A/N: OK. So, the following italic lines are abstracted from S05, Ep06, 'Chimera'; but the story doesn't have anything to do with that episode and its story-line. It's just that this particular dialogue kinda hit me and I couldn't help it; I had to write something about it and that's how this really short story was formed.

Also, I haven't really intended to post this story; in fact, I've written it a really long time ago; so long that I've forgotten about it altogether. I found the file some days ago when I was looking for something else on my laptop and when I read it I realized that I didn't even like it that much because of how descriptive it is or how rushed it sounded at some points and that's probably why it's been pushed into the darkest holes of my computer! I wanted to fix it, because the idea seemed like a good one; but if I wanted to do that to make it more acceptable, I had to change a lot of things and I just couldn't do that now; since, you know, the desire of using these lines has kinda passed. So, at the end, I just decided to post it the way it is and let it see the light of day and hear what you all thought about it.

It's a short fic; even shorter than my usual stories; hope you find it interesting enough to keep reading.

DiNozzo: Definitely didn't picture my demise like this. I always figured I'd go out like Cagney in "White Heat", fiery explosion. Or Redford and Newman in "Butch Cassidy", hail of bullets.

Gibbs: How about Charlie Chaplin in "Gold Rush"?

DiNozzo: How'd he die?

Gibbs: Silently.

Letting his backpack fall from his shoulder by the door, Tony walked to his couch and heavily dropped to the leather furniture, leaning his head against the soft surface.

Sighing with relief, he finally let his cheerful and carefree masks drop as the pain and hurt washed over him.

The whole day he'd tried to hide his true feelings behind his wide and too bright smiles and now his facial muscles hurt from trying too hard to keep the smile in place. Gibbs' comment had hurt that morning and he couldn't help but taking it to heart.

They'd been called to an abandoned building for a case, but since McGee and Ziva had gone out for lunch, Gibbs just took him and he called the two junior agents to give them directions, so they join them later on the scene.

The strange thing was that there had been just one single police officer at the scene to greet them and he told them that since the body was wearing a marine uniform they hadn't touched anything and that he'd only waited for them to come and take over and now that they had, he needed to leave.

Gibbs and Tony had entered the place and started to check the area before Ducky and Palmer would arrive for the body; but just as they were starting to look deeper into things, with Gibbs walking around and Tony carefully assessing the body, Gibbs' phone started to ring and Tony watched as the older man answered the phone; seconds later, a deep frown sat on his forehead and a grim look covered his face.

"What's it?" Tony had asked and Gibbs had informed him that apparently the building was contaminated with possible biological contagions and they couldn't leave it and nobody could join them till CDC arrived.

It'd taken the whole afternoon before they were checked out and released with the assurance that it'd been false alarm. But those hours had been hell for Tony since the dread of going through another deadly disease had filled him and automatically he'd started to talk and talk until Gibbs had snapped at him; which was where his current hurt feelings were rooted in.

He's said that he'd never pictured his demise like that. That he'd always figured he'd go out like Cagney in "White Heat", fiery explosion. Or Redford and Newman in "Butch Cassidy", hail of bullets.

And in a very Gibbs-like manner, Gibbs had calmly said, "How about Charlie Chaplin in "Gold Rush?"

Surprisingly, Tony didn't know how that one had happened, or rather he just couldn't remember anything special about it and so he'd asked Gibbs about it; Gibbs' answer had been like a bucket of cold water over his head. The older man had icily replied, "Silently."

It'd rendered Tony speechless and for the rest of the morning he kept quiet and just worked on collecting evidence while they waited for the CDC to give them an answer. It really took him that long to collect himself, as well and by the time they were free, Tony'd finally managed to look carefree again; smiling and joking with his teammates, ignoring the hurt and hollowness that had set inside of him at Gibbs' cold words.

But now that he was home, he couldn't free his thoughts from those words. He knew he probably had been getting on Gibbs' nerves, but was it necessary to shut him up like that? Was it really impossible for the older agent to understand why he was that afraid of that kind of death?

He wasn't scared of dying in general; he knew that every day he left his home, he might never come back; he faced death on a daily basis and he didn't mind it, because he loved his job and knew what he did made a difference. That didn't mean he wouldn't mind going through another painful isolation and facing slow death, though; and what were the chances of getting infected the second time and surviving? And what was even scarier was that with his already weak immune system and lungs, he knew another such disease, if not fatal, would end his career and he wasn't ready for that.

So, why couldn't Gibbs understand him? Why couldn't he get why he was so scared about another infection? He hadn't been looking for empty reassurances, or hugs or some kind words; he just wasn't the type to care about those things; he'd just needed to talk to keep his mind away from dark thoughts and Gibbs hadn't let him to have even that.

