Staring at the flickering computer screen, Tony chewed his lip worriedly. His gut churned with the now near constant feeling of unease that had been dogging him for days. Shooting a side long glance at McGee and Ziva, he was satisfied that their attention was fully focussed away from him. Swivelling in his chair nonetheless, he blocked any outside view of his monitor with his with the mouse he took another furtive glance around, glad Gibbs was on a coffee run and clicked on the link in the mysterious email. Turning down the sound on his computer as a precaution, he waited with impatience for the video the link provided to buffer. When it eventually began to play, he instantly wished it kept on buffering.

Forever.

Staring at the video, his mouth ran dry, and his heart began to beat a merry dance against his protesting rib cage. The bright lights and the glaring orange walls of the bull pen he was so accustomed to, seemed to dance eerily before his eyes, like he was on some kind of bad acid trip. This couldn't be happening. Using a shaking hand, he guided the mouse over the replay button and hesitantly clicked. Like a child looking a test paper grade for the second time, hoping for some kind of miraculous change of events. His short lived hopes were dashed as the video rolled into action once more, petulantly replaying the same scenario that had caused his ears to ring with the first viewing.

His breath caught in his chest. This was really happening. Fighting the overwhelming urge to disintegrate, to fall apart with no concern for what came next, he forced himself to breathe. No one could know what was happening… which would be fine for most people. Most people not being surrounded by one of the most specialised federal teams in the country that is. Hearing the elevator ping, he schooled his features into well practiced nonchalance. The frat boy routine that he had nailed down a T. As Gibbs passed by his desk he flashed a winning, toothy smile and continued working on his case report.

The email having been carefully tucked away.

Gibbs himself, threw his body into his chair and looked over at his senior agent with a slight frown adorning his face. What was with the sudden frat boy routine? When he'd left, Tony had been…Tony. In the thirty or so minutes he'd been gone, he'd come back and the kid was flashing that "everything's fine over here" smile that he'd long since sussed. Sussed as being "everything's not fine over here." Filing away the anomaly, he reluctantly plucked a case off the teetering load on his own desk and set to work, wondering idly did it make him a bad person to wish for a new case to come through. His wishes, which were still undecided as being natural or sinful, were not answered.

Hours trickled past, and the four agents grew steadily restless and steadily fed up with report after report. Gibbs, who was perhaps the worst offender of office escapism, fled the squad room to check on Abby when he feared not only for his own safety, but the safety of those around him. Well to be fair, Ziva and Tim only… who were driving him insane with the secret online game they were competing on against each other, both foolishly secure in the false knowledge that he was totally clueless. Tony on the other hand…was on his best behaviour. Berating himself as he leant against the cool wall of the elevator for jumping to conclusions and ulterior motives for his senior agent's faultless behaviour, he sighed.

Maybe he…maybe he was just tired.

He spent a few minutes chatting to his favourite scientist, and removing the impromptu experiment she was working on, with a raised brow. His lecture that her lab was not for her own amusement seemed to fall on deaf ears, but with the simple gesture towards her stereo he obtained a clad iron promise to quit the goofing off. Meandering back to the bull pen, he concluded that he wasn't a bad person for wishing for an active case. If he had to sit in that squad room for another week doing paper work, someone was going to die. Striding past DiNozzo's desk, his briefly forgotten concerns were brought straight back to the surface when he spied a look of consternation on the kid's face, until he rounded the corner, and the dazzling smile was back in full force.

Ok, something was definitely up.

Reaching over, he tugged a file off his desk and mooched over to his senior agent's station, perching on the side of the cluttered top. He frowned when Tony looked fit to pass out at the impromptu visit. Pushing the file into his hands, he asked a pointless question about it and watched carefully as Tony's eyes scanned the paper. They were slightly bloodshot, and his hands weren't exactly steady as he held the file. His eyes narrowed when the kid answered the question with an obvious attempt at confident offhandedness. Nodding, he took a sip of his coffee and accepted the proffered file. "Everything ok with you Tony?" he asked quietly, dropping his voice so not to be overheard.

The green eyes widened in poorly concealed surprise, and the fervent nodding of the tousled head was a fraction too delayed to be believable. Gibbs frowned. Crossing his arms, he eyed the kid with a mixture of firmness and gentleness. "You sure there's nothing you want to tell me?" An extremely mild gulping sound could be heard as Tony shook his head immediately."No boss…I'm good. Just a bit tired is all." He gestured weakly to the files on his desk, "paperwork's not really my thing." Racking a practised gaze over his longest serving agent, Gibbs decided to give the boy the benefit of the doubt.

