"Jethro!"
"Jethro!"
"Where the hell are you?"
Fornell stood in the dark hall, extra dark because the autumn evening light was so bright, heard the creak of the screen door off the kitchen, footsteps, the opening and closing of a cupboard.
"Jethro?"
Quick steps and Gibbs stuck his head around the corner. "Yeah. Whatdoyawant, Tobias?"
But he wasn't really asking, more like offering. Fornell knew it. The grumpiness was for show. He was almost sure of it.
Fornell swung the six pack high in answer. "Long day. Thought maybe you'd want some company."
"C'mon through." Gibbs turned away and grabbing condiments off the table, he went out to the back porch.
"Well, that's new." Fornell commented, looking away from the object of his attention to Gibbs.
Gibbs stood over the grill, scraping it down with a wire brush. He answered, even as he bent over to turn the knob on the tank. "Yep. The old one finally crapped out. I had replaced the heating elements, the ignitor, the racks, even the handle, but when the casing finally rusts away, there really isn't anything for it." He glared down at the new grill, as if it had played a role in the demise of his old one. "It reminded me of a story Jack used to tell, about his first car, how he had put it together from parts of other cars and it didn't have a floor. He could drive and watch the road. I always wanted a car like that." Gibbs finally looked up, gave Tobias an irritated glare. "What?"
Fornell smirked back at him. "Hell, Jethro, that's more words than I've heard from you all month. And I wasn't talking about the grill, though it looks pretty good." At Gibbs' questioning look, Tobias tipped his head to the side, gesturing silently to the man asleep in the chaise lounge on the deck.
Now Gibbs did scowl. At the chair. "DiNozzo brought it over," he said quietly. Fornell didn't know if he was trying to keep it a secret, though presumably DiNozzo knew he had brought the chair over, or if Gibbs was trying not to wake the other man up. Either way, it was confusing.
Tobias just waited. More explanation had to be forthcoming.
But Gibbs just turned back to the grill.
"And who, may I ask, brought DiNozzo?" Deliberately, Tobias didn't whisper.
"Why, Tobias? Don't want to share your beer?" Gibbs voice was still quiet, low, but his face was inscrutable. Fuck that, Fornell could do inscrutable. Not that he was going to. This was too weird to let go.
"No I don't mind sharing my beer," a wave of irritation at realizing that he was whispering himself now, "but since when does DiNozzo sunbathe on your back porch?"
Gibbs shrugged. Gave Tobias a long look that he concluded by turning back to the grill. "You want a burger?"
Tobias sighed and popped off the top on his beer with the opener that was attached to the new grill. He handed it to Gibbs and then opened another for himself, leaned against the sturdy wooden railing.
"So," he couldn't help but shoot a look at the sleeping figure which, despite his comment, was fully clothed, almost bundled up, more than called for in the warm fall evening, "what's new?"
"Small talk? Really, Tobias?" Gibbs put burgers on the hot grill and closed the lid, leaned back against his own piece of railing. "What's eating you?"
Now Tobias found himself without words. Maybe he looked inscrutable. Would serve Jethro right, to have to ask for onc—
"You look miserable."
"Oh really." He put his empty bottle on the ledge and turned. "Well, screw you, old man—" He turned to go but found his forearm gripped in Gibbs' rough hand. The angry words dried up and it was only through force of will that Tobias didn't let his head sag, his body slump. He was so tired.
"Tobias." Gibbs voice was suddenly full of real warmth. That was what was so surprising about the man. He was so goddamned stubborn. Could outwait, outwit, and outglare any amount of opposition. But need him…and he was there. "What do you need?"
"This case was just fucked up. We...won...I guess. Got the kid back but how it went down, what kind of life that kid went back to, the LEOs got into it and we lost a man. It was just…" Tobias pulled his hand back to join his other as he scrubbed his face, pinched the bridge of his nose. His eyes closed and he envied Tony. He heard the pop of another beer being opened, looked up to meet Gibbs' blue gaze. Not sympathetic, just...there, and then a tiny glint of a smile.