He hadn't even barked a normal order like 'Shut up, DiNozzo; you're not gonna die.' That would've been acceptable; welcome, even; but no, the man had to go so far as to say he didn't care what happened as long as Tony didn't talk about it.

Sighing, Tony decided it was futile to dwell on those thoughts; so pushing his tired body up from the couch, he loosened his tie with one hand and unbuttoned his shirt with the other as he walked to his bedroom to get ready for bed.

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A week passed and little by little he'd started to feel down, but by then, he'd completely forgotten about the case that'd unsettled him so much; yet, Gibbs' words were still ringing in his ear, loud and clear. That was why he didn't mention it to anyone, not even to Ducky, how tired he was or how he couldn't sleep or even properly lie down at night because of shortness of breath; and he didn't mention it when it felt worse and the pain in his chest would take his breath away when he had to run around.

What was the point of mentioning it? Besides, it was just probably a stupid cold.

But when he started to feel dizzy due to lack of oxygen and when he heard the wheezing when he breathed, he knew he had to see his doctor. Chest cold was the last thing he needed with those scarred lungs.

And he would've seen his doctor if case after case wouldn't come their way and if Gibbs hadn't become a slave driver again.

After one of those nights, when he got home and during his shower, he noticed how swollen his legs and ankles had become and he just knew something was seriously wrong. He wanted to link it to his fatigue and the fact that he'd spent hours on his feet that day; but with the pain in his chest and the way his heart beat against his rib cage he couldn't ignore the situation anymore.

Knowing that he couldn't do anything about it that late into the night, especially when he barely could drag his tired body around his apartment, he silently vowed that the next morning, the first thing he'd do would be to set a time to meet with his doctor as soon as possible and if Gibbs had a problem with that... Well, the hell with Gibbs!

If he'd been able to think clearly, he'd have known that he'd made that decision a bit too late, because right that night, when he was going to stand up from the couch to go to his bed, the room started to spin around his head and then everything went black and he just dropped back down on the couch.

Hours later, when he opened his eyes to the ringing of his phone, he couldn't understand why he'd slept on his couch and had no idea that he'd passed out there the night before.

That day, when he arrived to the office and started to work on the new case, his chest was so tight that he couldn't even cough and his body was so sore and tired that every step he took was like he had a ton of bricks on his shoulders that was weighing him down. That was why he decided to forego calling his doctor and setting an appointment for a later time and instead, during his lunch break, he went straight to the hospital to see any available doctor; anyone who could tell him what the hell was wrong with him.

What he hadn't expected was to be forced to go through a dozen of tests and be poked by different doctors. He really had thought it was merely a chest cold; or well, he really had wished it'd be.

Once the agonizing examination was finally over, he was so preoccupied that he didn't notice he'd been late to get back to work. His test results weren't back yet, so he wasn't sure what was wrong, but one of the doctors had told him that something seemed to be wrong with his lungs and heart and if he was honest with himself, that'd scared him.

It'd distracted him so much that when he got back to work, he was completely lost in his thoughts and didn't even realize that Gibbs hadn't said a word about him being late; but as he was sitting at his desk, he felt the heaviness of Gibbs' stare on himself; looking up, he found the boss eyeing him suspiciously; so, summoning all his energy and strength, he just plastered a smile on his face and didn't say a word about his health and his probably sick heart.

He wasn't about to let them see his fears when they couldn't even understand the reason and would later mock him for it. Or well, shut him up.

He knew Gibbs, as a boss, cared about his agents' well-being and he hadn't meant it like he was alright if Tony died as long as he did it quietly; but he also knew that Gibbs couldn't understand his fear and would just order him to shut up and deal with it quietly the moment he started to voice it.

The older man had never been open about anything but anger, but recently, he was even more reserved towards Tony, like he barely tolerated him and Tony thought that he didn't need a reminder of how much his presence must be annoying everyone to the point where they deemed that it was OK to joke about his death.

So yeah, if he was going to go down, he'd do it with grace and silently. Just like Gibbs had suggested. He wouldn't let his fears see the light of day again and he wouldn't give his boss and his teammate the opportunity to kick him when he was already down.

It was time he faced the fact that no matter how much he tried to pretend otherwise, he was actually alone and nobody really cared whether he was there or not.

As melodramatic as it sounded, it was the truth.

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TBC

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A/N: So, what do you think?

The title is inspired by Dylan Thomas' "Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night".

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I don't own the show and its characters and all mistakes are mine.