A/N: I began this story months ago after re-watching "Bury Your Dead". The ending was so open ended and there was no follow up in the next few episodes so this idea came to me. For those of you who HATE Jeanne please read through to the end .The story is written in my head, and was completely plotted out before any information about this week's episode"Internal Affairs" came out. So, not knowing what TPTB have in mind to wrap up The Frog/Jeanne story arc this is what I came up with. My big problem is typing the stuff in. Hopefully updates will be reasonably frequent. I hope you like it. Please R&R. This is my first Fan fic.

Category: Drama/Tragedy/Angst/Friendship

Spoilers:"SWAK", "Bury Your Dead", "Requiem", possible for any show through current episodes

Ships: Tony/Jeanne, possible small amounts of TIVA and McAbby, hints of Tony/Paula, Jethro/Tony father/son NOT SLASH team friendship

Warnings:Rated T for mature content, swearing, scenes of explicit violence/torture continuing character death NOT for kids

Disclaimer:I do not own these characters I'm just playing in their yard...

Loyalty on the Razor's Edge

Special agent Anthony DiNozzo took a deep swallow of his hot tea and had to repress a sigh of satisfaction. Gibbs could keep his coffee – when his throat was raw and his chest this tight and sore nothing seemed to ease him like this strong, hot tea. Yorkshire Red, steeped until it was nearly opaque and could stand up to heavy cream. It was a blend Ducky had introduced him to over two years ago, when the coughing after his close encounter with plague had left him, it seemed, with a perpetually sore throat.

The bullpen was almost unnaturally quiet. They had had a string of boringly routine cases for the last several weeks. Ziva was openly complaining that the criminals were not being "challenging" enough. Even McGee had voiced a soft complaint about the dull cases.

Tony thought he knew what was going on, and it worried him. They were coddling the team – coddling him. His brief encounter with a freezing cold river, now more than six weeks ago, had left him nominated for a citation for bravery and coughing up tainted river water. Seventy two hours later he had been in the Bethesda ICU, inches away from buying a ventilator and a two week stay.

He had managed, much to his own surprise, as well as Dr. Pitt's, to avoid the vent and fight off the infection, but he had missed five days of work. He had come back earlier than both Dr. Pitt and Ducky had wanted him to largely because he knew that human resources was still watching his fitness for field duty like a hawk, because of his many job related injuries and illnesses.

Though he was improving, he could not seem to shake the cough which usually made its appearance shortly after lunch and slowly but steadily worsened as each afternoon wore on. So now the two or three o'clock cup of tea had become a routine. He clutched the steaming mug and found himself grateful that the rich brew could tolerate milk or cream. It made it look like coffee and that seemed to be diverting Gibbs' attention from its real purpose, which was to soothe his chest and quiet the cough.

No amount of tea, coffee or any other beverage safe for work could ease the anxiety that had twisted his gut into a knot six inches below the tight pain in his chest, though. NCIS Director Jenny Shepard was, quietly but clearly, handing off cases needing more fieldwork or extra hours to other teams and giving her premier team routine, easy stuff. The fact that over the last four weeks Gibbs had not voiced even one complaint where Tony could hear him only served to increase his gnawing concern. It had become clear to Tony that his bosses thought he could not physically handle the more demanding cases right now.

He knew this could not continue. It bothered him more than he could even admit to himself that it had actually taken him several weeks to notice what was going on. It had now been nearly two weeks since he had realized what they were doing and he had seen no sign that they were moving to restore the team's caseload to its usual frenetic pace.

He would have to step up and challenge them on it.

He was not looking forward to it. He had lost nearly fifteen pounds in the two weeks after his unexpected swim, most of it muscle mass, and he had yet to regain it. His sleep had improved over the last couple of weeks and with it his stamina, but he knew it would be a few more weeks yet before his general physical condition was back to where it had been before.