Gibbs shook his head, mumbled, "I can't believe he was right." He handed Tobias another beer and moved easily to the stairs and the more stiffly down the back steps, returning a moment later with another chaise lounge. Tobias almost laughed— couldn't believe he felt like laughing— at the expression on Jethro's face. The other man scowled as he set the chair up in such a way that they could keep talking. DiNozzo, in the corner, was out like a light. His head was back and his mouth was open slightly but there was no snoring. He looked...tired. Maybe those were dark circles under his eyes?
Tobias, tired to the bone himself, straddled the chair carefully and arranged himself. "I haven't sat in one of these in years." He adjusted the back and felt his smile grow wider, crossed his legs. "I could get used to this actually."
"Don't." Gibbs lifted the grill, flipped the burgers, put buns on the warming rack, closed the lid. But didn't slam it. "Take a load off. I'm going to go get plates."
He was gone a little while. Long enough for Tobias to stop waiting and close his own eyes, playing the private investigator game he used to play as a kid, trying to remember details from before he closed his eyes, picking out the sounds around him. Birds. Wind. Cars. Motorcycle. Bike. Kids in the distance. Happy kids. Calling, shouting.
He woke with a start. Gibbs scraped back a chair lightly at the wooden table and sat in front of a plate with his burger. It hadn't been long, maybe fifteen minutes, but Fornell couldn't believe he had dropped off. God he was tired. And the light had changed, turning toward twilight. Gibbs looked over at him.
"You hungry?"
"What about DiNozzo?" Tobias looked over, noticed the blanket over Tony's upper body.
"He'll wake up in a minute."
"You're awfully sure of that. You do this often?" Tobias climbed out of the chair and dragged himself to the table.
"Eat burgers? Most Fridays."
Tobias let it drop, feeling surprisingly dopey for a 17 minute nap. Took a bite of his burger. "Mmm. Good. Thanks, Jethro."
Gibbs just nodded. "Want to talk about it?"
Tobias bit back a sarcastic remark. "Nah. Guess not. The usual, I guess. Politics. Though now that I think about it, did you ever have to work with that jackass…"
Half an hour passed and the two men talked about the case, lawyers, and rich bastards who get in the way of good policing. They ate everything on their plates. Tony's sat untouched at a third place, covered by a napkin. Gibbs went in the house, to put on a pot of coffee, Tobias assumed, and sure enough, when he came back he brought out three mugs. Jethro put the mugs gently on the table and moved around to the grill, lifting the lid to scrape again.
Tobias got to his feet and gathered up condiments to bring in to the house. Jethro caught his eye and pointed to Tony's hamburger. "Put some ketchup on that first, would ya? And a little relish." Tobias did as he was asked, put the tops back on, and gathered them all up.
As he turned, he dropped the ketchup, which landed with a crack! on the hard wooden deck.
Tobias was used to the switch from safe real time to dangerous slow time, but coming out of context like this, on an evening in Gibbs' backyard, he just didn't expect it. At the sound of the glass hitting the deck, time slowed down, threats were assessed and actions were taken.
Tobias was good, real good. He had always figured he wasn't as good as Gibbs, but he had assumed, though, that at least he had DiNozzo beat. But Tony had Gibbs wrapped in a hold, knife at his neck, before Tobias could fucking blink. Gibbs body was relaxed and his eyes warned Tobias off.
"Tony." A low growl, soft, with something inside of it that made the word another kind of knife.
In an instant, Tony's eyes, wild and insensible, turned rational and horrified and...ashamed all at once. Even as he released Gibbs, if release was the right word for pushing him away so hard that Gibbs almost stumbled, Tony turned to flee down the back steps of the porch. Gibbs hand on his arm stopped him before he took one step.
