Warm," he slurred, snuggling outrageously close to the horrified man after leaping onto the sofa not two minutes earlier. "So warm…and smell good too…" His arm flailed wildly to land over Gibbs' neck, mindlessly rubbing the hair on the back of his nape softly. "What do you use to wash your hair?" Tony grinned lopsidedly, a maniacal and medicinal glow in his eyes. Spluttering in indignation, Gibbs yanked the arm from his neck, careful not to twist it. "Tony," he hissed, "What in the hell is the matter with you? You went upstairs to sleep two hours ago and now you're out of your damned mind? What did you do up there?"
His eyes found his protégés and narrowed.
"You took damned painkillers, didn't you? After the last time, Tony, really?"
Tony giggled like a tickled three year old and lolled his head onto Gibbs chest, blinking innocently up at him. "Had to," he gurgled, "My ass was on spire." He frowned before spluttering into peals of laughter. "On fire…" he grinned, "I think it would be worse if it was on a spire…spires are very pointy, aren't they? Spose that's why they call them spires…" He paused thoughtfully. "You got anything to eat, Jethro?"
Gibbs' eyes, already wide with disbelief, snapped open to starker attention.
"Jethro?"
He tried, unsuccessfully, to push Tony's warm head from his chest in askance but the kid was not to be dissuaded. In normal circumstances, he would have slapped the boy silly for such outrageous tactile displays. But he couldn't in this instance, because his second in command was medicated to the eyeballs and he'd not long finished up a very unpleasant conversation with his rear end. Safe to say, he'd never run off the reservation to chase tail again. For a couple of months anyway. Clearly, Tony wasn't about to let the sting in his tail lull him to sleep and had decided to swallow those damned pills that drove him positively loopy.
As he kid blinked up at him with a thoroughly contented expression, Gibbs threw aside his paper in chagrin. "Right," he grunted, "We'll talk about this pill taking in the morning, as for now, get your ass back up those stairs and get back to bed. I'll bring you something to eat like you asked and you can say thank you boss cos' if I hear Jethro out of your mouth once more I will end you." He glared downwards with as much ire as he could muster as Tony repeatedly placed his head on his chest like a frigging cockapoo.
"Sit up Tony. Get off of me, I am not your personal cushion."
Laughing throatily to himself, Tony snuggled in further, breathing in Gibbs' clean, soapy scent.
"I ever tell you I love you, Jethro?"
Gibbs blanched.
"Oh holy god…" he muttered in pained, hopeless despair, "Up! Get up and get up those stairs. I will bring you something to eat in a minute." He scrubbed a hand over his eyes in agitation as Tony merely smiled like the cat that overtook the creamery up at him. "What have I done to deserve this?" he asked himself faintly, "I never get this trouble from Tim. You whoop him and he behaves. " He glared down at Tony as he began tracing circles on his chest with his index finger. "I whoop you and you get worse."
Tony bellowed with laughter, his whole torso shrieking with mirth.
Gibbs gaped.
"Good one, Jethro," he gurgled happily, "That was quite…funny." He slapped his hand across his gut and looked beseechingly angelic. "Did you say something about good?" He shook his head sluggishly. "Food, I mean. Man I love food, don't you love food?" He frowned and pinched, pinched, Gibbs' waistline. "There's not a pick on you, you're skin and bone. You need some….uhh, good Italian cooking." He played absentmindedly with his own hair. "I'm Italian you know. Well American-Italian. I dunno is that the right way round, is it Italian-American? Do these things go by alphabetical order, Jethro?"
He clucked appreciatively.
"We should play some ball, you and me. We've never played ball."
He wrinkled his nose.
"I mean football not soccer." He wiped a disdainful hand across his brow as Gibbs struggled to remove him and as he fought to remain put. "Did you say something about food, a minute ago? You said you were going to make food." He threw his arms wide and adopted a loud sing song voice that had Gibbs reeling in horror. "Where is the food, Jethro? This is not how you keep a man like me happy you know. The way to my heart is my stomach."
