A/N: I am back after a much needed break! My silly muse has me pulled in so many directions, but with the news of Michael leaving and the speculation about Tony's exit, the idea for this story refused to get in line and demanded to be written.

The first couple of chapters will be devoted to getting insight into what our heroes, first Tony then Gibbs, are thinking and feeling with the realization that their friendship may be damaged beyond repair – or is it? Where this story goes from there is anyone's guess!

Disclaimer: I do not own any recognizable characters or places. I am making no money from this, and no copyright infringement is intended.

No beta, so all mistakes are mine. It's been a while and I'm a bit rusty, so please be kind!

"Regrets and Resignations"

Waking up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, sometimes screaming, sometimes sobbing was becoming an unpleasant routine. Tony's mind refused to give him respite from the macabre visions that seemed determined to plague him night after night, and he was beginning to wonder if he would ever sleep peacefully again. The combination of long days and sleepless nights were beginning to take their toll, both physically and emotionally.

He would wake shaking and gasping for breath at the same moment during each recurring nightmare; Gibbs lying prone in the middle of the crowded marketplace, his lifeblood spilling out to form a growing puddle in the dust and sand, and Luke standing over him with a smoking gun clutched in his hand. The frames of the film ran in slow motion as Tony watched himself running through the maze of locals only to reach Gibbs' side just in time to see the last flicker of life leave his cobalt blue eyes.

Some nights he would get up, pour a stiff drink, and pace the polished hard-wood floors of his living room or stare out the window at the sprawling city below. Other nights, when surfing through hundreds of satellite channels failed, music served as a suitable distraction. His guitar and piano waited patiently for him, ready to help him finish a few partially-written songs held captive in his head. Losing himself in composition had helped his troubled mind in the past, but lately any catharsis was short-lived as major keys turned minor when despair and fear inevitably crept back in.

On this night, Tony lay awake staring helplessly at the moon-cast shadows dancing across his bedroom ceiling. Even if he dared close his eyes, he knew sleep would never come. That gave him time, too much time, to just lie there and think. Hazarding a glance to his right, the red digital numbers of his alarm clock displayed 12:15.

Tony sighed, his brow furrowing as he reflected on his life's journey and the choices he had made along the way. Right or wrong, wise or unwise, each twist, turn, and fork in the road had brought him to this point.

From Peoria to Philly, he had always been about the job. He ruffled a few feathers and made a few enemies along the way, so his time on each force lasted only a couple of years. Young, cocky, and brash, it wasn't long before he achieved the rank of Detective after landing at the Baltimore PD. Discovering that his once-trusted partner was a dirty cop, and with threats of being outed if he ratted, Tony found himself at a crossroads with no sign post to direct his path. He never found out how Danny came into possession of compromising photographs taken of him with another man in the dark recesses of a gay club, but they served their purpose and bought his silence.

Fortune smiled on him when a certain blue-eyed, silver-haired, Navy cop came into his life and offered him a way out. Leaving the gritty, grimy, dull streets and squad room of Baltimore behind for the fancier trappings of NCIS gave him a whole new sense of purpose, and he jumped at the opportunity without hesitation. He thrived under Gibbs' stern tutelage, and while the two of them were more alike than either of them dared to admit, it was being part of a highly respected team that made him feel complete.

Over the last few years, however, he felt the team's focus shift from crime scene investigation toward more geo-political issues. Between solo assignments as an armed escort and babysitter for the bratty, wayward offspring of top military brass and the team being chosen for every terror cell breaking mission around the globe, he no longer felt like a cop. Somewhere along the blurred lines, he became an expendable pawn in a chess game he no longer wanted to play. Despite having field offices scattered all over the globe, the MCRT had been turned into some sort of de facto anti-terrorism task force. The stakes were higher and the secrets more damning and destructive and he no longer wanted any part of it.

Even in the once friendly confines of the bullpen things had changed, and not for the better. For reasons that remained a complete mystery, McGee had become the chosen one. It was no secret that Vance favored McGee with his computer expertise in a more leadership role over his often unconventional but highly effective methods. Gibbs remained a functional mute on the subject, offering no explanation as to why McGee had taken his place as his trusted right-hand man. Relegated to McGee's former role, chained to his desk pecking away on a computer keyboard instead of being on Gibbs' six where he belonged, left him feeling as useful as a potted plant standing ignored and withering in the corner.

