Title – Home to rest 1/2

Author: Ceindreadh
Permission to archive: Yes to WWOMB, anybody else, please ask first.
Genre : Post ep, Hurt/comfort
Pairing/Characters: Tony/Jimmy
Rating: T
Summary: Set just after the S6 finale

Warnings: Spoilers for S6.
Disclaimer. These characters belong to DPB, CBS, Paramount, et al. No copyright infringement is intended.

Notes: I started writing this soon after the S6 finale had aired. Figured that I'd better finish it before the S7 finale! (Many many thanks to Tina and FatCat for their assistance)

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Tony's injured arm was propped up on a pillow as he leaned against the headboard. Aiming the remote control haphazardly, he flipped the channel, coming up with a news report. As soon as he heard the words 'terrorist' and 'middle east', he quickly moved on, finally stabbing at the off button and throwing the remote control on the bed.

The sound of the door opening drew his attention and he smiled wearily as he saw Jimmy approach the bed, a covered tray in his hands.

"How are you feeling?" asked Jimmy, setting the tray on the beside table before sitting on the bed facing Tony.

"Like I've just flown half way across the world and back, been debriefed by the Mossad, nearly killed by a trained assassin. But apart from all that, I'm just peachy." The words came out with more bitterness than Tony had intended and he saw Jimmy flinch as if he'd been slapped.

"Shit, don't listen to me, Palmer. I'm all the better for having you here." Tony reached out and squeezed Jimmy's hand. "So," he said, forcing a lightness to his voice that he didn't feel in his heart. "You made me supper?" He nodded towards the tray.

"Not yet," said Jimmy, a smile lighting up his face as he pulled the cloth away to reveal an assortment of massage oils. "First I thought you could do with a massage."

Tony sighed, "Don't take this the wrong way Jimmy, but I'm not really in the mood for anything tonight."

After the flight, all Tony had wanted to do had been to crawl into bed and forget the events of the past few days. But he'd had to go back to NCIS, knowing that what was left of the team needed to be told about Ziva. He'd had to sit and listen as Abby ranted about how unfair it was that the team was being broken up again, how wrong it was that Ziva had been left behind. And all the time he could feel the unspoken accusation that it was somehow *his* fault that Ziva was still in Tel Aviv. Like Tony could have somehow carried her onto the plane by force. Well maybe in a way it *had* been his fault. Maybe if he hadn't shot Rivkin. Maybe if he hadn't mouthed off to Eli David and forced him to admit that Rivkin was following his orders. Maybe Ziva would have wanted to come back with them. By the time he'd managed to calm Abby down and send her home with McGee, Tony had been both physically and emotionally drained. He'd managed to keep it together while Jimmy had driven him home, but now all he wanted to do was crawl under the bedclothes and hide away from the world at large.

"This time it's not foreplay," said Jimmy, leaning in towards Tony as he started to unbutton Tony's shirt. "You've been through so much these past few days. Let me help you, please."

Tony put his hand over Jimmy's, "You're helping me just by being here, you know that, right?" He meant it sincerely. The last few days, he and Jimmy had barely had five minutes alone with each other. By the time Tony had gotten clear of the hospital and written up his I.A. report, Jimmy had been up to his elbows in Rivkin's autopsy. By the time Jimmy had been free, Tony had been smack bang in the middle of being debriefed by Vance. Jimmy had managed to catch up with him in the elevator, just after Vance had ordered the trip to Israel, but the scant few minutes of the journey between the floors had been barely enough time for Tony to update Jimmy on his unexpected travel plans. And then he was gone, and at the time Tony hadn't known if or when he'd see Jimmy again. And he couldn't even tell him how he really felt, because the lights for the floors were flashing way too quickly and he was on thin enough ice to even think of bringing the car to a halt to give them just a little more time.

So Tony had had to satisfy himself with brushing closely past Jimmy on his way out of the car, and letting his good hand be caught in a reassuring squeeze, so brief that any observer would have assumed it to be merely accidental. But now he could touch Jimmy as much as he wanted and he squeezed the younger man's hand as if it were a lifeline. "You know that, right?"

"I do," said Jimmy, gently caressing Tony's cheek. "But trust me, a good massage, you'll sleep easier and feel much better in the morning." He finished unbuttoning Tony's shirt, pushing the material aside only to freeze as he saw the bruises. "Tony! Who did this to you?"

"Didn't you hear? I got the crap beaten out of me by a drunken Mossad agent, right before I shot him." Tony knew even before he saw the look on Jimmy's face that this was one lie he wasn't swallowing.

"Those bruises, they're finger marks, and they're more recent than the ones on your arm."

Tony let his head fall back against the headboard. "You see, this is why dating a med student is such a bad idea." He sighed, as he looked Jimmy in the eye again. "Okay, you're right. I didn't get them from Rivkin. I got them…" He looked away, instinctively pulling on yet another mask, before turning back to Jimmy. "Lets just say that Ziva's daddy was a little 'over enthusiastic' when questioning my intentions towards his daughter."

"Ziva's father…but he's the Director of…Tony, you were *interrogated* by Mossad? I…you….why did Gibbs let them do that to you?"

"Hey, take it easy there," said Tony. "It's okay. It's just a few more bruises. Heck, I've picked up worse doing close quarters combat training with Gibbs! Look, Director David just wanted to hear my side of the story. Director Vance wanted to keep Director David happy. So I…took one for the team." He tried not to sound as bitter as he'd felt when Vance had laid out his options. Tony had never liked the political side of law enforcement. The ass kissing and compromises that went with ensuring inter agency co-operation. But he knew enough about playing the game to know that sometimes you did the other guy a favor because then you'd have a favor to call in when it was needed. And that was all well and good, but somehow it was always the little guy on the food chain that ended up smack bang in the middle of it all, while the big cheese got all the credit.

Tony forced a smile back onto his face as he continued, "It wasn't any big deal. He just wanted to find out why his agent died. Hell, if Rivkin had offed me, Gibbs would have left far more bruises on *him*. Well, probably." Tony looked away again. "Course Gibbs wouldn't have bothered getting all hung up on whether Rivkin was jealous or not. He'd have been looking for the truth, not some half assed excuse to blame me and my so called jealousy for everything, including the fact that *his* agent was drinking on the job. Fuck, I wanted to say straight out to 'Director' David, that hell no, of course I wasn't jealous. Why the fuck should I be jealous of Zeeeva's boyfriend when I've got a perfectly good one all of my own!" Tony thumped his fist against the mattress.

"So why didn't you?" asked Jimmy, softly.

Tony caught the tone in his voice, and looked up quickly. "Because when I tell people about us, that's not the way I want it to happen. I don't want it to be in some stinking interview room and only saying it to save my own skin." He reached out and cupped Jimmy's cheek in his hand. "You're more than that to me, so much more. When I tell people, when *we* tell people, I want it be because *we* want to tell them. I want us to be sitting round a dinner table with our friends. Maybe knocking back drinks in a bar. I want everybody to see that we're telling them because we *want* to, because we can't go another day with them not knowing about us, how happy you make me and how much I love you…"

(part 2/2 will be posted in a day or so)