Fumble
Two hours later Gibbs slammed the door closed on Tony's place, grabbed the bag he'd packed, and slung it into the rental car Mike Soloman had so graciously overseen. The wise father had not bothered to pack any clothing, since Tony kept the closets in Washington and Campeche full of his apparel. Instead, he'd grabbed the personal things that he thought Tony would want. As he packed he had handled several interruptions from concerned neighbors as well as several young ladies, all wanting to check on Tony's condition and to send their good wishes.
Gibbs sighed as he cranked the car, remembering that Tony was upset with him for forcing him to go home early. Honestly, he understood. The apartment and independence meant so much to his boy, and he willingly met the requirements imposed to keep them, like have Jethro check his grades.
Gibbs rubbed his head roughly. The boy deserved some reward, had earned the right to have a fun week before he returned to D. C.
Still, he thought he'd made the right decision.
A couple of hours later he was sitting on a plane himself, and another couple of hours after that, was walking through his own front door.
Ducky was working his way down the stairs as Jethro entered the foyer. Gibbs greeted him gratefully, thanking him for meeting Tony's flight and transporting him to the house. Ducky assured him that Tony was out for the count, obviously under the influence of the powerful painkiller the emergency room doctor had ordered.
Gibbs studied Ducky quizzically. "Why didn't you just put him on the couch, Duck, instead of take him upstairs?"
The good doctor shook his head ruefully. "The lad refused outright. He said as long as he was home he wanted to be in his own bed. If you can't beat them, then join them, so I assisted young Anthony to his room. Really, the lad has suffered so much today that at least I could let him have his way on the room selection."
"Good thinking, Duck," Gibbs grinned and jogged up the stairs as Ducky made his way to the kitchen.
Tony had managed to sprawl across the bed, longways, and Gibbs shook his head in resignation. Tony had done that very thing since babyhood. Working gently, he managed to get Tony repositioned correctly in the bed, and then he leaned down and kissed him softly on the cheek. Tony slept through all of the activity, and Gibbs quietly made his way out of the room, leaving the door open so that he could hear if Tony called him.
Downstairs at the worn kitchen table, Ducky sipped fragrant hot tea and Jethro, steaming coffee. Gibbs thanked his friend again for not only meeting Tony at the airport with very little notice, but for bringing him home and getting him comfortable, as well.
He gave the doctor a rundown of the football game and accident, and Ducky nodded sympathetically. Finally, he stood and stretched, then regarded his friend.
"I will be back tomorrow to check young Anthony. By then he should be more awake and able to relate his physical progress. You did fill the pain prescription, didn't you, Jethro?"
"Yes, of course, it's over there on the counter," Gibbs pointed across the kitchen.
"Good, I know you are aware of what to do, so I won't lecture you. This is not your first venture into a mishap or illness with the lad. However, I do want to point out that you need rest as much as Tony does. Go to bed, Jethro. You need rest."
With that, the good doctor left and Gibbs turned his attention to cleaning up in the kitchen and heading upstairs to bed. He was too tired to even work on the boat. It had been an emotionally and physically exhausting day.
Climbing the stairs wearily he made his way to Tony's room. Despite the cast, Tony had managed to gravitate towards the bottom of his bed again, and Gibbs shook his head and gently pulled him back towards the pillow.
He scanned the darkened bedroom and couldn't help smiling at the rocking chair, which took up quite a bit of space. Despite Tony's protests to the contrary, the little boy in him remained in evidence. That rocking chair was the one he had been rocked in day after day, year after year, mostly by his abuela. Gibbs, though, had also given it plenty of use rocking or calming his little boy during his childhood. Now, Tony refused to have the rocker removed from his room, even though his father pointed out that he could replace it with another piece of furniture. Tony refused the suggestion and clung to it so adamantly, though, that Gibbs finally quit suggesting it be stored.
Satisfied finally that all appeared well, he left the door open and made his way to a muscle easing shower and welcome bed, and then fell into the blankets with relief.
Tony's insistent calls of "Dad! Daddy!" woke him with a start, and Gibbs turned over in the bed, confused. He had slept far later than he normally did. Morning had dawned. Sunlight had already begun to stream through the blinds, and he sat up quickly, rubbed his face hurriedly, and crossed the hall to his Son.
Tony had maneuvered himself so that he reclined propped against the pillows, and he smiled in relief when he saw his father appear in the doorway. "Hey, Dad-"
Gibbs made his way to the bed, and automatically rested his hand on Tony's forehead as he kissed the top of his head. "Ok, Son, are you all right? What's wrong?"
Tony looked embarrassed and defended himself. "No, yes- uhm, Daddy, I had a really bad dream- a really bad nightmare, and then I woke up just now."
The father nodded in understanding, pushed Tony over a bit. and crawled into the bed with him. Propping himself against the headboard, he pulled his child to him, and wrapped an arm around him as Tony rested his face against his chest.
Gibbs didn't speak for a couple of minutes, but just softly rubbed Tony's hair, and face, and back. Finally he leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. "The doctor gave you a really strong sedative. The bad dream probably came as a side effect of that."
Tony nodded against him, reassured and protected with his daddy there. He toyed with the sleeve of Jethro's shirt.
Gibbs waited another couple of minutes until he felt the tenseness leave Tony's body and the boy relax. Then he spoke softly. "Ok, I am going to get up and get those crutches over there and help you to your bathroom. Once I'm sure you can handle that, I'm going to get dressed myself."
Tony nodded agreeably. Gibbs helped him out of bed, and as promised, left him at the bathroom door to return to his own bedroom. He was shaving when Tony called for him next, and he directed Tony to come to his room. He did, with clothes clutched in his left hand. Settling himself on the edge of the bed, he propped the crutches against the mattress.
He called to Jethro in the bathroom, "You have to help dress me, Dad."
"I will, but hold on one second and let me finish." Gibbs rinsed off his face and dried his freshly shaved skin with a towel, then brushed his teeth. He grabbed his own clothes when he returned to the bedroom and began dressing methodically, visually checking on Tony to see how he was doing.
Tony had found some sweat shorts, and Gibbs helped him get those pulled over his cast. He had on a sweatshirt as well, and Gibbs pointed out that he needed socks on, at least. The temperature in late November tended to get chilly.
Tony's cooperation surprised him, and the fact that the boy didn't put up too much of an argument over the rest of the clothing.
Instinctively Jethro prepared himself for a battle later. Tony would not accept the temporary loss of his freedom without more of an argument. He loved action and activity, and would not accept giving up his apartment life without complaining.