His first rational thought after being released from the hospital, and taking a cab to Gibbs' home was that the lights were off in Gibbs' basement. Which was never a good sign, for anybody. He knew Gibbs was going to be pissed at him for letting him believe he was dead, but the longer he put it off for the angrier Gibbs would get. He walked to the door, pain jolting him every time he took a step; it wasn't agonizing or breath-taking pain, just jolting, numbing pain. His leg ached in a constant throb, the pain causing a pulse of its own, the doctors had said the bullet had nicked the bone, but it wasn't bad enough for surgery. Which was good, they had just removed the bullet, stitched him up and gave him some painkillers. His arm was a different matter. The bullet had completely shattered his shoulder bone and lodged in his flesh, he had been in surgery for hours before they even got to the bullet and could repair the damage. He'd been in a sling ever since. The doctors had just released him today, two and a half weeks after making it back to America, making it three weeks since he had last seen Gibbs. Everyday he had thought of Jethro, he tried hard not to think about him, to not imagine him sitting next to him talking to him, holding him and smiling. He wanted to see him so bad, he knew he had scared some of the nurses when he started talking to his imaginary Jethro, but he just smiled there way and went back to telling him Korean weather.
The first thing that hit him when he opened the door was the nauseating smell of dried, rotting blood, it gagged him, he pressed against the wall, hand over his face, with his good arm he unholstered his gun and held it before him as he went forward. Pictures of gore filling his vision, making his knees weak as he imagined walking in on a dead, mutilated Gibbs. He heard noise in the kitchen; he slowly pushed open the door. Gibbs was on the floor empty bottles of bourbon surrounded him, he was currently drinking a small bottle of scotch, there were bags under his eyes and blood caked on his clothing, face and hands, he hadn't changed his clothes from when he last saw him, tears stained his face, misery filled his eyes. It hit him in the gut, leaving him breathless, his heart felt like it had been stabbed, guilt filled him as he bent down in front of his lover and put his hands on the man's knees. Gibbs was muttering under his breath.
"Jethro. It's me, Trent." He said softly, squeezing his knees.
"You gotta stop visiting me. Go away. I'm sorry I couldn't save you. I'm sorry now go away." Gibbs said nervously.
"Hey, it's me. I'm alive. And I'm here." He soothed.
"No you're dead! You're dead and I didn't save you." Gibbs yelled angrily, throwing the scotch at his head, he ducked and sighed.
"You need a shower. And you need to sleep." He said sternly. He lifted him, arms around his back, Gibbs just laid limp against his chest. He nearly cried out in pain, his injuries screamed at him, he grabbed Gibbs with his good arm and shifted his weight to his uninjured side. He bit down on the pain, and focused on Gibbs, they were nearly up the stairs and into his room, finally making it into the bathroom, he slowly stripped Gibbs.
"I didn't know ghosts could do this." Gibbs croaked his eyes red.
"Not a ghost Jethro." He continued undressing him; he adjusted the water and turned the shower on. He helped him into the shower then went for clean pajamas. He sighed as Gibbs just stood there under the spray of the shower; he started scrubbing him down with a washcloth and a bar of soap. He nearly smirked as he felt himself get hard; he looked up at Gibbs who had his eyebrow raised.
"Didn't know ghosts were capable of that either." Jethro spoke calmly.
"I am not a ghost." He whispered, he got up and grabbed the man's face, and roughly kissed him, trying to show him how real he was without taking advantage of the man. He poured his love, sorrow and regret into it, his hand tangled in Gibbs hair as he pressed the man to the wall. He growled and continued to wash him roughly, trying not to take the man right then and there. It took nearly half an hour to get him clean and another ten to get him dressed but soon enough he was laying Gibbs down on his bed and pulling him into his chest, hugging him around his waist he took his painkillers and watched as Gibbs drifted off to sleep in his arms, he soon followed.
Gibbs, after he wakes up.