None of that mattered though. It was Thursday afternoon, and he had been closely watching the case assignments since Monday. He had no doubt left; they were waiting for him to make the call. The longer he delayed the more they would come to believe he was not fit for field duty. And though he would have allowed himself to be drawn and quartered before admitting it, he was acutely aware that coddling the team for his sake was grossly unfair to Ziva and McGee. The Probie, in particular, had grown into a fine field agent. If he was starting to complain, it had gone on way too long.

Tony took another long draft of the tea. He was considering a quick visit to Abby or Ducky. He wanted to know if either of his team mates had spoken to them about the situation. He had no doubt that Ziva, at least, was fully aware of what was going on. If one or both of them had had their patience stretched to the point of speaking out about it, then he would have to rethink his position.

He might have to resign.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly through pursed lips. A sense of deep despair washed through him. He knew if he was consciously even considering resigning, then he should probably go ahead and do it.

Still holding the mug of tea he swung his chair around and let his gaze wander over Gibbs, who was reviewing the week's reports at his desk, then on over to Ziva and McGee. He thought back to the period surrounding Kate's death. Even before she'd been killed, he had felt the itch, the urge to move on. The knowledge that he was starting to care a bit too much for these people. Then he'd gotten the plague. Katie had stayed with him in isolation and Gibbs – Gibbs had strode into isolation, lightly headslapped him, and told him flatly that he would live. So he did.

Then Kate had been killed a week after he came back to work. He couldn't leave just then. Even though two years, or a little more, had always signaled the break point and it was a year past that. For Abby's sake as well as McGee's he had taken it upon himself to divert Gibbs' obsessive fury, and to bait and goad Gibbs back into a more normal mood. And somehow, he wasn't really sure how, moving on, like he always did, just hadn't happened. His job at NCIS had become his life. And he knew now, realized he had known for a long time, that if he could no longer function reliably in the field, he could never bear watching others take over his duties while he rode a desk. He had no idea, had never even considered, what he might do if he left the NCIS. God, how had he become so comfortably entrenched here?

His sense of helpless despair deepened.

He watched his teammates work on their reports for a few moments, then swung back to his own keyboard and hit enter, sending his terse report of the interrogation of a couple of suspects in their minor drug case to the printer. He stared at the computer screen without really seeing it and drained the last of his tea in a few quick gulps. The air conditioning kicked on and he shivered, suddenly chilled Standing slowly, he stretched carefully, loosening stiff muscles. To his dismay, even the light stretch brought on a rattling cough that he quickly covered with his hand.

Not wanting to attract Gibbs' attention by just standing there coughing, he moved quickly out of his cubicle and over to the printer stand by the bank of windows. Picking up his brief report, he gazed out of the windows at the lawn and plaza areas around the public entrance to the NCIS building. For some reason, the sight twisted his heart with pain. Agents of all ages were coming and going, along with various support personnel and members of the public. He recognized several of the agents. They were all moving comfortably, briskly. In that moment it seemed to him that none of them really understood how quickly it could all be taken from them. Paula Cassidy's and Chris Pacci's faces seemed to float in the window like ghosts in front of him.

After another moment, he shook himself slightly, grimacing. He was not a man given to self pity, normally, and he was finding his current depressed mood difficult to cope with. But he knew he could not let pride or self pity , or even despair, get in the way of the decisions he was facing.

The loose, moist sounding cough had caught Gibbs' attention immediately. It had become too disturbingly familiar. He had glimpsed Tony out of the corner of his eye, covering what looked to be a bone-jarring cough under the guise of stretching. It had become something of a habit, that pseudo-stretch, sort of like the tea that Gibbs knew Tony believed Gibbs thought was coffee.

Gibbs abandoned any pretense and simply watched as Tony moved to the printer and picked up his report. Something in the view seemed to catch his attention and Tony just stood there for long few moments, papers held loosely in his hand. Gibbs surveyed his stance, the set, or really the slump, of his shoulders, noting that today he was again wearing one of his expensive designer suits like some sort of tactical armor. It was his posture, more than anything else, that was making alarm bells ring wildly in Gibbs' head. He'd seen it before.