He batted his eyelids as Gibbs died inside.
"Well, my abs. My beautiful, beautiful abs."
His abs, his beautiful, beautiful abs were the last of Gibbs' concern as he began to pant with the exertion of unwrapping Tony from his torso. Since when was the kid so heavy? It was futile, he wasn't to be moved. In fact, the more he pushed, growled and threatened, the cuddlier the boy seemed to get. This was hell, this was his own personal hell. He was naturally affectionate with his girls, but not so much with his boys. Not a representation of different levels of care, but damnit…they were men.
Suddenly the mindless chuckling and pushing, prodding and poking died off.
Gibbs glanced down, red in the face from trying to free himself, to see a sudden sleepiness overtake Tony. He groaned. There was no getting him off he was three sheets to the wind. But he realised it wasn't just sleepiness, it was also thoughtfulness tinged with an uncharacteristic seriousness. "Gibbs?" Tony said softly, his eyes half opened; half closed. Sitting back with a damp brow, encased under his very own pile of personal prison, Jethro sighed in defeat.
"Yes, Tony, what is it?"
Those green eyes were both brightened with sincerity and dulled with chemicals as they stared up at him. "I wasn't just looping out a minute ago," the kid murmured throatily, sleep beginning to utterly creep up on him. "I do…" He sighed and stretched out more comfortably, his torso supported by the sofa and his head supported by Gibbs' chest. "Love you," he added, to himself more than anything, never to remember the conversation in the morning. "Not in a gay way, though if I were that way inclined…well no actually, you're pretty old." Gibbs stared silently, knowing that Tony wouldn't remember a single syllable of this monologue come morning.
"But…" he continued doggedly, "You're like my dad, you know? Well not my dad, cos that would suck. But you're like the dad I always wanted…the dads my friends had. The kinda dad that built race cars and flew kites...and all that. I know you're not my father…bet you're glad, huh?" He grinned sleepily, slipping back into a state of supreme unconsciousness. "All's I'm saying is…thanks, I guess. For being you. For being your grumpy, demanding, head slapping…self."
He leaned further back into Gibbs' chest, feeling unconsciously soothed by the arm that was suddenly draped loosely around his waist. Silence descended over the living room as the fire crackled and as Tony began to breathe heavier still. Gibbs was in a state of shocked silence. He knew it was the medication talking and that the kid would never have dreamed of having this conversation in the cold light of day. But…he couldn't quite help the poignant smile that spread across his face, crinkling his unfalteringly kind eyes at the corners.
He wished he'd been the kid's father, like the one all his friends had had.
The kind of father someone like Tony deserved.
The kind of father who knew he would never be perfect, which in and of itself made him perfect.
Suddenly, he didn't mind the fact that his second in command was dozing in his arms in the same way he had once held Kelly. He didn't mind the fact that his arm was comfortably around his waist. He didn't mind pushing the hair back out of his eyes when he could see it was irritating his slumber. He didn't mind the fact that if anyone were to see the sight of the two of them, he would never hear the end of it. He didn't mind…because he knew he was blessed. His life had taken several painful, torturous and lonely roads. But as he glanced down at the one lolling on his chest and thought of the three others he protected in a big brother sort of way, he believed in some bigger order. Some larger reason, some bigger picture, some sort of purpose.
Suddenly, Tony stirred in his arms and twisted slightly before he totally gave into drug induced rest, mumbling sleepily and groggily.
"G'night dad."
Gibbs blinked rapidly, before instinctively pulling the throw from the back of the sofa down around Tony's shoulders and pushing his fringe back from his eyes once more. He would remember in years to come that he had never seen Tony more peaceful than in that moment.
"Night son."
….
A/N: I've had a few requests where people wanted to see Tony call Gibbs "dad." It never seemed a plausible scenario to me in my other fics, because the father/son relationship is implicit rather than explicit. I also think that Tony, being Tony, would arrive at that destination with humour and chaos. So this is the take I came up with. Again, commuting has a way of making drawbacks positive!
_Train Bound Inks.
…..