Had Gibbs finally given up and no longer trusted him? Was he willing to sit by while McGee took over his job? Did anyone even want him around anymore? How long was he willing to stand idly by while his team self-destructed? He felt powerless to say or do anything to right the listing ship; his years of experience and loyalty no longer seemed to mean anything to anyone - especially not to Gibbs.

Maybe it was finally time to move on and find a new home where his dedication and experience would be appreciated. He knew that his local options were limited since he couldn't risk sending out resumes or making inquiries into positions with other federal law enforcement agencies without Vance and/or Gibbs getting wind of it. No, he would have to resign, say his good-byes, and make a clean break. No doubt it would be heartbreaking, but it was a matter of survival.

With more than enough funds in his bank accounts, thanks to his untouched annual trust fund distributions and a number of wise investments, he could take off with no particular destination in mind, and have plenty of time to decide his next career move. One thing was for certain; staying at NCIS was no longer an option.

With that morose thought in mind, Tony rolled out of bed with a rueful sigh. The clock now read 12:45.

Freshly showered and shaved, Tony leaned on the marble vanity and stared at his reflection in the mirror. Prominent dark circles under his eyes gave testimony to sleepless nights. Tiny crinkles he hadn't noticed before adorned the corners of his eyes and the few gray hairs scattered amongst the auburn at his temples seemed to have appeared overnight. When he had gone from youthful good-looking to a more distinguished ruggedly handsome he couldn't say.

"God, when did we get so old?" he muttered around a frown to his reflection before letting out a heavy sigh. A trip to the salon was definitely in order. "Well, at least we still have our hair," he chuckled tiredly.

He was still in good physical shape for a man his age, but it was getting harder to maintain his athletic physique. Somewhere along the line his six-pack had softened into a four-pack, so he made a mental note to re-up his gym membership. Getting back to lifting weights in addition to his three-mile daily runs would have him backing in fighting trim in no time. Maybe cutting back on pizza and switching to light beer would help, too.

Turning from side to side and flexing for effect, Tony assessed his overall appearance. His arms, legs, and pecs were still muscled and well-toned, and his ass was still as high, firm, and perfectly shaped as it had always been. Giving his reflection a quick once-over and a parting wink, Tony finger combed his hair into place before going in search of clothes.

He dropped his towel into the hamper and pulled on a pair of black boxer briefs from his dresser. Moving to his giant walk-in closet, he switched on the light. All of his tailored suits hung to his right along with his dress shirts and a rack of designer ties. Casual slacks, jeans, and a veritable rainbow of sweaters hung to his left. At the back of the closet, a floor to ceiling rack housed his countless pairs of dress shoes and boots. Several pairs of athletic shoes were neatly lined up on the floor beneath a self that held his sweats and workout gear.

Since it was Friday, Tony turned his back on his suits and opted instead for comfortable casual. He paired a silky soft cranberry mock turtleneck sweater with a pair of dark blue jeans. A pair of dark gray Gucci ankle boots would complete the ensemble. Tony chuckled at his reflection in the full-length mirror affixed to the closet door.

It hadn't escaped his notice that after years of being a walking, talking, everyman advertisement for what passed for high fashion in the men's department at Sears, Gibbs had taken to wearing suits. Some days he added a tie, but more often than not he opted for leaving a few buttons undone. It was a shock at first to see silvery chest hair instead of the ubiquitous white undershirt, but Tony wasn't about to complain.

Gibbs had always balked at wearing suits, insisting that they were strictly for weddings, funerals, and the occasional court appearance. They may have been off the rack suits, but they fit him like a glove. Not only that, the high and tight haircut was growing out and the longer silvery strands threatened to tickle his ears. Tony wasn't quite sure what to make of the drastic change in Gibbs' style, but he had to admit he liked it – a lot.

After a final stop in the bathroom for deodorant and a splash of cologne, Tony grabbed his wallet, badge, phone, Sig, and keys and headed out into the dark of night.

Absently drumming out a beat on the steering wheel, Tony drove the all-too familiar route to work. Even at 0200, it still took nearly half an hour to drive the six winding miles to the Navy Yard. A number of stark white, brightly lit monuments passed unnoticed on his left as the Potomac River flowed majestically on his right. Munching on a couple of double chocolate donuts and sipping on a steaming cup of hazelnut-flavored coffee, his thoughts again turned to Gibbs.

