Tony stretched against the confines of the sofa, a hand drifting out to pat the thick cushions. Finding the touch unfamiliar, he blinked sleepily and tried to make out what he could in the shadows. Definitely lighter than the bedroom normally was, but not light enough to really see clearly – or at least as clearly as it got these days.

Very familiar soft snoring came from a bit father away than he was used to. Rolling toward the sound, his right leg slipped off the narrow seat, his socked foot jarring against the floor.

Couch. Had to be the couch, Tony decided. Which, from the direction of the snores, put Gibbs in the recliner. Hands moving his still-braced left leg, Tony managed to get his stiffened body seated upright. Last thing he remembered Gibbs was ...

Shit.

His fingers crumpled the fuzzy throw. Now there was an insult: falling asleep while your lover was doing his best ... and Gibbs' best was, admittedly, very, very good. Which was another testament to the ability of MS to thoroughly fuck up his body's normal reactions.

Tony put a hand to his back and grimaced. Gibbs wouldn't be in any better shape when he woke up. He got to his feet, steadying himself with a clawed grip on the arm of the sofa. Rufus whimpered softly as if he was directing his attention to the foolishness of the situation.

"Hey, Gibbs." The man's reaction to being startled awake could be ... forceful, as Tony had found out a couple of times when they'd first shared a bed. "Gibbs?"

Tony reached out to judge the distance and, overbalanced, found himself falling toward the dark shadow of the chair. The chair arm caught him in the stomach and he folded over, his upper body landing across a still- sleeping Gibbs. His chin striking hard into a rib.

Gibbs bolted up, rolling whatever weight had struck him off and into the floor. His hand groped for the floor lamp, nearly knocking it down before he got both hands around it. The flood of light that followed the snap of the switch revealed a disheveled Tony seated in the floor, head in hands, braced leg straight out in front of him. Rufus nosed around the seated form sympathetically.

"Okay," Tony scrubbed his hands down his face as Gibbs leaned against the lamp, breathing heavily. "That was not one of my more graceful moments."

"What the hell just happened?" asked Gibbs, still trying to blink away the remnants of the deep sleep he'd just unexpectedly exited.

"Thought we should go to bed." Tony sat straighter, taking stock of his current aches and pains. Pretty much the same ones he'd had before he dived into Gibbs, so that meant everything was okay.

"You couldn't just ... call my name or something?"

"Tried that," muttered Tony, pushing his palms against the floor and realizing the futility of the action. No way was he going to make it off the carpet on his own.

"Ah," Gibbs nodded. He looked toward the darkened windows. "What time is it?"

Tony fingered the dial of his watch. "3:30. Give or take a few."

The lamp's light surrounded Gibbs, limning his silver hair in a luminous halo. The disruptions to his vision could play nice tricks sometimes, too. Like this one ... his own special effect.

Gibbs peered at him. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Don't move," instructed Tony. "Just let me enjoy it."

Gibbs turned, looking all around him. "What?"

The halo followed his movements and Tony laughed softly.

"What?" repeated Gibbs, but he was smiling now, too, even if he didn't know why.

Tony shook his head, not about to put the words "you look like an angel" and "Gibbs" in the same sentence. Instead, he held out a hand, which Gibbs took and planted on the seat of the recliner. Then getting a good grip under Tony's arm, Gibbs hauled him up, pivoting him into the seat when he threatened to collapse back to the floor.

"Look, I ..." Tony's resolve disappeared. How the hell did you say how sorry you are that you dropped off in the middle of foreplay?

Gibbs tilted his head and Tony squirmed under the forensic gaze. "You know," Gibbs observed, stretching a hand out to brush his fingers lightly through Tony's hair, "with that light, your hair looks like it's glowing."

Tony laughed, his hand returning the favor, feeling the soft brush of the silver strands against his palm. "Maybe we could take it from where we left off?"

"Don't see why not," conceded Gibbs, leaning forward.

Barely three hours later, Gibbs forced his way upright, leaning over a seemingly oblivious and, he noticed with a smile, slightly sticky bed partner. He slapped the snooze button down then curled over the living warmth with a groan, planting his face into the curve of Tony's neck.

"Can't be," slurred Tony.

Gibbs nodded his complete agreement at the shittiness of the impending workday, nuzzling the tender skin. "Got bad guys to catch," he finally murmured, making a move to rise only to settle back, the temptation too much to ignore.

