"I can," Tony said in a tight voice. Luke wasn't real. He was just the shifting shadows inside his own mind. He had to remember that. "I know who you are now," Tony told him. "I know who you are, I know what you are, and I won't let you touch me again."

Parrish's face twisted into a predatory smile. "You can't fight me, Tony."

"Go away, Parrish," Tony said tiredly.

Luke reached out cold fingers towards him, but they were ghostly and insubstantial.

"I said go away!" Tony roared. "Fuck off! Leave me alone!"

The ceiling fan circled above him – bzzzz, bzzzz, bzzzz – and Matthew Parrish shimmered briefly and then faded into nothing. The room disappeared, and the buzzing noise in his head slowly died away, until it too was gone.

Tony blinked.

Gibbs was leaning over him, holding him, one hand stroking his hair, the other wrapped around his waist. Tony could just about make out the intensity of his blue eyes in the darkness.

"You back with us, Tony?"

"Yeah." Tony grinned at him tiredly. "I did it, Boss," he said, in a tone of quiet triumph. "I kicked the bastard's ass, told him to get out of my head – and he went…just like that. He slunk away without a fight."

"He's a damn coward," Gibbs grunted. "Like all the worst bullies." He continued to stroke Tony's hair, looking down at him all the time with that intense look still in his eyes. "I'm proud of you, Tony. I knew you could do it."

Tony grinned up at him stupidly, and then, just as stupidly, he angled his head up and kissed Gibbs on the lips. This time Gibbs didn't go still. This time he moved his head down and gently returned the kiss. Tony drew back, took another look at those intense blue eyes, and then he went back in for another kiss.

Gibbs moved his hand to cup Tony's face and his lips moved against Tony's. Tony hesitated, and then he took his life in his hands and parted Gibbs's lips with his own. He pushed his tongue into Gibbs's mouth and began exploring. Gibbs was motionless for a moment, and Tony wondered if he'd gone too far, but then Gibbs responded, his tongue sliding passionately against Tony's.

It was a slow, tender kiss. Tony came up for air and then pushed Gibbs back on the bed. He rolled on top of him and kissed him again, harder this time, wanting more, his mouth restlessly questing... Gibbs put his hands on Tony's shoulders and pushed up, stopping him.

"I won't be one of your distractions, DiNozzo," he said quietly.

"I'm not…I'm not doing that," Tony replied, looking down on him. "I'm ready for this, trust me."

"Maybe you are." Gibbs gazed up at him. "But I'm not."

Tony frowned. He rested his elbows on the pillow, on either side of Gibbs's head, and stroked Gibbs's hair away from his forehead, looking down on him the whole time, feeling confused.

“Despite my many marriages, there hasn’t been anyone I really cared about since Shannon,” Gibbs told him. “It’s not easy for me to let anyone in, and you’re too important to me to fuck it up. And besides, I’ve never had a relationship with a guy before; plenty of sex but never a relationship."

"I've never had a relationship with anyone before," Tony grunted, with a little laugh. "Unless you count the whole Jeanne thing, which I don't since technically that wasn't even me she was in love with."

"That's probably the only way it could have been for you in the past, but it's not the way it'll be with me, Tony. I know you. You won’t get away with any of that shit with me."

"Yeah." Tony dropped a kiss on Gibbs's forehead. "But I *want* you, Gibbs. I want you so much." He moved his body hungrily against Gibbs's solid flesh beneath him, needing more.

"You've *got* me," Gibbs told him, and his hands came up to rest on Tony's ass. "Let's just take it slowly, one step at a time. There's no hurry."

"You mean that? You're not going to disappear on me, are you?" Tony asked, reluctant to release his hold on Gibbs, keeping him pinned down. He'd wanted this for so long that it seemed hard to believe it was really happening.

"No, Tony, I'm not going to disappear," Gibbs replied, his hands stroking Tony's ass firmly.

Tony kissed him again, just to be sure, and Gibbs opened up sweetly and allowed him the kiss. Tony drank him in, eagerly, thrusting against him until Gibbs pushed him away with a chuckle.

"Sorry," Tony said sheepishly, rolling off Gibbs and onto his side, so he could still look at him. "I just…I've wanted this for such a long time."

"I know. Me too."

Tony reached out and rested a hand on Gibbs's chest, tracing the lines of wiry muscle beneath his fingertips.

"I never knew. You never said anything."

"Yeah, well, I'm not any good at all that shit. And then there's rule number twelve…"

Tony laughed out loud. "Well, the rules are made to be broken, Boss."

"No, they're damn well not," Gibbs retorted. "They're there for a reason."

Tony found a nipple and circled it with his finger through the fabric of Gibbs's tee-shirt. "I'm good at sex," he said. "Really good. You sure…?"

"I'm sure," Gibbs replied firmly. "But are you sure, Tony, that you're as ready as you think you are?"

