She's too quiet.

And the silence… It unnerves him.

He and Bishop, they were always the loud ones, the talkative ones.

The ones who always filled the silence.

Never the ones who basked in it.

Tony fidgets in the visitor chair across from her.

Wrings his hands together, as the blonde stares down at her own.

He can't unsee the empty and absent minded heaviness in her gaze.

No light, no spark, none of that youthful ambition, thrill of the game, no thrive.

All of that's gone.

Folded delicately beneath this cracked and broken exterior.

He remembers seeing that same look in her eyes that night, weeks ago, on his porch.

And thinks why the fuck didn't he do anything then.

Why the fuck didn't they do anything then.

But it's too late for that kind of thinking.

They only have this present now.

This twisted, quiet present.

It makes sense in an unsettling sort of way.

That maybe the reason she's being so silent is that she's trying understand.

Trying to piece things together like he is.

Trying to comprehend.

So all he can do is wait for the hammer to drop.

Wait for her to ask the inevitable.

Wait for her to ask why, why, why?

Because God knows he's been asking that question for a while now.

And God knows she deserves an explanation.

And he honestly doesn't have any idea how he's going to explain away any of this shit.

So instead, he adds his own silence to the quiet.

Even though his own thoughts are screaming in his mind.

Screaming for him to find away to make this easier.

Ellie hasn't looked back at him since the initial first glance.

Hasn't looked at anyone really.

Not the nurse.

Not the orderly.

Not the doctor when he comes in, steadily and methodically going the through each procedure that was enacted.

Not once does she meet any of their eyes.

And Tony can't decide if it's better this way or not.

If it's actually better that she's lost in her own world.

Or if he's being selfish for prolonging responsibility.

The physician provides more edifying information on her injuries.

The left hand should heal itself in due time.

But there's more extensive nerve damage in her right hand.

More severe than anticipated.

Something that's gonna require weeks of physical therapy.

And as the details emerge, Tony knows her career as a field agent is as good as done.

He watches Bishop.

Waits for a reaction that doesn't come.

For a brief moment he wonders if she's even with them, but then the light catches her eyes at a different angle, and Tony sees the glassy unshed tears.

Sees the painful realization.

But she doesn't voice it.

Instead she's quiet.

Quiet as the physician goes through a planned method of care.

Quiet as the nurse administers more morphine.

Quiet when the hospital staff leaves him floundering alone to find a way to break the silence.

Until hours later, when the dosage of medicine begins to wean off, and she breaks the silence for herself.

"Where…"

His attention snaps into focus as her question trails off.

When she doesn't immediately continue, he instinctively checks the hospital machines.

Making sure this isn't some medical predicament.

But the blonde finds her voice, thick like molasses, and tries again.

"Where is Gibbs?"

And of course she has to start with that.

Because of the very short list of people who have come the visit in the last few days since the argument had not included the silver haired marine.

Only confirming Tony's theory of unfathomable apathy.

But Bishop…

She idolized the man.

Always eager to prove herself to him. Always eager to prove her worth.

She put the special agent in charge on a pedestal so high and never stopped to think for a second, that maybe, he could fall off.

Much like Abby does.

Much like he did.

And look where it put her now.

But the brunette can't bring himself to rip away that fantasy.

Because the most painful and hurtful thing you can do to someone doesn't necessarily involve deception.

The truth always hurts more.

He hesitates for a moment.

And his mouth feels dry and cottony as he scrambles for a lie.

"Uh… He… There's a case"

It's a flimsy excuse.

A pathetic one.

And he can tell from the furrow in her brows, that she doesn't entirely believe it.

But either the pain or the drugs prevent the younger blonde from delving further, because she closes her eyes, shakes her head a bit, and let's it go much faster than he anticipated.

"Oh… Oh… I wanted to ask him something."

Yeah.

It was definitely the morphine.

She's speaking way too slowly and deliberately for it to be anything else.

