AN: I'm back! I know it's been a long time, but I haven't finished a fanfic in a long time, and I only post completed stories.

Anyway. Here are the notifications for this story. First, I own nothing but the scattered OCs. Just playing with the characters, and I'll put them back when I'm done. This strays from canon, a lot, so please don't gripe that what I did wasn't what happened in the show.

Second, and probably more importantly, if you are fans of Ziva and/or McGee, chances are, you will not like this story. Therefore, if you read this, DO NOT COMPLAIN! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. I don't ship Tiva, I have never shipped Tiva, and I really don't like Ziva as a character. The same with McGee. I've just never liked the character. That has nothing to do with the actors. I think the actors did what they could with the characters they were given.

Third, I feel that the writers for NCIS have failed us as viewers and fans. If I tried to publish a book with the travesties they made of the characters, I'd be blackballed for trying to make anyone choke down such poorly written characters. The writers of the show took really good actors and churned out incredibly bad stories and character development, but because the cases were interesting, they kept us hooked. Kudos to Sean Murray, Michael Weatherly, Mark Harmon, Pauley Parrette, and Cote de Pablo for making those characters even remotely watchable.

Finally, this story exists because it wouldn't get out of my head, and it was interfering in my original work. Therefore, it has found its way onto the page. I will tell you, I mostly wrote this story for me. If you like it, awesome. I'd love to hear your feedback. If you don't, no hard feelings, since this was my own way of achieving some catharsis from what the writers did to the show. I don't like every story I read, but I don't sound off on the writer just because they wrote something I didn't like. So, hope you enjoy. ~ashleezak

Get Out of My Head

Tony hesitated outside the door to his apartment. He'd planned for a relaxing night with some take-out, movies, and a beer or two with a friend, but the off-key singing from inside drove a spike through his stomach. His father was back.

Sighing heavily, he opened the door. His fears were realized with the image of his father slouched happily across the sofa. "Junior! Come on in! It's about time you got home. Look, grab a glass. We've got a lot to celebrate. I just made the best deal today."

"Dad, please, I have plans tonight." When he saw the drunkenly blank stare, Tony elaborated. "Plans here. In my apartment. That don't really include you."

"Well, son, if you're looking to get some, I'll be as quiet as a mouse. She'll never know I'm here. Seriously, let's celebrate."

Tony sighed again. "That's not the point, Dad. Look, go book a hotel room and I'll take you out to lunch tomorrow. We'll talk when you sober up."

The happy-go-lucky attitude vanished in an instant. "Are you calling me a drunk?" his father asked, his voice low.

Years of experience had taught Tony how to deal with his father. "No, of course not, but I do have plans and I would like to have my apartment back." Frowning, he continued. "How did you get in here, anyway?"

"The last key you gave me didn't work. I got your super to let me in."

Inhaling for a long count, Tony tried to keep a tight leash on his temper. He needed to have a serious talk with the superintendent. "I didn't give you a key last time. You took mine off my keyring."

"Serves you right. Should've given me a key. Then I wouldn't have had to take it. I'm your father. Shouldn't keep me out of your life."

"You threw me out of yours when it suited you. Why should I have to give in when you want back in mine?"

The words were out of his mouth before he thought about them, but once said, he couldn't retract them. Didn't want to, honestly. It was time his father saw him as an adult.

"Just what does that mean?" Senior said, standing unsteadily. When Tony remained silent, he repeated the words. "I asked you a question, boy."

"It means that your days of using me as a punching bag are over. I've bent over backwards for you and you take it as your due. No more. I'm done. Get out of my house. If you don't leave in the next minute, I will call a cab for you and put you in it. If you fight me on this, I will call the police and you can explain yourself to them."

A silent standoff ensued, and Tony counted down in his head. After a minute had elapsed, he shrugged. "All right then." Pulling his cell from his pocket, he looked down at it to dial.

That distraction was all Senior needed. He swung the bottle that was still in his hand and smashed it over Tony's head. Tony fell like a rock, and rage at seeing what his son had forced him to do drove him to kick his unconscious son. Senior only stopped when a shrieking fury attacked him, throwing him back onto the sofa. He stared up into the face of a banshee before the excess of good scotch and fear of the raging monster stripped him of his wits.