A/N: Set before Hiatus, where the sad story of Shannon and Kelly comes out, likely in the spring of 2006. And based on a 1956 date of birth for Gibbs and a 1971 date of birth for DiNozzo, Gibbs is 50 and Tony 35. The fact that these dates may be inaccurate is a result of my own willfulness and and despite the outstanding efforts of chaimonkey, jtrattray, caprigirl60, GCatsPJs and eyesonly321 to make it all right.
I know the story, the writing, isn't perfect, and maybe there should be clearer section breaks and stuff like that. And maybe I shouldn't start a story by apologizing. And maybe a lot of things and my insecurity (topped only, apparently, by my willfulness see above) is probably a direct result of real world pressure. Then again, I might not be writing if not for the need to escape, so…
Ack. Here we go. I had thought this would be a one shot, but instead it is in two halves. More to come on this as well as other stories.
Love,
Squares
When it happened, Gibbs was alone. Tony would have liked to be there, to be the one to notice the gray tone to his boss' skin, the wince and roll of his left shoulder, the shortness of breath.
Instead, he practically tripped on him in the parking garage as he went for lunch. Gibbs was, perhaps, trying to get home. Maybe felt lousy, decided to call it a day. But Gibbs was never sick, never had a cold even.
And Tony almost fell over him.
"Boss! Gibbs, oh shit oh shit oh shit," Tony pulled his phone from his pocket and even as he kneeled, with only the slightest of pauses to decide, pressed #4 for Ducky.
"Donald Mallard speaking."
"Ducky. It's Gibbs, we're in the parking garage. Call 911."
"I'll be right there, Tony."
Tony rolled the older man to his back and leaned over. He felt his bones melt with relief when he felt the shallow breath against his cheek. For just an instant, he let his head drop down lightly to rest against Gibbs' chest. He surged up and onto his feet as he heard the elevator open.
Just forty-five minutes later, Tony was sitting on hard plastic chair with Ziva, McGee, and Abby, watching Ducky filling out forms at the nurse's station. When the ME finished and crossed the room to them, trench coat over his arm, Tony rose.
"What did they say?"
Ducky's face was serious. "He had a small heart attack from a single blockage, but further tests revealed a serious aortic aneurysm." Tony's face must have shown shock because Ducky's eyes never left his face, even as he reassured. "He is in good health, even if his diet leaves a lot to be desired, and they are going to run tests to see if there is any damage to his heart muscles and or if there are any more blockages." Now Ducky looked at all four of Gibbs' team.
"Gibbs is...what...in his late 40s? Early 50s? So young for such a disease, correct?" Zivva wanted to know.
Ducky's answer was noncommittal. "The weakness in the walls of his aorta is probably genetic, especially given how young he is, though the plaque may well be a result of his poor eating habits. It is important that they operate soon because if the aneurysm either ruptured or dissected, it would likely be fatal."
"You signed the forms right? Wait. Why did you sign the forms? Did he not wake up, Ducky?" McGee wanted to know.
"We won't know anything for a while, so—"
Tony's voice insisted. "Ducky…"
Ducky sighed. "They will probably do stent surgery which is usually a relatively short procedure of 1-2 hours. Because of the aneurysm, his stay in the hospital will likely be extended. 3 or 4 days anyway. Really, we won't know anything for hours…"
"I'm staying." Tony sat down, as if daring Ducky to kick him out of the hospital. But Ducky just smiled a little, nodded and sat down next to him. Ziva, McGee, and Abby joined them. Abby looped her arm through Tony's and leaned against him.
The smell of coffee and a gentle hand on his shoulder woke Tony the next morning. His neck hurt from the way his head was tilted backwards to rest against the wall. He suppressed a groan as he straightened his neck and opened sticky eyes to see McGee standing over him. Ziva cursed softly in Hebrew and rose from where she was laying across three plastic seats, and Abby's still sleeping form was heavy against Tony's thigh.
"How's Gibbs? Where's Ducky?"
"I don't know, Tony. I woke up a few minutes ago but he wasn't here. I went for coffee." He sounded almost apologetic.
"That's good, McGee. Give one to Zombie Agent David over there." He jerked his head toward their partner.
Tony patted Abby's head gently. They were friends, sure, but they hadn't really snuggled. He felt awkward but also...something warm, something like an urge to comfort as she opened her eyes and blinked slowly. He laid a tentative hand on her shoulder and she turned her head to look up at him and smile a little.
