Silence

Written for the Hit Me with Your Best Shot Challenge

Rating: FR-15/T for violence and language

Genre: Angst/Drama

Disclaimer: still don't own anything, nope, nuh uh.

Summary: Tony deals with the aftermath of a case gone horribly wrong.

In the End, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.

- Martin Luther King, Jr.

Tony hated silence.

In his world, it was never a welcome thing. It permeated the emptiness of a house after a beloved parent had finally succumbed to a tragic illness. It surrounded the remains of a burned-out apartment building where a little girl, a girl he had been unable to help, had been lost. It sat heavily the Spartan quarters of a man who had just admitted that he had turned against the motto of 'serve and protect', betraying his younger partner's fragile trust. It was in the emptiness that surrounded a rooftop as the last echoes of a gunshot died away, a gunshot which had brutally ended the life of another partner. It filled a rundown diner in the desert where the person he had been tasked with protecting lay in a pool of blood, riddled with bullets.

And now it formed the treatment his current partner was giving him, a punishment for his most recent transgression. Once again he had failed to protect someone: someone about whom he cared deeply, more than he would ever admit. One of the few people whom he dared to call a friend.

Tony lifted a shot-glass to his lips and downed the amber liquid within, wincing at the burn he could still fee in his throat, despite the number of similar drinks that had passed through it that evening, and believing he deserved the pain. He set the glass back on the scarred wooden surface in front of him and raised his hand to signal the bartender.

"Another."

The man frowned. "I really think you've had enough for tonight."

"I'm fine. We DiNozzos can always hold our liquor. I gave you my keys, and I've got plenty left for a cab. So give me another," he said, tapping the glass on the bar for emphasis. The bartender rolled his eyes and retrieved the serving bottle of whiskey from the shelf behind him. He added some to Tony's glass and retreated.

Tony picked up the glass again and turned to catch his partner's sad, no, pitying expression and snorted. "Go ahead. Tell me. Tell me how badly I screwed up. You know you want to, McGee."

McGee didn't reply and Tony just shook his head. "The silent treatment is so beneath you, Probie. Knock it off." Still his partner said nothing.

"Fine. Be that way. Go write about it or something. Tell everyone how pathetic I am." He poured the drink down his throat and slammed the glass on the bar. He raised his hand to signal the bartender again, but the man ignored him. The service here really sucks.

"Tony!"

The sound of his other partner's voice drew his attention and he turned to see Ziva striding towards him, anger and concern vying for dominance in her expression.

"What are you doing here, Ziva?"

"I was worried. You left the hospital and—"

"You should be there, with him, not looking for me."

"Tony, I—"

"You what, Ziva? You want to tell me how this was all my fault? How badly I messed up? Go ahead, hit me with your best shot!"

Ziva very much looked as if she wanted to hit him, but her voice remained steady. "It was not your fault. None of us realized that it was a trap. Not even Gibbs."

"I still should have known, Ziva. It's my job, damn it! I should have had his six!"

"We all watch out for each other the best that we can, Tony, but sometimes things take us by surprise. All of us."

"Yeah. Andrews definitely took us by surprise. But he got by me. It was because of me that…that he was taken."

"But you found him, Tony. You found him alive."

"Barely. Barely alive, Ziva. And if he dies…"

"He will not. And he would not blame you. It is not your fault."

"Well then whose fault is it?" He turned to McGee. "Maybe it's yours."

"Tony-?"

Suddenly Tony felt a rush of irrational anger. It was McGee's fault. If he hadn't insisted on checking that room…

"You caused this, damn it, and there you sit, all smug and silent. Well I've had it! We're going to settle this, now!"

"Hey, buddy, I don't want this kind of crap in my bar," the bartender yelled, pulling Tony's focus away from McGee. "Take it outside."

"Fine." He opened his wallet and pulled out a bill which he threw on the counter before returning his attention to McGee. "Let's go." He headed towards the door, glancing back once to make sure McGee was following. He ignored Ziva's litany of questions as the anger he had felt since leaving the hospital reached a full rolling boil. Once outside he grabbed for the younger man but McGee managed to escape his grasp and stood, just out of reach, with that same aggravating expression on his face.

"What's wrong, Probie, afraid I'll kick your ass like you deserve?" Tony saw Ziva reach for her phone and quickly dial, but he quickly dismissed her. He needed to teach McGee a lesson.

"Come on! Fight me!" He swung and felt his fist connect with McGee's jaw, harder than he expected, and saw the man rock back in surprise. Anger suddenly flared in McGee's eyes and he finally raised his fists in front of him. Tony took another swing, which McGee managed to dodge, and soon the two men were circling each other, fists flying and jabbing as each searched for a weakness. Tony felt McGee get in a few good hits before he knocked the younger man to the ground and pummeled him, squeezing his eyes shut as he put all his effort behind his punches.

"Tony! Stop!"

Suddenly he felt a pair of strong arms lock around his chest, pinning his own flailing limbs and dragging him upright. Tony opened his eyes and looked down. A flood of horror washed over him as he saw what he had done.