"Tony…"

He shifts closer.

"Yeah Bishop?"

There's another pause and he watches her expression stitch together as she concentrates.

"You've done this before…You're good at… you're good at this?"

Tony stiffens, ready to protest as she echoes the conversation they had that night on the porch.

He can almost feel the coolness of that chilly night air slicing against him.

Except this time she doesn't sound nervous.

Just despondent.

Like she's separated herself from the current reality.

He runs his hands through his hair and tries to gain control over his emotions.

No crying.

No getting emotional.

"Ellie-"

No one's good at this, he wants to say.

There isn't any possible way to be good at this, he wants to explain.

But she doesn't give him enough time to answer, just keeps on plowing forward like she hadn't heard him at all.

"Tony… There was a click."

Tony says nothing, in the seemingly sudden reversal of conversation.

Not entirely sure what she's talking about.

"A click… There was a click, Tony."

Distress laces her tone, when she realizes he doesn't understand.

"I don't know what you're talking about Bishop."

And he wishes he did.

Wishes he had at least one definitive answer to give her.

"When.. when they had me… on the ground…When he…He…"

Her voice cracks and Tony wants to pull that month of pain away from her.

He'd rather have that agony forced onto him than watch it smother a friend.

"Ellie! We don't need to talk about this now… You need to rest…"

Tony rushes to calm her.

It can't be healthy to go through the grit of it all so soon.

But she isn't having it.

"No… No! There's not supposed to be a click Tony! There's not!"

She let's out a quivering stutter of a breath and grinds her teeth together.

If her hands were cooperating she probably would have been pinching the bridge of her nose.

Instead they curl protectively against her torso.

The vulnerability of her posture mimicking the fragility of her tone.

"They… They hear everything… They're always on the line… They have my back… But when he… There was a click."

And she truly meets his eyes for the first time since her initial wakening.

And it's like she's forgotten it was the height of March and spring was just around the corner.

Her grey eyes had frozen over like the surface of a winter puddle, robbing them of their usual innocence.

The innocence he wants so desperately to bring back.

"There's only a click if they turn it off. Why… Why would they turn it off Tony?"

The question is laden with exhaustion and fear and severely misplaced confusion.

She sounds so small.

She sounds so broken.

And suddenly Tony remembers the click.

Remembers all those years ago when Ziva had filled Bishop's position on the team.

Remembers when she had complained about the noise he'd been making.

Remembers registering the click in his ears when they cut the line.

It sounds like a gunshot now. Echoing in his mind.

And finally everything seems to come into place, the puzzle pieces aligning and realigning, until he's staring at a picture he's seen a million times before.

And now he wishes he'd left Andrew Kramer with much more than a bloody nose.

And that he'd been less lenient with the others.

Tony had been right with his suspicions.

And somehow that doesn't make him feel any better.

"Ellie…"

The former NSA analyst quivers on her bed.

And when he hears the hitch in her breath, Tony knows whatever resolve she has left is about to crumble.

"I must have done something wrong. What did I do wrong…"

She's talking more to herself than she is to him, but he's quick to cut her off.

"You didn't do anything wrong. That was all on them. They fucked it up. And they took advantage of you. You didn't do anything wrong."

… …. … ….

The bureaucratic red tape arrives less than a day after Bishop's woken up.

Two black suits and ties with agendas, briefcases, and questionable motives.

They had probably been waiting for the goddamn phone call like lions waiting for the kill.

The absence of Gibbs, Vance, and even Kramer is painfully noticeable.

Because after that first day no one else seemed to be seriously invested in seeing the outcome.

Only McGee had the human decency to drop in twice between shifts.

It strikes him odd at first, considering that they were the heads of the misconstrued operation.

That even if they didn't care about what happened, they'd at least be concerned about the clean up.

Then he remembers how excusable everything was to them.

Remembers the expendable aspect of their methodologies.

And it doesn't seem strange at all.

He realizes later that the suited men are lawyers.

