Chapter Two: Lessons in Manhood
Some hours later, Tony woke with a start after what felt like just falling asleep but unlike the last time he'd awakened to pitch black, the morning sun was glowing outside his window. He yawned and then yawned again but didn't make any effort to move. Instead he just listened as Jethro moved around the kitchen. The man was being quiet but Tony's senses were finely tuned after years of police work. Although when it came to Jethro and Tony's quest to get to know everything about the man, he knew he couldn't blame all of his hyper-awareness on his line of work.
The smell of coffee wafting through the partially open door was almost enough to get him out of bed. Almost. The bed was comfortable and warm though and Tony was unbelievably sore and cold and perfectly content to stay in bed.
Not long later, the bedroom door was pushed all the way open and the hallway light illuminated Jethro's silhouette.
"You alright?" the man asked. "Need help getting out of bed or anything?"
The rough, deep voice so soft and gentle that early in the morning penetrated straight to Tony's soul, distracting him from the actual words that had been spoken.
"Tony?"
"No, I'm good," Tony finally answered. "I can do it."
Jethro stepped closer and dropped a pair of jeans, a USMC t-shirt and a soft flannel shirt onto the bed. "Holler if you change your mind," he said before leaving Tony alone again.
Getting himself dressed was a long, slow process, accompanied by constant curses whispered under Tony's breath. He couldn't see it but Jethro continued his work in the kitchen, smiling at his stubborn houseguest's independence. After finally getting himself dressed and using the bathroom, Tony joined Jethro in the kitchen.
"Sore?" Jethro asked, eyebrows raised.
Tony grunted his answer and jumped when Jethro's hand suddenly appeared in front of him.
"There's 600 milligrams of Ibuprofen here," Jethro said, holding out a glass of water in his other hand.
Tony's initial instinct to refuse the medication was overtaken by the almost overwhelming soreness. He took the pills and the water and swallowed them down.
"Open your mouth," Jethro said as soon as he'd finished swallowing the pills.
"What? Why?"
"You're shivering," Jethro observed, revealing a thermometer. "I wanna make sure you're just cold and not coming down with the chills. Chills could mean infection and that would bad."
"Yes, Mom," Tony snarked with a roll of his eyes, even though he knew Jethro was right. The man had done a good job of doctoring him up the previous evening and Tony felt more sore than ill so he wasn't terribly worried but there was nothing wrong with a little reassurance.
When the thermometer beeped, Jethro took it from Tony's mouth and read it. "It's normal," he reported.
"Good," Tony replied. "I don't think I wanna add infection on top of everything else."
Once Jethro deemed Tony okay physically, he filled a cup with the steaming coffee happily burbling in the pot and handed it Tony.
"As fun as hanging out and playing house sounds, I really need to get back to Baltimore," Tony said. He took a healthy drink of the wonderfully hot liquid and immediately turned and spewed it in the sink.
Tony's borderline reckless behavior since he'd awakened after the car crash the day before both amused and intrigued Jethro.
"What is that stuff?!" Tony demanded, putting the cup on the counter and pushing it away.
Jethro grabbed the sugar out of the cabinet and the milk from the fridge and dropped both onto the counter next to Tony. "I don't know what they call it in Baltimore, but around these parts we call it coffee," he answered.
"We usually add water to our grounds in Baltimore," Tony snarked.
"The Corps doesn't believe in water," Jethro stated.
"And you thought since I was wearing the shirt..."
"I'm just teaching you how to be a man," Jethro taunted with a playful arrogance.
"I have more manhood than you would know what to do with." Tony couldn't believe he'd just said that out loud but the conversation unfolded so fast and it somehow felt so very natural.
"You forget I got a pretty good peek at your manhood last night," Jethro countered, not missing a beat.
"He was sleeping," Tony objected adamantly. "I don't think it counts if he's sleeping."
"Sleeping or not, your coffee drinking habits are the only thing that make me question your masculinity," Jethro complimented.
Tony's cheeks immediately reddened, much to his embarrassment, as he attempted to make sense of the whole surreal conversation. Was Jethro flirting with him? Was he hitting on him? Or was it all of figment of Tony's imagination after being outed by his father recently and not having had any truly satisfying, loving contact in far, far too long?
"Enough about my manhood," Tony said. If they kept talking about it, it wouldn't be long before his manhood decided to wake up and join the conversation. "I really need to get back to Baltimore. How can we make that happen?"
"I hate to break it to you, Skippy, but there's almost two feet of snow out there and it's still coming down. You're stuck here with me."
"Damn it!" Tony grumbled. He was going to be in so much trouble when—if he made it back to Baltimore.
"Hope you slept well last night," Jethro said, ignoring Tony's outburst. "It's time for another lesson in manhood."
The last thing Tony expected to be doing was hauling split wood into the cabin as Jethro chopped it. The Ibuprofen had helped take the edge off the muscle aches but he still hurt. His entire body hurt in a way he'd never hurt before but apparently Marines didn't believe in pain either. Or at least in giving in to the pain.
Was that part of the lesson in manhood?
'Oo-rah!'
Tony watched his somewhat gruff host split each log with one smooth stroke every single time. He never faltered and didn't miss. It was impressive, to say the least, and Tony was most definitely captivated by the performance. The truth was, he didn't believe in giving into pain either and he was happy to do the chore with Jethro. It was actually fun, despite his achy, protesting body.