What followed was a long day of tests and doctors and ultimately, a decision to conduct a procedure to put stents in two of Gibbs' arteries. There didn't seem to be much, if any, permanent damage done from the episode, but Gibbs was weak and tired and quieter even than usual. Tony had sent McGee and Ziva back to the Yard to keep an eye on the office. There wasn't a whole lot to do but wait with Gibbs, and Tony could tell the older man was irritated by the number of people flitting in and out of his room. Ducky took the lead with the doctors but tended to ramble on when he sat at Gibbs' bedside.
Tony could tell Gibbs would have preferred the other man stop talking, but he didn't say anything. Gibbs wasn't himself. He wasn't snapping at the nurses, or redirecting Ducky; he just didn't respond, mostly. The nurses went about their cheerful, bustling way, which reassured Tony that they didn't see anything to worry about but Tony did catch Ducky staring at the other man when he didn't think anyone was looking; his expression was not reassuring. But when Tony asked, Ducky said everything was in order. Finally, mid-afternoon, Gibbs closed his eyes and seemed to sleep. Tony had his doubts but at least he was resting. When he saw Ducky look around for a newspaper, Tony sent him home to clean up and rest, saying he'd stay the night with Gibbs.
Tony was surprised at himself, honestly. He hated hospitals, and his every personal interaction just intensified the dislike. But Gibbs seemed to...tolerate...him better than others, today. And so, he stayed. When they all filed into see the older man this morning, Tony half expected GIbbs to look small and frail, but he didn't. He looked pale, a little tired, but his voice was strong even if he didn't have much to say. Ziva leaned over and kissed the older man on the check and so did Abby. He smiled a little at both of them and grumbled something about Ziva going soft on him. McGee asked him how he felt and looked hopeful that there would be more forthcoming than Gibbs' grumbled "fine."
Finally, Tony took pity on them all and sent them on errands, leaving him alone with Gibbs.
Tony sat in the chair in the corner. It was a recliner, of sorts, and obviously would allow a guest to sleep. Tony fiddled with it and ended up flat on his back, looking up at the ceiling.
"There is a spot on the ceiling that looks just like a bat, boss." He turned his head and met Gibbs' eyes from the few feet separating them.
"You enjoying yourself, DiNozzo?"
Tony figured the truth was best. "I am enjoying the fact that it isn't me in that bed, boss. Nice of you to take a turn." His smile turned into a laugh at Gibbs' sour face.
He did his best to entertain, turning on the tv and flipping through channels, telling Gibbs all the best NCIS gossip, but in the end, he turned the set off. Gibbs wasn't watching anyway.
"Hey, boss?"
"Yeah?"
Tony pushed down and the chair snapped into place with a thunk. He rose to stand next to Gibbs' bed. His fingers touched the soft blanket. His eyes watched his fingers, and then slipped up to meet Gibbs' bright blue ones.
"You want me to leave you alone?"
"Just a lot of waiting. No sense in you being here too."
This was said with just one brief glance at Tony's face. Tony reached out, the urge to touch the other man, reassure himself, finally getting the better of him. He wrapped his hand around Gibbs' wrist.
"Yeah, but do you want to be alone?"
"I'm probably gonna sleep mostly anyway."
Tony didn't remove his hand. Didn't repeat his question aloud until it was there, in the room between them.
"Do you mind if I stay?"
Gibbs shrugged and closed his eyes. Tony didn't know what it meant.
"Up to you."
Tony thought that Gibbs would kick him out if he really wanted him to go. So he stayed, hand on Gibbs' arm until the other man truly was sleeping. It was so rare to get to observe Gibbs like this that when the nurse came in, Tony was surprised that twenty minutes had passed.
Gibbs had the procedure on the morning of the second day in the hospital and all told, was in the hospital five days. Tony was there for most of it, but had McGee, Ziva, and Abby relieve him for part of each day. Abby was inclined to be emotional and Gibbs' eyes begged him not to leave, so he asked Abby to read to Gibbs from the book Tony had grabbed from his nightstand, a dog-earred copy of The Daughter of Time by Josephine Tey. Tony had never heard of it and wondered if it was a used copy or if Gibbs had read it more than once. Gibbs' shoulders relaxed and Abby was obviously game to read to the older man.
When McGee came, Tony again ignored Gibbs' silent demand and left them with a deck of cards and a request that they play at least 20 hands of gin rummy. He ran home to shower and shave and pick up supplies since no one brought him meals.
Ziva was as reluctant to be alone with Gibbs as Gibbs was to be with her. She pulled Tony aside in the corridor and asked him what she should talk about with Gibbs. Tony had thought about this and told her to talk about whatever she could say about Mossad methods of training and investigation. He left them conversing fairly comfortably about Ziva's training as a young agent. This allowed Tony to go pick up several wood working magazines.