Another word, two, this time free of any ties other than that of command. "Sit. Eat."
Tobias watched Tony's muscles, the backs of his arms, his neck, strained tight as he fought not to flee. Watched them loosen and turn his body to come closer. To look at him hands thrust in his pockets, lips turning up in a sheepish smile, clearing his throat from sleep, asking if Gibbs had any more ketchup, you'd never know the dark moment had happened.
But Tobias had seen it, had seen more than his brain had registered at the time. He knew that he had been closer to Tony. It should have been his neck with a knife to it. Gibbs was fast alright. Faster than both of them.
Gibbs had reseated himself and now looked pointedly at Tobias. You up for this? We're not done. Fornell finally unfroze himself and pulled out a chair to sit. Tony stood by the table, like he couldn't decide. Tobias looked at the younger man, tried to catch his eye.
"Hey, Fornell. When did you get here?" He finally looked over and Tobias looked for clues. Inscrutable. Fuck. They could both do it.
But Tobias could see the bags now, for sure. "You just back from undercover, DiNozzo?" Pronounced it right, for once. He thought that he could feel Gibbs relax a notch next to him.
Tony finally sat down in a chair. Heavy. His words, his expression, were light. But his eyes were dark. "Yeah. Like The Fugitive. On the run, on the lam...I was under the gun so I took it on the run." His words stopped when he took a bite of burger, chewed and swallowed, looking down at his plate.
As he took a second bite, though, Tony looked over at Gibbs, a half smile belying the dead look in his green gaze, and then he was lurching up and around, retching over the railing.
Tobias sprang up, turned to look at Gibbs and saw the small, thin line of blood from what was surely an insignificant cut on the older man's neck.
"Gibbs?" He hadn't turned around yet, was still bent over the rail, and his voice was a harsh rasp.
"Yeah, Tony."
The youngest man raised his head and straightened, "M'not hungry anymore." He stumbled forward and Gibbs caught him. Tobias felt relief as he watched Gibbs wrap an arm around Tony's waist and help him into the house. Clearly the older man had been letting Tony do for himself, but the tension in his body was gone now as he supported the younger man. Tobias moved forward and got the door for them, and then finished scraping the grill and bringing in dishes and food. After a minute's thought, he poured three cups of coffee, spooned sugar into one of them, and then poured a glass of milk and a bowl of cereal. He put everything on a cookie sheet with a spoon and some napkins and joined the two men in the living room.
"I know doctors will tell you milk is hard on your stomach but I think that's a crock of shit. It's here if you feel like eating, DiNozzo." He put the cereal and milk on the coffee table.
Tony leaned forward, picked up the bowl, "Why didn't you just pour the milk on?"
Tobias glanced at Jethro, noticed that the blood was gone at his neck, said, "I hate soggy cereal."
Tony grinned now, and Tobias realized suddenly that he could actually like this man. "Me either. Fucking soggy cereal."
Tobias grinned back. "Fucking soggy cereal."
Jethro rolled his eyes, but he was smiling a little too. "Drink your coffee." He ordered DiNozzo even as he picked up the other cup of black.
Before Tobias seated himself in a chair, he closed all the blinds, the habit of a lifetime. He hated being in a lit room with the dark outside, hated being so exposed. Jethro had started a fire. It was still small, but made the room feel less gloomy.
"Hey, Fornell, when did you say you got here?"
"While you were sleeping. Had a fucking trainwreck of a week." Tobias saw Tony shoot a look at Gibbs and his face darkened a little.
"Lot of that going around."
Tobias kept his voice bland. "You too huh?"
"Nah. Mine was okay. Bossman's sucked." Tony had finished the cereal and picked up the coffee, wrapping his hands around it for warmth and drinking even though it was still quite hot. Jethro rose and grabbed a bottle from the shelf, poured a healthy shot into all of their coffees.
