CHAPTER 7

Tony had been telling Gibbs the truth – he liked his place a lot. It was a real home even if the walls were almost bare and the furniture was old, and the couch was lumpy with a spring poking through the worn fabric at the far end. Come to think of it, the character of the Craftsman-style house was a bit like that of its owner: well built, solid, and no-nonsense. Worn around the edges and slightly sad but putting up a good front just the same. He'd called it stoic once. Stoic, but it was still sad and lonely.

Tony had stayed overnight a few times in the course of the years, usually because he was too tired or too hammered to drive, plus a couple of times when he'd had a concussion and Gibbs had volunteered to watch over him. He'd always slept in the small guest bedroom upstairs.

Only once had he been able to return the favor, when Gibbs had dislocated his shoulder tackling a suspect on the run. Not that Tony had been allowed to do much of anything for Gibbs other than drive him home. Tony had fetched him a glass of water and held the pain pills the doctor had prescribed in front of Gibbs' face until he'd taken them. Even though Tony had wanted to do far more, Gibbs had ousted him a minute later, slamming the door with a jarring finality. The next day Gibbs had apologized, sort of, by asking Tony to drive him home again and saying he could order take-out that could be eaten with one hand, if he wanted to.

They'd had some good times, too. No drama, just did the ordinary kinds of things that ordinary people tended to do on their days off. The kinds of things Tony had never had growing up, the kind he'd yearned for, ever since the first time he'd seen the Cleavers on TV. They'd shared steaks cooked over the open fire in the living room, watched basketball and football playoff games sitting side-by-side on the old couch, with Tony sitting sort of close to Gibbs because the broken spring at the far end of the couch made the seat uncomfortable.

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They went to a car show or two, played basketball some weekends with the guys at the Central Fire Station gym, and attended a jazz festival out in Rosslyn. Except that excursion hadn't gone down too well because a couple of college kids sat behind them, smoking dope and giggling. Tony was never sure if it was the irritating noise or the drug use that bothered Gibbs so much he dragged the two young men over to security, but that's exactly what he did.

Afterwards, Tony was pissed for missing half of Kenny Rittenhouse's set, and they had a terse sort of fight, meaning Tony mouthed off, and Gibbs glowered and used it as an excuse to leave. Tony refused to go back with him – Gibbs had driven – which started up a whole new quarrel. Tony said he was going to stay for the rest of the acts. He pointed out that he could get himself home, thank you very much. Gibbs might be stubborn but Tony could be pig-headed, too, when pushed hard enough.

At one in the morning, when Tony exited the gate along with an exuberant crowd of jazz enthusiasts, he spotted Gibbs casually leaning against his car, a Styrofoam cup in hand. Tony almost walked on by, but something pulled him right over to Gibbs and he just stood there, waiting to hear what the man had to say.

"Get in, DiNozzo," was all Gibbs said, but the way he said it, sort of soft and wry, made all the difference and Tony accepted a ride home. They never talked about that night again but every now and then, when Tony listened to late-night jazz on WPFW, he remembered how Gibbs, even when he was angry, hadn't deserted him.

Some nights Tony dropped by and watched Gibbs work on his boat, usually for his own comfort when he was too wound up to sleep or when he couldn't bear to be alone. Tony even tried his hand at sanding the wooden hull a couple of times, under supervision of course, and once he got into the rhythm and relaxed, he began to understand what Gibbs saw in it.

It seemed that Tony always ended up at Gibbs' place when he was agonizing over a case and couldn't get it out of his head. It was a retreat where he could sort things out when the world had proven to be, once again, a terrible, unfair and deadly place. There were times, too, when Tony felt like they weren't making any headway and he was ready to throw in the towel. They usually talked about sports and everyday things to get their minds off whatever was troubling them. Things tended to sort themselves out after that. Gibbs was simply there for Tony, his presence a steady, calming influence, and that meant a lot to him.

The night would usually end with Gibbs pouring Tony a drink or two, and even if Tony didn't drink enough to impair his driving, Gibbs would insist he sleep upstairs in the small bedroom at the end of the hall. The room was so small it held only a single bed and a nightstand but Tony liked it anyway.

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As usual, Gibbs took over Tony's care without allowing him to have any say in the matter. Tony found his boss's overbearing ways maddening but his protests were ignored and he was too weak to walk out on his own. So he went where he was steered, from Autopsy to the car, from the car into Gibbs' house, and then, slowly and carefully, up the stairs to a bedroom.