That night he was pleased to see Gibbs' eyes light up as Tony pulled out the magazines.
" 'Four jigs for a fixed-based router' or 'Build perfect drawers'...how are you going to decide, boss?" Gibbs had a light in his eye for the first time all day and while it dimmed a little when Tony came over to help him sit up, and when Tony fished his reading glasses out of the overnight bag Ducky had packed him, it was still there.
"Go eat something, Tony. I'll be alright." The other man checked the table of contents and flipped to the page he wanted. Tony craned his head.
"Whatcha reading? It's the jigs right? You wanted to read about the jigs. I'm right aren't I?"
Gibbs pulled the magazine close. "Wouldn't you like to know."
Tony pouted and headed for the door. "I'll be back."
"I know." Tony looked back at this quiet assertion. Gibbs nodded once. Maybe in thanks.
It was Tony and Ducky who walked with Gibbs as he was wheeled out to the curb. Tony drove them all home to Gibbs' house where Ducky got him settled, medicines sorted on the kitchen counter. Gibbs insisted that he'd be alright. That he didn't need anyone to stay. When Tony pushed, Gibbs pushed back harder and while Gibbs' brusque dismissal seemed like a return of the bastard, there was something about it that set Tony's hair on end. He just wasn't sure...couldn't he just stay on Gibbs' couch in case the other man needed something?
In the end, he and Ducky were sent packing and looked at each other as they stood on Gibbs' front stoop, the sound of the door closing behind them final. Tony wouldn't have been surprised to hear Gibbs lock it, for once. And he understood, he did. But Gibbs' had a heart attack, dammit. What if he needed something? Tony checked his phone. Four bars and 89% battery.
"Well, Duck. He'll call if he needs us." He walked Ducky to his car and closed the door behind the other man. Ducky rolled down the window and looked up at Tony.
"Are you going to check yourself into the hotel around the corner or are you planning on sleeping in your car?"
Tony grimaced. "Thought I'd try the car."
"Well, good luck, my boy. Call me if you need me. He is as stubborn as they come." Shaking his head, he backed out and drove off.
Tony sat in the driveway—unless Gibbs left the house, he shouldn't see Tony there—and listened to a ball game, ate a granola bar but resigned himself to a cold, hungry night. Now that he decided to stay, he didn't want to leave in case something happened.
His phone vibrated. Gibbs.
"Hi, Boss."
"What the hell are you doing in my driveway, DiNozzo."
"Uh...listening to a ballgame."
"You are just pissing me off, you know that right? Is that what you want, to piss me off?"
"No, but—"
"Do I look like a child, DiNozzo? Someone who can't take care of himself?"
"No, Gibbs, but—"
"Go home, Tony. I don't want you here."
At that, Tony stopped protesting. Silence spun out between the two phones. But Tony didn't leave.
"Did you hear me?"
"I heard you, Gibbs."
"Why aren't I hearing your engine starting up, Tony?"
"Because I'm not leaving."
"Tony…"
"Say what you need to, Gibbs, but I'm not leaving."
A much longer pause followed by uncharacteristic capitulation. "You can take the spare room, Tony, but I don't need a fucking nursemaid and I have had enough conversation in the last four days to last me a lifetime. Keep your fucking mouth shut and you can stay the night."
Tony was truly shocked now. Gibbs was rarely profane. Bastard that he was, he either ignored you or outmaneuvered you or took you down a peg or two. But you always knew it was about the job, about doing what he thought best. There was something dignified and old world about Gibbs, his brand of ethics and justice. Even when he was being a bastard. What he just said revealed just how off center Gibbs was because of all of this.
Tony swallowed hard, wondering if he had pushed too hard. "Okay, boss."
Tony went in and dropped his bag in the hall. "Where do you want me?"
Gibbs just shot him a dark look and walked slowly to the basement.
Tony stood there and listened to the slow shuffle of feet on the pine risers. He could see part of the kitchen from where he stood, saw the medicine—the bloodthinners and nitro, the aspirin and the pain medications. He saw a...bowl of fruit? One of the team must've come by and stocked up.
He could hear the ticking of the grandfather clock on the mantle, checked his watch. 4:13.
He wandered into the kitchen, wondered if he should make dinner of some sort. Gibbs hadn't eaten much in the hospital, but he had to eat to get better, right? The doctor had recommended a healthy, but easy to digest, diet for the first couple of days home.
