CHAPTER 2 - The Next Level

NCIS: My Other Left Foot, 1x12
Kate: (about Gibbs) Three red-headed ex-wives shows his judgment is a little questionable.

NCIS: Driven, 4x11
Woman: DOD policy is very clear about this point, miss. You must first ask permission before making physical contact with a coworker.
Abby: Like, every time?

~ • ~

They'd been having sex (a lot of it) for two years, and yet Tony had only recently moved into Gibbs' home, taking it (their relationship) to the next level. Not that Tony minded that it (their relationship) evolved naturally. Just spending time outside of work with Jethro was fine with him, and Jethro seemed more than satisfied to spend Friday nights cooking steaks for dinner and watching a game on TV with Tony. Saturday mornings were basement+boat time. Saturday afternoons might be for taking Tony to a boat show or playing touch football with old friends, and Sunday mornings were for making love and having a late breakfast. Mondays were for going back to work as if they didn't know each other outside the Navy Yard walls.

Their relationship at home bore some resemblance to the way they related at work; Jethro took charge most of the time and Tony followed. Jethro still spent a lot of time in the basement, but Tony did his own thing, came and went as he wished, and often joined his friends for poker or a night out dancing. At the end of the day, no matter what either of them had been doing, Tony and Jethro spent some quiet time together. Sometimes they'd watch a movie or game, or sit out back on the deck with a beer. They'd talk about their day, small stuff really, not about work.

When it got late, they'd make their way upstairs where they'd make love. Jethro was a quiet lover, attentive and strong, and he never failed to show Tony how much he loved him with every kiss and caress. Tony tended to be vocal, with lots of groans and cries of 'fuck me harder,' which he soon found out Jethro secretly loved. Tony took whatever Jethro threw at him, no matter how rough or aggressive, and after they'd brought each other to orgasm, Tony would drape himself over Jethro, sighing with contentment, and Jethro would stroke his hair until they fell asleep.

~ • ~ ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

"Something wrong?"

Tony shrugged, unsure how to say it. "It's just…it's…it's been two years."

Jethro raised an eyebrow. "Since what?"

"Since what?" In a rush, Tony said, "I love you, I do, I really do, but we've been together for two whole years, Jethro, and the sex has been…wow…like really phenomenal…but I just…I don't…Hell, this isn't working for me. I mean it's not where I expected us to be and I get the feeling that maybe we're not entirely committed and I know that's a word neither of us like to say aloud, but…I need to move forward and…damn it."

Jethro appeared to be unusually pale as he stood staring at Tony. "You done?"

With a sigh, Tony nodded. "Yeah, guess I'm done."

Advancing a step, Jethro pinned Tony in place with his sharp blue eyes. "You saying we're done?"

"What?"

"You're leaving me," Jethro said, looking equal parts angry and devastated.

"Oh no! God no. No, Jethro," Tony said, pulling Jethro into his arms. "I didn't mean it to sound like that."

A few minutes later, after some heavy sighs of relief and clinging, and some hot follow-up kisses, Jethro pulled back and took a long, hard look at Tony. He sighed out through his nose and said, "I'll install a bigger hot-water heater, and re-grout the tiles. You're always complaining about the shower going cold. That good?"

"Yeah, I'd like that," Tony replied, smiling at Jethro's choice of a peace offering.

Jethro kissed him, not quite so desperately this time. "I wouldn't do this for just anybody, you know."

"But you'd do it for me."

"I'd do anything for you," Jethro admitted, looking a bit frightened when the words slipped out.

Tony almost teared up. "I know you would. And I love you so bad it hurts sometimes."

Jethro looked a little emotional himself. He reached down took hold of Tony's hand, squeezing it hard. "I know."

"Wow, we're a couple of big wusses."

"Speak for yourself," Jethro shot back.

~ • ~ ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

Their relationship wasn't always sweetness and light. Occasionally they clashed; more in the beginning than they did now, but a couple of their fights had been doozies. Their disagreements tended to play out like rounds in the boxing ring, complete with fancy footwork (Tony) and not-so-gentle jabs (Jethro) – until Tony, who was perfectly capable of holding his own, would land a counterpunch that bounced Jethro into the corner.

