Disclaimer: All characters and events in this story are fictitious, and any similarity to a real person, living or dead is entirely coincidental and unintended by the author. I'm just borrowing the characters…so don't sue.
Damn, ok. Having three stories going at the same time has to be insane. Go ahead, blame my muse. She just didn't want to leave me alone on this one.
The devil you know II
By
Whashaza
Guilt
It had been two months since Tony's death. He had thought that with time it would become easier but it hurt just as bad as the first time the doctor had entered the waiting room. He had thought that with Shannon and Kelly he would get over it sooner. It wasn't as if he was not experienced with death or the consequences thereof. The lonely nights that crept up to you, reminding you that you were, once again, alone in this world. Tony had been like a son to him, a part of his family and he had allowed himself to care.
And it had all been his fault. His mistake. His leadership that had ended up killing Tony.
For a moment he wondered why he was the one living when so many younger, better people around him kept dying.
Frustrated by his lack of answers, he finally turned on his bed lamp. He turned on his back, staring at his ceiling. Snatches of conversations he had had with his wife and daughter intruded in-between the ones he had had with Tony. Soon a mish mash of voices sent him from the warmth of his bed downstairs.
The skeleton of the boat he was busy molding stared back at him. The hurt inside still didn't want to go away so he did the only rational thing he could. He picked up a sander, feeling the wood beneath him. Slowly he started, smoothing the timber beneath his hands.
"I've finished typing up the report for the Schuler case. It should be open and shut, Boss."
Something burned behind his eyes and he stopped long enough to take his bottle of bourbon out of the cupboard. Ignoring his mug, he took it straight out of the bottle. A slight burning sensation later, he picked up the sander again.
"Tony, where are you?"
Tony's voice was filled with relief. "I don't know? I'm locked in a room somewhere." Tony paused, gathering his voice before continuing, "There's no light."
"Are you hurt?"
Tony ignored the question. "There's…two guys…James and Mike. Another older man. Looks distinguished. Mike killed…"
This time he downed a quarter of the bottle before wiping at the irritated burn behind his eyes. He should've known better, should've realized. Should've done something. Should've heard that his agent was drugged, was struggling.
"Dammit!"
Silence filtered through thick until Mike's voice came through dangerously low. "What do you propose?"
"Release my agents and I'll give you the box. Or, I'll let my forensics team play with it until they find answers."
A short burst of laughter sounded, curling the hairs on Gibb's neck. "You could have done that already. Sorry Gibbs. Their death is on your conscience."
The sander hit the wall with an audible thud. The boat didn't help anymore. Taking the bottle, he took another swig as he slowly slid down the wall. Why did it have to be Tony? Why didn't the damn bastard just go to his place? He clenched his eyes shut and leaned his head back against the wall. Tony's death was his fault. He was the one responsible and he had messed up. Big time.
"Tony, you still up for this?"
"Still breathing, Boss."
Why hadn't he listened? The pause before DiNozzo had answered his question should've alerted him to the fact that his agent wasn't really up for this. Blindly he took another drink, feeling the alcohol burn its way down into his stomach. He felt the familiar feeling come over him, telling him that he wasn't very far from getting drunk.
"Not before I see my agents released unharmed. Where is agent DiNozzo?" Gibbs studied Kate's body language with a strangely intensified paralysis. The guard next to him stiffened slightly, a finger curling around the trigger.
"Agent DiNozzo is unfortunately otherwise engaged." Mike smiled, his eyes wide and empty of any emotion. "You'll join him soon enough. I'm sure you have a lot to discuss."
He should've killed Mike right there. He should've put a bullet right between his eyes. He's a damn coward, a failure. He should've known. Should've protected Tony. Should've e anticipated.
He should've known.
Tony was lying on the ground, a limp rag doll of flesh. He couldn't detect any movement. For a moment he panicked and didn't know what he was supposed to do next. It lasted only an instant before he found himself kneeling next to his agent, reaching out to touch flesh. It was too cold. He could see the exit wound just to the left of Tony's right shoulder blade. It looked ugly and was still seeping fluid.
