"Hey, Boss!"
Gibbs rolled his eyes to himself as he opened the front door and the cheery call greeted him down the hallway. He really shoulda seen it coming. Bit of a rough case, and he happened to know that although Tony was, as usual, studiedly blasé about the whole thing, he'd been excited about the date who'd then cancelled on him midweek.
All told, it was the kind of week where his senior agent suddenly reverted, emotionally, to the big, soft kid who needed a bit of parental affection and a feeling of stability. A persona that wasn't deeply buried at the best of times, but when Tony was hurting, he would turn up here and suddenly Gibbs would feel like the single dad to a great lunking teenager. One who might carry a gun and take down bad guys, but who still felt the pain from spending his formative years with an emotionally and often physically absent father. Gibbs prided himself he filled the void as best as could be expected, in the circumstances.
He stuck his head into the living room. Tony was sitting cross-legged in front of the couch, a bunch of records spread out in front of him in a fan of vinyl, his head bobbing along to a Sinatra track Gibbs didn't immediately recognise. "DiNozzo. You good?" Anything I should worry about?
Tony looked up with a bright, brittle grin. "I'm good, Boss." I'm not really good, but I'm gonna be okay, I just needed not to be at my place for a while. That's okay, right?
"Sure. Make yourself at home." Stay as long as you need, Tony.
They were good at subtext.
Gibbs retreated to the kitchen and started throwing together the curry he'd planned for his evening meal. It had been intended to provide leftovers for a couple of days, but DiNozzo had the appetite of a swarm of locusts. On the whole, not having to eat alone was a more than reasonable exchange, and Gibbs preferred to cook for someone else anyway.
It didn't take long till he had two steaming bowlfuls, and Tony accepted his with a grateful grin. Gibbs suspected the general lack of out loud gratitude at times like this was mostly to do with Tony not wanting to admit he was struggling, and maybe a little to do with fear; if he got all mushy about it, he thought Gibbs might stop putting up with him.
Gibbs didn't need him to say it out loud, anyway. Tony had set a fire in the grate, and that was good to come home to. Gibbs didn't need thanks; he was just looking out for his family. But if he had needed it, a roaring fire was much better than a couple easily forgotten words.
There was some other Rat Pack singer crooning now, and Gibbs figured Tony must've brought some of his own collection, or maybe he'd just managed to unearth a record Gibbs had forgotten he even owned. Wouldn't be too surprising. If it wasn't for the fact he knew Tony enjoyed rifling through his collection when he turned up unexpected, he'd probably have sold 'em off long ago.
He hadn't had the heart to listen to them after his girls died, but he hadn't quite been able to part with them back then, either. Having someone else who actually appreciated and enjoyed them was a good thing, an excuse to keep hold of the memories, and it also gave Tony something to do to when he turned up other than potentially cause havoc.
Gibbs wasn't sure exactly how Tony would cause havoc, he just had a gut feeling it would happen somehow. The records kept him out of mischief. It was a win-win.
They sat at opposite ends of the couch, Tony still in the floor, Gibbs leaning on the armrest, a comfortable silence falling between them as they made their way through the rice and meat and listened to songs from another era. At least when Tony was eating, he wasn't providing an endless stream of jibber jabber, either.
Though Gibbs had to admit, if only to himself, the ubiquity of the jibber jabber could be pretty comforting. And hey, DiNozzo knew Gibbs'd listen if he really needed to talk, and that he'd try and do so without too much of a pained expression on his face.
A lot of things had changed over the years. Kate, Ziva - Jenny, the whole Frog debacle. Changes big and small, and way too many people they'd lost, to death, to burnout, to all kinds of shit. There wasn't a whole lot of consistency in this job.
What there was, he knew, you better cling to and cherish and never ever take for granted. Tony, for better or worse, was one of the constants. There were only a handful of people Gibbs trusted implicitly to have his back in any situation. It struck him as amusing that this lanky man-child was one of them, but there it was.
"Curry okay?"
Tony gave him a stuffed-face grin and a thumbs up. Gibbs laughed softly and shook his head. Idiot. Even in his head, he couldn't help thinking it with affection.
Tony swallowed down his mouthful, then panted a bit and fanned his tongue. Gibbs wouldn't have confessed under torture he was wondering just how hot he could make his curry before Tony admitted he preferred it milder, but it was a damn entertaining experiment. He figured he was one or two extra chillies away from Tony's final breaking point.
Eventually Tony got his breath back. "You know what would go real well with this, Boss? Nice cold beer. You got any?"
Gibbs just rolled his eyes and got up again. One other thing that never looked set to change? Tony letting himself in and making himself at home, being kind of a pain but mostly easy and surprisingly welcome company.
He smirked into the fridge as he got the beers. Something else he'd never admit out loud, but he wouldn't have it any other way.
~ fin ~