Both from the Central Intelligence Agency of course.

They want him to sign something.

A confidentiality agreement.

Something that would prevent him from talking about anything he's heard or witnessed about the operation that could potentially compromise the integrity of the organization.

In other words, they're covering their asses.

And now Tony realizes he has to do something.

He can't just phase himself out of this catastrophe.

Can't just assume that once he left everything would smooth over .

It was only ever a matter of time before the bureaucratic red tape arrived.

But now that they're here it would be irresponsible to do nothing.

Turing off the mic by itself was a deliberate breach of protocol.

Even excluding all the callous and cold things in the events that followed.

The mic alone should be the end of it.

But they're already looking for a way to sweep it under the rug.

If the papers that they've just served him meant they haven't already.

And Tony knows they're going for Bishop next in the debrief.

And he can't be there for that, just like she can't be here for this.

But the term debrief in situations like these had the tendency to be interchangeable with the term interrogation.

He's been in his fair share of those.

Because he's pretty sure they're going to talk her into doing something.

Connive her into doing something.

Convince her.

It's how they'd gotten her to go along with this monstrosity of a case to begin with.

But what is he going to do? What can he do?

They have nothing left to take from him.

He quit his job.

His friends, with the exception of McGee, were no longer really friends. Just colleagues.

Former colleagues at that.

He's almost positive Vance has blacklisted him.

They certainly hadn't parted on good terms.

The agreement is pretty cut and dry.

If he doesn't comply with their demands, they could go for his house.

They could go for his freedom.

Could go for anything else under that was covered under the loose umbrella term of legal action.

The edges of the dark inked letters begin to blur when he concentrates on the words for too long.

Tony thinks about what Ziva did to him.

What Jenny did to him.

What Vance and Gibbs had done to him.

What they had done to Bishop.

What their negligence and apathy had the potential to do to others.

He blinks the confidentiality agreement back into focus.

Then he looks them right in the eyes.

Sets the pen on the table.

And refuses to sign it.

… …. … ….

The following days aren't any easier.

Tony alternates between keeping Bishop company, picking at the plastic cafeteria food…

And thinking…

And he thinks so much about the what ifs, that he feels like he's going into some form of shock because of it.

He knows the lawyers are lurking.

And an unreasonable fear begins to creep into his veins as he wonders if what he did was the right decision.

Because he has no leverage now. No power now.

Nothing except his own autonomy.

Just like a civilian.

And that's what he is now.

A disgraced one at that.

The lowest rung in the bureaucratic ladder.

One of the nurses brings him a selection of dog-eared thrillers after it becomes apparent that he's not leaving.

And he reads them aloud to Ellie, complaining and joking about the inaccuracies within the yellow torn pages.

And stalling.

Because he doesn't know if he can handle going back to an empty house alone.

He hopes his silliness distracts his friend from everything.

Hopes it keeps her mind occupied.

Because it helps keeps his own mind on off other things.

And even a ghost of a smile or a hint of an emotion that isn't despondence or regret is an enormous milestone to him.

He's halfway through Sign of Four when he get's the phone call.

It's the job he applied for.

A courtesy call.

The phone call that let's him know that his consideration in the application pool and subsequent interview have been redacted by the company due to particularly scathing letters of recommendation from his most recent employers.

They don't use the word scathing though.

Instead, they use the word conflicting.

That's a much safer word.

It leaves much up to interpretation.

Then they wish him luck on his future endeavors.

And when they hang up on the other end, Tony realizes he actually is being blacklisted by his former employers.

Like the cordial relationships formed over the years were insignificant.

Like the bountiful paperwork filed and cases closed as an agent and his role, albeit short, stint as team leader didn't count toward anything.

Like the countless hours he'd put into overtime didn't even matter.

"You quit?"

The battered blonde asks in a whisper of a rasp.

Tony looks over, not realizing she'd been listening.