He couldn't remember going to bed, or getting in the shower and changed, but somehow he had. He poured himself coffee as he remembered the moment he woke up, saw Kort and realized it wasn't a ghost but the actual Kort. He wanted to shake him awake, but he was pale and in bandages and a sling. Painkillers rested on the bedside table. Trent was alive. At first he had been ecstatic, still was really, his man was alive. He could breathe again, live again. His life was worth living once more. But what had really happened that day that Kort supposedly got shot? Why did they lie to him? Why did Trent lie to him? How could he?! Anger pulsed through his veins; there was only one answer--a mission. But why did they need Kort "dead"? Nothing made sense anymore. He sat at the table his two hands on the side of his head; he looked down into the blackness of his hot coffee, letting the steam hit his face.
A creak from across the roam told him that Kort had woken up and gone to find him, he looked up at Trent with stormy eyes. Neither spoke for a long time, they just took in the sight of the other, wondering what to say. "What the HELL happened?! What is going on?! I thought you were dead!" Gibbs seethed slamming his fist down on the counter.
"Roper needed me on a mission. There was a leak; someone notified them I was on my way so they had to make it look like I was dead in order to send me over." Kort replied tonelessly, his eyes cold and vacant.
"Why didn't you tell me?!" He shouted, he could feel himself shaking, could feel the grief rising in him and the resentment boiling over.
"I wasn't allowed to." Kort replied in the same voice.
"You weren't allowed to?! You weren't allowed to?! I killed the man who supposedly shot you!!! I sat and cried for three weeks straight! I QUIT MY JOB! I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD! Do you have ANY idea how much grief and pain you put me through?! ANY IDEA?! You stupid, selfish, no good fucking whore!" He screamed red in the face, spit flying, he had gotten up some where's in the middle of the rant and slammed Kort to the wall, ignoring the groan of pain coming from him. He shook Kort as hard as he could, he heard Trent cry out in pain, could feel his blood run over his hand but his anger wouldn't let Kort go. He wanted Kort to feel the pain that he had put him through acting dead.
"Gibbs!" Trent gasped, blood was simply gushing from the wound now, Trent's face was pale, lines of pain around his eyes, "Hurting. Me."
"YOU DESERVE IT! YOU HURT ME!" He screamed, squeezing Kort's shoulders, till Kort buckled under him, and gave a yell of anguish. He shoved Kort away from him; he watched as Trent slammed into the wall and slid down it. Gasping for breath, his leg and arm were both shaking and jerking, blood covering his shoulder, his face pale and tight. He breathed in, eyes closed, hand over his shoulder.
"I'm sorry Jethro. I wanted to tell you…..I thought of you everyday." Kort gasped out, cringing.
"That's just what you are, huh? Just a stupid whore. What? You let people fuck you then run is that it Trent? HUH?!" He yelled at him watching as Kort visibly flinched.
He looked at him, tears in his eyes as he slid down the island across from Trent, shaking himself. The sting of betrayal cutting deep inside of him, reopening his wounds. He just wanted to hold Kort, wanted to kiss him, and just be with him, but his disgust and anger wouldn't let him. He just couldn't bring himself to forgive Trent, he wanted to but he couldn't. A lump formed in his throat, forgiveness had always been a problem with him, it's why he lost his last three wives. He couldn't forgive them, he let the disgust and anger fester and run his life, it grew so strong he couldn't even be in the same room as them, and soon it ruined his marriages. He didn't want to ruin Trent and him; he wanted them to be together longer than any of his wives had been with him. But how could he forgive such a blatant betrayal, how could he forgive the pain, the hurt that not only came with Kort's death but reopened wounds from Shannon and Kelly's? It seemed impossible, like a mountain whose top was lost in the clouds. He had made mistakes before and had been forgiven, but he had never played dead before. Never had he let his loved ones believe that he was gone forever while instead he was out working. It was cruel, and to forgive Trent would show him that he would put up with that kind of bullshit, would make him look like a doormat.