"Don't miss," Tony teased as he grabbed another armful of wood.
"Never have before," Jethro countered.
Tony hesitated momentarily, glancing over at Jethro. Either he really needed to get laid or Jethro was purposely making everything sexual. He probably just needed to get laid and being in the house with a possibly flirty, good looking man wasn't helping the situation. Although judging by the look on Jethro's face, maybe he was doing it on purpose after all.
Tony decided to test the theory and really push the boundaries on his next trip out to the dwindling woodpile. Jethro had just split the last log and announced he was finished as he rubbed his hands together, brushing off the splintered wood chips. Before he had time to chicken out, Tony gave the man a firm 'good game' type of smack on the ass.
"Good work, Marine," he announced as if he were Jethro's drill instructor. "We just might make a man outta you yet. You deserve a reward—extra chow at dinner tonight."
"Mess," Jethro corrected, thoroughly amused.
"Huh?"
"Marines don't eat dinner. It's called mess."
"Mess? That wouldn't exactly have me rushing for the chow hall."
"Trust me, after the days you have, you'll rush to eat anything."
Jethro got over his initial surprise at having his ass smacked and continued with the chore, following Tony into the cabin with the last of the wood he'd just finished chopping. A smile spread across his face as he realized that not only was Tony accepting his advances, he was openly returning them.
The game was on.
Tony couldn't have been happier to relax on the couch after a long day of hauling wood and doing a few other miscellaneous chores around the cabin. As taxing as the day was, the work had been rewarding and Tony felt not only like he'd accomplished something but also like his contribution had been appreciated.
He cautiously stretched his legs out, letting the soreness work its way out of his muscles, and rested his feet on the handcrafted coffee table. The TV, which Jethro said hadn't been on in ages—Tony didn't believe him—was playing an old black and white movie which Jethro was completely ignoring in favor of the book in his hand and Tony was having a hard time focusing on as well.
"Did you make this?" Tony asked, pointing at the coffee table.
"Why would you ask that?"
Tony shrugged and immediately regretted it as pain shot through his shoulder but he pushed the pain back and continued. "Judging by the way you were using that axe earlier, you really seem to know how to work your wood," he commented.
Jethro looked over the top of his book at the double meaning of the statement and both men raised their eyebrows at each other.
"You have no idea how talented these hands are," Jethro commented dryly, "and yes, I made the coffee table."
Tony's ringing cell phone interrupted their conversation but he didn't break eye contact with Jethro as he reached for it. "Impressive," he said before looking down at the caller ID. When he saw who was calling, he struggled to his feet and headed for the kitchen.
"What do you want, Dad?" he whispered harshly.
Jethro strained to hear Tony's conversation but the man was talking quietly and the TV was still on, making it impossible. He looked at his empty coffee cup, decided it was as good a reason as any, stood and followed Tony to the kitchen.
The harsh whispers being muttered under his breath grew even quieter making Jethro feel guilty but he couldn't help but stare at the hand hidden away in the back pocket of Tony's jeans as he casually paced back and forth. Tony inhaled deeply at the rush of air that followed after Jethro passed by, taking in the sharp, spicy scent and letting the pleasantness of it distract him from the vindictive tone in his father's voice on the other end of the phone.
"You know what, Dad, I gotta go," Tony said. He didn't even give his father a chance to respond before ending the call and following Jethro back to the living room.
After several minutes had passed and Tony remained unusually quiet and completely uninterested in whatever was playing on TV, Jethro couldn't help but say something.
"You alright?"
"Yeah," Tony answered. "Senior's just complicated," he explained.
"Whose father isn't?"
The comment got Tony's attention and even perked him up. When Jethro saw that he had Tony's interest, he continued.
"That's why I joined the Corps. I wanted to get away from him."
"Did he leave you alone? Let you live your life?" Tony asked.
"For the most part," Jethro answered. "He didn't have much of a choice though. Boot camp's no summer camp. There is no calling home every night to check in."
Tony nodded and Jethro continued, surprising even himself with his openness.
"We fought again before I was deployed and didn't talk much after that. Eventually the phone calls just stopped all together."
"I wish I could say the same," Tony replied. "My dad showed up at my precinct earlier this week and told all the guys about me being—" He stopped short when he realized what he was saying. He wasn't prepared to out himself, at least not yet.
"About you being what?"
Tony swallowed hard, his eyes meeting Jethro's as he quickly figured out a way to redirect the conversation. "My dad's really hard on me and if I don't do what he wants, he assumes I'm screwing up my life and, well, let's just say he decides to help."
"What does your mom say about it?"
"I wish I could ask her," Tony replied somberly. "She died when I was eight but no need to let things get sad and somber. That's what Senior wants. That's why he called."
Jethro nodded, a look of understanding settling on his face. He really did get it and he didn't want the mood to grow heavy either but he felt even more connected to Tony and he couldn't help but share that with the man. "My mom died when I was little too." He reached out and patted Tony's hand in understanding and the two shared a brief moment of unguarded intimacy that was strangely comfortable and not the least bit awkward as the somberness passed and the light-hearted fun they'd been having returned.