There was a sticky note on a large bell shaped...gourd? The note said "Low in fat, butternut squash delivers an ample dose of dietary fiber, making it an exceptionally heart-friendly choice. It provides significant amounts of potassium, important for bone health, and vitamin B6, essential for the proper functioning of both the nervous and immune systems."
That was...sort of...helpful. Recognizing Abby's handwriting, Tony called her. "What do you do with butternut squash?"
"Hello to you too, Tony. You staying with the bossman?"
"Just until he kicks me out. I might last an hour."
"That bad, huh?"
Tony felt strangely protective of Gibbs all of a sudden. "Nah. He's just tired of people being around so much." The call waiting buzz sounded on the phone. "Just a sec, Abby, someone is calling in."
"Hello?"
"What did I tell you about talking, DiNozzo?" Shit. Gibbs. From the basement.
"Uh, sorry boss. It's Abby, I—"
The line went dead. Tony switched back to Abby. "Abby," he whispered desperately, "I have to go. What do I do with the squash?"
Abby whispered back, playing along. "Make soup. Good luck, Tony." And then she too, hung up.
Sighing, Tony looked up soup recipes online. Gibbs didn't have any stock, but Tony used water, boiled the squash and an apple, like they said, added salt and pepper and a little bit of cayenne and pureed it all in a blender. One recipe called for cream but Tony thought that might defeat the purpose. It was bright orange and smelled good. Tony's hands were bright orange and smelled weird.
He made toast and spread a little bit of the new tub of light butter he found in the fridge on it and made his way down the stairs. Gibbs was at the work bench, doing something with a pile of screws. Sorting maybe? Tony was glad. He couldn't say so, but the other man should not be exerting himself, even to sand or plane.
"Gibbs?"
The other man turned his head to meet Tony's eyes.
"There's dinner if you are hungry."
Finally Gibbs nodded. "Be up in a minute."
Something...something...made Tony stay, push. "Gibbs?"
"Yes, Tony?" Exasperation.
Tony didn't know how to say what he wanted to say.
"Just say it. Get it over with."
"I don't want you to walk up the stairs alone." The words came out in a rush. Tony hadn't said anything when the other man went downstairs, despite the doctor asking him to not do anything too strenuous. But now...
Gibbs' eyes flicked to the stairs and Tony noticed that one of his hands was gripping the bench, hard. Hard enough to see white around the knuckles.
Gibbs took a breath, deep as he could given his physical condition. "What do you suggest?"
"I think you should lean on me. That way if you get short of breath or dizzy, I'll be there." Tried to be matter of fact. Gibbs' lips were pressed together, also white, and Tony could feel the anger coming off of him in waves.
But the older man didn't send him away, and there was something uncertain about Gibbs too. As if he didn't quite know what he wanted, as if he was too tired to know. Without saying anything, Gibbs moved to the stairs, waited for Tony to come down the last couple of steps to stand at his side.
"You want to hold on to me, or do you want me to hold on to you?"
Again, Gibbs glared, didn't answer, but put out a hand to hold Tony's forearm. Halfway up, Gibbs was sweating and Tony was worried. He stopped them, and took his arm away from Gibbs, the alarmed look the other man gave him making him say, "Here, Gibbs, let's try this…" as he put his arm around the other man's waist, and now the solid bulk of him seemed less somehow and even as Gibbs put more and more weight on him the higher they went, the more that Tony felt that Gibbs was lighter than he had been..
Finally, they stood at the top of the stairs. Tony wanted to take a few more steps, worried, even now, that they were too close to the edge and if he lost his grip, Gibbs could topple backwards. But Gibbs had put out a hand to hold Tony still and Tony wanted Gibbs to have what he needed if at all possible. So he waited, while Gibbs caught his breath.
"Okay, Tony. I'm okay."
Tony woke in the night to silence. He was sleeping in Gibbs' room, actually, or what he assumed was Gibbs' room. It didn't look used, much, and he had to clear off the bed, but it was at the head of the stairs and Tony wanted to be able to hear Gibbs if he needed something. He had been ready to try to bully the man into sleeping in a bed, but the trip up the basement stairs disabused him of the idea that another climb would be a good thing. Gibbs was curiously passive all through dinner, eating soup and toast, and only occasionally showing signs of spirit or temper. He glared at the milk Tony had poured and got to his feet and poured himself some water from the tap. Tony grinned and downed the other man's milk for him, leaving the milk mustache, hoping Gibbs would growl at him to wipe that ridiculous thing off your face. But he didn't.
Gibbs' attitude and behavior continued to waffle. He took his meds easily enough but growled at Tony when the other man brought down sheets he found in the linen closet.
