It was a Friday.

They were bored.

Gibbs must have been feeling indulgent—or his hearing had finally gone the way of his eyesight.

"Okay, okay, you win that one, Probie," Tony said, leaning back in his chair, his feet on his desk. "Here's one for you: Batman versus Aquaman."

McGee laughed out loud as Ziva just looked bewildered. "Aquaman?" she said, raising an eyebrow. She balanced on her fingertip the letter-opener she'd snatched off Tony's desk earlier during an oddly gentle wrestling match that still would have had OSHA sweating bullets. "What kind of super-hero is that? Who is he going to stop? Underwater bank robbers?"

"And for that reason," McGee said, wondering why Gibbs had allowed the insanity to ensue for so long, "Aquaman goes down to Batman in the first round. Easily."

Tony frowned. "Easily?"

McGee looked at him, knowing the darkness under the senior agent's tired eyes was mirrored on his own face—on all their faces. He realized Gibbs was probably giving them a break because it was four o'clock on a Friday after a hellish week. "Which one can stop a murder on the beach, DiNozzo?"

Tony smiled—and swore he saw a hint of one on Gibbs' face, too. For some reason, he found that made his own grin wider. "But Aquaman has a sweet mullet. Doesn't he get points for style?"

"He has a stylish fish?" Ziva asked, confused.

Tony laughed again, realizing how good it felt after an exhausting week's worth of blood and senseless violence. "It's a hairstyle, Ziva. You know, business in the front and party in the back?"

She stared at him blankly as he waved his arms around his head in demonstration.

"Gibbs?" Tony said, turning his hands palms-up and looking for help.

"Just because the name's Jethro…" Gibbs said, thoroughly enjoying watching his team unwind. Getting soft? Maybe... Nah, I'll make up for it next week.

"McGee, McGoogle the lady a mullet," Tony said, waving his hand as McGee started typing.

"I'm fairly certain that's the first—and only—time those words will ever be strung together in a sentence," McGee said as Ziva came to lean against his desk.

"Not a sentence," Tony said, still smiling. "That was an order. From your favorite senior field agent." The phone on his desk rang and he picked it up. "Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. How can I help you this fine afternoon?"

Gibbs shook his head with a smile, his eyes still on Tony as he listened to whoever had called. Gibbs watched the blood drain from Tony's face, his humor decimated, his mouth as mangled as if his smile had been dropped from a ten-story building.

Tony sat portrait-still, staring at the phone in his hand, frozen halfway to the cradle, his expression equally stalled midway between devastation and forced blankness.

"You okay, Tony?" Gibbs asked softly, knowing he wasn't—not even close.

McGee's and Ziva's heads jerked up at his concerned question. They followed their leader's eyes and both went quiet and still, unconsciously mimicking Tony's stunned silence.

Tony blinked several times and dropped the phone into the cradle with a clatter. "Wrong number," he said dismissively, his tone empty as a desert canteen.

Gibbs' eyes narrowed, but he didn't say a word. He just watched the muscle work in his agent's jaw—his only outward sign of what had to be serious inner turmoil. There wasn't much that could still the man like this.

When it was clear DiNozzo wasn't going to continue their silly conversation, Gibbs got up silently and went to sit on the edge of his desk. Tony looked up at him with pleading in his eyes. Please don't be nice to me, Gibbs. Please, no. Not right now.

"With me, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, making his tone hard again. And damned if DiNozzo didn't breathe a barely audible sigh of relief as he got up wordlessly and followed Gibbs out of the shocked-speechless squad room.

Tony followed numbly as Gibbs found an actual conference room and closed the door behind him. Tony's breathing stopped as he realized this wasn't going to be a short conversation. Of everything he knew right then, he wasn't sure why that was the thing to literally take his breath. He put a hand to his chest as he watched Gibbs pull out a chair.