He was no fucking doormat. He couldn't let Trent hurt him anymore than he had. He couldn't let Trent have that sort of power over him. He just couldn't. It was unacceptable what Trent did to him. He couldn't speak; no sound would escape no matter how hard he tried. It felt like a pillow was being held over his face. He got up and slowly walked out, leaving Trent bleeding on his floor. He couldn't look at him, couldn't be in the same room as him, it hurt too much. He wanted to punch something or someone, and Roper seemed like a pretty good candidate to have the shit beat out of him. He grabbed his car keys and left without a single word. He wondered if it would hurt if he came back to find Trent dead on his floor. He didn't know what he wanted to do right now, besides block Kort from his mind, everything was just too confusing and too emotional for him to deal with. He growled as he stormed into the NCIS building, walking instinctively down to autopsy, stalking in Ducky looked up at him in surprise.
"Jethro! It's good to have you back!" Ducky said jovially.
"Trent is alive Duck." He said shortly, not one to beat around the bush.
"Jethro…..it is not uncommon for people to think they saw a lost loved one in their grief. But that's all it was my dear friend. A hallucination." Ducky said grimly, a frown on his face as if he knew Gibbs was going to fight him.
"No Duck. I mean he's alive. His death was a hoax. CIA faked it to send him on a sting overseas, and get it past a leak they have in the agency." He said coldly, anger making his blood boil.
"Ah. The CIA has been using that method for quite a while. You'd think the enemy would have caught on by now. However I'm sure this has wrought some sort of rift between the two of you?" Ducky said leaning against one of his autopsy tables and peering at him as he leaned against the one opposite.
"I trusted him and he let me suffer. I thought he was dead Duck. I can't believe he'd do this. It just doesn't make any sense. I'm so fucking pissed OFF!" He roared angrily, seething. Ducky just stared at him waiting for him to unravel himself. "I just….I don't understand why he'd do that. Orders or not!"
"Have you talked to him?" Ducky asked lightly.
"I yelled at him. Other than that, I can't stand being in the same room as him. I don't know if I can ever trust him again." He said coldly.
"I do believe that is how your last three marriages failed Jethro." Ducky said disapprovingly.
"I know." He sighed, he put a hand through his hair, he felt defeated and tired. He just wanted to wake up and have everything normal again.
"Do you want to lose Mr. Kort as well? Because that's where this is heading. It's in your court now, not his. You either talk to him or lose him. There's no other way. You have to figure out what's more important, the man that you love or acting tough and withholding forgiveness." Ducky said wisely with curtness.
He nodded, feeling undone; he let himself back into his car to drive around a bit more. He honestly didn't know if he could trust Kort again, he knew how Kort felt about missions, they were everything to him but was he willing to risk their relationship for a mission? Could you really have a true, meaningful relationship with someone you don't trust? Sure, you could be fuck buddies but he wanted something more and after what Trent had been through, he needed something more. He needed to talk to Trent before he could forgive him, Ducky's words echoing in his head; whenever he was in a spot of trouble or needed, someone to confide in Ducky was the person he went to, the Medical Examiner called them as he saw them and he appreciated him for it. Ducky was right, there was nothing unmanly about forgiving someone; he didn't have to prove to anyone he was a tough guy. And as cruel as Trent had been to him, he was being just as cruel by withholding forgiveness. Even if he forgave Trent that didn't mean he had to keep seeing him. Forgiveness didn't come with any other conditions. And to withhold forgiveness just so he can stay angry at Kort was ridiculous and he knew how pent up anger can turn someone sour, Jenny was proof of that. However, he wasn't sure he was ready to let go of it all right then. He was confused and didn't really know what to think. His mind was spinning with it all, and he needed to speak to Kort, it would probably help sort things out.
He turned his car around to head back home, he swallowed remembering what type of condition he left Trent in, he had reopened his wounds in his anger and had shook and threw the man into a wall. Call it what you may but he had abused Kort. He slammed his hand down, now it would be a matter of being able to forgive one another, suddenly he was angry at himself as he tried to remember the last thing he had said to Trent. He froze; a feeling of ice water being dumped over his head had him clutching the wheel until his knuckles turned white. He cursed himself.
He called him a whore. A stupid, good-for-nothing, whore.