"Been sleeping on the couch for years now, Tony. I've got this." The other man looked up from where he was sitting on the end of the sofa. "Go to bed." No see you in the morning or thanks for dinner. That actually made Tony feel a little better.
"Call me if you need anything."
Gibbs waved his hand. Go on.
But now, Tony blinked at the unfamiliar dark, the house quiet around him. Did something wake him up or was it nothing? He sighed, decided to check.
He had slept in his clothes, on top of the covers with a blanket thrown over him, so he was padding downstairs just seconds later. Gibbs was still on the couch, so that was good, but as Tony crept closer he could see the other man's eyes were open. Even closer, and he could hear the rapid breaths. Tony was kneeling next to the couch in an instant.
"Gibbs? You okay?" Tony touched the other man's chest and felt the rise and fall, could see the sheen of sweat on the other man's face in the glow from the street lamp outside.
Gibbs turned his head and his eyes, dark and glittering, met his. He ground words out through teeth clenched hard enough to hurt.
"I think it...I...I...is it happening again?" Gibbs arms shifted at his sides, trying to push himself up. Tony helped him sit up, sat behind and next to him, hand on his back, seeking information.
"Does it hurt in your chest?" A nod.
"Your arm?" A shade of the head. No.
"Is the pain sharp?" A pause but then no.
Tony remembered what Ducky had said, what the doctor had said. Gibbs was just 50, in good shape, unused to being ill. Dealing with a recovery and lifestyle changes might be harder than recovering from the attack. He might be having a panic attack. Gibbs panicking seemed almost as unlikely as Gibbs being sick, to Tony.
"I'm going to call Ducky." That the other man didn't object made Tony's blood run cold.
Ducky came in twenty minutes and Tony met him at the door, whispering an update. Even as he labored to breathe, Gibbs glared daggers at Tony who said, automatically. "Won't happen again, Boss." Ducky checked him out and decided a trip to the hospital was not necessary. Just that seemed to reassure Gibbs and things started to get better. When they were enough better, Ducky left. Gibbs was coaxed into admitting that it was easier to breathe sitting up so Tony propped pillows up behind him, and despite more glares, Gibbs didn't send Tony away again. Tony dozed in a recliner once Gibbs had dropped off himself.
The next day, Sunday, passed quietly enough with a single—acceptable but ill-advised, in Ducky's opinion—trip down to the basement and back up again, and people dropping by with food. Tony made himself scarce, running home to get clothes and running errands while people were around, making sure that Gibbs knew that he wasn't to climb the basement stairs without him—Tony didn't trust anyone else—and that he'd be back by two.
Tony had figured out in the hospital that Gibbs got tired in the afternoon. Probably always had; his grouchiness and need for coffee had usually peaked in early afternoon. So he was back at Gibbs' by two and kicked Abby out. The scientist was perched on the cellar stairs, a tangle of black yarn and knitting needles on her lap, chatting happily about the nuns. Gibbs looked up when Tony came downstairs, didn't object when the younger man sent Abby home.
When Tony returned from walking her out, Gibbs had put away his tools and was leaning against the workbench. Waiting, sort of. Without saying a word, Tony waited too, at the bottom of the stairs. Tony could sense the weary drag in Gibbs steps and again Gibbs started out gripping Tony's arm and ended up with Tony's strong arm wrapped around his waist to steady him the last few steps.
At the top, they paused, and Gibbs mumbled something about Tony not having to "haul him up the stairs every time."
"You aren't a damsel in distress, Gibbs. You just had a heart attack. Anyone would need a little help up the stairs." Again, a glare, but no more words.
This time Gibbs took the recliner and Tony the couch, both men dozing off to the sound of the baseball game on TV. Tony waited until Gibbs fell asleep though, covering him with a blanket because the memory of the cold hand on his forearm was nagging at him.
They fell into a routine, of sorts, over the next week. Tony went back to work and left before Gibbs woke up. Abby or Ducky stopped by and stayed in the morning a while, to make sure Gibbs took medicine, ate, and got downstairs alright. Tony took a late lunch and went back to Gibbs to help him back up the basement stairs and settle him in the chair in the living room. Tony worried a little that Gibbs would need to come back upstairs alone, to go to the bathroom or answer the door, and worked himself up to an extremely uncomfortable conversation with the other man about not doing that.
"Tony, I'll piss in a jar if I have to and when have I ever cared about answering the door?"
