Work Text:
Ghost of Me
Tony stepped into the rundown apartment, surveying the evidence scattered across the walls and the makeshift computer setup resembling a miniature bullpen. Just as he prepared to address Ziva, a sudden movement caught his attention, and he turned to find McGee entering. A sinking feeling gripped him in the centre of his chest, his heart pounding audibly in his ears. Placing his hand over his chest, he could feel the rapid thud echoing his unease.
Upon closer inspection, he observed the maps and details on the walls, revealing the extensive effort and time invested. It wasn't a recent endeavour; months of dedication were evident. However, the stark reality hit him—they didn't want him involved. The clarity of their exclusion from him was painfully obvious. Doubts and the sting of rejection overwhelmed him as the room seemed to spin.
Glancing at McGee, who was offering some off-book excuse and mentioning plans to bring him in, Tony couldn't help but feel the weight of betrayal. None of it mattered anymore. The words sounded hollow, and the person he considered a brother was fading away with each uttered explanation. A stranger now stood before him, seemingly indifferent to their past camaraderie and friendship.
Ziva appeared sheepish, resembling a small child caught snacking on cookies before dinner. Yet, there was a hint of humour in her eyes, tinged with something cruel. Tony hadn't seen that side of her since their time in Israel, and he had hoped they had moved beyond such dynamics. The dread he felt seemed to cascade from his chest into the pit of his stomach, swirling and swooshing, making him feel nauseous.
They had orchestrated everything behind his and Gibbs' backs. How could they betray the trust like this? Tony would have willingly put his career on the line to help. Shaking his head in disbelief, he thought Gibbs would have supported them, finding a way to keep it on the books but under the radar.
While Ziva delved into their findings, all Tony could think about was escaping the dismal, chaotic apartment. He left them with a lingering question about when they planned to inform Gibbs, but he had no intention of being the messenger.
As he walked down the street toward his car, a realization settled in his mind—he truly had nothing. No meaningful connections in this world that held any value. Gibbs merely tolerated him, making it clear recently that he found Tony annoying and urged him to shut up. His relationship with Abby had grown distant, especially since he refused to let her meddle in his personal life—a notion he found amusing since his supposed active dating life was a facade. The truth was, he had been alone for years. They would be shocked to know that the last date he had was with Mark, a male lawyer from New Jersey. The stark contrast between perception and reality would undoubtedly leave them in disbelief.
He unlocked his car and eased into the driver's seat. The world still felt like it was spinning, so he shook his head, attempting to clear it before safely embarking on the drive home. Time seemed to blur as he sat there; the windshield had fogged up with his breath, and the cold had penetrated so deeply into his bones that he doubted he could feel his fingers and toes anymore. Rubbing his hands together, he fumbled with the keys, eventually slotting them into the ignition.
As the air slowly cleared the fog from the windshield, it became a symbolic moment for him. In tandem with the improving visibility, his mind cleared as well. It dawned on him that it was time for his life to change, not in a burst of euphoria, but in a slow realization that there was nothing in his current existence worth the effort.
Upon arriving home, he retrieved a bag that had been packed for longer than he could recall. Dumping out its contents, he found the usual essentials of clothing and personal items. In a document folder, he discovered his UK passport, a relic from his past that he seldom used. His mother's brother had obtained it for him during his teenage years, not out of affection or loyalty, but rather because Tony had pleaded not to be a Dinozzo, asking to be a Paddington instead. The result: Anthony Dominic Paddington, a UK citizen, a fact he had kept updated over the years.
Examining more documents, he headed to his kitchen and accessed his laptop. Using his UK bank statement, he logged into both his US and UK accounts. With finesse, he shifted money from the US account to several offshore accounts and then back into his UK Paddington account. Knowledge from his father taught him how to launder money safely, and though this instance was more about traceability, the results were the same.
Glancing around his apartment, he realized possessions didn't matter. He decided to email movers to store his piano and pack up personal items for storage as well. He sent an email to the realtor who sold him the apartment, expressing his intention to let it out for additional income. While he had savings, they would only last so long before he needed a job.
In his final act of the evening, he opened an email to HR and composed his resignation. He set it on a time delay to send at the end of the next day, allowing time for the plans he needed to set in motion.
Closing the laptop, he poured himself a drink—the expensive scotch Ducky had gifted many Christmases ago. The smooth liquid rolled over his tongue like caramel, and as his throat burned, tears welled up in his eyes. Briefly, he contemplated whether it was worth starting anew or ending it all. The idea of taking the scotch and some pills to drift into eternal sleep crossed his mind—no more pain, disappointment, loneliness, betrayal, or lies. Shaking his head, he dismissed the thought. He wasn't ready to succumb to the darkness just yet, too much a coward.
His gaze shifted from the scotch to his bedroom, where he knew a stash of sleeping pills awaited. With a heavy sigh, he placed the scotch back in its designated spot and sank to the floor. There, he sat, staring into emptiness, too numb to even muster the decision to end his misery. The night unfolded in silence, and when the morning alarm pierced through, he rose, grabbed his jacket, and mechanically went to work.
