Title: The Gap Theorem

Warnings: Some Violence, Swearing

Characters: Tony, cameos by Kate, Ducky, and Gibbs

Pairings: None

Summary: "Anthony DiNozzo, comma, M.D." Tony had been a doctor, once, until he discovered it was easier to take live than it was to save them.

AN: I'm warning you now, this is not a happy story. I had to bribe my beta with midless fluff to get her to even read it. You might want tissues. Seriously. The logistics, inspiration, and justification for this cheerful offering can be found after the story if you're interested.

Disclaimer: I own Seph, Jen, Sammy, and Nameless Doctor. Not NCIS. None of you would like it if I owned NCIS.

As always, Kudos to my lovely Beta, the wonderful emily_sigerson , who can be found and subsequently solicited on livejournal.

Happy (or maybe not so much) reading!

Bard

"I was thinking of becoming a doctor."

"You. A Doctor."

"Anthony Dinozzo, comma, M.D."

"Let me guess. A gynecologist?"

"Oh. No I was thinking more dermatologist. Normal hours, big bucks, never in emergency. I mean, nobody ever died from a zit."

(Anthony Dinozzo, Caitlyn Todd; Heart Break, NCIS Season Two)

There is a squeal of tires, somewhere far off. Shouting, too. There had been, just recently, a sharp sound, a fast sound. A gunshot. You had fallen to your knees, then, expensive suit pants scraping against the worn-grey pavement. Agony.

Now you kneel here, eyes squeezed shut, waiting for the inevitable blackness to slowly creeping up on you. You can't stay awake long, you're loosing too much blood. Shot to the chest, right in line with your clavicle, no exit wound. The bone is broken. Good chance of infection, but not fatal. You have three minutes before the strain of the injury knocks you out, three hours before you die of blood loss without medical attention.

Your brain snaps through the diagnosis without you even having to think about it, and you almost smile. Almost. The cool wind brushes across your face and you imagine the looks on the faces of Bethseda's nursing staff when they see you again.

It's always been said that Doctor's make the worst patients.

Everyone expects you to be upset about the injury. I'm so sorry, people will tell you, meeting your steady gaze with sad eyes as if someone you know has died.

You never went into college planning to play pro anyway; joining the team just sort of happened. You've seen what money does to people, grown up with it, and you can't imagine fame and glory is much better. You know what you want to do with your life; something meaningful. Something that helps people.

You promised her you'd never sit by and watch someone die again. You promised her that next time, you wouldn't be helpless.

You shake your head slightly, as if your scattered thoughts were water and you a wet dog. What ever they've got you on, morphine, maybe pethidine, is making you maudlin and unfocused. Your hand twitches towards your IV as if to pull it out. Sammy grasps your hand and gives it a squeeze.

"Leave your IV alone, honey. You need that."

Sammy could be someone's mother. Sometimes she reminds you so much of your own, you start to think that channeling the dead really is possible.

Seph and Jen and Aasim look up from their books at that, and you cringe. Now you won't be able to so much as itch without one of them on your case. It's kind of them to come and literally live in your room. At least one of them has been there ever since came out of surgery.

For Jen, the forced inactivity has been the perfect opportunity to sit you through all the movies she's been horrified you spent your childhood missing. Not that you mind. Pretty much all of them have been amazing, and you sense a new hobby in the making.

"Hey, doc." Your attending physician greets. She's been calling you that ever since Aasim let it slip that all five of you were pre-meds at OSU. She thinks it frankly hilarious that a "hardcore jock" such as you would be on the road to becoming a doctor. She said she expected a Phys. Ed Degree; you told her sweetly to try getting a physical education degree, and seeing how hard it was. She asks you if it is. You tell her you have no idea, but that it can't be much harder than eight years of medical education. She agrees, and informs you that because your sense of sarcasm is still intact, as long as you leave your IV in, you should be just fine, Dr. Dinozzo.

Man, do you like the sound of that.

"How are you?" She asks, setting her nifty file aside and laying a caring hand on your arm. Incidentally, right over you intravenous feed.