He felt his gut bottom out again, but this time in shame and self-reproach. He could shoot himself in the foot right now. After everything Trent had been through he had called him that, he cursed as he stepped on the pedal and sped to his house. He all but kicked the door down in his hurry to get to Trent, he crossed the living room in a heartbeat and walked into the kitchen, Kort was passed out on the floor, blood surrounding him. He sighed, wanting to kick himself. His heart nearly tore in two at the sight before him, what if that bullet had been in the heart? His knees felt weak again but he shook his head and gently lifted Kort against his chest, glad to feel the man against him once more. As cliché as it might be, Kort fit him perfectly, in every position, he was his. And he protected what was his. He left the blood on the floor, it didn't matter at the moment, what mattered was the man in his arms. No matter how angry he was, he had had no right to put Trent in this condition. Let alone leave him to bleed out until he lost consciousness. He gently carried him to his bed and laid him down, he unbuttoned Kort's shirt to see the injury.
He cringed at the bruise on his chest where the fake bullet must have hit, it was large and black, blue and purple and it was swelling a bit. Ignoring the bruise for a minute he took off his entire shirt and winced at the bullet wound, the stitches were still in place, but blood was seeping through them, he put a towel over the wound and applied a bit of pressure, trying to stop the flow of blood. He took the moment to run his other hand down Kort's chest gently, all the way down to the belt of his pants, he moved it back up and rested it above Kort's heart. He closed his eyes feeling Kort's heartbeat and his chest rise up and down beneath him. It was the best thin he had ever felt. He would never take the warm body beneath him for granted again, or the soul inside it. He gazed down at Trent softly, affection shining in his eyes, tears once again threatened to spill and a lump in his throat threatened to choke him. He had almost lost him. He would never be able to voice how precious Trent was to him, how close he held him to his heart, how much he meant to him, but he meant all those things and more. And to have him back was a blessing. He may not be able to trust Trent again, at least not right away, but he realized that he still loved him with all of his heart and had just forgiven him. It was enough Trent was alive; he couldn't go without him now. He bent down softly, from where he straddled Kort and kissed his lips gently, he could see the man's eyes flutter open but ignored it in favor of kissing his chin, then the bottom of hi jaw and neck, the hallow of his chest.
He ran his hands along Kort's side, feeling the muscle move beneath his fingers, his fingers lightly running over his ribs. He hovered over the dark bruise before very lightly pressing a kiss to it in many places. Moving down his chest to his stomach, he licked his way back up and sat back to look into his eyes. He was taken back at the pain that were in those hazel eyes. It choked him up to know he put it there. "I'm not your whore Gibbs. You can't just fuck me and then leave you know." Kort spat, anger in his brown eyes as he slid on his shirt.
"I know Trent. I am sorry, I shouldn't have said that. It wasn't and isn't true. You are not a whore Trent." He spoke gently.
"Then why did you say it?! You know how I felt when they…when I was..you know!" Kort said angrily trying to sit up, he pushed him back gently. "I was just some cheap fuck! They thought it was funny! They stripped me of everything! Of my life!"
"I know Trent. I know." He soothed, gently putting a hand on his lover's cheek. "I was angry. It's no excuse, but it will never happen again. You really hurt me with the stunt you pulled. These last few weeks have been the hardest I've ever lived through. I don't know if I can trust you again. But when I realized what I did to you, and realized that I still had you, I just knew I still loved you."
"I'm sorry Jethro, I never meant to cause you pain. I was shipped out so fast I didn't have a chance to go behind Roper's back and tell you. It would have been to dangerous to call you once I was under. I'm sorry." Trent said. "And I said it twice."
He smiled fondly down at his lover. "I'm still pissed."
"Yeah? You wanna take it out on me?" Trent said smirking.
"I wish I could but those wounds looks like they hurt." He said frowning, "What happened?"
"Shot. Can't tell you no more than that Jethro. I'm sorry." Trent said
He nodded and slipped off Kort to the side, laying an arm around his waist he pulled Trent closer to him, smiling at what he knew was his, Trent belonged to him.
"I hope the people who shot you are dead. Or I'm going to have to kill them myself." He growled protectively. Trent smiled.
"Don't worry. I snapped their necks." Kort purred seductively.
"You are mine and I protect what's mine." He said fiercely.
Kort looked at him for a minute and whispered, "When I'm better I want you to fuck me."