They'd move away to cool down and Jethro would stand there looking pissed at the world in general. Tony would curl up on the couch and pretend he wasn't watching Jethro out of the corner of his eye. Then one of them would reach out a tentative hand, usually Jethro, and that would be all it took. They'd end up in each other's arms, mumbling awkward apologies into warm and welcoming skin, and move up to the bedroom where they'd find common ground in the give and take of sexual pleasure.

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

Living with another person was a whole new experience for Tony, and he looked at it as a serious step towards long-term commitment. Yes, he did believe in commitment, even if he'd had little experience with it, other than his aborted engagement to Wendy. Tony wanted to do it right, so no way was he going to follow in Senior's footsteps by repeating his numerous and unforgivable mistakes. Jethro was far too important to him to even consider failure.

Jethro had a history with bad marriages, too, and they both knew he'd put his job before his spouse on more than one occasion. Tony had the advantage of knowing Jethro through work. He lived the life, too. He got the stress, understood what violence did to people, felt how each and every case affected those involved, knew what it felt like to kill a man, to lose a victim, to come home empty-handed, empty-hearted. Tony could empathize, sympathize, and deal with all aspects of living in close quarters with a law enforcement officer. He could love him, too, and take care of him, and watch out for him at home, just as much – if not more than he did at work.

It wasn't easy for either Jethro or Tony to shake the ingrained habits of bachelorhood. Habits that might have been fine when they lived alone didn't fly any more, such as Jethro's inclination to sleep all night on the couch, his belief that a can of beans constituted dinner, and the way he disappeared into the basement for hours on end without a word. And then there was Tony's tendency to leave a trail of wet towels, dirty socks and empty chip packets around. The way he threw his laundry in the machine and always forgot to finish it; he still drank milk directly from the carton, and left his running shoes in the middle of the hall for Jethro to trip over.

They soon figured out that in order to cohabit, they had to find common ground, whether in the kitchen, bathroom or bedroom.

"Jethro, you are not using sauce out of a jar!"

"I wanted to make dinner for you for a change."

"That is sooo sweet of you, Jethro. Nobody's ever…not like…"

"You all right, Tony?"

"I'm fine…Don't look at me!"

"Are you…?"

"I told you not to look at me!"

Pause. "How about you show me how to make a sauce the right way then?"

Sniff. "You want to learn? From scratch?"

"Uh…sure."

"Hey! You call this making the bed, Tony?"

"Well yeah. It's Sunday. I figured we'd be messing it up again real soon. Like now, maybe?"

"Huh."

"Is that all you've got to say?"

"Pretty much. I knew there had to be a reason you were walking around naked this morning."

"Do I need a reason to be naked?"

"Apparently not."

"If I can't top you, Jethro, can I at least be on top?"

"You're not always gonna get your own way, you know."

Grin.

"And you can stop grinning at me like that, Tony."

Bigger grin.

"All right, fine! Fine!"

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

Moving past Jethro, who was standing by the sink drinking his second (or third) cup of coffee, Tony grabbed the milk out of the fridge and took his seat at the small kitchen table. He prepared himself a bowl of Wheat-Os with half-and-half and lots of sugar. He favored Fruit Loops or Cap'n Crunch but they'd run out, and what with them both working such long hours the past few weeks it looked like nobody had done the food shopping. Tony sniffed the milk but it seemed okay. Adding slices of banana on top of the wheat cereal didn't do much to disguise its wet-cardboard taste and texture, but he made do.

Aware of everything Jethro was doing behind him without ever turning his head, Tony could tell that he had topped off his coffee and was sipping it while looking out the kitchen window. It sometimes took three large mugs for Jethro to work his way out of what Tony referred to as 'hibernation mode'.

While Jethro was busy caffeinating himself, Tony picked up the newspaper (they were the only people on the entire street who still had a newspaper delivered to the doorstep every morning) and looked over the headlines.