"You ever try to get your pre-med on a full academic scholarship while on a division one team, Doctor? this gives me an out without coach murdering me for quitting." You pause. "Truthfully, I feel relieved."

"Good." She squeezes. "I look forward to working with you, Doctor Dinozzo. When it comes time for your residency, let me know."

"Sure thing." You smile hazily. You're ready to sleep again, and the soft summer breeze isn't making it any easier to stay awake. Neither is the fact that you're surrounded by friends, feeling safer than you have in a very long time.

When you wake up again, you're in a different room; The pain is in your chest instead of in your knee, and the hospital is dark and emptied for the night. Gibbs has not bullied the staff into letting him stay, which means the team is still trying to hunt down the person who shot you.

Only fragments of that afternoon so long ago are left now; ashes in the wind like a burnt photograph. The first thing you do is press the pain medication button in hopes that the opiate they've put you on will send you straight back into dreams.

You think your self diagnosis was fairly accurate. That's good. It means they'll let you out soon. You hate hospitals this time of year.

You lie quietly on the bed, staring at a darkened ceiling and listening to the beep of your monitors. You fiddle with your IV, and are irrationally disappointed when no warm hand grasps yours to stop you.

You feel cold.

You tromp through the cold as the street lights illuminate the swirling snow. The fluffy white is a nice change from all the red you end up seeing during your day.

Med school is far more hands on than college ever was. And far more competitive. In college no one cared that you had ditched your senior year in high school to come join them a bit early. Testing out of your sophomore year in med school, however, is a cardinal sin, and people sneer at you as if you're the devil's cousin.

It's worth it though. You get to go into residency that much sooner, and you're bad at waiting for things. You need a job, too. Student loans are not a pretty thing. Maybe you'll call Uncle Clive. He's always liked you, even though Crispin hates your guts.

You quicken your pace, even though you know they'll wait for you. Watching It's a Wonderful Life together on Christmas Eve has become what Seph likes to call a family tradition. Tomorrow they'll all go off to be with their families, but tonight is yours. What they will not do, however, is save you any of the popcorn or cider, and damned if you're missing out on that. The moment you walk into the door and thaw you'll be soaked.

After the movie you and Aasim are together in the kitchen of Sammy and Jen's tiny apartment, kind enough to wash the dishes while the rest snooze in a heap on the living room floor.

"I have some good news for you." Aasim says in a way that suggests he fully expects you to at least accuse him of going over to the dark side, like Jen did. "I know we all were planning on going into emergency medicine and surgery together, but I've decided I want to do research."

You tell him that's great, because it is. Aasim, more than other people, has always wanted answers. You ask him what he'll be studying.

"Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease." He replies, squeezing your arm pointedly.

You think of the long hours you spent in the hospital with her, praying for a cure, and Aasim ignores the fact that you've begun to tear up. You tell him how thankful you are that he's going to make such a difference.

"The Doctors are always so blunt with him." You hear Kate mutter outside your room. "I don't think it's good for them to be that harsh. I mean, DiNozzo does ask for the truth, but that doesn't mean that they can't…"

"…Lie?" Ducky responds gently. "My dear Caitlyn, they don't lie to Anthony because they know he knows the truth anyway."

Ducky is right. Your qualification is smack dab on the top of your medical file. You can put whatever title you want on driver's licenses and forms, so Ducky is the only one on the team who knows the truth, or at least part of it. You've never told him anything, but he's a smart man, and all it takes is a little research and a little common sense to guess at why you left the medical profession.

"Care to explain that statement Ducky?" Gibbs asks. You think he might know, but you've never bothered to check. Gibbs is as omniscient as he is because people just assume he already knows whatever they're telling them. It's an ingenious technique, but not one you're going to fall for.

"What do you mean, Jethro?" The good Doctor asks innocently. They both know it's an act but decide to let it go.

The door opens and you tell yourself to stop flinching every time you look at the date on the calendar.