"Ok," he conceded quietly, "but you know where I am if you need anything, yes?"

That smile flashed back at him.

"Yes boss."

Feeling torn between knowing he was right and there was something wrong with Tony, and concerns that he was becoming completely paranoid, Gibbs nodded and made his way back to his own desk.

The day trickled by, and after about thirteen sneaked glances at his senior field agent, the team leader was edging closer and closer to the opinion that he was getting positively cynical in his old age. Throwing his final file down with a grateful sigh, he called out to wrap it up. There was all but a stampede for the exit before the last word left his mouth, and he couldn't help but laugh. Gathering up his own things, he gratefully set off home, his thoughts turned firmly on that annoying part of his boat that just refused to sand down to his standards of perfection. Out in the lot, Tony was immediately but convincingly assured Tim and Ziva that he had other plans tonight, and therefore couldn't possible blow off a beautiful lady to go to the movies with them and Abby.

Watching them clamber into their respective cars, he felt a pang. Going to the movies felt like something you did in another lifetime to him now. It had only been five days….but he felt like he had aged a solid twenty years since this nightmare started with a vengeance. Throwing himself into his own car, he felt for his cell to make sure it was within immediate reach. Turning the key in the ignition, his blood ran cold at the thoughts of the expected call. Though he'd never dream of admitting it out loud…he was afraid. Very afraid. And the one person he could count on to help him, the one person he wanted to tell more than anyone else on the face of the earth…was off limits.

Getting Gibbs involved would put him in untold danger, and there was just no way that was going to happen. Steering his car through the DC rush hour traffic, he had never felt so alone. Isolated. A heavy grimace spread across his face as he realised that was…their intention. Divide and conquer and all that. Simple, yet ingenious. All too soon he found himself in front of his apartment complex. Quietening the engine, he leant back in his seat and ran a wearied hand over his face and let out a long suffering sigh. Briefly wondering if he would be able to keep down his dinner tonight, he made to grab his coat and head on in.

The cell shrilled. He froze, with his hand on the driver's door, staring at the slight bulge in his pocket. He might as well have had a live grenade in there for all intents and purposes. Closing his eyes, he bit his lip and fished the offending device out of his pocket, praying that maybe…maybe it was just McGee or something. Quickly digesting the number flashing across the LED, he felt the steering wheel swoon in and out of his focus. It was them. When the sixth ring roared from the phone, he bit the bullet. With a shaking hand he punched the accept button, and held the cell up to his ear like a loaded gun. He didn't need to answer verbally. The cold voice on the other end sailed through the receiver and he listened with a mixture of raw repulsion and rapt attentiveness.

For three and a half minutes he sat, he breathed, barely. The monotone on the other end of the line didn't waver, didn't stutter over it's cruel instructions or its brutal demands. The cold sweat that clung to his forehead was the only thing that he could feel attaching him to any sense of physical reality. And then, it was gone. The sharp click on the other side of the call sounded as violently as wildfire in the small confines of his car. A few minutes passed before his muscles began protesting at his stiff and stationary position. Shaking his head weakly, he fumbled his way out of the car with more effort that could be deemed dignified for a young and fit federal agent. Collapsing on his sofa a few moments later, he stared up at the ceiling blankly.

His mind was performing that strange function, where it seemed to be whirring through a million thoughts but concurrently felt as empty and weightless as a paper cup. Rolling onto his side, he chewed his lip. He had no choice. He would have to go through with it. He would either wind up dead, or be branded a traitor. There was no other way, it had to be this way. He had to do it. Alone. Tonight. Five hours later and a considerable distance away, saw Gibbs standing back to admire his handiwork. The hull was now a thing of beauty. Reaching for a celebratory bourbon, he sighed when his cell bleeped in his pocket. So close. Fishing it out, he swallowed down his irritation when he saw the caller ID. Feeling a bit bad for the way he'd been suspicious of the kid, he used a softer tone than usual when he flipped open the phone. "Hey Tony, what's up?" There was a dead silence on the other end. "Tony?" The throaty chuckle that wafted into his ear made the hair on the back of his head stand.

"No Jethro…not Tony…try again old friend."

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TBC

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A/N: So I wasn't going to write another NCIS story for a while, but after a binge on earlier seasons…here we go again!

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