They were sipping their coffee when Tony hissed. Tobias looked up to see that coffee had sloshed down the front of Tony's t-shirt, and in fact, the hand holding the mug was shaking badly. Gibbs, seated at the other end of the couch from Tony quickly shifted forward and over, pushed his own mug onto the coffee table even as he reached for Tony's mug. By the time both mugs were on the table, Tony was shaking, hard. Tobias could hear his teeth chattering together.
"Tobias. Blanket." Tobias snagged a soft throw from the back of his arm chair and tossed it to Gibbs. Gibbs leaned forward, wrapped the blanket around Tony even as the younger man curled over his own knees. Gibbs pushed his hands into the blanket and pulled Tony over onto him, holding him tight. Tony didn't seem to notice but Tobias could see that his eyes were shut and leaking silent tears even through the violent tremors.
Tobias met Jethro's eyes and the other man jerked his head to indicate that Tobias could stay, but should sit down. Tobias, recognizing the signs of stress reaction, likely as a result of at least a medium term undercover assignment or a particularly harrowing short term one, waited it out with the two other men. He would say that Tony got the short end of that stick: cold even as he sweat, jaw locked against the trembling but small whimpering sounds coming out anyway, even as he pressed his face against Gibbs' chest and neck, like he was trying to get away. Yeah, it wasn't good to be DiNozzo right now.
But then he looked at Gibbs. The older man was holding Tony tightly. His hands were sweeping up and down the younger man's back and his voice repeated, low and soothing, "You're okay, Tony. It's okay. I've got you. It's okay." But his face was drawn in pain, eyes sad, not inscrutable anymore. Tobias watched as Gibbs arms tightened and relaxed, tightened and relaxed, like he was afraid Tony was going to get away. Gibbs didn't meet Tobias' eyes again but didn't seem self-conscious either, stroking the now sobbing man's hair, his murmuring less distinct and more intimate.
Tobias waited it out, wondered if he should leave, if they did this every time Tony was back from undercover. Finally, Tony stopped making the noises, stopped crying. Gibbs reached an arm back leaving the other one tight around Tony's back, and snagged a tissue. Tony blew. Sighed and settled against Gibbs.
Tobias watched as Tony came back to himself, watched the stiffness enter his legs and arms, his torso as he pushed himself up to sitting, shifting so there were a couple of inches between him and Gibbs. Tony moaned softly and bent over his own lap again, arms going up around his head like he was trying to hide. Finally, he sighed and still not meeting either of the other man's eyes, moving like a much older man, got to his feet.
Fornell and Tony stood on the top step of Gibbs' house. Not for long though. Tony was halfway down the steps before Fornell stopped him. "This always the way it is? You running away?"
"You don't know what the fuck you are talking about, Fornell."
Tobias almost fell down the steps in his haste, urgency. He grabbed DiNozzo, swung him around and started shoving him back to the steps. "Christ, DiNozzo, you are better than this. You must be half out of your head with the pain of it. Did you see the look on his face? He wasn't letting you go, he was sending you away."
Tony who had been half scrambling backwards, desperate to flee to the safety of his apartment, hoping he'd die of the shame and ignominy of sobbing in his boss' arms he hadn't even started thinking about the fact that it had all been in front of a feeb.
"Tony." The first time the other man's first name had left his lips. "He...Gibbs...he's not much better off than you. I can see that. Go." One last push and Tony was swaying slightly on the top step. Fornell stood halfway up the others, behind him.
Tony looked back once, mask cracked beyond even temporary repair. His face was that of a boy, open and questioning, asking what he should do. It was the face of an agent who had given too much and knew he was broken. It was the face of a man who didn't know what he had to offer but would try.
With nothing but uncertainty and devastation on his face, the man in front of him turned and opened the door. Stepped through into the dark beyond. Closed the door behind him.
Tobias ran a hand over his face and after long minutes where Tony didn't reappear, he drove himself home.
"Gibbs."
