A Twisted Gut.

Spoilers: The dialogue in the first section is taken directly from a scene in the S6 episode, Cloak. There is also, toward the end, one line of dialogue from S1 episode Reveille'.

Warning for one expletive.

Disclaimer: As with all my stories, I do not own any characters mentioned, they belong to Bellisario and no breach of copyright is intended.

A/N: This one-shot takes place in S6, after Cloak & Dagger but before Bounce. It deals with Gibbs choice to withhold information from his team, specifically Tony. Despite his apparent lack of regret when confronted by Tony and Ducky, I just can't accept that the Gibbs we know and love, would be so cavalier and that his actions did not weigh heavily on his conscience.

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The strident peal of the alarm was the first indication that something had gone terribly wrong. All he could do was watch helplessly, as guards - armed with rifles - raced along the corridors in search of the intruders.

"Something's wrong," beside him, McGee's eyes flicked anxiously from screen to screen as he desperately tried to identify what had triggered the alarm.

"Well, yeah. I can hear that, McGee," Gibbs drawled sarcastically.

"That's a fire alarm. Security alarm too, which shouldn't be going off," McGee replied.

Without warning, the row of screens that lined the inside of the surveillance van, started to flicker, the picture shuddering and becoming fuzzy.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, our feed's been killed, we're blind," McGee's voice rose in panic as he stared disbelievingly at the blank screens.

Beside him, Gibbs straightened in his chair and spoke quietly, "Game over," silently willing the screens to clear and show him his agents.

All they had left was audio and he was forced to visualise the events unfolding from the sounds coming through his earpiece. He heard the heavy breathing, the running feet and the swish of a door opening.

"They haven't made us ….yet," Tony voice sounded, breathlessly.

"On the ground," the order came from another voice, this time loud and aggressive.

There was a momentary hesitation and then the sounds of a scuffle, the sickening crunch of flesh impacting flesh.

"Oh..no no no," Tony's voice was desperate now.

There was a deafening crash as sounds of a struggle erupted through the ear piece and Gibbs gut twisted in fear.

"Get down, now!" again the loud, aggressive voice demanded.

"Aw…argh" then a loud, unmistakeable crack!

"Gunshot," McGee said worriedly.

"Stand down," Gibbs snapped into the mike.

"Aarrghh!" Tony's anguished cry came through the speakers.

"Stand down," Gibbs demanded before tearing the headset off and racing out the door.

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"Stand down….."

Stand down….."

His heart was pounding, eyelids flickering in distress as he thrashed his head from side to side, desperately trying to claw himself awake and away from the terrifying sounds that had haunted his sleep.

Suddenly he woke and with a shuddering gasp, he drew air into his burning lungs and raised an unsteady hand to scrub at his eyes, he had to erase the images that were seared onto his brain.

'Enough! When was it going to stop?'

Reaching up, he grabbed an exposed beam and dragged himself into a sitting position. Looking around, he realised that he'd fallen asleep in his basement…again. Considering how rarely he slept in his bed these days, he may as well lease out the floors above.

He pushed his tongue against the roof of his mouth, grimacing at the dryness and residual taste of stale booze and stood up gingerly, the pop of his knees, a not too subtle reminder of past liberties taken with his joints. Straightening, he allowed those joints a moment to adjust to his weight before crossing the floor to his workbench. He grabbed his battered old tin cup from the overhead shelf and poured a generous shot of Bourbon, wincing as the alcohol warmed his throat and trailed a comforting fire down deep in his gut.

There was no point in going over it again, it wouldn't change anything.

He'd internally argued, analysed and idealised his planning to the nth degree and no matter which way he looked at it, he couldn't deny the truth.

Ah yes…the truth. He poured another shot of Bourbon and tossed it down in one swallow.

Truth had been etched clearly on the face of his Senior Field Agent, a truth that warred with disbelief, resentment and betrayal. When he'd admitted his deception, he'd watched - almost dispassionately - as those emotions chased across the younger man's face, only to be replaced with an anger that he'd rarely seen directed at him, but knew existed, lying just below the surface.

Yes…Tony knew the truth.

Simply put - he'd considered the risk, weighed the possibilities, the adverse against the positive and had found it reasonable.

He'd wanted - needed - to catch the mole, to expose the traitorous bitch who'd sworn an oath to this country, to this agency and its' agents and then betrayed them all. He'd stopped at nothing; thought of nothing else, he had to restore the honour that had been torn from Langer, his agent, a member of his team, his friend. He considered that the risk was worth it.

In his defence, it wasn't supposed to go down the way it had, he'd specifically ordered them not to resist…but…he should have known better. Whilst Tony might complain loudly, cleverly adapting the rules to suit his rather 'unique' style, he knew a direct order when he heard one and could be relied upon to obey, particularly if the well being of others was at stake.

Ziva.

She was the wild card. For all her posturing about chain of command and military obedience, she was wilful, used to getting her way and had shown herself too willing to interpret an order as she saw fit. Violence was her default setting…her first reaction every time and he knew that.

Yes, the truth was irrefutable.

He knew his people, watched them work, laugh and play. Knew their strengths and knew their weaknesses. Yet, his obsession with finding the mole had blinded him to these and it had almost cost more than he was willing to pay. That was the flaw in his plan.

Gibbs screwed the lid back onto the bottle and placed it back in its' usual spot on the dusty shelf. He sat on the stool and stared unseeing at the skeletal frame of his latest boat, hearing again the words that Ari had spoken, the day he'd put a bullet through his shoulder in autopsy.

"If not pride then what? Love of country, sense of duty? I'm sure those exist in you, but what burns…is pride, my friend,"

Yes…Ari had known the truth, too.

The truth was his stubborn pride and tunnel vision.

Langer…a man he'd worked with, for whom he'd personally vouched, had been accused of being a traitor and then coldly murdered and he…

'aw hell,' he'd spent so many months doubting his gut, his ability to judge a person's soul that he'd practically snatched at the opportunity to prove that he'd been right all along. Langer was his agent, and he alone, would prove his innocence.

He'd wanted revenge and he'd needed to trust his gut again.

Rather than include his team, he'd used them in his plan like pawns, withheld information that may have tempered their actions. He'd disregarded the very people who watched his back every day… and it had almost proven disastrous.

And the worst of it was, that every now and then, when he met his Senior Field Agents' eyes, he'd catch a faint glimpse - a fleeting emotion - quickly hidden behind the smiling façade' that Tony wielded with such skill.

During the day, with his mind occupied by current investigations and other distractions, he could push these thoughts away and ignore their existence.

But he had to sleep sometime...and at night, when - after long hours spent shaping his boat - he reluctantly succumbed to exhaustion…the disappointment in a pair of green eyes was waiting to haunt his dreams.

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Thanks so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it. Your comments are always welcome.