"Boss," he wheezed. "I can't—"

Gibbs put a hand on DiNozzo's shoulder and forced him to sit, fighting images of Tony gasping under harsh blue lights. He put a hand on the back of the agent's neck and forced his head down.

"Breathe, DiNozzo," he said, feigning calm even as worry clogged his own throat. "That's an order."

Gibbs stood beside him, feeling his choked breaths even out under his hand. Only when DiNozzo started to squirm under his gentle touch did Gibbs move away, pour him a glass of water and take a chair far enough away to calm the pale, shaky agent.

Gibbs watched him drink, cough slightly and set the glass down on the long conference table with a solid thunk. Tony's eyes didn't leave the liquid sloshing in the glass until it had settled into a bathwater calm he couldn't quite muster for himself. He silently thanked his boss in every way he knew how for letting him just be.

When Tony finally looked up, his eyes were so blank they might have been made of the same glass as the one that sat on the table.

Gibbs realized Tony couldn't actually put it into words so he asked quietly, "Your father?"

Tony nodded slowly, unblinking. His eyes dropped back to the table.

"Dead?" Gibbs asked, wishing he had picked a nicer way to put it when Tony flinched as if Gibbs had clubbed him with the blunt word.

"No," Tony whispered, to Gibbs' surprise.

Gibbs' curiosity was making his leg twitch—or maybe it was the gallon of coffee—but he sat quietly, waiting for DiNozzo to speak. He watched Tony make the attempt several times, looking up, opening his mouth and looking thoroughly dismayed at his inability to form the words. He looked helplessly at Gibbs, making the lead agent wish he were better at offering comfort. Should I touch him? Say something? Apologize? For what? I didn't kill the guy. There are times I've wanted to, but he's not even dead.

"Take your time, DiNozzo," Gibbs said gruffly, glad he'd chosen the conference room over the elevator. They'd have called the fire department by now.

Tony just nodded again. "He…"

"They…"

Come on, Tony, start talking. You're scaring me.

Tony took a deep breath that ended with a full-body shudder. He shook his head hard, once, and met Gibbs' eyes. "He had a stroke," he said blankly, unable to force feeling into his words, probably because he had no idea what he was feeling—what he should be faking feeling.

"When?" Gibbs asked, if only to keep him talking. A silent DiNozzo was just that unnerving.

"Earlier this week," he answered, letting out a pained breath. "Apparently he found someone else to be his next of kin. Though I doubt it was ever me."

Gibbs felt his fury rise. He had told the stupid man to treasure his time with his son. Why the hell hadn't the bastard listened? And why the hell would you dangle what you had to know he wanted so badly in front of him only to snatch it away? Gibbs suddenly wished the man could see how thoroughly wrecked his son was at this moment. Maybe then… Too late.

"Who called?" Gibbs asked, barely managing to force his tone just this side of interrogation mode.

Tony's eyes were back on the glass. "Marianne. Step-mother number…" he shook his head, too confused to count. "I don't really know. She sounds nice, though. Found my number in his rolodex. DiNozzo comma Anthony, she said. She had no idea I was his son."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "The same name thing didn't clue her in?"

Tony smiled the saddest, smallest smile Gibbs had ever seen. "We're Italian," he said, as if that explained everything. Gibbs was glad he had the presence of mind to add, "I have three cousins named Anthony."

"So he got married in the couple months since he came here?" Gibbs asked to fill the silence while Tony moved the glass in slow, shaky quarter-turns.

"Must have," Tony said, his eyes closing in pain for a fraction of a second before focusing on the glass again. "I told you he was running low on funds. Never ran out of charm, I guess. I bet the lovely Marianne is loaded, if not lovely."

Gibbs winced, realizing belatedly his mistake in bringing up the man's marriage. Tony hadn't requested any time off to attend a wedding. Of course he hadn't.

"He didn't keep in touch after he came here?" Gibbs asked, then mentally kicked himself again. He'd better watch it before he bruised his brain. Stop interrogating him. Touch him, talk to him. Hell, hug him or something. Can't you see he's suffering?

