FIRST PUBLISHED MARCH 20, 2016 ON AO3.
Story Notes: This is the third installment of a series of short stories called "Distance and Waning Guilt." The first two stories in the series are titled "All That is Familiar" and "Proof Enough." Both can be found in this archive and on AO3. The series itself can be found on AO3.
Story Warning: TRIGGER: domestic violence.
Pairing: Tony/Gibbs; established relationship
Rating: T for language/violence
CALL IT EVEN
"You're doing the right thing," Jimmy says as he watches Tony exit the double doors of the courthouse annex.
Tony doesn't look at him. He just shakes his head with a wince, squints into the sun, and puts his sunglasses back on. The bruise on the side of his head doesn't look any better, and his eye is still squinted. "Don't want to get you involved, Gremlin." Tony's hands shake a bit as he folds the papers and tucks them into a folder he'd brought along with him. "Thanks for the ride."
He would've driven himself if he hadn't rolled out of bed this morning still drunk from the previous evening. He'd been debating this move since noon on Sunday to, well, just before Jimmy Palmer had arrived at his front door early Monday morning.
He hadn't asked Tony too many questions. Hadn't tried to give out too much unsolicited advice. Hadn't showered him in meaningless platitudes. Hadn't tried to explain anybody's actions, good or bad, right or wrong. He'd just agreed to show up and give him a lift, silently and without judgment, and for that Tony would be grateful for a long, long time.
"I know you have to get to work," Tony adds quietly. Then he says again, "Thanks."
Together, they plod over the pavement already baking in the early morning sun.
Jimmy shrugs. "Yeah, guess I do." He stops in front of his car but doesn't unlock it yet. He considers Tony for a bit before he asks, "You'll be okay?"
"I'll be okay," Tony answers immediately. He gives him a lopsided smile, but it's too vacant to be genuine.
McGee shows up around lunchtime and rouses Tony from his alcoholic vigil on the couch. "I can't stay long," he explains, "Ellie's in the car. We're checking on a lead out this way. Told her I wanted to bring you some lunch." He hands Tony a greasy paper bag containing a hamburger and fries. "See? Lunch. Eat it."
"Thanks," Tony mumbles. He rips open the bag and stuffs four french fries into his mouth. He chews with his mouth open.
"That looks awful," Tim comments after taking a good look at Tony's face. "Abby told me it looked bad, but— How hard did he punch you?"
Tony huffs, already annoyed. "Nobody got punched. We got in a tussle, and he grabbed me, and I fell into something. That's it."
"That's it?" Tim raises his brows.
"That's it." Tony nods. "Bishop know anything of what's going on?"
"No. She doesn't even know you and Gibbs are… you know."
Tony laughs without humor. "Right. Let's keep it that way."
Sitting down beside him, Tim has to ask: "How's this going to effect work?"
"Well, I won't be there." Tony shrugs. "Not for a week or two. It depends. He..." He's avoided saying Gibbs' name out loud, and he knows that's telling. He's ashamed of what kind of demons the utterance might summon. But mostly, he's just ashamed with (and of) himself. "Boss said he'd suspend me for a bit." That's the safest answer.
"For what?" McGee asks, that trademark look of disbelief on his face.
"My decision Friday. Breaking cover. Protecting… him. And you. Insubordination. I deserve that much. I own my decisions. All of them."
"That's unreasonable, Tony, and you know it."
"That's the job."
"You're just going to let him walk all over you?" Tim stands up and looks down on Tony, but he has to take a step back when he finds Tony suddenly at his chest, pressing in close, a look of piss-off defiance on his face.
Tony repeats, slow and biting: "That's… the… job."
Despite himself, Tim shakes his head. "Do you really think that piece of paper will be enough?"
"Who told you about that?"
"Palmer."
"I told him to shut up about it. It's not anybody's business but mine."
"He's concerned about you. Have you looked at yourself in a mirror?"
"Of course I have!" Tony shouts right back him.
"So do you really think that piece of paper is enough?"
"Enough what?"
"Protection," Tim answers. He's stood his ground against Tony's frustration, and he refuses to back down.
Tony stares at Tim for a long while before he arranges his face into some sort of a grin. "Don't be crazy. I don't need protection from Gibbs. That stupid piece of paper is my leverage over him."
"Look at what he did to your face!"
"Not what this is about."
"So what's it about, then?"
Again, Tony laughs and turns away, pacing the length of his living room twice. "I told you: Leverage. I warned him, Tim! I warned him if he ever touched me like that again, I'd be as good as gone."
"Hey, come on." Tim reaches out for him, but Tony stops short, just out of his grasp. "This isn't the first time?"
Tony doesn't answer that question out loud. He only shakes his head and says, "Go back to work. Don't keep Ellie waiting."
To which Tim counters: "Don't forget to eat."
There's a heavy knock on his door, and it's loud enough to make it through even the noisiest of Gibbs' thoughts.