Whatever medication Ducky had given him had taken full effect by then, and Tony felt like he was walking on a rubbery surface. He wasn't even sure how he'd climbed the stairs but he had a vague, dreamlike impression of a strong arm wrapped around his waist, and a feeling he was leaning heavily against someone. Gibbs – he was leaning on Gibbs. Tony sniffed and smiled at the coffee-flavored scent that permeated the man. "Café au Gibbs," he murmured.

Gibbs seated Tony on the edge of a big bed, and ensured he was steady before he removed his jacket for him and tossed it on a chair.

Tony sat where he was put, bare-chested, dressed only in a big bandage taped to his ribs and the scrub pants Jimmy had put on him. The strap of the sling dragged at the back of Tony's neck but when he tugged at it Gibbs slapped his hand away. Tony blinked heavily and took in his surroundings. There was a big brass bed and a white-painted bureau with old-fashioned glass knobs. "Where 'm I?"

"My house," Gibbs said. He took a moment to lay his hands on Tony's shoulders while he examined his eyes.

With a laugh, Tony said, "No waaay. You're tryin' to trick me."

Gibbs leaned over, his face only inches from Tony's, and looked into his eyes. "You okay there, DiNozzo?"

"Peachy. Jus' peachy. How 'bou' you?" Weird, his mouth wasn't working right. What's more, his head felt heavy and the room swam when he looked around at its pale floral wallpaper. "My head feels funny. Hey, those are really big flowers. Whose room 's this?" Tony made a wild gesture with his free hand and struck Gibbs on the shoulder. He made up for it by patting Gibbs on the chest. "You been workin' out, Boss?" Tony continued patting Gibbs' chest until Gibbs made a throaty sound and removed his hand. Tony laughed. "Ooops. Sorry."

"Guess it's your room now, Tony," Gibbs said.

"My room?" Tony asked stupidly. This wasn't his room. This was someone else's. He knew that he knew who it belonged to but he couldn't put his finger on it.

In contrast to this pretty bedroom, Gibbs' room across the hall was dark with handmade oak furniture. A neatly made bed that looked like it was never slept in dominated the room. He'd bet that Gibbs had built the bookcase that took up most of one wall. It was loaded with battered old paperbacks and newer hardcovers yet there wasn't a single personal photograph or keepsake on display. The blackout curtains were hung for function rather than style and the bedside table's drawer was empty. This Tony knew because he'd poked around in there once, feeling like an intruder but nonetheless driven by his insatiable curiosity. The small guest room, the one he'd slept in on previous occasions, was at the end of the hall, plain accommodations furnished with only one twin bed.

But this room, he realized, this was the room across from Gibbs'. It came to him that this was really the master bedroom that had remained unused all the years he'd known his boss. The door had been locked – he'd jiggled the handle once – and Tony had known well enough not to pry any further.

"Yeah, figured it was time to air it out." Gibbs shrugged.

"You sure?"

Gibbs looked at him for a long moment and then said curtly, "I'm sure. C'mon, let's get you undressed." Tony's shoes and socks were off and he was encouraged to stand up again. Somehow Gibbs supported his lax body – Tony's knees were so rubbery he was swaying all over the place – while he undid Tony's borrowed scrub pants and slipped them down.

Tony kicked up a fuss and pushed at Gibbs, saying, "No, I can do it myself," because being stripped by Gibbs was all sorts of embarrassing.

"Stand still," Gibbs said brusquely as he removed Tony's bloodstained underwear with a couple of efficient movements. "The blood soaked through to your skin, Tony. I'm gonna clean you up and get you something to sleep in."

Tony was helped to lie down, a gentle hand easing his head onto a wonderfully soft pillow. He sighed and complained, "Ev'rythin's goin' round. What'd Ducky give me?"

"I never ask," Gibbs said with a crooked smile. "Be right back."

Tony lay there placidly. One of the windows was slightly open and the cool night air was playing across his skin and although he belatedly realized he was naked, he didn't have the strength to cover himself up. A small spark of alarm raised its head at being so weak, but it was quickly quelled when Tony remembered that Gibbs was taking care of him, so everything would be all right.

Gibbs came back with some clothing that he tossed on the end of the bed. He went into the adjoining bathroom and was the sound of running water. Soon he returned with a damp washcloth and towel and proceeded to wash off the dried blood from just below the heavy bandage adhered to his ribcage, all the way down to his thigh. Gibbs dried him off with smooth, even strokes that reminded Tony of the way Gibbs handled his boat. Like caresses, tender yet businesslike.

"Hips up," Gibbs said. He slid soft sweatpants up Tony's legs to his waist and covered him with the sheet and blanket.

"Don't like this sling," Tony complained.

