Redman made his way to the stairs as Tony kicked at the air, his hands instinctively, uselessly on the rope choking him.

"Wasn't exactly what I planned," Redman said, pausing midway up the steps, "but there will be a lot less questions now." He locked eyes with his former partner and gave the dying man a big grin. "You always did have my back, Tony."

If he'd had the breath, Tony would have screamed out all of his rage and betrayal. But instead, he just fought his nearly overwhelming panic and listened to the footsteps above him, forcing himself to let go of the rope and move his hands downward. His vision went spotty, dusted over in black, and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut as he tried to think of the good times in this basement with Gibbs—rather than the fact that his lungs were burning as if underwater. He traced the familiar creaks of the floorboards as Redman walked through the kitchen and toward the front door.

The second Tony heard that door slam shut, he freed the knife from his belt and reached up to slice the through the rope that was slowly killing him.

Tony landed in a heap on the concrete floor, his left ankle rolling under him and tossing him sideways to slam into the upended sawhorse. Black stars burst like charred fireworks as his head connected with a leg of the sawhorse, and he cried out in pain with what little remained of his voice. He wanted to go after Redman, to shove his knife through the man's throat so he would never have to worry about him again, but all Tony could do was lie there, pulling in deep, slightly sawdusty gulps of air to try to sate his starved lungs.

He had just barely gotten his breath back when it was stolen again by the sound of the front door opening. Why the fuck won't you just leave me alone? Tony thought, his hand closing around the knife that would be no match for Jason's Glock.

"Tony!"

He blinked, feeling sawdust stuck to his cheek, and he wondered if his oxygen-deprived brain had imagined that shout of Gibbs' voice from the floor above him.

The next words he heard were softer, but no less confusing because they definitely sounded like Gibbs.

"Where is he?" Gibbs growled. "Never mind."

There was a muffled smack and then a thump directly above him, and Tony wished he could get his body to cooperate—and stop hallucinating.

He felt hands on his body, and when Tony opened his eyes, he found icy blue ones staring at him with some combination of fear and pain and relief and rage.

Tony opened his mouth with no idea what would actually come out, but Gibbs just shook his head.

"Shhh," he said, his eyes on the deep bruising at Tony's throat as he gently removed the noose from around his lover's neck. "Don't talk."

"Love you," Tony said anyway, his voice as rough as the frayed rope.

Gibbs smiled, closing his eyes and allowing himself a quick shudder of relief. "You ever going to start listening to me?"

Tony shook his head slowly, feeling pain flare at his temples with even the tiny movement.

"Good," Gibbs said, his hand on Tony's dusty cheek, blue eyes darkening with shame and regret. "I say some really stupid things sometimes."

That got a small smile out of Tony, but his eyes flicked to the ceiling in question.

"He's napping on the living room floor," Gibbs answered. "Coulda told him he'd be more comfortable on the couch, but I doubt he would've listened to me."

"Not that couch," Tony joked hoarsely. He frowned, though, when he looked up and saw the tears shining in Gibbs' eyes. " 'M okay, Gibbs," he forced out from his sandpaper throat.

"I know," Gibbs said softly, his hand still on Tony's face. "And I know you didn't cheat. Ducky told me about your migraines but he never should have had to. I should have trusted you, given you a chance to explain. I'm so sorry I hurt you, Tony."

Gibbs put a gentle hand over Tony's mouth when he tried to speak. "Don't, okay? Not right now," he said, blinking away the tears and giving Tony a smile. "We have plenty of time to talk."

Tony nodded, his eyes moving to the ceiling again. And Gibbs read his fear. He didn't blame him—Tony had already once thought the bastard was out of his life, only to have him come back and hurt him all over again.

"I'll go cuff him to the toilet or something and call local PD," Gibbs said, standing but making no move to leave, unwilling to let Tony out of his sight so soon after almost losing him. Again.

Tony saw the hesitation—and the building rage as Gibbs turned his gaze to the stairs—and he started to peel himself up from the hard floor. His head swam dizzily, the pain there in a war with the stabbing in his ankle as he struggled to get to his feet. He felt a hand slide under his elbow and he was suddenly standing, injured foot resting lightly on his right boot as Gibbs held him close, letting them both get their bearings.

Tony finally picked his head up from Gibbs' shoulder and made a choked little noise that was supposed to be a sigh.

"I know. We should get moving," Gibbs said, looking down at Tony's feet. "Ankle?"

"Mmmm."

"Broken?"

Tony shook his head in the negative, and Gibbs slid under his right shoulder, helping Tony hop to the workbench.

"Stay put," Gibbs ordered. "Please?" he added.

Tony nodded and watched Gibbs take the stairs two at a time despite his bad knee. There was movement upstairs—the distinct sound of a body being dragged—and then a short phone call, and then Gibbs was back at his side faster than Tony could have imagined. Still, he practically dove back into Gibbs' arms, soaking up the warmth and safety of being held in his lover's arms.

"Come on," Gibbs said after a moment, pulling away reluctantly. "Let's get you upstairs. I'm taking you to the hospital once Metro gets here."

Tony made a hoarse sound of protest, but Gibbs ignored it, not needing to say a word to tell him fighting it was pointless.

Redman was conscious and yelling by the time Gibbs eased Tony onto the couch. The injured agent rubbed at his temples, his head aching from the knock against the leg of the sawhorse. Gibbs saw it and headed down the hallway, returning a moment later with Redman, cuffed and swearing—until Gibbs jabbed his gun into the cop's face and told him to shut it.

Redman just looked at the steadiness of the gun and then at Tony, giving him a glare. " 'Trash department', Tony?" He shook his head in disgust. "Cute."

Tony ignored the pain and grinned back. "He is, isn't he?"

Forcing the words from his damaged throat was painful—but the look on Jason's face was totally worth it. And the smile he got from Gibbs was pretty nice, too.

Redman's eyes landed on the giant TV and stack of DVDs. "So this is why I couldn't find you."

Tony felt a swift current of rage sweep through him. "Love to know the fucker who gave you my address."

"Personal contact," Redman said, shrugging—and getting a rough shake from Gibbs at the movement. "Couldn't exactly use official channels to find you. And you are a hard man to track down, Tony. I've had your address for weeks, but I only found out where you worked last night."

That morning's call to McGee suddenly made sense and Gibbs said, "You called to confirm his address. Really stupid considering whatever you planned to do to him."

"I'm about to get fired from Fairfax PD," Redman said, sounding suddenly tired. "Being a cop is my life. I could have made it through with Lilly and Joey and little Tony. But you took them away from me," he said, perking a little with his anger. But it was quickly gone as he realized Gibbs wasn't giving an inch. "I don't really care what happens to me."

Gibbs didn't have much time to think about what all that meant because two Metro PD cops showed up to take Redman into custody. Gibbs finished with them and sent them on their way, turning back to find Tony still sitting on the ratty couch, bruised and hurting in a such a variety of ways.

But he was also right where he belonged.

Gibbs cocked his head at him, finally processing Redman's words. "So he names a kid after you and then tries to kill you? Twice?" Gibbs shook his head and helped his lover up.

"Only you, Tony."