Whether dressed in his customary Dockers, polo over white undershirt and a sport coat, or worn and stained t-shirts and sweatshirts paired with baggy faded jeans or cargo shorts, depending on the season and suitable only for working in the basement, the man was drop dead sexy. Tony thought it was a damn shame that Gibbs didn't buy better fitting pants. Of course, even a seemingly innocent, off-the-cuff suggestion that Gibbs should buy butt-huggers to showcase his ass would earn him the mother of all head slaps or worse get him fired.

The man's updated wardrobe was but one part of his metamorphosis. He was still as much of a bastard as always, in some ways even more so, but in some respects he actually seemed to be softening around the edges a little bit. Maybe it was his mortality staring him in the face, or maybe he was just mellowing with age like a cask of fine wine or barrel of top shelf bourbon. Whatever it was, Gibbs was beginning to show a vulnerable side that made him less of a mythical superhuman and just more – human.

Nearly losing Gibbs to The Calling had reawakened something in Tony, something wondrous albeit dangerous. Feelings of love and desire that he had kept locked deep inside rushed to the surface and threatened to overwhelm him. He had always thought that Gibbs was a good-looking man, okay – gorgeous was a more accurate description, but Tony never dared give voice to his assessment for fear of giving himself away.

Any time Gibbs snuck up behind him or crowded his way into his personal space, Tony had to remind himself to breathe. The man's steely blues eyes looked right through him with such intensity that Tony had to swallow hard. He became hyper-aware any time Gibbs was in close proximity; usually lurking somewhere just out of view. Over the years, the curious looks, teasing grins and on occasion outright flirting kept a tiny flicker of hope alive. Tony's rational mind knew that his feelings were foolish and would never be reciprocated, but his stubborn heart refused to listen.

He had suspicions that Gibbs knew what he was desperately trying to conceal; after all, the man knew everything. Always the dominant alpha-male, Gibbs seemed to delight in keeping him nervous and on edge. That infuriating half smirk of Gibbs' drove Tony crazy. He often wondered if the object of his desire was just biding his time teasing and testing him, waiting for him to break and confess. Were the head slaps just Gibbs' way of snapping him out of his fantasies, or some kind of sick, twisted foreplay?

Tony smiled at the fond memories of the dozens if not hundreds of swiftly doled out head slaps he had endured over the years. He missed them along with the mischief he caused to earn each and every one. The good old carefree days of hazing McGee, trading insults with Kate, correcting Ziva's English, and doing his level best to impress the unimpressible Gibbs were long gone.

In the wake of the whole Bodnar fiasco, everything had changed. Ziva and her personal demons were gone leaving a dark cloud hanging over the bullpen. Her desk sitting empty again brought back unpleasant memories, from being accused of murdering Rivkin out of jealousy, being turned over to Mossad, thinking Ziva died when the Damocles sank, to being taken captive during the rescue operation in Somalia. The years spent trying to rebuild trust and repair their fractured friendship had apparently all been for nothing.

Gibbs never asked him why he went to Israel to track her down, not that he could explain it himself. In fact, the man rarely spoke to him anymore.

Abby offered the simplest explanation - Gibbs was jealous. When a stunned Tony cornered her and asked her what the hell she was talking about, she answered from her heart.

"Because you never went to Mexico to try and bring him back."

With all of the changes swirling around, Tony needed Gibbs – his friend, mentor, and confidant – now more than ever. His family was fragmented, and he had no one to talk to or confide in anymore. Palmer was the dutiful family man, McGee had Delilah, and even Abby was trying to make a go of things with Bert. Ellie had her own troubles with her pending divorce from Jake, and Ducky, being Gibbs' most trusted confidant, was not an option. Tony was treading deep water with no one to throw him a life line.

He longed for the days where he could show up at Gibbs' house unannounced, sit on the dusty wooden basement steps, drink his rot gut bourbon, and talk about everything or nothing at all. Gibbs' basement was a sanctuary in every sense of the word. Whatever was said or left unsaid in the dusty confessional stayed between them like priest and parishioner, and was rarely, if ever, mentioned again.