"Don't think there are any bad guys under there," Tony murmured as Gibbs burrowed under the sheets to reach more silky skin.

"I wouldn't say that," Gibbs contradicted.

Tony arched under his touch, laughing throatily.

"Want to stay home?"

A blue eye slit open and regarded Gibbs suspiciously. "You staying, too?" inquired Tony.

"Can't."

"Then that makes two of us." Tony threw the covers back and rolled up with an almost muffled moan.

Gibbs sat back and straightened the sheets, watching Tony rub at a particularly strong spasm in his calf. "I'll share the shower," he offered, bending forward to kiss a bare shoulder.

Tony reached back, laying a hand in benediction on Gibbs' head. "You think I'm going to fall on my face, don't you?"

"Absolutely not," disavowed Gibbs, moving upward to nibble at an enticing earlobe, pleased to feel Tony shiver a little beneath the touch. "Maybe fall on your butt."

Tony laughed roughly, shaking his head. "Fine, you're my shower buddy." He rubbed a hand across his stomach. "And how come I'm always the one that ends up sleeping in the sticky spot?"

"'Cause we always end up on your side of the bed?" Gibbs abandoned his ministrations, crawling over to sit shoulder-to-shoulder against him on the edge of the mattress.

"And why is that?" pondered Tony.

"Because I know enough for the wet spot not to wind up on my side?" proffered Gibbs with a badly hidden grin.

"You know, it's no wonder all those wives left you."

Gibbs planted a final kiss on Tony's forehead. "And aren't we glad they did."

"Call her," instructed Gibbs, slipping the attorney's phone number into the pocket of Tony's shirt then squeezing Tony's arm lightly as he passed him, their reluctance to leave the confines of Gibbs' bed now making the older man rush for his eight o'clock meeting.

"Call who?" inquired Abby cheerfully.

"Good morning to you, too, Abs," replied Tony.

Abby gave a little grunt of contrition. "You are right, my bad. So, good morning, Tony. Call who?"

Tony grinned. "None of your business, Abby."

"You know that I go for long, long stretches down here with nothing to keep me occupied but Ducky's old war stories, don't you?

"Not that interesting," deflected Tony. "I promise you."

"Something with Mashreza?" Abby prodded, moving closer to straighten his collar.

"No."

"Something with ... international consequences?"

"Definitely, no."

"Something involving illicit sexual activities?"

"Abby!" sputtered Tony.

"Sorry, Gibbs got McGee so keyed up last night that I couldn't get his mind on anything else."

"Yeah ... well, Abs, about McGee: I mean, the kid's a sweet guy, but you've got a coffin and he's got Eagle Scout written all over him."

Abby sighed, "Yeah, but those Boy Scouts, they know how to tie really good knots. Hey, you know who can probably tie great knots?" Abby sounded practically wistful. "Gibbs."

Round-eyed, Tony just blinked at her then drew in a breath in relief when Ducky picked the perfect moment to stroll into the lab.

"Ah, Anthony, a minute if you don't mind."

"Sure," Tony happily tagged after his salvation from unfulfilled lab technicians, "What did you want to—"

"Sherri Lenz's ASI drug study," began Ducky without preamble the minute they passed the threshold into his office. "She's a little upset you won't join it."

"Doesn't this come under the heading of patient confidentiality or something?"

"Yes, it does," Ducky admitted. "But she really thinks you might respond to the treatment if she could, and I quote, 'get it through that thick head of yours.'"

"Thought they shot it in your butt," retorted Tony, sinking down in the chair Ducky always kept across from his desk. "Ever heard of Ambigen Pharmaceuticals?"

"No," admitted the physician, "but I don't get to prescribe to most of my patients. Sadly, the attractive, young drug reps hardly ever make a morgue call."

"It was acquired last year. Two-hundred-million dollar buyout on the strength of its antigen specific immunotherapy trials alone. It's practically their only product."

"All right," conceded Ducky. "You obviously take an ... unexpected interest in the pharmaceutical industry. I'm not following what that has to do with—"

"Then let's try something bigger. Ever heard of NewGen BioMed?"

"I have," admitted the ME.

"Well, then, guess who bought them."

"So ASI now belongs to your family's company."

Tony winced just a little. "Figured Abby just had to tell that one."

