Hi. I know, I know - I ought to work on Waiting, but this one came much more easily... Just a continuation of scenes that could have played out when Tony was really young on Gibbs team. Maybe OOC, but - hey! - Tony's matured a lot (?) in nine years.

I knocked on his door for what seemed like an eternity, before I heard him curse from the other side of the paper-thin wood. Even though the expletives weren't nice to listen to, I was so relieved to hear his voice I didn't care.

"It's me - open the door, DiNozzo!" I barked in a pause in his tirade. The silence that followed had me holding my breath, ready to repeat my (pleading) order. "You know damn well I can pick this lock in under a minute." It wasn't a threat – more of a promise, and my voice held no anger. I wasn't angry with him. I couldn't be angry with him. This was all me. My fault. I drew a breath to start reasoning with him, when a rattle and a click told me he had unlocked the door. It swung open, but all I saw of him was his unruly mop of hair and T-shirt clad back.

"Would've been interesting to see how you'd have handled the safety chain," I heard him mutter.

I recognized this rare show of trust for what it was and slowly, carefully followed him to the kitchen. I leaned on the door post, letting him adjust to the idea that his boss was there, in his apartment, demanding something from him. He had his back turned and put his hands on the counter; head hung low, back heaving with his breaths.

"You know," I started, "Never had anyone curse me out like that before. Even after three divorces." I was hoping the light tone would center him somewhat. All it did was making his head hang heavier. "Hey!" I said sharply, because I didn't like this DiNozzo, who didn't recognize a poor attempt at a joke when he heard one. I immediately regretted the bark when he flinched like he had this morning and his shoulders bunched up even more.

Two strides and I was right by his side. "Hey," I said - softly this time – and laid a hand on his shoulder. I'm not much of a tactile person - head slaps aside- but I do know when touch can help ground a person. "Talk to me."

"Not much to say, is there?" The words were harsh, his voice gravelly.

"The hell there isn't," I softly said and felt his muscles twitch. "I scared you this morning and for that I am truly sorry." To hell with my no apologies rule. First rule of having rules; know when to break them.

"Not scared," he mumbled. I didn't dignify that with a comment. The truth was that he had been scared. Had been terrified and it was all my doing. I just pretended I hadn't heard him.

We stood like that for a while, him leaning on the counter, stubbornly refusing to turn around, me just standing there with my hand on his back, listening to his breathing slowly calm down.

"Tony, look at me," I whispered. I wanted him to see the earnestness in my eyes before I told him anything else. He sighed and slowly let go of the counter to turn around. He looked like a boy facing his father after he'd done something naughty; head bowed, eyes downcast. "Look at me." He raised his head obediently and I caught his eye with my sincere gaze. I tried a crocked smile and it actually helped. He deflated and leaned his back against the counter. "You did nothing wrong today, DiNozzo, trust me on that."

He just nodded and blinked his eyes furiously. I realized they were wide and red and shiny and I put my hand on his cheek and wiped away an obviously embarrassing tear with my thumb.

"You didn't do anything wrong, son."

We have never had to address this issue again.

The End