Tony just wished Gibbs would open up and talk to him, or at the very least not make a point of shutting him out. Along with a crumbling friendship their work relationship was beyond strained. Bringing Ellie Bishop, the pride of the NSA in, all full of wonder with her sunny disposition and innocent enthusiasm, had been a welcome breath of fresh air, but her addition to the team marked the beginning of the end.

Then fate or karma stepped in bringing Zoe Keates back into his life. Hesitant at first to rekindle an old flame and dredge up history, he decided to give things a chance. Zoe didn't play games and she understood him better than any other woman he had ever dated. She was tough, smart, funny, sexy, and beautiful; everything he thought he wanted, yet something was missing - passion.

Lord knows he tried, but it just wasn't meant to be. Zoe loved him, or so she professed, but no matter how hard he tried Tony couldn't bring himself to say the words he knew she wanted and needed to hear. They would have been a lie. He liked Zoe and had great affection for her, but his foolish heart belonged to someone else.

For the better part of six months he had played the part of the dutiful, attentive boyfriend, faking his way through romantic dinners, movies, concerts, and long walks in the park. It was easy in the beginning falling back into familiar routines, but the same issues that scuttled their previous relationship were still in play. Zoe demanded more of his time and attention than he could or was willing to give. She wanted her "Spider" back, but Tony wasn't that guy anymore. To put it simply, he had finally grown up.

His extended mission working with Joanna Teague to track down Daniel Budd followed closely by an unexpected reunion with Jeanne had strained their relationship to the breaking point. He didn't bother to ask Zoe if it was just the time apart, or if she wrongly assumed that he and Joanna or he and Jeanne had hooked up. He hadn't, but it didn't really matter. The damage was done; it was over.

As he pulled into his usual parking space, Tony paused for a moment before cutting the engine. With lights in only a few of the double-paned windows, the brick building that once felt like a second home looked ominous instead of welcoming. He climbed out of his car and strode along the winding path to the entrance. The grounds of the Navy Yard, normally teeming with personnel during the day, were eerily quiet. He waved to a security guard making his rounds as he approached the main entrance doors. Once he stepped inside and passed through security, a transformation of sorts took place. Badge on his belt and Sig holstered at his hip, Tony slipped into work mode with his very special agent mask firmly in place.

Without the midday glare from the skylight and only a few desk lamps casting targeted pools of light on the outskirts of the squad room, the bullpen was lifeless save for one lone inhabitant. Tony yawned as he jotted notes in the margins of several pages of the thick case file in front of him and prepared a detailed summary. According to the bank of clocks on the wall, the local time was an ungodly 0420; too early to even call Gibbs with the news that he had likely found the missing piece to their latest case puzzle.

Letting out a tired sigh, he leaned back in his chair and stretched, groaning as several vertebrae in his neck and lower back popped offering relief from being unnaturally hunched over his desk for the last two hours. It was worth the discomfort knowing that he was on the cusp of solving a case that had been threatening to turn cold.

There was something about being able to tune out the rest of the world for a few hours that drew Tony to the office in the middle of the night. In the pre-dawn hours the phones didn't ring, no one was kicking or cursing the nearby copy machine, and he wasn't subjected to the incessant chatter of his teammates. It was in this peaceful solitude that Tony did his best work.

Satisfied that he had likely solved the case, Tony crossed the bullpen and carefully placed the file with his summary clipped to the front in the middle of Gibbs' desk. After a short break to use the head then make a fresh pot of break room coffee, he was back at his desk to work on finishing a series of long overdue letters. He had finally given in and started listening to the whispered voices echoing in his head telling him that it was time for a change. All attempts to silence the nagging voices were futile; they were growing stronger, louder, and more persistent.

Tony felt a pang of sadness as he looked at the empty desks of his teammates. He never felt so adrift and alone in his entire life.

"I'm really gonna miss you guys," he whispered into the shadows.

He retrieved a thumb drive that he kept locked away with all of Gibbs' medals in his bottom drawer and plugged it into the USB port on his keyboard. An alphabetical index of personalized farewell letters all written within the last two months appeared, each file named for its intended recipient.

Gibbs was the only name missing from the list. Tony opened a new Word document and began typing. A bolt of sadness and regret shot through him as his shaky fingers pecked at the keys.

"Dear Jethro..."