"It was a rather juicy piece of gossip," Ducky mused.

"So you see my ... reluctance," pressed Tony.

"No. Not at all." Ducky leaned forward, clasping his hands together. "If the treatment works, why should you not take advantage of it?"

"If," emphasized Tony. "Big if. I'm not particularly predisposed to serving as a guinea pig for product testing. Besides," Tony drew in a deep breath, "you don't think they're all out there researching for the good of mankind, do you? It's for the good of my father's already stuffed wallet. I don't care how miraculous the drug, he wouldn't be in it if wasn't the pro forma that showed major promise."

"The paper in the immunology journal looked very encouraging," countered the physician.

"Duck ..." the name was almost a plea. "Just don't tell Gibbs about this, okay? That's all I ask. It's my decision. It's my fucked up nervous system."

"Of course, Anthony. I would never--"

Tony smiled, "I know. You'd never do anything you didn't think was in my best interest. But you've got to know ... a lot of the stuff that was supposed to be in my best interest, wasn't. So, if you'd just keep this between Sherri and yourself, I'd appreciate it."

Ducky watched as Tony struggled to his feet, his left hand clearly having trouble grasping the handle of the harness. He was weakening further, despite the drug intervention, the weekly physical therapy. The least they needed to do was adjust the harness, pad the handgrip.

Making his way to the elevator, Tony didn't hear the medical examiner he'd left behind muttering to himself in prep school Greek about the spirit being willing, but the flesh being weak.

This was not, Tony decided, fingering the business card he couldn't read, a call he wanted to make at his desk. Sighing, he placed the card in the reader, palmed one earpiece of the headphones to his ear and waited for the OCR to decipher the phone number. Then he began the tedious task of repeating the seven numbers under his breath until he could get to the privacy of the conference room.

"Five two six nine seven—"

"Hey," Kate's call brought the recitation crashing to a numberless halt, "think they've got a connection to Mashreza in this Abu Dhabi communiqué interception that Gibbs—"She stopped as Tony winced. "You okay?"

"Just trying to keep a number in my head."

"A number?" repeated Kate skeptically.

"You know, that 'you can keep seven digits in your head but only if you keep repeating them' thing."

"You're not repeating them," observed Kate.

"I know." Tony smiled disingenuously. "Thank you."

"Want me to look it back up for you?"

Tony waved her off. "No, thanks. I'll get around to it again later." Tony limped back to where she was standing. "What'd the intercept get?"

"Well, it was coded, but one of the terms was 'tidal river.' Shatt al Arab. Which matches the description of Mashreza's whereabouts last week. So they think we're looking at a possible attack at Basra."

"So, how long did it take the spooks to tell us to forget we ever heard of Mashreza?"

"Twenty-eight minutes."

"New record, I'm impressed." Tony realized that things were very quiet considering the CIA had just yanked three weeks worth of work out from under them. "Where's Gibbs?"

"MTAC."

"He yelling?" inquired Tony.

"More that low growl thing," observed Kate.

"Ah, yeah ... know that one."

"Yes, I understand that a paternity test is the first step."

Tony had flinched when the conference room door opened, but Gibbs had slipped in with a quiet, "it's me," closing the door behind him.

"Yes, I'll make the appointment for the blood test." Tony fidgeted with the cord on the phone. "Tuesday at two. I'll be there." He replaced the handset with a sigh.

"We'll be there," corrected Gibbs, sitting on the long table, feet dangling.

Tony rubbed a hand over dry lips. "I have no idea what Gretchen is going to do."

Gibbs took the restless hand and held it in his. "Don't worry about the things you can't control."

Tony smiled. "That's a new one. Number fourteen?"

"Call it DiNozzo Rule Number Two."

"Number two?" questioned Tony. "What's number one?"

"One, I don't think you have a problem with," Gibbs leaned down and pressed a kiss to Tony's slightly furrowed forehead, "it's 'never give up without a fight.'"

(tbc)

Thought I'd get one last chapter in before the neverending story takes a nice plane ride to vacationland. Or, actually, before I take a nice plane ride and it goes along with me. Was in a rush, so no time for a beta. Hope the results aren't too bad. And have to give thanks to Lelu2 for the idea of the drug trial ... and some other nifty ideas currently being pondered as well. Thanks for the feedback if I haven't managed to thank you personally yet. And I'm shutting up now ... promise.