His hand slid down inside Tony's boxers, and Tony hissed in a deep breath and then slowly released it. Then he realised what Gibbs meant; his mind might be turned on right now, but his cock wasn't. Gibbs must have seen the expression on his face, because he removed his hand and cupped Tony's cheek instead.

"Hey – like I said - one step at a time. Tonight was breakthrough enough, wasn't it?"

Tony turned onto his back, put his hands under his head, and stared moodily up at the ceiling. Gibbs turned onto his side and rested his hand on Tony's stomach.

"It's just weird," Tony muttered. "Because I'm such a damn whore. I've slept with half the city, and I've never had any problems getting it up before. I'm not used to it not working, Gibbs. It's freaking me out."

Gibbs propped his head on his hand and gazed at Tony thoughtfully in the darkness.

"Tony, you've been through a lot these past few days. It's understandable. Maybe it's a control issue."

"No." Tony shook his head. "I never lose control during sex. And, in case you were wondering, I always go on top."

Gibbs grinned. "Ah, then Houston, we may have a problem."

Tony gave a wry grunt. "You too, huh? Should have guessed."

"I don't think it matters much right now, Tony," Gibbs told him. "Like I said, one step at a time. We'll figure it out. You did good tonight. You stood up to that bastard and got him out of your head."

"Because you were here," Tony told him. "I don't know if I'll always be able to do it. I don't know if I'll be able to do it when you're not around."

"We'll see."

"I was a little whore, Gibbs. I put out for presents; roller skates, skate boards, a trip to the movies, or a ball game. New sneakers." Tony made a face. "You know how much I love my shoes, Gibbs. Roy would buy me pretty much anything I asked for. He knew he had to keep me sweet, and I colluded in that. I went along with it. Hell, I even felt like I was manipulating him sometimes; withholding kisses until I got the promise of something I wanted and then holding him to it afterwards. I was a sneaky little shit."

"You were a kid, Tony. You were being manipulated by a ruthless sexual predator who knew exactly how to play you to get what he wanted."

"I was a cheap, easy little whore," Tony snapped, disgusted by himself.

“Why do you keep calling yourself names?” Gibbs said sharply. “You were a child getting yourself through a difficult situation the only way you knew how.”

“You don't understand, Gibbs. Tonio, Boy 43, *him*, whatever you want to call him, was a stupid, snivelling little shit who let people fuck him for trinkets. I can’t stand the whiny little brat.”

Gibbs rested a hand on his stomach. "Why do you hate him so much, Tony? He was just a kid. You're pretty hard on him. If we were talking about another kid – about Justin maybe - would you say these things? Or is it just because he's you?"

"He ruined my fucking life."

"No, Roy Quinn did that. And Matthew Parrish. And whoever the hell Marco is – and, trust me, I'm damn well going to find out and make him pay. But that child you once were didn't do that, Tony."

"That kid, the kid I was then, he was weak and stupid. He let people take advantage of him – hell, he went along with it. I hate that he's still inside me, and I've had to look out for him and protect him all these years. I want to smash his stupid face in. I want to hurt him, Gibbs." Tony turned his face sideways and found Gibbs looking at him with a troubled expression in his eyes. "I want to fucking hurt him."

"I don't," Gibbs said firmly. "I want to help him. I don't want to hurt him – he's been through enough. I want to hurt the people who did this to him. I want to tell him that it wasn't his fault, and that he's safe now. I want him to know that nobody will ever get to him again because they'll have to go through me. I want to tell him that he's mine now, and that I will always be there for him. I want him to tell him that he's loved.”

Tony stared at the ceiling, blinking back tears. Gibbs pulled him over and wrapped his arms around him. Then, for the first time, Tony cried. He buried his face in Gibbs's shoulder, tangled his fists in Gibbs's tee shirt, and cried like a child.

Gibbs let him fall apart in the warm safety of his arms, stroking his shaking body throughout. Tony clung onto him, his body convulsing against him, as he allowed someone to finally see the full extent of the damage he had kept hidden for so long.

Gibbs didn't turn away as Tony had feared people might if they knew who he really was. He took all of Tony's anguish and held firm, his body strong, solid, and warm as Tony raged against him. Tony couldn't hold back. He cried out the loneliness, isolation, pain and exhaustion. He cried for that kid, and what had been done to him, because Gibbs was right – he *was* the boy in those photographs, and the long years of denying that were over.

He cried for a very long time, unable to stop the tidal wave of emotion coursing through his body. He had never cried about what had happened to him as a child before. He had never allowed himself to feel those emotions. They were too big, too much for him to endure alone. Now he wasn't alone any more.

Eventually, Tony realised that he had stopped crying. He found himself lying in Gibbs's arms, almost on top of him, his chin resting on Gibbs's shoulder. His entire body was spent, and his breathing was coming in little hitching gasps. Gibbs's tee-shirt was sodden, and Gibbs's hands were still gently stroking his back in comforting little circles.

"It's okay, Tony. I've got you," Gibbs murmured. “I've got you."

~*~

End of Damage - Part Three: Disintegration
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Damage - Part Four: Demons - 1/2