A couple of minutes later Jethro settled in the chair opposite Tony and placed the coffee pot in the center of the table. Tony glanced at Jethro from under his eyelashes. There was a cowlick of gray hair standing up like a question mark on the crown of his head and Tony squashed a strong inclination to reach over to smooth it down. Or to make fun of it just so he could see the tips of Jethro's ears turn a delicious shade of pink. He loved doing that, seeing his man get all embarrassed and trying so damned hard not to show it. Instead, Tony pushed the cereal box across the table.

Jethro wordlessly prepared a bowl of cereal for himself – no sugar, lots of milk – but he had barely started to dig in when he gave an annoyed little sigh and dropped his spoon in the bowl with a clatter. He said, his voice still gravelly from sleep, "Okay, so I was tired."

Tony stared at Jethro. "Tired…?" Not only did Jethro never admit he was sick but he also never admitted he was tired. The truth of the matter was that Tony had never actually seen Jethro with any kind of ailment, not even a cold, although he'd suffered his share of injuries in the four years Tony had known him. There was the dislocated shoulder that Ducky said was likely to happen again if he wasn't careful, and that he should seriously consider surgery to stabilize it. Of course that had fallen on deaf ears. There had been various contusions, concussions, and a couple of minor gunshot wounds, plus Jethro had aggravated the knee he'd injured in the Gulf more than once.

Jethro was a strong man and not one to complain, and Tony understood all about keeping your problems to yourself, but there were times when he wished that Jethro would just tell him how he was feeling, if it hurt, if there was anything Tony could do for him.

Tony wondered if tired was a code word for sick, but Jethro was a straight-talking kinda guy so Tony took what he'd said at face value. Instead of making a big thing out of Jethro's reluctant admission, Tony agreed, "We're all tired. It's been a tough few weeks." After a moment he added, "Some fine teamwork, Boss. The probies did a good job. I think Ziva's getting the hang of things now. Well, except for her issue with idioms. You know, not fully comprehending that 'being stabbed in the back' is not to be taken literally."

Out of nowhere, Jethro said quietly, "I miss Kate," and Tony agreed without hesitation.

A sense of loss threatened to overwhelm him even though Kate had been killed…what was it…five?…no, six months ago. It had been really tough at first, seeing her empty desk every day and feeling her presence even though she was no longer with them in person. How many times had he turned to say something to her, only to find there was nobody there?

Tony had lost fellow officers in the line of duty before, but never anyone so close or in such a violent way, and he was having a hard time dealing with it. The deep-set pain and anger struck him at the oddest times, like the first time he'd seen Ziva lounging nonchalantly at Kate's desk as if she'd had the right to be there. How he'd managed to stay in his seat and not go over there and drag her out of it…

Tony took a deep breath and concentrated on eating. Jethro's hand settled on top of his, able to offer comfort in a way that warmed him right down to his core. Just one touch did things to Tony's heart that he would never be able to explain to anyone. Their eyes met, and Tony smiled and dipped his head, a little overcome by seeing how deep his man's love was for him; it was naked and almost raw and it took his breath away. He would never know what he'd done to be so lucky but he knew enough not to ask.

After a minute, Jethro went back to eating, as did Tony. He munched on the unappealing cereal for a bit and then waved his spoon at Jethro. "You know all those backup knives Ziva hides all over herself? Tucked in her boots, in the small of her back? It's like they're a part of her, like the way I feel naked without my gun. Or how something feels just wrong when you go out without me on your six."

Jethro nodded in understanding, and asked, "So how many knives do you think she's got?"

Tony gave a wicked smile. "I've counted six that I can be certain of, but there could be more. I can't be sure without frisking her. What d'you think?"

"I think if you try, you're gonna lose some fingers," Jethro said wryly.

Tony replied, "No, that's okay. I'd rather keep all my parts intact." He peered at Jethro from under his eyelashes and asked casually, "So, you want to join the pool that says Ziva is sleeping with Madam Director? You need to provide proof in order to win. I can just see them together…"

If Tony hadn't been picturing the two women having hot, noisy sex, he might have been prepared for Jethro reaching over and slapping him on the side of the head. "What?" Tony asked innocently.