And that was that. McGee and Ziva, other colleagues including Fornell, stopped by in the evenings, often for dinner which was all to the good since the heart healthy food Gibbs was eating was better eaten in company, to distract him. Gibbs ate it, mostly, but drew the line for some reason, at salad. Gibbs was still quiet and basically accepting of Tony's rough care and the attention of others, and that more than anything told Tony how lousy Gibbs must really be feeling.
Nighttimes were another matter. Gibbs had a panic attack almost every night. After the first one, Tony and Gibbs weathered them together, not calling Ducky. Tony would wake and almost tumble down the stairs. He'd snick on the small table lamp to provide a little light and help Gibbs struggle up to sitting. After trying a couple different positions, Tony stopped trying to avoid the obvious best choice and just scooted Gibbs forward a little and sat behind the other man.
"Tony—"
"Gibbs, shut up. This way I can tell how you are breathing and you don't have to spend all your energy holding yourself up. Hell, this way I don't have to spend all my energy holding you up. Deal with it."
Tony sat with the arm of the couch at his back and had Gibbs lean back against his chest. It didn't take long for Tony to give in and wrap his arms around Gibbs. That way, he could press his palms against Gibbs' heart and his belly; feeling with his hands the way the other man was breathing was the best way to know, to be sure…
Gibbs would lay one hand on Tony's forearm and grip until the panic subsided. Eventually Tony crawled out from behind him, resettled Gibbs and slept in the chair the rest of the night. But in the moments just after, when the worst of the panic was over, when they were both aware and not distracted by Gibbs distress, when the intimacy between them was simple and undeniable, Tony would ask Gibbs what happened to make him panic. Was it dreams? The thought of dying? What?
And Gibbs, still trembling slightly from the episode, his whole weight resting comfortably against Tony, would try to speak, he really did. But Gibbs never got farther than, "I...I…" before shaking his head and accepting the small soothing movements of Tony's hand on his chest.
They made it a week like that. Gibbs was getting stronger, took his medicine, his color was better. But he wasn't gaining weight back and he was taking his medicine without complaint. He accepted people in his house and didn't talk about going back to work. It wasn't right.
Tony cornered Ducky one day in Autopsy. Ducky listened to his concerns and nodded. "I am glad you are looking out for him, Anthony. He needs you more than he can say, literally. I think he'll be fine; he's resilient, Jethro is. But he's a strong man, used to being in charge and active. I think your idea to get him to talk is a good one, but I don't really have any suggestions for how to do so. I have always found that people are much more likely to confide in one, if one has confided in them first. But Jethro and I could not be more different. I'm not sure how valid my advice is on this subject."
The next morning, Gibbs sweaty body heavy against his on the couch, Tony gave it his best shot. He had thought about what he might confide to Gibbs...he and Abby making out in the early days of Tony's time at N.C.I.S.; the fact that he wet the bed until he was 11; his night in jail when he was 22. But those weren't really confidences. He didn't even feel bad about them. Bad was family shit. But some of that was real bad. It didn't seem entirely relevant anymore even. He knew what he had to tell. There was more, but he would have to start with that.
"Gibbs?"
Gibbs' voice was tired, a little slurred. "I don't...can't...Tony just let it go, okay?"
"I'm bi."
"..."
"Gibbs?"
"What?"
"I'm bi, Gibbs. I have sex with everyone. Well, not everyone obviously but people I want to sleep with. It's just that some of them are women and some of them are men."
Gibbs' body convulsed, shook a little.
"Gibbs? Are you okay? Are you—" Tony craned his neck to try to get a good look at Gibbs' face and finally figured out that Gibbs was laughing.
"Are you laughing at me?" Tony's relief was such that he started to smile too but wondered if he should be offended.
"No. I just…I'm having a panic attack and you...you—what made you tell me that?"
"Ducky said if I told you something, maybe you would tell me what was happening to you."
"So you told me your second best secret?"
"What do you mean second best? That was a great secret!"
"Yeah, Tony, great." The older man patted Tony's hand and Tony wanted to pull it away in a huff. "But I know you. And you would no more lead with your deepest secret than I would."
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"I told you mine. Now how about you tell me what's going on with you in the middle of the night?"
"Can't."
"Can't or won't?"
Gibbs thought about that. "Mostly can't. A little bit of won't. If I can get it so it is more won't than can't, I'll tell you, okay? You are doing good, Tony. I owe you that much." Now Gibbs elbowed Tony gently in the ribs. "Now stop canoodling and let me get back to sleep."
Another week passed and while Gibbs did seem in slightly better spirits and maybe was eating a little more at mealtimes—except salads—he didn't have more to share in the middle the night. Tony did. The intimacy of nighttime and holding Gibbs, Gibbs relying on him and the unfamiliar feeling of being just the right person for this kind of job, not to mention the fact that Tony still held out hope that Gibbs would talk to him someday, combined to draw more details out of Tony. He told Gibbs a little bit about his first boyfriend and some of the ways that he maintained a mixed sex life even now, in D.C.
