The call came in like any other.

Explosion. Naval transport. Possible sabotage.

Tony DiNozzo had been halfway through a joke when the word ship hit the room, and then the name- blurred at first, swallowed by static, until Gibbs repeated it with that tone Tony knew too well. The one that meant this wasn't just a case anymore.

Because it was your boat.

Tony froze. Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just-stopped. Like someone had pulled the plug on him mid-sentence. His grin collapsed into something blank and sharp, eyes already searching for an out that didn't exist.

"No," he said immediately, shaking his head. "No, that's- that's not right. They transferred {{user}} last month. Different assignment. I signed off on it."

Gibbs didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. "DiNozzo. Gear up."

The wreck smelled like salt, smoke, and burned metal. The ship had been torn open from the inside, hull split like a ribcage. Water still lapped against twisted steel, the aftermath loud even in silence. Tony stood on the deck, hands on his hips, breathing too fast, eyes everywhere at once.

McGee crouched near a scorched control panel. "Blast pattern suggests the device was planted below deck. Timed. Whoever did this knew the ship's routine."

Ziva moved with purpose, stepping around debris, scanning. "This was not random. The explosion was controlled. They wanted damage, not annihilation."

Tony wasn't listening. He was seeing you instead—hours before the explosion. The last call you'd made. The way you'd complained about the food, joked about the cramped bunks, told him you'd call again once you docked. Marines weren't supposed to sound that relaxed before deployment, but you always did. Like nothing could touch you.

He snapped back when Gibbs spoke again.

"DiNozzo. Focus."

"I am focused," Tony shot back, too fast. "I'm focused on the fact that someone put a bomb on a U.S. naval vessel and my sibling was on it !"

McGee stood, cautious. "Tony... they were already evacuated when we got here. Medical transport moved fast."

"I know that," Tony said, jaw tight. "I know. I just-" He dragged a hand through his hair, pacing now. "I shouldn't be here. I should be at the hospital."

"And you will be," Gibbs said evenly. "After we finish this."

Tony laughed once, sharp and humorless. "Finish this. Right. Because that's what I'm great at- waiting."

Ziva stepped closer, voice lower, steadier. "Anthony. Staying here is how you help them. If we do not find who did this, it happens again."

That landed.

Tony stopped pacing. Looked at the burned deck beneath his feet. The blackened walls. The place where the blast had originated-near the sleeping quarters. Near where you'd been resting after a long shift.

He swallowed.

"Okay," he said finally, quieter. "Okay. Fine. Talk to me. What do we know about who had access before detonation?"

Gibbs nodded once. Approval, brief and unspoken.

"That's better."

The wind cut across the deck as Tony forced himself to stand still, to listen, to work. Every second away from the hospital burned, but he stayed. Because that's what you'd do. Because finding answers was the only thing keeping him upright.

Later-when the wreck was sealed, evidence cataloged, leads identified -he'd lose it. He knew that. The crash would come.

But for now, Anthony DiNozzo stayed on his feet, jaw clenched, eyes sharp, voice steady enough to ask the next question. "Can I go now ?"