The man, his boss, his friend, was still on the couch where he'd left him, but he was hunched over, hands over his face.
Tony shuffled forward a few steps. When Gibbs didn't move, Tony ventured a little closer still, stood finally in front of the older man, wondered if Gibbs was looking at his feet in their beat up Keds. Or if Gibbs had his eyes shut.
Tony stood there for what seemed like a long time. Eventually, he couldn't resist and reached out to touch the other man's shoulder, worn navy cotton stretched across his shoulders. Gibbs didn't move.
Not sure, feeling his way forward, Tony dropped to his knees, compelled to look, to see…
He reached out with his hands and forced them between Gibbs arms until they were pushing into the cavern the hunched figure was protecting. Tony pushed at Gibbs' chest until he straightened a little, enough that Gibbs head wasn't all the way down, so that Tony wasn't looking at the crown of his head anymore, and could do what he wanted—needed— to do.
Tony reached out and took Gibbs chin in his hand, pushed up—not gently either—to hold his face and peer underneath so that even in the flickering light from the fire, the one small table lamp in the corner of the room, he could see the livid red stripe.
Emotions still so close to the surface, he couldn't stop a small whimper and was suddenly hauled roughly to his feet.
"Gibbs," he gasped, struggling to find his feet, to not fall back, pushing weakly at the other man's chest, trying to break the hold he had on Tony's upper arms, but Gibbs' hold was absolute and he himself so off balance that the thin soles of his oldest sneakers cycled for purchase. Finally, Gibbs let him drop down enough to steady himself, to begin to fight back, push with both palms against the older man's chest.
Gibbs knocked his hands away one two and then stepped close. Tony found himself caught by the glint of the silver stubble, the heat of Gibbs' mouth and breath on his face, the smell of smoke and pine and just Gibbs. Intent on his own aims, driven by his own need, Gibbs took Tony's face in his hand, squeezing so that just a little harder and Tony'd have bruises, and growled.
"What are you looking for Tony? Evidence? You feel guilty, do you? For hurting me? I'll show you guilty—"
And Jethro was not fumbling. His hands were sure and irresistible, knew just what they were doing. Tony tried to push them away, but Jethro stripped first his flannel shirt, hanging open, then whipped his t-shirt up and off, followed by the long sleeved undershirt that covered the needle tracks made by empty needles before he went down, down down…
Naked from the waist up, Tony shivered in the warm room. But not a repeat of earlier. Not from cold.
Gibbs was touching him. Moving him with sure hands a little this way, a little that. Watching as the rough pads of his fingers stroked along Tony's bruises and contusions. Where Tony had been these last weeks...wasn't a good place, a safe place, and he had been hurt. Jethro's thumb traced circles over the burn marks on his belly, and on the false traces in the crook of his elbows.
Once he started, he never looked up, looked away from his hands. And his hands were so gentle, almost reverent, as they swept lightly up to Tony's shoulders and turned him around, started on his back. Mostly bruises, from fighting, from being beaten for no reason but being there, seeming weak.
Tony's breath caught when he felt Gibbs Jethro move closer and he felt the long arms stretch around him, come together at the snap on his jeans. But while the other man stripped his jeans, his shoes and socks, it was only so he could map the lower half of Tony's body as well as the top half. He sat on the couch and pulled Tony in front of him and touched every dark circle, every tender place on his thighs, his knees and calves and feet. Turned him when he needed to.
He had left Tony's boxers on. At one point in his exploration, he paused, let his hands rest on Tony's hips. Slid one warm palm gently, boldly, around to touch his butt. His eyes were focused forward, staring blindly at Tony's knees, but his head tipped to the side in question, waiting for a response.
"No." Tony answered. "Not that." Looking down on him, he could see Jethro's eyes blink slowly, once, and open before his hands moved away and down again.
