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Anthony Dinozzo was no longer the cocky arrogant man everyone thought he'd be. You'd have to have everything in order to be that kind of person- or at least think that you do. No, that was no longer the case.

He didn't know how long it had been, sitting here at his desk, contemplating about everything. Probably hours, he mused. Perspective is a dangerous thing, you see. If one puts everything into perspective, right and wrong diminish into nothing, and sense of worth becomes questionable…like his life.

People started to shuffle into the office, and Tony once again noted that he hadn't slept because of his insomnia. What's the point of even waking up? his muse grumbled. Gibbs would have head slapped him hard for sure for even thinking that thought, but now… he wasn't so sure.

McGee and Ziva walked in and set their belongings on their desks, muttering a monotone "Good morning". As if their mornings had been anything good, anyway. Gibbs marched in at the time he always did, ignoring his team. The prickly marine had become even pricklier lately. He was on edge 24/7 for a while now and sometimes Tony thought that he looked for things to express his temper as much as possible. For one thing, he yelled at Palmer for well… being Palmer.

But maybe it wasn't Gibbs. Maybe the source of the man's temper was himself. Everything and anything he seemed to do ticked the man off. No matter how hard he tried to get on his Boss's good side (good side meaning normal side) it backfired on him. Tony knew only rare things pleased Gibbs, but it seemed like he was permanently stuck on Gibbs's I'm-pissed-at-you radar.

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs barked, slapping a file onto his desk.

"Yes Boss," he said dully. Tony didn't bother to ask things anymore. Everything full on came without needing an invitation, so he grew tired of giving one.

"You're not in the third grade anymore. I shouldn't have to keep asking you to give me something other than worthless crap!" he snapped.

Tony muttered another "Yes Boss" before re-working on the report. It had been almost an hour and a half before he finally finished the damn thing. He rubbed his eye with his palm, trying to get wary-ness to leave him be. The wheels in his head weren't churning properly because of the lack of sleep. It wasn't like he didn't try. His mind was like a prostitute, constantly longing for attention and it just wouldn't shut up. Some things just seemed to be automatic. He sighed. Again with his stupid excuses. Tony mentally slapped himself. Who was he kidding? It wasn't from lack of sleep. He just needed to suck it up, stop being a whiny baby, and except the fact that he just wasn't good enough like a man. Worthless crap indeed.

"David, McGee, Dinozzo, grab your gear!" Gibbs demanded marching towards the elevator.

Tony had to pinch himself to check that he's not dreaming. He was pretty sure his gear had been collecting dust. He gave his first genuine small smile in the past couple of days. Now was his chance to prove to Gibbs that he wasn't a total failure.

(JUMP AHEAD)

Tony entered the bedroom and his eyes almost instantly locked onto the bloody, lifeless, body on the floor. The body turned out to be a twenty-three year-old John Brooks, who's cause of death was predicted to be suicide. But in their line of work, it was never that simple.

He immediately set to work, taking pictures of John's body, the gun, the blood, etc.

"Very cowardly," Ziva commented.

"What, McGee's character?" he naturally joked. McGee glared at him disapprovingly before continuing to interview a woman.

"No," she said, "the prediction of Brooks's death. If he really did commit suicide, then it is the most cowardly way to die."

Tony's eyebrows knotted together, "How so?"

Their eyes met. "In my country, you are lucky to be alive. Especially living in America, where freedom and opportunity knocks on your window."

"It's 'door' not 'window' Zee-vah," he snorted, before sobering up, "and what if Mr. Brooks here had a very good reason to end his life?"

Ziva shook her head. "Still, he should have faced whatever he had to face like a man."

He nodded. "Aand what if he no longer has the strength to face it? What if it's something he couldn't face, but accept?"

Ziva narrowed her eyes and looked at him questioningly. Tony felt a smidge of victory when he justified the reason for suicide. Although, deep down, he would've liked an answer to his question, if there was one. Tony opened his mouth to say something, but lost his foot and went tumbling down. He hit his on what seemed to be a sharp edge of a coffee table, and he felt something wet and warm underneath him. It took a while for the blurriness to fade and he was once again aware of his surroundings. He looked to see Ziva and Probie looking down at him jaws slacked, eyes wide with horror. He looked at them bewilderedly before looking down. His eyes locked with John's cold gray ones. Tony yelped and instinctively scampered away from the body, ignoring the throbbing of his head.

He'd just contaminated a crime scene.

Shit.

"What the hell are you doing!?"

All three agents looked fearfully at Gibbs, but none as fearful as Dinozzo.