"Leave it on. Better than aggravating the wound," Gibbs said with little sympathy.

Tony shifted a little, trying to get comfortable. He felt a stab of pain, bad enough to make him hiss through his teeth.

Gibbs sat on the edge of the bed facing his reluctant houseguest. "You gonna be able to sleep?"

"I guess." Tony motioned towards the sling that bound his left arm close to his chest. "I really hafta keep this on?"

"Stop whining about the damned sling, DiNozzo." Gibbs carefully wedged a pillow under Tony's back so he didn't roll over onto his injured side.

Tony noticed that Gibbs looked tired, more than just physically. The last case had taken a lot out of him, what with finding out his good friend had turned out to be a lying murderer. Senator Kiley's wife, too. It was always the wife. And now he was adding to Gibbs' problems, being a burden. "I'm sorry, Boss. Didn't mean for this to be such a big deal. Thought it'd be a coupla stitches and then…Look, don't take it out on Jimmy, okay?"

Gibbs glowered at him. "Ducky's going to handle Palmer."

That did not sound good. "No, don't let Jimmy get fired because of me. I'm not worth his job."

"Who says so?" Gibbs asked, stone-faced.

"I coerced him." Tony could tell he wasn't going to get anywhere with Gibbs so he made a mental note to throw himself on Ducky's mercy when he saw him the next day.

"I don't care if you twisted his arm, DiNozzo, he knew what he was doing and that it was wrong." Gibbs stood and rubbed his face. "It's been a long day. How about you get some sleep?"

Tony didn't want Gibbs to leave, so he asked, "D'you get your business taken care of?"

It took Gibbs a couple of seconds to follow the change of subject. He shrugged dismissively. "Yeah. Damned lawyer."

"Your ex is raking you over the coals?" Tony had just started at NCIS when the most recent Mrs. Gibbs was on her way out, fighting and scratching for all she was worth. He'd liked Stephanie, though she'd always had one hell of a temper. He wondered if her feistiness was what had attracted Gibbs to her in the first place.

Gibbs explained, "We bought a sailboat when we got back from Moscow, but when we split up we never did anything about it legally. Now she doesn't want part ownership any more. She could have damn well sold the boat to me without bringing legal counsel into the mix," he said, his voice rising. Gibbs took a calming breath and said, "Now we've got it settled. Steph gets compensation, I get the boat, and the lawyer gets a hunk of change. Everyone's happy." He didn't sound very happy.

"Is it going to become firewood or are you gonna sail her?"

Gibbs's lips quirked in a smile. "I sail her when I get a chance."

Tony watched his boss's face relax a little when he thought about sailing. Tony wondered if he went alone or took a lady friend as first mate. "I'm glad you're happy, Gibbs. Makes me happy when you're happy." It was true; Tony's mood did lighten considerably when Gibbs was feeling good. That was normal though, considering the way they worked so closely together.

Gibbs lowered his head to hide his broadening smile, but Tony saw it anyway. He liked to see Gibbs smile, maybe because it was rare to see him happy these days, and he offered his boss an understanding smile in return. He knew from experience about the pressures of being responsible for the team and Gibbs had had a lot on his mind the past couple of weeks.

When Gibbs leaned over him to straighten the covers, Tony asked, "Everything okay, Jethro? I mean, what with Senator Kiley…"

Gibbs shook his head, not wanting to talk about it.

Tony said softly, "That's okay, I get it. Private stuff."

"It's not that…I…"

"None of my business but I got sorta worried," Tony said with a yawn. "You've got nobody to watch out for you."

Apparently deciding that actions spoke louder than the words he couldn't express, Gibbs lifted his hand towards Tony's head. Tony flinched out of habit and Gibbs' hand halted in midair. When a pained look crossed the older man's features, Tony realized he'd misinterpreted his intent. Tony held his breath and waited, and sure enough Gibbs slowly reached out once again. This time he stroked the hair back from Tony's forehead, away from the gauze square that was taped on his temple. Tony rolled his head into Gibbs' palm and just for a moment he imagined that it was a caress.

Gibbs gave Tony's hair one more stroke and then pulled his hand away. He sounded hoarse when he said, "I'm not the one you should be worrying about, Tony. You feel a bit hot."

Now Tony thought about it, he felt a little warm and his head hurt, but smashing it on the floor will do that to you.

Gibbs, the mind reader, asked gently, "Head hurt?"