Tony quaked inside and while he wanted to close his eyes, to better focus on Jethro's touch, he couldn't look away. Gibbs' face was still and set, but far from emotionless. He seemed unconcerned, maybe even unaware, of Tony's regard, intent as he was on Tony's body, on soothing and bringing pleasure where there had been pain. His mouth was slightly open, breathing a little bit fast, and his eyes were dark and bright with shared pain.
When he was satisfied, Gibbs rose and met Tony's eyes for the first time since he started touching the younger man. He took Tony's chin, turned his head side to side, investigating like Tony had him before. Faint bruises, road rash on his cheek, bottom lip still slightly swollen, and probably bags under his eyes. Gibbs eyes showed...anguish and as Tony thought to move, to stop this, to deny that Gibbs was to blame, Jethro slipped his fingers beneath the elastic of Tony's boxers and pushed them down. Tony stepped out of them automatically. He had barely any time to be embarrassed—-not like the boxers had hidden anything anyway—before Gibbs started to drop to his knees.
"No. No, Gibbs...Jethro. No. Not you...not...not—" His own anguish rose up and he gripped Gibbs to stop, to stop him. "Not you. I don't care if you think it's your fault." He shook Jethro a little. Like trying to shake an oak tree. "Fuck. I don't even care if it is your fault, that's how screwed up I am, I would do all of it again, go anywhere, be anyone, and more if you asked me—"
Tony moved forward, pressed his whole body, naked and aroused and finally warm against Jethro's clothed one. The feel of the cloth against him, the fact that this man he'd follow to hell and back again was letting him oh god letting him rest against him. And he had clothes on. And Tony didn't. Tony moaned and let his head drop to Jethro's shoulder, pressed his body, shifted enough to feel the worn cloth, against the warmth and strength beneath the cotton. He could feel the rough exhale as the other man's hands clenched around his bare hips but not hard, or at least not hard enough to stop the graceful slide of Tony down his body.
Tony was on his knees again and his hands made short work of Jethro's button and zipper, dipped into boxer briefs and gaping jeans to pull the rock hard dick out even as he pushed the cloth down enough, just enough. He reached out blindly for one of Jethro's hands and took it, moved it to the side of his own face, pressed, so that when he took the other man's cock in his mouth oh christ yes, so sweet and hot Jethro's palm stretched along his abraded cheek, into his hair to hold tightly. Tony's own cock jumped and despite his focus on Gibbs Jethro, Tony pressed forward to hump into Jethro's calf a little and the pressure felt so fucking good.
And the length of Gibbs in his mouth. The taste and the heat of him. Tony didn't know how to do this right, but he wanted to get something and he wanted to give something, something only good and sweet and hot, and from the way his own body was responding, and the soft slide and surrender of Gibbs' hips and the sound of Jethro's low moan, he was doing alright. He had only just time to decide to swallow, no matter what, when Gibbs' hands tightened, not as warning but to keep him in place. At the command and his own inveterate submission to this man, he came without a single touch on his cock, head tipping back to take Jethro deeper even as the other man came in long, hot, pulses in his mouth, down his throat.
What Tony remembered later wasn't swallowing or the way Jethro's cock slipped from his mouth, slick and soft now. It was the press of his own face in the damp curve of the join of Jethro's leg and his groin, the musky smell, and the rhythmic motion of Jethro's hands in his hair, fingers stroking the skin along the edge of his forehead and along his temple and jaw, his ear.
They stayed that way until the hard wood beneath Tony's naked knees seemed even harder, until one of Tony's hands moved and accidentally touched the cold slick on the leg of Jethro's jeans. He sat back on his heels, feeling good, if uncertain, pushing away embarrassment to reach for one of his shirts, lying on the floor nearby, and cleaning up what he could.
Gibbs didn't let him do that for long though. "Leave it, Tony. Just—" and Jethro's hands were plucking at his shoulders, and the hesitation was so unusual that Tony's eyes pricked with tears again. Jesus, what a fucking basket case. It was always like this. When he let go, fell apart, it took awhile to get things back under control. He'd have to be careful tonight. Should probably go.
