A/N: I warned you it'd be angst heavy; it also has what I hope is a believable insight into the inner Tony.
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"Polo's a very dangerous sport."
Tony, in... err, sometime in season two, I think.
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"Were you close?" Gibbs asked, eventually.
Tony chuckled humourlessly. "'Bout as far apart as brothers can be. I was eleven; Nick was seventeen, and practically perfect in every way. Straight A's, good looking, popular, athletic; the perfect son. He didn't have to be the little poo boy; he was the star of the country club Polo team."
"Were you there?"
"In the crowd with my parents. At first, I was glad he'd fallen off; finally, he'd done something less than perfect. And then they wrestled the horses out of the way and I saw the blood..."
"I remember the screaming; and my mother running in her stilettos. I think that was the only time I ever saw either of them run."
"One of the ponies had stepped on him and crushed his ribcage. He died in front of them, choking on the blood from his shredded lungs just as my mother reached his side. Ironic, when you think about it; I almost died the same way."
Gibbs suppressed a shudder at the memory of black blood marring Tony's blue tinged lips in the isolation unit.
"That when your father hit the bottle?" Gibbs asked softly, without judgement.
"Not just him. They both needed something to kill the pain. Probably didn't help that Nick and I looked alike; I reminded them of their dead child every time they looked at me. Family fell apart; he retreated to the office, and she only lived a few more months."
"What happened?"
"You have to understand; my mother thought real life was something that happened to other people. She'd never found a problem cold hard cash couldn't fix before; and she couldn't cope. At least Father had his work to take his mind off it; all Mother had was her booze and her grief. "
"Christmas was the last straw; all those Hallmark commercials with the happy families opening gifts all together. She popped every pill in the house and washed it all down with vodka. I found her in Nick's old room on Christmas morning. She was already cold; but she looked... better. Happy, almost."
"It was listed as accidental," said Gibbs, carefully.
"You forget just how much money we had, Boss. My father pulled some strings; Catholic families will go a long way to conceal a suicide. Especially when it could damage their business deals."
"And he sent you away to boarding school within three weeks."
"Be fair to the guy, Gibbs; he had just lost everything. First his son, then his wife..."
"Everything? Did he just forget he had two children?"
"I never measured up to Nick even when he was alive, Boss; no way I could do it after he died. Besides, he was so numb by then I don't think he had anything left for me."
"That is no excuse for the way he treated you, Tony."
"So he wasn't around much; 's not like he beat me to a pulp every night for being alive instead of Nick."
"No; he let you do that to yourself. And when you did see him, you learned by observation. I know drink and women and forgetting are still the way you deal with things, DiNozzo."
Tony opened his mouth to make a stinging 'pot, kettle, black' comeback; and saw the compassion in Gibbs' eyes. He bit it off with savage force.
"What else am I supposed to do, Gibbs?" He sounded young suddenly; vulnerable.
"You're not alone any more, Tony. You don't have to rely on strangers and scotch when you're hurting. You have us."
"Somehow, I can't imagine having this conversation with McGee. It'd probably end up in his next bestseller. And Abby would cry and think she had to hug me on sight for the rest of my life. Pretty sure Ziva turned it up when she wrote my dossier; she mentioned something about having lost a sister when we first met. Ducky... well, he'd keep his mouth shut, but he doesn't need to know about my problems. He'd probably end up psychoanalysing me."
"You ever told anyone about all of this, Tony?"
The silence answered his question more eloquently than any words.
"Ah, dammit; DiNozzo; why d'you always have to make things more difficult for yourself?" Gibbs asked rhetorically. "Nick's death was not your fault. Your parents should have been able to see that there was a second child who needed them."
"I know that, Gibbs."
"But you don't believe it. Every time you see someone die, you think it should have been you. Kate, Paula Cassidy, Jenny, that Metro cop; even Jeffery White, and he was a serial killer."
"Even Jeffrey had a family. Younger sister Janet, brother in law Kyle, two nephews and a niece. If I hadn't pulled that trigger, there'dve been a lot less people grieving that day."
Gibbs reached out and grasped Tony's chin between his fingers, forcing him to meet his gaze.
"Don't count on it," he said softly.
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There will be more, I think; maybe one or two short chapters.