Jethro asked sharply, "You want to get in her pants, Tony?"

Tony could see the warning glint in Jethro's eyes and although the slap hadn't been more than a tap, he got the message. Just the same, Tony smirked, purposely misunderstanding him. "Me, with Jenny? No thanks. She's more your type: hot, female and a redhead."

Jethro's expression darkened and for a couple of seconds Tony wasn't sure which way it would go, but for the first time since he'd walked into the kitchen, Jethro relaxed with a smirk. He looked Tony up and down and said in a low voice, "That's where you're wrong, Tony. That's not my type any more."

Tony grinned in delight. "Goes double for me, Jethro."

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

Last night had been their first decent night's sleep in a week. They had just finished a month of grueling back-to-back cases, surviving on not much more than coffee, take-out food and sheer willpower, putting in long hours with too-little sleep. Every night, when it became apparent that they could achieve nothing more, Gibbs would reluctantly send his people home, ordering them to return by 0700. And every night Tim and Tony would groan and make a bit of a fuss, while Ziva made fun of them and acted as if sleep deprivation was normal for her. Despite all the griping, they were all back at their desks before the appointed time, picking up right where they'd left off the night before.

Whenever Jethro had made it to bed he'd been restless, worrying over their latest murder case rather than getting the sleep he so desperately needed. Towards the end of the long haul, Tony stuck it out and stayed at work all night, too, determined to be there for his boss. They did some stakeouts, drove around in the pre-dawn hours, followed elusive leads. Tony was dead tired throughout but he didn't care so long as he was with Gibbs.

The suspect in their latest case, a civilian who worked at the Navy Yard, had been clever enough to cover his tracks, and it took several days to just get a lead on the guy. In the end, all the hard work the MCRT put in, as well as their sheer doggedness, paid off and they captured their suspect without a single gunshot. He was interrogated and booked, and Gibbs' team was finally able to go home.

Paperwork finally completed, Gibbs had ordered, "Everyone go home. Don't come in until ten tomorrow."

McGee had muttered wearily, "Thank God," yet he had somehow found the energy to tell Ziva how he'd been playing Agent USA on the Commodore 64 he'd refurbished while walking to the elevator.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Tony had planted himself in front of Gibbs' desk. "You coming?"

Gibbs had looked up slowly, his face etched with lines of exhaustion. He just jerked his chin at Tony, indicating he should go on home.

But Tony hadn't moved. He'd considered staying put and snoozing in his chair, but if he had done that, Gibbs would have never left. So Tony had placed his hands on Gibbs' desk and leaned forward, saying quietly but firmly, "You need to come home with me, Jethro."

Gibbs had looked up, meeting Tony's eyes, his ingrained stubborn streak coming to light. Tony had whispered, "Please." A second later it was gone like a puff of smoke and Gibbs…Jethro…was turning off his computer and desk lamp, saying, "Yeah, okay." They had traveled down to the lobby and walked out to the parking lot in silence, got in their respective cars with barely a nod to each other and headed out.

Even though Tony had driven pretty fast, Jethro had arrived first. His truck was already sitting on the narrow strip to one side of the detached garage. Tony drove his Mustang into the garage where it would be safe, and Jethro helped him close the heavy swing doors. The two men had staggered upstairs to their bedroom without even stopping for a bite to eat. Tony had stripped down and collapsed into bed, mumbling, "'Night." Jethro had done pretty much the same thing, falling into bed with a groan.

~ • ~~ • ~~ • ~

If anyone had asked Tony when he'd fallen for Gibbs, he could have told them the exact date. "November," he would say. "It was back in '03, during an undercover op. It was just the two of us behind enemy lines. Handcuffs were involved. Things got hairy for a while, but you know Gibbs. He took charge and I fell for him…hard. What can I say? He's Gibbs."

Morrow had decided to use his best two-man team on a vitally important mission. It would only take a day. They'd save the world and would still be home for dinner. Of course nothing ever went as planned.