Gibbs' hands and Tony's own desire to see for himself that Gibbs was alright, propelled him to his feet. Tony met Jethro's eyes, felt the other man swallow, and did what he wanted to do from the beginning. He took Jethro's chin, pushed up, gently this time. Stroked along his neck and then with his eyes locked on Jethro's as long as he could keep them, he dipped his head to brush his lips over the cut he had made.
"Tony." Gibbs pushed him away just enough to press rough lips against his, replacing, rejecting Tony's impulse to soothe with something shared. Equal. Gibbs mouth, hot and male, opened over Tony's, and he moaned when Tony met his tongue with his own. Gibbs' hand came up to hold Tony's face, a sign of dominance ingrained and natural somehow, but Tony's own hands slid along Jethro's neck and up into his hair so that the two men strained to get even closer to each other, hands and mouths finding a connection more intimate than anything that came before.
Finally, one of them pulled back. Tony said, "Gibbs…" cleared his throat, tried again, "Jethro." This prompted Gibbs to kiss him again for some reason, quick but soft. Tony's voice went hoarse again and he rasped, "Jethro. Could we...should we...maybe either both be naked, or both put clothes on?"
Jethro huffed out a surprised laugh and his head dropped to Tony's shoulder for a second before he straightened, stepped back. "Yeah." Ran a hand through his hair. "Yes." His hands dropped to his jeans, tucked himself in to briefs and pants that he pulled up, buttoned up.
Clothes it is, Tony thought. Looked and saw his own pile of denim, found his boxers, pulled them on and his pants, slipped on the flannel overshirt he had been wearing. Buttoned the buttons.
Jethro moved away while he did this, put another log on the fire before sitting on the couch.
Tony moved closer but stayed standing, "This going to be weird or okay?"
The older man looked up at him and his mouth—reddened from kissing, Tony noted in satisfaction—twisted a little and the lines around his eyes creased in humor. Tony could see everything. Jethro wasn't hiding anything. He was amused and determined and uncertain and hopeful. Tony felt an answering smile on his own lips. Maybe this was going to be okay, at least right now. Even as Tony dropped down next to him, Gibbs opened his arms and pulled the younger man close. Tony hugged Jethro, kissed what was closest—his ear—and felt Jethro's lips on his neck. Then strong hands pushed him back.
Jethro's eyes were full of the familiar desire for answers. "Why did you come back?"
Tony responded with his usual smirk, a little one but still. "Aren't you glad I did?"
Obligatory scowl. Tony gave in. As usual.
"Fornell made me," he admitted.
"Fornell made you?" Honestly surprised.
"Grabbed me and threw me back up the stairs, told me you needed me as much as I had needed you."
Gibbs face twisted in surprise, pleased. Tony would have known this, sensed the surprise, the satisfaction, but he was fascinated by the way Jethro was letting him see it.
"I did need you." Tony said.
Alert and interested, a little bit wary, Jethro met his eyes.
"Do. When I go undercover now, it isn't like when I was younger. I'm even better now at it and I was always pretty good—" Tony shot Jethro a cocky smile, got an amused eyebrow raise in response, not a denial though, so Tony continued, "but now I can really be someone else. But it means giving up, letting go of who I am so completely that I...I...can't always find my way back. Not without help. I...forget who I am."
Jethro's voice, deep and familiar in its confidence, its absolute command, sent a thrill of reassurance and trust through Tony. "I know who you are. Always have. Always will, Tony."
"I know that, I guess. Must've or I wouldn't have ended up here after these assignments. But something has changed for you too. Hasn't it?" Tony hoped that Gibbs would be open enough to tell him.