"How come I've never seen you with a guy? Has it really been that big a secret?"
"I don't know. I mean, I'm a cop, not looking to make things harder for myself, but also guy sex is kind of all about the sex mostly. Not a lot of foreplay or dating. I've never met a man I wanted to see again...well, I mean sometimes I want to see them again, just not—"
"Yeah, I got it, Hot stuff." And the growing awkwardness was dispelled. But so was the mood and Tony felt Gibbs pulling away. Time to get up. Tony squashed the disappointment he was starting to feel that this part of the night was over. The chair seemed very cold and lonely compared to sitting on the couch with Gibbs.
LJG&TD
"Tony?"
For the first time, it was Gibbs' voice that woke Tony. He flew down the stairs and stood in the door, relief flooding him when he saw Gibbs sitting up on the couch, the amber glow from the small table lamp already warming the room.
"What is it?" Sleep made his voice thick. "You okay?"
"Yeah. I woke up this time before it got bad."
"Oh." Tony ran a hand through his hair, and felt the chilly air on his bare legs. He had taken to sleeping in a t-shirt and boxers. "Good." He stumbled to the other end of the couch and sat down.
"I haven't been afraid of death in 15 years."
Tony just listened. What could be so bad that this man, the strongest man he knew, hid from it?
The silence stretched out. Tony knew Gibbs had more to say but didn't know if he would.
"I wanted to die. Wanted to die every day since, more or less. It is hard to admit because it feels wrong but" the older man swallowed, blinked, but his eyes were back on Tony's, "I haven't felt it as much in recent years. I haven't truly been afraid of dying in all that time though." Gibbs eyes held Tony's, asking something now and Tony felt a little tug on his arm. Carefully, sure he must be wrong, Tony rose and came around to Gibbs' side of the couch. Sure enough, Gibbs leaned forward enough for Tony to slide in behind him and the older man allowed a small sigh to escape as he leaned back against Tony, pulled Tony's arms around him where they fit comfortably now, took Tony's hand and pressed it flat against his heart. And then he said the rest of it.
"Hell of a thing, finding out you don't want to die after all."
LJG&TD
Gibbs fell asleep resting against him, and Tony dozed, managing to slide out from under the other man without waking him. Another unnerving un-Gibbslike thing.
Tony had to clench his hand into a fist to keep from smoothing the lines on Gibbs' face.
On the way to work he agonized over the night. He hadn't said anything and Gibbs had told him he wanted to die. What kind of...friend...was he? But Gibbs had seemed relaxed after that, and god knows, the man was comfortable with silence. The older man had fallen asleep soon after that so maybe it was alright. He repressed the urge to call and check. It had only been 45 minutes; Gibbs might still be asleep. He'd wait until lunch.
And sure enough, Gibbs seemed in good spirits after lunch, and had taken a walk with Ducky that morning. When Tony got back to work, he found that Gibbs had written him an email. The email contained a date: February 29, 1991. Tony was a cop and knew the date would lead him to a crime, or a disaster of some sort. But he googled around the edges of it for a while anyway...Tonya Harding won a skating championship, some Nicaraguan leader was killed.
Tony stopped avoiding it and went to the online news databases available to all NCIS agents and researchers. And there it was. Witness and Child Killed when Driver Shot. The last day of Desert Storm. Shannon Gibbs. Kelly Gibbs.
Wife. Child.
Tony hadn't cared deeply for anyone since his mother died. Seemed stupid now but marrying Wendy felt more like trying to be something, a certain kind of man or cop, than actually wanting it. But he wondered now if this is what Gibbs' felt, at least a small version of it, when he had the heart attack. Tony's chest hurt, ached, every time he thought about Gibbs and child. He didn't think much about kids himself, but he thought a lot about Gibbs, and knew what children meant to the man. It hurt. To think of Gibbs as a father. A father of a little girl. A little girl who died.
He went home that night—to Gibbs' house, anyway— and Gibbs had made dinner. Tony peered into the bubbling crock pot.
"You don't have to look so suspicious. It's not Triple Cheeseburger with a Side of Bacon Stew."
He turned to see Gibbs in the doorway.
"Hey."
"Hey."
"You have a good day?"
"I just saw you a couple of hours ago, DiNozzo."
"Well, lots could have happened. The mail could have come. Girl scouts could have sold you cookies."