He'd been busy sawing at a steak in front of the television set, swigging beer along with it. The emptiness of a few days without Tony here had already come to settle in. It's surreal, this entire revelation and everything that had happened down in the basement that angry Friday night.
Gibbs tries his best to keep on as if nothing has changed, as if this is some temporary circumstance, a blip on the ol' radar. Nothing a few bourbon neats and a few stern, no-nonsense words of reason can't fix.
He waits for Tony to accept one of his many calls. Too many calls. It's obvious… Gibbs' sometimes obsession with Tony, and Gibbs' parallel obsession with the idea that he could ever control him. Truth is, Gibbs knows that control comes with an expiration date that might be rapidly approaching. He could either up-the-ante or loosen the reins.
He hasn't been down there since. He cleaned up the mess, swept up the broken glass and the nuts and bolts, and afterward left the basement to its own devices. That's it.
The knock comes again. Anybody else would have simply let themselves in. Whoever this is, they're a stranger. Gibbs gets up and heads for the door. There's a sheriff's deputy waiting outside, and the uniform apologizes for the intrusion at the same time he hands over the summons.
He has a key to Tony's apartment. Actually, he's had a key ever since Tony moved into this place.
"Just in case," Tony always says.
Just in case.
Gibbs is fairly certain that Tony never anticipated this circumstance when he handed over that spare key. And to be fair to himself, neither had he.
He doesn't use it right away, and maybe he won't have to. He knocks first. Waits. Then knocks some more. With his hand poised for yet another hard rap on the door, he hears something toppling over inside. He pauses.
The deadbolt disengages, and the door cracks open as far as the chain will allow. Gibbs sees Tony through the crack, and the first thing he notices is Tony's pissed off, still squinting eye and the bruise. "Fuck," Gibbs swears. "That looks bad."
Tony slams the door shut. The chain rattles. Then it opens again, wider, and against better judgment. The stench of sweat and Eau de Brewery slaps Gibbs full-on in the face. He almost reconsiders this decision; he's not oblivious enough to think he's not a major party to this debacle. The whiskers on Tony's oily face are warning enough. "You're not supposed to be here," Tony says bluntly.
And Gibbs knows that. He's holding the goddamn court papers in his hand right now. "The fuck's gotten into you?" he starts, holding them up and out.
"You're not supposed to be here," Tony repeats.
"A temporary restraining order? Are you crazy?"
Again Tony repeats, "You're not supposed to be here. The hearing date's on the papers. See you there." He follows that up by trying to slam the door shut in his face.
Gibbs thwarts that by stepping forward and stopping it with his leg. "This could cost me my job, DiNozzo!" he asserts.
"Good motivation, huh?" Tony says.
"What's gotten into you?"
"Maybe I'm finally coming to my senses. Starting to wisen up to what a psycho you can be."
Gibbs bristles. "Maybe your head got a bit too scrambled that night, but I seem to recall us both participating in that fight."
"You threw a glass at me!"
"And we fought it out. End of story. No need to bring everybody in on it, least of all this." He waves the papers again.
"That's great, Gibbs. I enjoyed hearing your opinion. You can leave now." Tony's sarcasm is biting. He tries to shut the door, but Gibbs attempts to wrench it back open.
"No, you're gonna see reason, Tony," Gibbs growls. "Stop and let me in."
It's almost comical, both of them fighting over the damn door, neither one of them really winning over the other. The papers rip and flutter to the ground. Then Gibbs reaches through to grab Tony by the wrist and hopefully pry his hand from the doorknob.
But Tony pulls his full weight back, and the door slams right on Gibbs' hand. Gibbs hollers in pain and ends up on his knees, clutching his hand to his chest.
Tony swears and lets go of the door, letting it swing wide open. He stares at Gibbs doubled up on the floor in his doorway. Gibbs is hissing in barely concealed agony, biting the inside of his cheek until it bleeds and hoping for it to fade so he can see clearly again.
"I didn't mean for that to happen," Tony's saying, and soon he's kneeling down beside Gibbs and angling for a look at his hand. "Shit, that was your right hand, wasn't it?"
Gibbs barely nods. "Just give me a minute, damn you," he says when Tony attempts to pull at that arm.
"Is it broken?" Tony asks. "I hope it's not broken..."
"I don't know," Gibbs manages to say as he slowly gets back to his feet. He feels Tony pull him through the apartment and to the couch.
"Maybe I should call Ducky," Tony says. "Or we can take your car to the ER."
Gibbs is afraid to look at his hand at first, and when he does, he's not surprised by the angry marks already beginning to rise on the skin. He doesn't try to flex it. "Are we even?" he asks, quietly. The anger has faded.
Tony doesn't answer. Perhaps he hasn't heard.
Gibbs repeats the question, "So are we even?"
Tony sits on the couch to the left of him. He nods, slowly. "Let's call it even."
"And the injunction?"
Again, Tony doesn't answer.
"Tony?" Gibbs waits for what he knows the answer will be.
And finally it comes: "I'll have it dismissed."
END