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Help, I Need Somebody

by: BuffyAngel68 (Send Feedback)

Series: - No Series - #1
Chapters: 041 Word Count: 76064
Rating: MATURE
Warning(s): Disturbing Imagery or Content, Other (See Author's Note)
Character(s): Jethro Gibbs, Tony DiNozzo, Abby Sciuto, Timothy McGee, Ensemble
Category(ies): Alternate Universe, Angst/Drama, Episode Related, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Pairing(s): Gibbs/DiNozzo, Abby/McGee
Episode(s): 3-12 Boxed In
Summary: My version of where Tony might have ended up after the crappy treatment he received in Boxed In. This is a bit dark, but I have to go with the muse and this is what she provided. The thought woke me up crying, as a matter of fact. Triple Kleenex warning...

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41

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Help, I Need Somebody 3/?


NCIS: 4:45 P.M.

"You're sure? That's the only name? Okay. No, I understand. Thank you. Good-night."

Gibbs hung up the phone and resumed shutting down his computer and preparing to head home. His jacket already on and backpack over his shoulder, Tim approached cautiously.

"Boss... has Tony changed his mind?"

"Only on one count. He wants to see Ducky." Gibbs replied, rising and gathering his own things.

"Ducky. That makes sense, I guess. He was the only one who wasn't there... the only one of us who didn't betray Tony."

"You need to quit that, McGee. Most of the time, guilt is a useless emotion. It blinds you and keeps you from doing what you need to do to fix a mistake. Go home, get some sleep... then come back tomorrow ready to do something productive to help clean up the mess Ziva made."

"Abby and I are already working on that." Tim responded, smiling grimly.

"Just the two of you?"

"Since we have our own specialties, we split into teams. Ducky and Palmer have their own ideas about the best way to wreak havoc. Jimmy said something about a goal of making her throw up or scream at least once a day for a whole week, but beyond that he wouldn't elaborate."

"Sounds like that's a good thing. Now obey orders, McGee."

"Home, sleep. Got it, boss. Do I even need to ask..."

"No... but the worry-wart treatment is appreciated. Go."

Tim nodded, lowered his head a little and headed for the elevator, Gibbs right behind him. They rode together as far as the parking level then parted ways with quiet good-nights.

"Ducky? You still here?"

The cultured, lightly amused voice of the NCIS coroner drifted out into the autopsy bay from somewhere out of sight.

"A moment, Jethro. I'll be right with you."

Ducky emerged a few minutes later, carrying an address book and wearing a knowing smile. "My apologies for the delay. I was arranging a particularly unpleasant surprise for Miss David."

"Do I need to know?"

"Meaning is it likely to be fatal? Unfortunately, no. I have a friend who works in crime scene investigation out in Las Vegas who also happens to be one of the foremost entomologists in the country. He's loaning me one or two of his more... disturbing exhibits."

"Bugs? Ducky..."

"I'm well aware of your preferences, Jethro. I will be absolutely sure you are well away from the area when I... do the dirty deed, so to speak. Was that all you wanted? I have a few bits and pieces of actual work to finish before I can go home, and I'd like to be shed of them as quickly as possible."

"I came down to update you on DiNozzo. I got a call from the hospital. He's decided you can visit."

"That's a great relief. I was hoping, since I was absent from that wretched party..."

"We all wish we could have had the foresight, Duck. Tell him the truth. Try an' make sure he understands." Gibbs requested, turning to leave.

"I'll do my best. Jethro... if I asked you not to go through with whatever it is you're planning..."

"Night, Ducky."




Lewiston's latest patient rolled over and sat up, bracing his back against the wall.

"Here we are again."

"I said I'd be back. I keep my promises. How's the appetite?"

"Still non-existent."

"Hopefully that will change. We need to talk about your time here. Since you checked in voluntarily, it's pretty much up to you how long you stay. I'd like to get your thoughts on that."

Tony grimaced and pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping one arm around them.

"I don't know. Two weeks at least, but it may not take that long. I want this to work... so there isn't much I'll be holding back."

"Yes, we've already defined those boundaries. Apparently discussing childhood trauma, and any connection it may have to your present issues, is over the line."