In the trying weeks after he had survived his bout of pneumonic plague, Tony had stayed for a while at Gibbs' house. After several weeks of the incessant coughing Gibbs had accompanied Tony to a follow up visit with Dr. Pitt. The results had not been what Tony was hoping for. The doctor had not authorised his return to work and Tony had expressed openly to his mentor his deep fear that he would never really be fit for field duty again. That defeated -looking slump of his shoulders had been visible during that time. He'd seen it again after Kate Todd's funeral.

Inwardly Gibbs sighed and cursed Jenny Shepard. He had warned her that cutting his team's caseload was not a good idea. That DiNozzo would figure it out eventually and that it would gut his senior field agent's confidence. He could only hope that Tony would realize that this was not in accord with Gibbs' wishes. That it was the Director who decided which team would handle which case.

After a few moments had passed, Tony moved to the edge of Gibbs' space and dropped his report into the "In " tray.

"Really busy week, huh Boss." he said softly. Gibbs looked up at him and said "Happens that way sometimes, DiNozzo."

Tony leaned on the edge of Gibbs' desk and said, with only the merest trace of his usual levity "You know Boss, I think the troops are getting restless. Ziva hasn't had a chance to slap someone down hard in nearly three weeks." Gibbs tilted his head and raised his eyebrows but did not respond otherwise. Ziva, hearing her name looked over at the two of them. Tony gave her a grin and wiggled his eyebrows at her as he said "Three weeks Boss, you've been married. Think about it."Gibbs thought to himself "He's trying too hard." The obvious attempt to goad Ziva was lacking Tony's usual cheeekiness and was clearly halfhearted.

Ziva, for her part merely pursed her lips and said almost primly"Whatever you may think Tony I do not let personal issues affect my treatment of suspects."

"No?" Tony shot back "A certain security guard who called you a dirt bag comes to mind"

"How did you know I..."Ziva began then stopped abruptly. The grin Tony shot at her looked a lot more genuine to Gibbs.

"Boss, I'm going to go cruise by Abby for a minute, okay?" said Tony

"Was that visit Abby or cruise her, Dinozzo?" Gibbs said by way of reply."Ah, visit Boss," Tony replied quickly. "I"ll ride down with you," said Gibbs, sensing that the request was as much of an invitation as he was likely to get.

Ziva and McGee exchanged glances. They watched as the two men boarded the elevator. Ziva rose and went over to McGee's desk. "I told you something was going on," she said. McGee nodded then said "Do you think they are discussing why we've been getting all the scut work cases?" Ziva nodded slowly and said "I saw Tony slip something into his pocket before he went to the elevator."

"What was it?" asked McGee

"I"m not sure," said Ziva, staring at the elevator doors.

The elevator had barely started descending when Tony reached over and pushed the emergency stop switch. Gibbs surveyed his senior field agent and was distressed by what he saw. He had seen Tony in all kinds of moods and he thought to himself that the younger man had not looked this emotionally beat up since that dreadful day when his car had exploded and his life had been ripped apart. He felt his anger at Jenny Shepard rising again. She had had no business involving Tony in a peacock dance; it was a type of operation his agent had no training in handling the potential repercussions of. Tony had been trained as a cop, not an intelligence operative.

"You know Abs doesn't have anything cooking for us right now Boss," said Tony.

"I'm aware of that."Gibbs replied trying to keep his voice neutral. "So why are you headed there?"

"I thought I owed it to her to tell her in person,"Tony said softly.

Gibbs thought he knew what was coming but he was determined to make Tony say it if he meant it. "Tell her what , DiNozzo?"

In response, Tony grabbed Gibbs' wrist and slapped something into his palm. Gibbs looked down and felt his chest tighten as he found himself holding Tony's badge.

"If you wanted it, Boss, all you had to do was ask," Tony said.