Figured she'd been too absorbed in her attempt to complete her physical therapy task for today.

"It was a long time coming…"

Something undecipherable glints behind the curtain of despondency in the blonde's eyes.

And almost as quickly it's gone.

… … … …

The food grates slowly against the swollen walls of Tony's throat.

As carefully as he can, he swallows the cooling pasta he had retrieved from the hospital cafeteria.

It tastes like cardboard.

And for a moment he feels like throwing it up, but instead he forces it down.

He needs his energy.

Health issues shouldn't be added to the long list of problems he's dealing with.

"Anthony!"

Tony jumps at the familiar voice.

Twists around far enough in his seat to see a man he'd never thought he'd see within the walls of this hospital.

"Fornell? What are you doing here?"

He stands up to greet the man who's presence often dominated joint task force cases, remembering his manners long enough to give the FBI agent a proper handshake.

"Contrary to popular belief, I actually care about some of the NCIS personnel. Especially one that has helped the department and my family as much as she has. It took awhile for news to get around, but I was due for a visit anyhow."

Tony nods allowing a small smile to grace his tired face.

"You know I was surprised when I heard you were back on the job market Dinozzo. I thought you were as lackey as they came."

The brunette's gut twists in defeat as he forces himself to meet Tobias's' eyes.

"Yeah… Things didn't work out at NCIS."

The older man looks down at him.

Concern lacing his features as he takes the seat across from him.

"What? The old man got too big for his britches?"

The question is light, but the tone is serious.

And somehow Tony finds himself explaining everything that happened in the last few weeks to the man he was once sure hated his guts.

Because he needs to tell someone who can lend a fresh perspective,

Someone who isn't about to fracture into a dozen pieces like Ellie is.

Someone who isn't being pulled in a dozen different directions like Tim.

Tobias Fornell lends him an unyielding ear.

Remaining silent as Tony recounts everything in excruciating detail.

And the more and more he says the more absurd it sounds.

But what is else is he going to do? What is he going to do?

There's a moment of silence when he finishes.

Nothing but the sounds of clinking silverware and quiet murmurs of other hospital occupants and visitors.

And Tony wonders if the man even believes him.

"You need to get a lawyer, Anthony. For her and for you."

His blunt response to Tony's regurgitation of information from the last few days is met with silence and Tobias, aware of this, continues on.

"If anything you've just said is even halfway true… It paints a much bigger picture. Have they spoken with you or Ellie yet?"

The brunette manages to find his voice.

"They wanted me to sign a confidentiality agreement, but I've been dragging my feet on it. And they went through debrief with Bishop, but… I'm not exactly sure what happened there."

The older man nods.

"Good, if you didn't sign the agreement then we can still get ahead of this."

Tony blinks dumbly, not used to having someone jump to his defense so quickly.

"We?"

The grey-haired FBI agent shoots him an incredulous look.

"Yes, we. I help my friends."

Oh…

Oh.

The older man moves to get up.

Undoubtedly headed towards Bishop's hospital room.

"Oh and Tony, if looking for work, my offer still stands. It always has."

… … …

Tobias tells him not to worry about the case.

Tells him that he's got his men on it.

Men from the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

Men, Fornell insists, that are good at their jobs.

And while they are working, Tobias tells Tony to focus on getting his own life together.

Focus on himself for a bit because all this worrying isn't doing anyone any favors.

That it won't be at a detriment to Bishop if he takes a little time to figure some things out for himself.

Tony eventually assents.

Because even if it looks bleak, he does have to think about his own future.

So he spends the next two weeks splitting the time he has now between the hospital and the outside world.

And it's been a whirlwind of a time.

The brunette eventually accepts Fornell's job offer.

But it doesn't come easy.

Though he's expected to play a part in the Senior Investigative Team, he'll have to go through the entire training process as if he were a probationary agent.

Tony's grateful for it though.

And throws himself into the preparation process.

Studies religiously for the written entrance exam.