The day unfolded like any other, marked by intentional annoyance directed at McGee and gloating over Ziva. He agreed to whatever plans they proposed, fully aware he wouldn't be around to follow through. Gibbs' surprising approval of the trip to Europe astonished him. Tony knew the real reason Gibbs wanted him to accompany Ziva – a desperate hope he would prevent any reckless actions. Well, that ship had sailed. Ensuring the ticket in his name could be changed to McGee's at an extra premium.
Tony did minimal work, spending his time coordinating with movers and fine-tuning details with the realtor. His demeanour was quieter than usual, but no one seemed to notice the subtle shift in his mood.
Returning home, he packed a few cherished personal items in a box he borrowed from the work storeroom. Labelled and placed beside the piano, he left a note for the movers. His suitcase contained only two suits, one pair of oxfords, and the rest consisted of jeans and T-shirts. Glancing at his worn OSU hoodie, he crumpled it unceremoniously and tossed it into the bin. He was abandoning this life without a clear plan for the future. Unsure of his desires and burdened by numbness, he questioned whether he even wanted to exist anymore.
Taking the half-empty bottle of Scotch gifted by Ducky, he poured its contents down the sink. Placing the empty bottle in the bin atop the discarded hoodie, it wasn't an act of ingratitude. Instead, it symbolized closure—a need to finish, to leave it empty, and to move forward.
Once he had packed up his belongings and locked his apartment for the last time, Tony had one decision left: to go see Gibbs. While he didn't owe the man anything, a sense of obligation pulled him toward saying his goodbyes. His journey to NCIS had been influenced by Gibbs, and for a few years, he had harboured complicated feelings—desiring to be needed and wanting to be wanted, albeit in an unobtainable way.
Descending the dusty basement stairs, Tony took deliberate steps. This visit held the weight of finality, and he didn't want to rush it, but nor did he want to prolong the inevitable. As he reached the bottom step, he found Gibbs poised over his latest woodworking project, glancing up at him.
"Tony?"
Tony pulled out a sawhorse and sat down next to the man he had once held in high regard but who now felt like nothing more than a distant figure.
"I was thinking I should say goodbye," he stated plainly, his delivery lacking emotion but reflecting the turmoil within.
Gibbs' eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "I'll see you tomorrow before your flight with Ziva."
Tony looked into Gibbs' blue eyes, finding nothing. "I'm not going. I made sure the ticket could be transferred to McGee. There will be time in the morning to switch it."
"What?" Shock and annoyance registered clearly in Gibbs' eyes.
Tony absentmindedly picked at something on the edge of the workbench. "It's time for me to leave. I don't know why I came here; I was just going to go, but... well, I thought I should say goodbye."
"What the hell are you talking about, DiNozzo?" Confusion began to morph into panic in Gibbs' blue eyes as they searched Tony's face for clues.
"Tony, what's wrong?"
Tony sighed, feeling a weariness settle over him. "I stayed too long, maybe I'm just tired. I don't feel... anything anymore." He stood up and extended his hand. Gibbs grabbed it, but didn't release the handshake.
"I don't want you to go. Stay, and let me call Ducky or Rachel." Tony pulled his hand free and shook his head, moving back toward the stairs.
Gibbs moved forward, attempting to reach him, but Tony put his hand up to stop him. "I put in my resignation. I've got it all planned. This isn't some strange psychotic break on my part; it's been coming for a while." He laughed, a bitter edge to the sound, and shoved his hands deep into his pockets.
Gibbs looked panicked, uncertain of what to say or do in the face of Tony's unexpected revelation.
Gibbs stared at Tony, the weight of the revelation settling heavily in the dimly lit basement. The air felt charged with an unspoken despair as Tony's laughter hung in the silence, a bitter echo of his internal struggles.
"I don't know what to say, Tony," Gibbs finally admitted, his usual stoic demeanour replaced by a genuine concern that softened the lines on his weathered face.
Tony sighed, shoulders slumping as he looked away. "You don't have to say anything, Boss. There's nothing left to say."
Gibbs stepped closer, the urge to reach out and hold onto Tony almost tangible. "Why are you leaving, Tony? What happened?"
Tony met Gibbs' gaze, the blue eyes that once held admiration now reflected a complex mixture of pain and resignation. "I've been adrift for too long, Gibbs. This isn't about you or anyone else. It's about me, or maybe the lack of me."
Gibbs grappled with his emotions, unsure of how to prevent the unravelling of the camaraderie they had built over the years. "Let me help, Tony. We can figure this out together."
But Tony shook his head, a sad smile playing on his lips. "I appreciate that, Boss, but some things you can't fix. I need to find myself again, or whatever's left of me."
As Tony ascended the basement stairs, leaving behind the mentor who had become more than just a boss, Gibbs stood in the solemn space. The echoes of Tony's footsteps seemed to reverberate the unspoken words that lingered in the air – goodbyes heavy with unsaid emotions.