Who you assume to be your doctor walks in, followed by your team. You smile in shock; The universe must really like screwing with you. She looks older than you remember, obviously, but there's no mistaking that she's the same person.

"Anthony DiNozzo." She's just as surprised as you are. "How's the knee?"

"You did a good job, Doc." You tell her, glad she knows not to call you out on switching to law enforcement in front of your team. If she was still in Ohio six years ago then she knows exactly why, anyway. "I hardly notice it unless it's about to rain."

"Good, I'm glad." She puts your x-rays up on the tiny, built in panel. "Thought you might want to take a look."

"Let me guess," You study them, planning to annoy Kate. "Broken clavicle, clean break? I should be up in five weeks tops."

"Clavicle?" Kate asks skeptically. "Really Tony?"

"I did go to college Kate." You inform her.

"Yeah, as a Phys. Ed major." She mutters.

Your doctor smiles slightly at the unintended joke. "Good, job, Mr. DiNozzo. Leave that IV in and you'll be just fine."

"Thanks, Doc." You smile at her. "Nice to see you again."

Instead of leaving like you thought she would, she sets down her folder and puts a hand on your arm. "How are you?"

Fragments of birdsong, laughter and the breakfast club playing on mute flash through your mind, ashes carried on the wind of a soft summer breeze.

You and she both glance at her watch where the date blinks in digital glory.

"Gunshot wounds aren't so bad once you get used to them doc. They ache a little sometimes, but you get over it." Ah, so she was in Ohio. She'll understand the symbolism. "I'm fine."

She squeezes your arm, and with one last look, walks out the door.

"I know it." You hear (but you don't think anyone else does, because she whispered). "It was nice to see you again, Doctor DiNozzo."

You are in your final years of residency when your entire world is burnt down.

There is a siren wailing, somewhere far off. Shouting, too, people screaming. There had been, just recently, a load roaring sound and a wave of blistering heat. An explosion. You had all been thrown to the ground, then, pristine white lab coats scraping against the hard sidewalk.

Now you kneel here, shaking and shouting, trying to wake Seph and Aasim even though you know it's hopeless. They were the ones walking the front of the group. They had been closest to the blast. Aasim had been excited; he thought he'd found a cure. They need to wake up.

Jen's moan snaps you out of it. They died on impact, there's nothing you can do for them now. You move over to the woman. Her breath is short, and her stomach is rigid. At your gentle touch, she rolls onto her side with a pained scream and vomits. Mixed in with the remnants of her lunch are ribbons of red. She's hemorrhaging.

Sammy trembles beside you, her eyes wide and unfocused. You see the shrapnel scattered across her head, and like all head injuries, she is bleeding heavily. You whisper her name and though she barely reacts, her ears twitch sensitive. Your heart sinks as you confirm damage near her spinal cord. You pray to God she's not blind.

Your brain snaps through these diagnoses without you even having to think about it, and you almost wish you didn't go to medical school, because having knowledge doesn't prevent you from being helpless. The burnt wind brushes across your face, heavy with the smell of gasoline and blood.

The EMTs arrive and only confirm what you already know. Jen is in critical condition and Sammy might never see again. Seph and Aasim are gone.

It's Memorial Day so the ER is packed. Everyone is too busy to come immediately, even for a critical case, so you wash your hands and change your clothes and get to work.

You fight. For fifty hellish minutes you fight fate and God, Jen's body and Jen's will. You fight until there's nothing left for you to do. Jen dies, her stomach cut open, on your table. You're covered in her blood.

You track down Sammy, who lies pale and asleep in a quiet corner of the University's center. Her wounds are bandaged but looking at her vitals and charts you don't need your sympathetic colleagues to tell you that she won't ever see again once she wakes up. If she does.

You visit everyday after your shifts to sit and talk with her. You know the only reason she's hung on is because she's worried about leaving you alone. You don't beg her to wake up; you can't blame her for not wanting to, knowing the last thing she would ever get to see in the world would be three out of four friends dead or dying.

Sometimes you envy her sleep.

She waits until you can open the window to let the breeze in. Then she slips away.