After a long silence, long enough that Tony thought he wouldn't answer, Jethro offered a few words. But they were enough, finally, for Tony to understand the peripatetic wandering of Jethro's hands earlier, the way he mapped Tony's injuries, they way he tried to heal them.
"It's my fault. My job, but my fault. I send you. And you get hurt. Every time. Sometimes in ways I can't see or touch, but it happens every time." His eyes were burning on Tony's. "I own that."
Tony didn't let sympathy color his voice, wasn't sure the exaltation he was feeling didn't cancel out the sympathy anyway.
"And tonight?"
"I would have given you anything. Anything you needed or wanted. You earned it." Something must have shown on his face, in his eyes, at this last comment, and Gibbs added, "Don't mean that the way it sounds. I mean, you—"
Gibbs stopped mid-sentence and was breathing hard as he searched for words.
"I would do it anyway, you know that, Jethro. Right? I'm good at it, at my job, want to do right as much as you do even if it doesn't seem that way." Tony knew what people thought, thought him arrogant and vapid. He knew his team didn't see him that way, but other people did.
Gibbs repeated, calming some now that Tony was talking. "I know who you are, Tony."
Tony continued, "but to do this work with you, for you, makes me better, and yeah, sometimes I think I would do it for you even without the rest—" He let his head drop, suddenly tired, but his entire body jerked and his head snapped up at the gentle touch of Gibbs' strong fingers on the back of his bared neck.
They stared at each other.
"This is strong, whatever it is." Gibbs stated. Tony nodded, mouth dry. "I don't know if I could send you out again, knowing that I couldn't do this for you after...not this," he clarified, gesturing between them and at the room, referring to the second half of the evening, "but before, when you sleep on the deck or the couch, when I feed you, when I can keep you safe when you come back."
"I don't know if I could go out again and not come to you when it was over. I left, earlier, like I always leave, and Fornell sent me back, told me you looked just as bad as I did and I didn't know, hadn't thought, didn't know until I saw you. But now that I do, I don't think I could go, knowing what you would feel, and not—" He trailed off.
Jethro rubbed both hands over his face, hunched forward and groaned. "This is so fucked up." But he didn't sound frustrated, just tired.
"Hey," Jethro looked up at that. "Let's use our super powers."
Jethro didn't quite smile but his eyes crinkled a little, "Our super powers?"
"Yeah. My superpower is believing only what I want to believe, and your superpower is doing whatever the hell you want, screw the world." Tony stood up, held out his hand, "Let's go to bed."
Jethro let out a small snort, took Tony's hand, let himself be hauled up. The movement brought them close, though, and the new smiles dropped away. The heat of the fire was suddenly very real at Jethro's back. Tony raised their still clasped hands and brought Jethro's to rest at the nape of his neck, unsurprised by the new flare in his groin as he offered himself. Jethro's hand tightened, owning, and Tony's eyes slammed shut.
Jethro let go though, removed his hand, and before Tony could open his eyes, he felt the pads of Jethro's fingertips skate across his eyelids, his mouth, and then a tap to his cheek. Tony opened his eyes at the command.
Jethro's eyes were hard on his, a return to inscrutability. And then...Tony's throat tightened as Jethro leaned forward, bent his own neck to rest his forehead against Tony's chest for a minute. Tony raised a disbelieving hand to stroke the back of the other man's neck, to hold on, to lean in himself and press a kiss to Jethro's temple.
Then Jethro was standing straight again, moving to secure the fire, turn off the lights. Tony waited until they went upstairs together to a room Jethro rarely used and Tony had barely glimpsed before now. Tomorrow could take care of itself. For now, unlike every other night for weeks, Tony was safe, and was sure Jethro was safe too. It was enough.
A/N: Thanks to C. for the read and friendship above and beyond. To Kat for the birthday story, Invasion (go read it!). To Cackymn for being wonderful and wandering and open. For Carole, for being surprised and sharing twists with me. And for all the other wonderful people I have met through this world. I hope you are safe tonight too. M.