Never Better
The phone ringing at 11:30 on a Sunday night could only mean one thing: there was a dead body somewhere, and they had to go investigate. Gibbs sighed, put down his sander and answered it. "Director," he said, skipping the greeting.
"Not just yet, thanks," Tony replied cheerfully. " 'Special Agent DiNozzo' is fine for now."
Gibbs nearly choked on his coffee. "Tony!" he sputtered, surprised enough to use the first name. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"
"I have a watch," Tony answered calmly, "and don't try and tell me you're not working on the boat."
"Busted," Gibbs admitted, grinning a little at his cocky agent's powers of deduction. He could almost hear DiNozzo's voice in his head: I'm a crime scene investigator. It's what I do. "What do you want?"
"I'm coming in to work tomorrow, boss," Tony said all in a rush. He knew what Gibbs was going to say.
"No," Gibbs replied automatically, and Tony mentally paid off the bet he had made with himself. "Dr. Pitt said you needed two more weeks, and unless one of my ex-wives hit me again and I blacked out, it's only been one."
"I'm fine," Tony argued, sounding tired.
"Barring some miracle in the last six days, you are not 'fine,' DiNozzo," Gibbs accused. Because of course he had been the one to drive Tony home from Bethesda. And based on what he had seen then, Brad Pitt's two weeks was a conservative estimate. You almost died, you moron.
"Really, I'm fine," Tony repeated unconvincingly. "You can chain me to my desk if you want, but I am not staying home another week." That's when Gibbs recognized the desperation in the other man's voice. He was bored stiff, lacking a boat of his own to work on. He was far too driven to lay idle for an additional seven days. And he was lonely.
Gibbs understood loneliness.
"I'll give you a ride in," Gibbs relented. Tony's sigh hissed through the receiver. "No argument. Do you want to get in a wreck, or something?"
Appealing to his pride in his car was the way to go. "No, boss," Tony replied so meekly that Gibbs was tempted to call Dr. Pitt that very minute.
"If you so much as cough, I'm taking you back home."
"Fair enough, Boss." And then Gibbs was left to stare at the silent phone in his hand and wonder on earth he had allowed Tony to wear him down again.
Of course Gibbs had a key to Tony's apartment; he had keys for all of his team members. It wasn't an agency requirement; it was just a thing he did. So when Tony didn't respond to the older man's knocking, he just went ahead and let himself in.
Gibbs was about to be irritated when he saw his senior field agent on the couch, asleep, head tilted back and mouth open. He was ready to smack him on the head, or worse, turn around and leave him there, until he noticed that Tony was fully dressed. He was wearing black like it was his own funeral, and Gibbs hadn't forgotten how it almost was.
Gibbs snapped open the blinds so the May sunshine illuminated Tony's face. Those blinds probably hadn't been opened in weeks. Tony's eyes were instantly open; he was grinning away as if he hadn't been, quite literally, caught napping. "Morning, boss," he said. "Haven't changed your mind?"
"Have you?" Gibbs responded wryly, crossing into what passed for a kitchen. "Let's get you some breakfast."
"I've already eaten," Tony stated evenly, meeting Gibbs' gaze with his own. Always look them in the eye when you lie, that was one of Tony's rules. He didn't start investigating crimes yesterday.
"You know it's a crime to lie to a Federal investigator," Gibbs responded, peering into the fridge. Nothing in there that didn't constitute a health hazard.
"Only during the investigation of a crime," Tony said, rising from the couch.
Steely blue eyes appraised the apartment. "This place looks like a crime scene," Gibbs said, but the subject of food was tacitly dropped.
The ride in to Navy Yard was unnaturally quiet. Gibbs offered brief comments, Tony responded in kind, and they were silent again. Tony kept making odd little guttural sounds in his throat which Gibbs was not too stupid to know were stifled coughs. He stubbornly refused to comment on it.
"You'll be happy to know," Gibbs said awkwardly, "that Hannah Lowell is going to stand trial."
Tony looked confused. "Who?" And Gibbs realized that the two of them had had radically different experiences with the whole thing. Tony hadn't been analyzing lipstick or combing through old rape cases or yelling at Ducky. Gibbs had been miles away the whole time DiNozzo was in isolation, wondering if the letter was a death sentence or just a cruel practical joke. And while Gibbs had one man in handcuffs and another at gunpoint, demanding answers on Tony's behalf, Tony himself was under the hated blue lights and watching nothing but his own life slipping away.
For two men who had become closer than brothers, the revelation was slightly jarring. "Never mind."
Gibbs knew that the two of them were eliciting stares as they crossed the parking lot and entered the lobby. It wasn't every day an agent actually almost died of a disease from the Middle Ages; this would be urban legend for years. No one had expected to see Tony back for a while; and, taking in his pale face and tired features, they should have been right. "Good morning," the security guard greeted them with a wide grin. "Good to have you back, Agent DiNozzo."
"Good to be back," Tony replied as the elevator doors closed. With the familiar weight of gun and badge at his side, he felt newly fortified.
The elevator started with a jolt that startled Tony, and he had to brace a hand against the shiny wall to keep from being knocked off his feet. Idiot. But Gibbs found he was smiling in spite of himself. DiNozzo's stubbornness was one of the reasons he had wanted him for the job, and it was ridiculous to pretend otherwise. He took in his senior field agent, silently watching the numbers count up as they returned him to the place most like home, and if Gibbs had a heart, it would have been warmed. "You sure you're up for this?"
Tony grinned a little, as if to convince himself of what they both knew wasn't true. "Never felt better."