"You learn fast. Like I said... not going there." Tony replied, his good hand coming up to briefly scrub at his face. The doctor smiled lightly, but as his patient's left hand turned inward, something caught Lewiston's eye and the doctor's expression became sober and intent.

"When you were admitted, I warned you I needed to know everything you could tell me related to the reason you were asking for help. Do you remember that, Tony?"

"Vaguely. I was so low right then... my mind wasn't running on all eight cylinders, you know?"

"Then why didn't you disclose that you've attempted suicide before?"

Tony's slumped posture suddenly shifted and he sat ramrod straight. His expression blanked and he showed none of his volatile emotions to the man seated before him.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"When you moved your hand, the overhead light picked up a streak... a spot where the skin shines. You've obviously had work done to remove the scars, but even the best plastic surgery can leave traces."

"Please... don't."

"I know you're still brittle and raw, Tony. I wouldn't push if it weren't important. I need to know about this if I'm going to help you. You've been so willing to open up... don't back off now."

"You don't understand. It was so long ago... it can't have any meaning now..."

"How long ago? How old were you, Tony?"

Tony's eyes slid shut. His mask slipped for a moment, revealing the barest suggestion of what he was feeling, but he fought to hold onto his shield and the emotional void slid back into place. His voice, however, he didn't have as much control over. When he finally answered, the single word was nearly choked off.


"So young..."

"Not really. I'd lived more than eight years... felt like twenty, at least."

"Can you tell me what was going on back then? What was happening that made you feel like you wanted to die?"

"I'm not sure I even remember anymore. I know my aunt had just passed away. Breast cancer they said... that wasn't the whole story, though. At the funeral, I heard the other relatives talking. The doctors couldn't do anything else for her... she was in pain every minute of every day... so when she couldn't take it anymore she broke the water glass on her nightstand and slashed her wrists. By the time they found her it was too late. I ran back and asked my mother if it was true... if Aunt Cassie had killed herself. First... first my loving mother slapped me across the face and told me never to say that again, that it would be a black mark on our name if anyone outside the family ever found out the truth. Then she said that sometimes, when people are in unendurable pain, they choose to take the decision out of the hands of others and end it themselves."

"I've counseled cancer patients at that point. It's a no-win situation. All the terminal person can see is that they want the hurt to stop. All the family can see is that time is being stolen from them."

"I loved Cassie. She saw me for who I was... treated me as if I was worth something. If I'd been there, though... I don't know if I would've stopped her or helped her."

"When it got to be too much, you didn't have anyone there for you either, did you?"

"No... not unless you count the housekeeper who found me and yelled for help."

"Found you where?"

"On my parents bathroom floor. They were in one of their streaks... it could last for days or months, I never could predict which it'd be. He'd drink, she'd scream, he'd scream back. That phrase my mother had used kept running through my head... unendurable pain. It sounds so stupid now, but I knew if I broke the Waterford crystal tumbler in my bathroom and I *didn't* die, I'd be in more trouble for the glass than I ever would for trying to kill myself. I snuck into their suite looking for... something, anything sharp. I finally remembered his razor. It was one of the old kind that held a blade. I went and got one from the medicine cabinet... had to pull myself up on the sink, but I was always a strong kid. As I did it, I remember thinking that it only hurt for a second... that was nothing compared to surviving in that house when the two of them got going..."

Slowly, Tony's face crumpled and he fell onto his side, curled up in a ball and began to sob. "Damn... I can't believe I just did that... nobody's supposed to know... I'm not supposed to tell... I promised..."

Lewiston left his chair and knelt by the bed, gently holding Tony's good hand.

"Your parents were wrong to make you do that. I'm really glad you told me. It'll all be easier from now on..."

Tony grasped Lewiston's hand tightly and fell silent, though the tears continued to run down his cheeks and his breathing took a long time to calm down.



"I'm not in a mood to hear your problems, Mr. Webb. Can you do what I asked?"

"It shouldn't be a problem. Are we still using the same liaison?"

"Yeah. When it's set up you get in touch with Fornell. He'll contact me."

"Alright. You do realize how much this is going to piss Jen Sheppard off."

"I can handle her."

"I hope so. Not many men have been able to say that and back it up."

"I'm not them. I'm me."

"Right. I'll be in contact soon, Gibbs."

"I'll be waiting."



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