"Nah, he just came and went," Tony said, unable to keep the sadness from invading his quiet words. He shrugged hard enough the throw the emotion from his tone. "Like always. It was oddly comforting."

No, Tony, not oddly. Horribly, heartbreakingly—but not oddly. Only you would think that.

"So now he's…?" Gibbs asked, wondering if there was a class or something he could take to learn how to do this right. Tony was important enough to him to consider it if there ever was.

Gibbs considered the cell in his pocket, realizing more suitably armed reinforcements were a call to Ducky or Abby away.

But Tony said, "He's there… but not there. If that makes any sense." He huffed a breath and stood. "They're mostly waiting for him to die," he said quickly, moving toward the door. "I'm gonna go now, okay?"

Gibbs nodded and stood. "Sure, Tony," he said, hesitating for a fraction of a second. Tony was about to bolt so he blurted, "You want me to come with you?"

Tony came to a dead stop at the words. He turned back to his boss and looked at him as if he'd just announced another marriage of his own—to a guy. "You want to come home with me?"

Gibbs blinked in surprise. "You're not going to New York?"

Tony's eyes hardened even as tears welled in their green depths. "Oh, is that what I'm supposed to do?" he asked, an edge of anger obliterating the transient tears. "Excuse me if I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do in this situation."

Gibbs backed away from the sudden anger and saw Tony's face crumble for a half-second before he shoved it roughly behind an alabaster mask of pure nothingness. "I'm sorry, Gibbs," he said quietly. "You're being nice and I'm being… an ass. As usual."

"Understandable," Gibbs said simply, his fingers itching to reach out and touch him, to reassure him that it was okay if he wanted to be angry, or sad, or hurt, or anything. He wanted to tell him there was no rulebook on these things and there was no "right" reaction.

Tony stared down at the doorknob in his hand for a long moment, knowing he was blocking Gibbs' path and the man probably wanted to get far away from him and his messed-up head. He looked back up at Gibbs and found only gentle concern where he had expected annoyance. It made him ache.

"You think I should go?" he asked quietly, cursing his blatant display of weakness in front of his boss.

Gibbs just nodded. "Yeah, Tony, I think you should. I'd hate for you to regret it if you don't."

Tony shivered at the emotion behind the words. He swallowed hard. "I don't want to go."

"I know," Gibbs said, giving him a small smile. "That's why I offered to go with you."

Tony studied him with unreadable eyes for a long moment. "You'd really do that?"

He nodded. "If you want me to. Wouldn't have offered if I didn't mean it."

Tony rubbed a hand over his face. "I really don't want to go."

Gibbs looked at him, saw his pain and indecision, and he was glad he'd spent years sharpening his bastard skills. If I have to be a bastard to get him to go, then so be it. If I have to hurt him now to make it hurt less later, then that's what I'll do. I'd rather he hate me for a while than hate himself for the rest of his life.

"Listen, DiNozzo," he said, his tone as hard as he could manage with his eyes locked onto Tony's anguished ones. "Do you really want to spend the rest of your life wishing you'd gone? He's your father. You need to go. Simple as that."

His tone softened a tiny bit at the guilt that sprang up in Tony's verdant gaze. "I know he's hurt you—probably more times than you can count. And I know you never had the relationship with him that you wanted. But it's not too late until it's really too late, DiNozzo."

Tony's eyes were blank again, but the muscle in his jaw was twitching like a tweaker on a three-day high. He swallowed hard and nodded. "You're right. As usual. I'll go." He looked almost apologetic when he added, "Alone. I just think I should go alone."

"Tony—"

He shook his head. "No, Gibbs. I can't ask you to do that for me."

Gibbs just gave him a look. "You didn't ask. I offered."

Tony's eyes gave in before his mouth had a chance to catch up. Gibbs nodded. "Go home and pack. I'll pick you up in a couple hours."