Tony backed away on the floor even more when he saw his angry boss marching towards him, but he couldn't move anymore when his back met a wall.

"B-b-boss I-I tripped I'm s-s-

His stuttering halted when Gibbs slammed his hand above his head, making him jump out of his skin.

He didn't seem to notice the way Dinozzo shielded his face. "I don't want a damn apology!" Gibbs roared, making everyone who was witnessing flinch also. "I want you to do your damn job, but clearly you can't do anything right! You're a disappointment," he spat. Gibbs didn't see the broken look in his eyes. He was too lost in his rage. "Now, get out of my sight," he growled.

Tony looked down and got up from the floor, exiting the room, each movement mechanical.

…

How he wound up in his apartment was a blur. He didn't remember. His heart stopped and his blood ran cold. He couldn't breathe; the only man he had ever looked up to in his life despised him. You can't do anything right. You're a disappointment.

Tony let out a ragged sigh then slumped down on his couch.

He failed.

He was a failure.

He was a senior field agent, and senior field agents weren't supposed to contaminate crime scenes. Even probie's more anxious that McGee wouldn't commit such blunder! He let his team down. He let Gibbs, his mentor, leader, hero, heck even family, down. You're a disappointment.

He cradled his head in his hands. You can't do anything right.

It's one thing for his own demons and even his bastard father to say that he's a disappointment, but for Gibbs to voice all that's been said and thought, makes it realer. Gibbs was right, he was a disappointment. He couldn't do anything right. He fucked up so badly that he wouldn't be surprised if Gibbs fired his stupid worthless ass. It hit him hard. You're a disappointment.

His heart felt like it had burst in side his chest and he's been left to bleed out. The disgust in Gibbs's tone alone made him want to shoot himself. Tony took out his gun. He studied the details of the metal work, how heavy it weighed, how his finger felt on the trigger, a tool that had brought both salvation and death. Its only purpose was to kill and harm, yet for the better or worse. Intentions aside, he was no better than the killer(s) because he committed the same sin. Blood was on his hands no matter what. And no amount of soap or water could wash it away.

You're a disappointment.

Tony clenched his eyes and brought the gun to his face. The tip of the pistol touched his cheek, and the cool metal slid down along his jaw and up to the side of his temple, before sliding down once more to his mouth. He opened his mouth and wrapped his lips around the cool tip of the weapon. He released a shuddering breath. At first, he questioned how some people could actually take that final step, deliver that stab, swallow those pills, let go of the rope, sink into the water, jump off the ledge…pull the trigger. But now it made perfect sense to him.

You're a disappointment.

Tony clenched his eyes tighter before un-mouthing the weapon. He let it plop on the couch beside him. At this point, he envied John Brooks. He chuckled hollowly. He couldn't even complete the simple task of taking his own life. And to think his name on the failure scale couldn't rise any higher. You can't do anything right.

Tony got up and went to his bathroom. He studied his complexion in the mirror. The purple bags underneath his eyes, the pale clammy skin, and the empty, hollow look in his faded olive orbs… it certainly wasn't the face of a lady killer. He looked like shit, but looking didn't even compare to feeling, or thinking, or his purpose to himself and others. His eyes traveled to the still-bleeding cut on the side of his forehead. He watched as the trickle of blood slide down and caressed the right side of his face, and gathered at the bottom of his chin, before dripping onto the counter. He wiped the blood and frowned when it stopped flowing. Tony took out his knife. Now, he couldn't experiment on his face because people would notice…but he'd have to go the traditional way. He rolled up one sleeve and shuddered when the cool blade touch his mid-arm. You can't do anything right.

Well, this time he would.

Tony dug the knife deeper until it pierced his skin, a droplet of red surprise resurfaced. He then dragged the knife to the right, hissing loudly in pain, and was rewarded when crimson blood began oozing out and trailing down to the lower depths of his arm. You're a disappointment. He made another one, right below the first one, but he sliced slower this time. More blood oozed out and blended in with the prior red trails. Tony studied his handiwork. This stinging pain had somehow…helped him. It drowned out Gibbs's voice by stinging more. Even though this cut hurt more at the moment, he knew his body would forgive itself and heal, but his mind wouldn't be so forgiving. No, Gibbs's words had stung him to the core and confirmed all that his demons have said. That would stay with him forever. He would have to keep on drawing more physical wounds to numb out the mental ones. It helped so far. Tony gingerly wiped the blood after it stopped flowing, (which was a long time) but he didn't wrap or tend to them. He hadn't even bothered changing his bloodied clothes. He laid on the couch and shut out the voices in his head by focusing on the stinging feeling, and only the stinging feeling...

TBC

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