Gibbs raised his eyebrow.
"Okay, forget I said that. You wouldn't have answered the door."
Now Gibbs smiled a little. "I probably would have."
"Really? Why?"
"Because you love Thin Mints."
"Aw, boss. Didn't know you cared." Changing the conversation, Tony asked. "What is this anyway? Smells great."
"Chicken Stew. In a crockpot. Abby emailed me the recipe. Found the crockpot on my front steps."
Gibbs hadn't gone near a computer or talked about going back to work since he had come home.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I was checking email. I was thinking that I might go back to work, light duty, next week. It's Wednesday now. That gives me four more days. I'll need to requalify and pass the fitness tests before I can go in the field, but at least I can go in for deskwork."
"Oh. Of course. Sounds good."
Gibbs seemed abstracted, his gaze fixed off to the side somewhere before he focused on Tony again.
"So...DiNozzo...Tony, I haven't said thanks—"
"Gibbs, let's eat. I'm starving. This looks great."
Gibbs looked a little surprised that Tony had cut him off, but he didn't press the issue. They ate at the kitchen table but took their drinks back to the living room, beer for Tony and decaf coffee for Gibbs.
For the first time, Tony felt a little uncomfortable with Gibbs and he filled the silence with anything and everything he could think of, deliberately speaking slowly to make it seem like he wasn't uncomfortable but that just made him more uncomfortable.
Finally, Gibbs got up and walked away, right in the middle of what Tony was saying. What was he saying?
"Hey, where are you going?"
Gibbs looked back over his shoulder. "Gonna go pay some bills, catch up on some paperwork. Why don't you…" Gibbs didn't seem mad, just a little exasperated, "watch a movie or something?"
So Tony did, and went to bed, trying not to think about Gibbs' family and Gibbs going back to work and what Gibbs was going to say to him and how probably once Gibbs went back to work, Gibbs wouldn't need him here anymore. Probably didn't need him now.
Tony said a stilted good night before going upstairs early and Gibbs looked up long enough to nod.
The good day wasn't followed by a good night though and Gibbs' moaning and thrashing around woke Tony quickly enough that by the time the other man was gasping and grabbing at his shirt, Tony was beside him on the couch. No time to turn on the light but even in the dim glow from the street lamps outside, Gibbs was wild-eyed and kept tugging on the neck of his shirt. Finally, he just pulled it off, but it didn't seem to help much and Tony had to take hold of Gibbs' fingers where they were pushing and plucking at his chest.
"Unnnnngh." The sound Gibbs made through clenched teeth was painful to hear and Tony's hand slid down the older man's spine as he curled forward and over.
Tony had never felt so helpless. He wondered if he should call the doctor, go to the hospital, but these were all the same things that Gibbs did after a bad dream. He pulled lightly and Gibbs tipped toward him. Tony shifted back and opened his arms, pulling Gibbs between them. And Gibbs, eyes and mouth closed tight against—what? Pain? Fear? Embarrassment? —went easily. He just slumped against Tony, pushed against his neck and shoulder with his face as if trying to escape through the younger man. Tony wasn't sure what to do, but somewhere he registered guiltily how smooth the skin of Gibbs' back felt, and how warm and solid the other man felt in his arms. It was absurd and so unlikely and incredible, that Gibbs would let Tony hold him. Jesus. Tony swallowed against a painful anticipation of loss. Even as he held Gibbs, he thought that he wouldn't be able to keep him.
But for now he could, and his thumb stroked little soothing stripes where it rested against Gibbs back. And Tony was mumbling "Shh. It's okay." Over and over and Gibbs was calming.
As Gibbs' body relaxed, Tony prepared for the other man to shift, sit up, but instead, Gibbs flipped around and pressed back into Tony, seeking familiar comfort. Tony sighed himself now, and brought his hands up to rest on Gibbs' heart, and at his side.
"Sorry." Gibbs rasped out.
"Gibbs, don't—"
"Sign of weakness."
"Gibbs."
"It is, Tony. I have never been weak. Even when the worst happened, I survived . But this...this lays me down low."
Tony wasn't sure how to say just how fucking grateful he was to be here, to be let in this way, to be needed. He felt guilty that Gibbs' suffering made it possible for him to feel this way. His arms tightened and Gibbs pushed back harder.
"Just...just sleep, can you, Gibbs?"
"Probably should call me Jethro, Tony."
"Just sleep would you, Jethro?"
Tony thought he could sense the smile.
"I'll try."
It was only a few minutes later that Gibbs did fall asleep. And in the morning, Tony slipped out from under him again, to go to work.