In a roundabout way they did save the world, although Tony and Gibbs ended up running for their lives – without backup, weapons, communication with NCIS, or transport. They did, however, have each other, and that, as they would always remember, was what was important when the chips were down.

After the mission was over, and Tony and Jethro (Tony was still calling him Boss or Gibbs at that point) were recovering from their various injuries, they decided to play it cool. Actually, Gibbs had made the decision to wait until Tony had fully recovered before taking their relationship any further. As usual, Tony had followed his lead.

Gibbs had insisted that Tony stay at his house, and once Tony had been cleared to return to desk duty, Gibbs had driven him to and from the Navy Yard. Everything had seemed so normal at work, without even a hint that Gibbs considered him anything more than a colleague. If they hadn't returned to Gibbs' home every evening, and shared some rather chaste kisses before retiring to their own rooms, Tony would have believed that the closeness that had grown between him and Gibbs while on the run had been entirely in his imagination.

Tony waited for Gibbs to speak up. Gibbs remained silent on the matter. Tony fretted. He stewed and second-guessed, and waited some more. Gibbs looked at him sideways a few times, but he never opened his mouth about what had happened between them.

Tony finally faced Gibbs about his feelings. "I can't just to pretend like nothing happened. It's one thing at work, and I get it, but nobody's watching us…and it's been a couple of weeks, Jethro." They had both avoided talking about what had happened during their undercover operation. Unsure about what their future held, Tony blurted, "Have you forgotten? Because you're acting like we didn't have a thing…"

"A thing?"

"Yeah, like a connection, a moment, a…" Tony hadn't been able to bring himself to say the word 'promise.'

"You think I would forget?" Gibbs had demanded harshly before pushing Tony against the fridge and leaning in for a thorough kiss that had left Tony weak at the knees. Panting against Tony's mouth, Gibbs had said in a low voice, "We'll talk once you're cleared."

"I'm fine…"

"You wince whenever you bend over, DiNozzo, so don't tell me your ribs don't still hurt," Gibbs had said bluntly.

"Well, you don't have to sound so angry about it," Tony had complained, while thinking that more than his ribs were hurting. At that moment, his heart had felt pretty bruised, too.

Gibbs had taken him in his arms and had sighed into his hair. "I want you in my bed. Right now. But it's not going to happen until you get the green light from the doctors." He'd pulled back and had carefully inspected Tony's face. "You know I care about you, right?"

Tony had smiled and had let Gibbs hug him for a while longer, thinking that maybe Gibbs cared about him as much as he cared for Gibbs, and that there just might be a chance that this was about something more than two hard-working, lonely, screwed-up men clinging to each other because nobody else would have them.

The trouble was that Tony wasn't very good at exhibiting patience, and the closer he got to making a full recovery from his injuries, the more antsy he became. Talking too much, making off-color jokes, harassing his team members got him dark looks and, "Cut it out, DiNozzo," from Gibbs about five times a day. At home, Tony had really let loose, and Gibbs had ended up delivering a headslap to the back of Tony's head when he'd cranked up some music and had danced around the kitchen while chopping vegetables, singing, "I'm a Material Girl."

That slap to the head made Tony lay down the law. "No head-slapping. I mean when we're not at work, because I'm not going to take that away from you. Not that I could stop you, but I guess I could try harder at ducking. I mean, I sort of like it, in a twisted 'I deserve to be reminded I'm being an ass and that you care enough to remind me' kind of way. But no slapping during off-hours. Okay?"

Gibbs had nodded, looking solemn. "You finished, DiNozzo?"

"Ummm…yeah, I think that's about it. For now. Gibbs."

"You sure? Because I don't want to hear any more yabba yabba when we're upstairs."

"We're going upstairs?"

"Ducky told me you've been cleared just before we left today. Or maybe you don't want to do this in a bed?"

Tony had grinned. "A bed, Jethro? Am I ready? Hell, yeah!" He started hopping up and down in place, and Gibbs rolled his eyes and pushed Tony in the right direction.

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~