Trains just as hard for the physical exam.

Even fine tunes his marksmanship.

Fornell brings him to the bureau a couple of times.

Does this with the idea of giving him a view of the discernible differences of the way things work in the FBI versus the Naval Criminal Investigative Service.

And with purpose of stating his account of events to his men.

He finds himself repeating what he told Tobias three more times to three different people.

It's repetitive, but it's progress.

And progress, Tobias insists, is good.

And in the midst of all of this Ellie is released from the hospital.

Of course, Tony thinks that early of a release is much too soon.

She still gets dizzy sometimes.

She still trails off mid sentence.

Still has to concentrate real hard to pick something up without her hand shaking.

But the doctors are confident these side effects will disappear with time.

It's only a matter of how much time.

And because Bishop's broken bones are wrapped and she's cleared all the medical milestones, she's released from the hospital with three pill bottles and two phone numbers; one for a psychiatrist that 'specializes in these types of situations' the other for a physical therapist exactly twenty two days after she was first admitted.

He is able to read between the lines, knowing there are more people in need of help and not enough hospital beds to house them all, so he reluctantly understands.

Tony drives her to his house because there's no way in hell is he's bringing her back to an empty apartment.

Not in that state.

She's not as quiet as before.

But there's still a discernible difference.

Between what she used to be and who she is now.

And when he carries her bags into his house, she stops and stares at the porch for a solid thirty seconds.

Doesn't move until Tony nudges her along, shaking away the memory of the night he knows she's thinking about.

… …. …

Fornell arrives on his porch steps late into the third day of Ellie's stay at his house.

Wearing his usual black pinstripe suit, a thin beige folder resting in his hands.

The FBI agent hands it over to him without a word.

Something in the somber expression the man holds, tells him he's not going to like what he sees.

Tony swallows hard as he flips through the pages of the folder.

Scrutinizes the pages closely.

And the words practically jump out at him.

His hands grew cold and clammy and his jaws sets, as he understands more and more of the information within the file.

"So that's it? All he gets is three weeks suspension and a three thousand dollar insurance pay out?"

And that's just Gibbs.

Vance only gets a citation.

The case supervisor on the CIA's side isn't even mentioned.

"Tony…"

"No. Goddamnit! She could have died!"

Ellie is sitting in a corner of the big couch in his living room, surrounded by cushions like a feathery fortress.

Staring straight into the middle distance, oblivious to either of their scrutiny.

Legs drawn up tightly against her body and encircled by those matchstick-thin, plaster encased arms that make it painfully obvious how much wear and tear she's been through in the recent weeks.

"But she didn't die, Dinozzo."

Fornell whispers in hushed shout.

But she might as well have.

Their negligence had stripped away her confidence.

Taken her trust.

Buried her innocence.

All but torn apart her career as a field agent.

And left one of the brightest minds in the field a husk of her former self, muddled with so much fear that she can barely hold their eyes for an entire conversation.

They both know this, have seen it with their own eyes.

And the regret and guilt of not being able to do anything more is palpable in his tone.

"He gets his badge back when he goes off the grid. He gets his badge back when he disobeys direct orders. He got his goddamn badge back when he was arrested! What does that say about the department, Fornell? That no matter how demeaning, negligent, and careless you are there's a desk and cushy pension waiting for you at NCIS?"

How many people had to be whipping dogs for anyone to get a clue?

How many people had to get screwed over for things to get taken more seriously?

"I know it doesn't seem fair, but you have to realize it was never going to be looked into fairly. You know how the chain works. It was a joint case with the Central Intelligence Agency. They have to power to make almost anything go away, but they couldn't make this go away. You made sure this didn't go away. So Tony, take this as a win."

Take this as a win.

He looks down at the file again.

Looks back toward the living room.

Looks at Fornell.

And wonders why it doesn't feel like he won at all.

(My stories tend to resemble reality, nothing is ever easy and not everyone gets a happy ending.)