He blinked and looked at the empty bottle in his hand. A moment later it shattered against the wall, right next to where the sander lay forgotten. It hurt too badly and he had no idea how to fix himself. How to fix his team. He couldn't even fix Tony.
A sob escaped before he could suppress it. Shadows danced and for a moment he thought he saw Tony grinning at him from the corner. He half rose, his eyes wide as he tried to see through the darkness, searching for the familiar glint of teeth.
Nothing.
Disappointed, he pulled himself upright, staring at the boat that he had been building on now for the past two years. He could feel the built up of energy that needed an outlet. Tears burned his eyes again and the hollowness in his chest didn't want to let up. He grabbed a long forgotten base ball bat and hefted it in his hand.
With a scream of grief and rage, he let go and swung the bat.
She didn't allow her fear to show. Her hands clenched by her sides and then out of nowhere; Tony rose like a spectre next to her, his eyes wide and non-seeing. He rushed towards Mike and she watched in shock and horror as Mike's gun hand rose again, the barrel unerringly tracking Tony's movements.
She couldn't help it. She screamed when the loud report echoed and numbness left her rooted to the ground as Tony staggered forward and then finally crashed to the ground.
Brian was crying. She could see his chest heaving as tears escaped. Tony wasn't moving.
Why is he not moving?
Somehow, somewhere she found strength to stumble her way towards his body. She kneeled by his side, ignoring the guns pointed at her.
"Tony…"
He didn't respond. She reached a trembling hand towards his face before drawing back. She couldn't face this. Not here and not now. She still had no idea what was going on. Tears brimmed, threatening to overflow as she looked up at Mike.
"Why?"
He shrugged, dropping the gun and increasing his hold on the boy.
"Ask Gibbs?"
She jerked upwards, fighting to untangle her legs from the suffocating hold of the sheets. Finally free, she swung her legs of the bed. She made her way towards the bathroom, feeling the onset of another headache. She leaned against the sink and then turned the knobs, sliding her hands beneath the running water and splashing her face with it. She didn't need to look at her reflection to know how she looked.
Tired.
Kate made her way back to her room and lowered herself on the bed, resting her head in the palms of her hands. She didn't blame Gibbs. Haven't even asked him what Mike had meant when he had told her why he had shot Tony.
She blamed herself. She should've stopped Tony, should've known that he would try something like that. She had just stood there and watched him get shot. All her training had meant nothing. Zilch. Nada.
All this was her fault.
She rubbed her throbbing temples, trying to make the headache fade. It wasn't really working and she leaned over, taking the prescription bottle that stood on the bed table. Dry swallowing two, she closed the lid.
It didn't matter to her anymore that she was used to the chalky taste of the tablets or that the bottle usually lasted no more than two weeks. What mattered was that her headache would fade and with it the pain in her side where the shrapnel had lodged itself. Sometimes, she would manage to convince herself that it was her injuries that had prevented her from moving fast enough to intercept Tony's mad dash. It was what kept her sane in the times she doubted herself the most.
Feeling the familiar heaviness from the drugs, she sighed and slid down her bed, hugging her pillow as she curled around it.
She will never ask Gibbs.
Tony died because of her.
His quick breaths filled the room, his muscles aching. Dust filled the air, clogging his nostrils and drying his mouth. The remains of his boat stared back at him, broken and defeated. All he had left was raw emotion. He continued to stare blindly at the destruction before him, his mind empty of voices for the first time in a long while. He gave a half smirk, appreciating the irony of it all.
His cell finally interrupted. He didn't look at the caller ID. It would probably by Abby. It was her way of dealing with Tony, to talk and cry while he did nothing but grunt and listen.
Tony had left a hole big enough that he wondered if it wouldn't swallow all of them one day.
Looking down, he finally pressed the call button, ending the ringing and bringing the phone to his ear.
"Boss… it's me."
The sound of the bat hitting the floor echoed back.
Do you want more…Let my muse know. ;-)