"Oh God…no…"

McGee was lying on the ground, blood staining the area around his broken body, his face a mass of blood and bruises, his flesh nearly white beneath. Tony raised his own hands and saw that they were torn and covered with blood as well. He gasped, his breath coming in rapid bursts as he stared down at the still, battered from and nausea burned his throat. He felt the arms release him and he staggered a few feet away, barely registering the voices around him as everything he had consumed that evening made a re-appearance.

"How much did he have to drink?"

"I do not know, I did not see him drink at all."

"He's been here all night. I tried to cut him off, but…"

"Tony…"

He stood on shaky legs, unable to look at the horror he had created.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…"

"It's OK. Let's get you back to the hospital."

Tony couldn't believe what he was hearing. "No! Look at what I did! It's my fault. I did this…he's…he's dead! I killed him…" He tried to reach down, to touch his partner, to try and find some evidence to show what he feared wasn't true…

And the image of McGee's broken form vanished.

Tony stared at the place where he had seen his partner, uncomprehending, as the edges of his vision started to blurr. The last thing he heard before the darkness overtook him was Gibbs' voice.

"Not your fault…"

XXX

Tony opened his eyes and groaned as the harsh light sent a stab of pain through his skull. He clenched his eyes shut and waited for the pain to dissipate somewhat before he cautiously opened them again to find a familiar pair of blue eyes staring back.

"Hey, Boss…"

"Hey, yourself. How are you feeling?"

"Like absolute crap," Tony groaned as the throbbing in his head took on a life of its own. He heard Gibbs chuckle.

"Yeah, I can imagine."

Soon more aches and pains registered and Tony raised his bandaged hands to stare at them. "What…?" The memories from the previous night came flooding back and Tony sat up with a gasp. "McGee! What happened, is he-?"

"He's alive, Tony. He's going to be OK."

"But I…I thought…what happened?"

"That knock to the head you got when Andrews took McGee did a little more than they originally thought. That, plus all the alcohol you drank, and—"

"It wasn't real?"

"Nope. You beat the hell out of your own hands against a brick wall." Tony winced at the vague memories that were forming. "And if you didn't already have a concussion, I'd give you another one. What the hell were you thinking, DiNozzo?"

"Guess I wasn't, Boss. Sorry." Gibbs snorted and shook his head. "But McGee, he's…"

The image of the younger man as he had seen him in his hallucinations…as he had seen McGee after Andrews had had him for three days and they finally found him was still burned in his mind.

"I won't lie to you, Tony. He's in bad shape, but he's on the mend. He woke up a couple hours after your little stunt last night. He doesn't remember much of what Andrews did, but otherwise…he's going to recover. You're both going to recover."

"I…I'm glad he's going to be OK."

"Tony…"

"Yeah, Boss?"

"This wasn't your fault."

"It wasn't Tim's fault, either," Tony replied, as much to assuage his own lingering guilt as to defend his partner.

"You think I don't know that?" Gibbs sighed. "Look, we're human, Tony. We all make mistakes, as much as we hate to admit it. Luckily this time we survived. Both of you survived. The important thing is you won't make those same mistakes again. Clear?"

"Yes, Boss."

"Good."

"Boss?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I…I mean, is Tim ready for visitors? 'Cause if he's not…"

Gibbs gave him a knowing smirk. "As soon as the doc clears you to get out of bed, we can go see him."

"Thanks."

Almost on cue, the doctor arrived to check Tony over. Satisfied that his patient was sufficiently improved, he summoned the nurses to help Tony into another gown and robe. Soon Tony and Gibbs were on their way to McGee's room. When they arrived the younger man was sleeping peacefully, so Tony settled into the chair next to McGee's bed to watch over him. Gibbs eventually left, and Tony was alone with his partner. He took in the sight of the stitched cuts and livid bruises adorning his partner's body and told himself that as bad as Tim looked it could have been much worse. Finally Tony spoke in a low voice.

"I'm glad you're alive, McGee. I really am. I don't know…I really don't know what I'd do if things had turned out differently." Tony winced as the memories of the previous night surfaced once again. "Last night, I did something pretty stupid. Surprising, I know." He waited for McGee to give some sort of sarcastic reply, but he slept on. "But it did show me one thing: you…not being OK. I don't want to ever deal with that again. OK, Tim? Promise you won't do that to me, ever." Tony stared at his bandaged hands. "I'm not really sure why I did this. I think I was just so…angry that I hadn't been able to keep you from getting hurt. I've failed in that with so many other people in my life, and… I guess it was just the last straw. Good thing Ziva found me before I did something even more stupid, huh?"

After a few moments, Tony reached out and gently touched McGee's face. "You're going to get better, Tim. It's like they say, whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger. You're really going to be able to kick ass after this mess, right?" McGee slept on, and eventually Tony settled back in his chair to watch him. The soft beeps of the equipment lulled him towards slumber and before he drifted off he decided that while he was once again dealing with a lack of sound from his friend, this time it was different: in this silence, there was healing.

And Tony welcomed it.

The End