It's always been said that Doctor's make the worst patients.

You decide you have learned something when the taste of failure settles heavy and immobile in your mouth. Having being able to fix something is not the same as being able to stop it from breaking, and all the knowledge in the world will never prevent you from being helpless.

After two weeks of grieving and this horrible revelation, you realize something else. There are more types of death than just one, and they will kick you in heaven if you waste what they never got.

For the first couple of months you can't go near hospitals without hot ash scorching your mind, so after two weeks of grieving, you walk up to the detective working their case and tell him that the best way to avoid having to fix things is to stop them from being broken.

You graduate the Police Academy with honors, because nothing will ever be as harsh as those years in Rhode Island. You do it in time to cuff the bastard who put the bomb under the car, and you figure that's as much closure as you're going to get.

After that, you find that little by little, you can walk the ER again without looking like someone on Meth. You volunteer to work weekends, the busiest time in a surgeon's week. Sammy always said that if God saw fit to give her a talent, then she had better well use it. You know that you can never go back to working full time; things will never be what they were, but this is good enough.

In Peoria Ohio, you discover that you have a surprising aptitude for detective and undercover work. After the six month probationary period you're allowed to take the exam. You pass with a perfect score.

Apparently cops get as jealous as med students, and people seem to find your constant movie quotes annoying. The staff at the University hospital is too familiar and sympathetic. They only serve to remind you of what you have lost. Philly isn't that far away.

You wake the next morning with a kind of weary smile. This year's anniversary has passed and you have lived through it. The four people now scattered around the room will never be what you lost, but you don't want them to be. They're themselves and that's enough.

If anyone finds it strange that you're watching It's a Wonderful Life in the middle of the summer, they don't comment on it.

AN: You want to know how this train wreck of cheer happened? We're all curious as to how Tony decided to become a cop, me as much as the next person. Then I watched the episode "Heart break" in season two, and oh did that hit the switch.

Most of us accept, at least in fandom, that Tony's immaturity and "shallowness" are at least partially an act. He's a really selfless person, right?

Why would he choose Dermatology? "Big bucks, Normal Hours?" He wouldn't. If Tony was a doctor he wouldn't be in it for the money or the convenience; that man is hardwired to save lives. Just to justify my conclusion for his motivations I have his mother dying from a terminal, incurable disease, like many others authors choose to do.

Also, the Tony in my mind, at least, is incurably stubborn. If he wanted to become a doctor, he would become a doctor, and that would be then end of it.

Then, to my Utmost Glee, we have The Gap.

We know Tony is roughly 32 in season one. We also know that he's been working at NCIS for two years. Tony himself has told us he worked for Baltimore for two years and Philly for one and a half. He implies that he worked at Peoria for a time less than or equal to that. So, let's take a look:

NCIS: Age 30-32

Baltimore: 28-30

Philly: 26.5-28

Peoria:26-26.5 (For the purposes of my story, I chose to have Tony at Peoria for six months, long enough to complete his probationary period as a rookie cop and become a detective).

Most normal people take four years for a bachelor's degree. He would have been out of college by age 22. What was he doing for four years? Hence, The Gap.

So, my friends, I played with the numbers. I decided that military school academics would be rigorous and that Tony would get to go to college a year early, and that he could finish it in three. Decided that he could be a genius and complete med school in three years instead of two. So, let's look again.

Pre-med education at OSU: 17-20

Med-School: 20-23

Residency at the University Hospital: 23-26

Peoria: 26-26.5

Et Cetera.

Luckily for Tony and I, the Police Academy in some states only takes two months tops.

Then there is the final thing he tells us. He would've picked dermatology because it wasn't near the emergency room. People don't die from zits.

I needed Seph and Jen and Sammy, of course, to die and explain why Tony decided to make a switch from medicine to law enforcement (even if he does still practice on the weekends).

Did I take liberties? Yes. Of course. Was it worth it? Up to you to decide.

All that aside, thank you for reading and feel free to leave comments, opinions and questions in a review.