AN: Hey guys, I am very aware that I should be working on my other stories, but this one would not leave me alone. It's just a short one-shot about Tony's view on silence. All mistakes are mine.

I don't own NCIS. Title is borrowed from Lemony Snicket's "A Series of Unfortunate Events".

This fic has a bit of a dark underlay, but nothing graphic.

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The quiet of the apartment was so very different from the quiet of his hide-out.

The apartment was overwhelming, a silence created by stress and loneliness. It wasn't even all that quiet. Cars passed on the street below, trains rumbled by in the distance, neighbours moved through the hallways. They were all harsh reminders that despite the horror and grief that he saw daily, life went on. The clocks echoed through the empty rooms, ticking away the seconds of his tired life.

Sometimes the emptiness of his home was a relief. He appreciated the knowledge that he was alone. He could drop the masks, stop pretending. But the repose was brief; it was never long before the silence consumed him, leading him to more sinister thoughts.

The apartment was dark. He didn't need lights; there was nothing to see. Nothing to see, nothing to hear, nothing to do. No movie nights or dinners to ease the solitude. No laughter or smiles to break the gloom. No soothing words to chase away the nightmares. There was only silence.

The clocks ticked onwards, sirens wailed in the distance, the neighbours banged pots as the cooked dinner; everyone adhering to a strict schedule. The world kept turning.

The hide-out contrasted greatly. It was little more than a clearing off one of the lesser known trails at his favourite park. He only went there at night, often to escape the oppressing quiet of his apartment. The silence here was softer, less harsh. Wind rushing through the trees, birds chirping in the night, animals walking over crunchy leaves.

If there were no clouds in the sky, he would lie on his back and stare at the stars. Staring at the sky put things in perspective for him. It made him realize just how small he was. It made him realize how dreary and tiring his job was. They would all die in the end. Did it really matter how or when it occurred? They were nothing compared to the stars.

If it was raining, he would stand in the clearing and let the rain wash away the smell of death that clung to him. He revelled in the scent of wet earth, the feel of the drops on his skin. It made him feel connected.

Here, in his hide-out, he could forget about the time constraints of society. He could forget about the pain in his boss' eyes, forget the names and faces of the bodies, erase the photos he had taken of the crime scene. He could forget about the trivial things, the laundry, the groceries, the supply forms he needed to fill out. He gave all his worries and fears to the silence, and the silence took them without question.

But the tranquillity could not last forever. The moon was gently chased away by the first rays of sun, as they crept along the golden horizon. The world kept turning.

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