"Sorta. I should be better in a coupla days. Don't want to leave you without any backup." He touched his ribs where the heavy bandage covered Jimmy's (and Ducky's) handiwork. His whole side issued a dull throb that matched his heartbeat but it wasn't too bad so long as he didn't move. He didn't want to sleep in case he missed something Gibbs said but he had a feeling he wasn't going to be awake much longer. "I'm fine. I will be fine."

The skepticism on Gibbs face was clear. He grunted. "Get some sleep."

"Water?"

Gibbs held a glass to Tony's lips, then ran his fingers through the younger man's hair once more, a troubled look passing across his face. "You should have known better, Tony," he said. "It could have been much worse."

Tony admitted, "He caught us by surprise. Shouldn't have happened."

Leaning close, Gibbs said in a low voice, "You will not do anything even remotely like this again. Understand?"

"Supposed to be shipshape but I keep messing up."

"Then don't mess up any more! Learn from your mistakes, for crap's sake."

Tony's voice cracked a little when he said, "I didn't mean to disappoint you. You must be used to it by now."

"Aw, Tony…" Gibbs gave a deep sigh.

Exhausted and unable to continue sparring with Gibbs any more that night, Tony closed his eyes and mumbled, "Glad t' be back."

"Glad to have you back." Gibbs stood, turned off the lamp and left a nightlight on. "I'll leave both bedroom doors open. You need anything, you call me. I'll check in on you later."

Tony hummed that he understood and fell right asleep.

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"Boss?" Tony swallowed, his throat dry. There was no response from Gibbs' room across the hall. He tried again, louder. "Gibbs?" Shit, he had to take a leak and he felt so damned weak he was afraid he'd never make it to the bathroom on his own. The sheets were tangled around his legs and the stupid sling didn't help but he struggled to sit up, gritting his teeth against the pain in his side as he swung his feet around and onto the cold wood floor. Suddenly Gibbs was there at his bedside, rumpled in sweatpants and t-shirt, hair standing on end. Tony almost smiled at the sight but instead he said apologetically, "Need to go to the head."

Gibbs grunted, efficiently drew Tony to his feet and assisted him safely to the connecting bathroom. He hovered, even though by that time Tony had his sea legs once again and was able to take care of his business without falling into the toilet. Then it was back to bed. The pillows were plumped up, the sheets straightened, a glass of water and more pills provided. Tony swallowed the pills and thirstily drank the rest of the water.

Once Tony was tucked back in bed, Gibbs laid a hand on his agent's forehead.

This time Tony rolled his head on the pillow and leaned into Gibbs' touch, half-closing his eyes. "Cool," he murmured.

Frowning, Gibbs said, "You're burnin' up. I'm gonna get a thermometer."

Tony did feel sort of hot and his head was swimming but he was glad to be in a comfortable bed in Gibbs' home, with his boss taking care of him. He didn't know when he'd last felt quite so safe and it was a nice change to be able to relax.

Gibbs soon returned, a hot water bottle in hand, along with what appeared to be packages of frozen peas. He pulled a glass thermometer from behind his ear, shook it and stuck one end in Tony's mouth. Without any warning, Gibbs drew back the covers and placed the rubber bottle on Tony's groin.

It took a couple of seconds for Tony to register that the bottle was freezing. In reaction he sat up straight and spit out the thermometer, crying, "Shit! That's cold!"

He tried to get rid of the unbearably icy thing on his lap but Gibbs grabbed his hands and growled, "We need to bring your temperature down, Tony."

"It's f-freezing," Tony complained.

"Well yeah. That's kinda the point." Gibbs stuck the thermometer back under Tony's tongue once again and ordered, "And if you spit this out I'm gonna stick it in your ass and I know you won't like that." He tucked each package of frozen peas in Tony's armpits.

Tony somehow managed to speak without opening his mouth. "'M frzing Bss!"

Gibbs smiled at Tony's whine of protest and said, "I don't know who the hell bought peas but at least they're not going to go to waste." He glanced at his watch while Tony squirmed and made faces, the thermometer protruding from his mouth. Finally Gibbs pulled it out, squinted at the mercury and frowned. "A hundred and three."

"Please…"

"What?"

"The peas. Get them offa me. And that thing, too." Tony glanced down in the direction of his groin. "If my dick freezes and breaks off I am going to kill you, Gibbs!"

Gibbs laughed but said firmly, "We'll see if the peas work before I call Ducky. Does your head hurt?"

"No more than it did earlier. Not so much if I'm lyin' down," he said truthfully.

After eyeing Tony, Gibbs pulled the covers higher up Tony's bare chest and said, "Try to get some sleep."

"You staying?" Tony asked hopefully as his eyes closed.

"Nowhere else to be," was Gibbs' soft-spoken reply.

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