My Kingdom - chapter 7
by rose_malmaison
Rating: FRAO
Genre: Slash, DiNozzo/Gibbs
Warnings: M/M, slash, sexual situations, language

A/N: Comments and feedback are always appreciated. I found that as soon as I started making small fixes that I needed to revise this a bit…more, so it took a little longer than anticipated to edit it. Thanks for being patient!

*** Chapter 7 ***

When Ziva had brought Gibbs back to the Navy Yard, straight from the hospital, their boss had seemed to be functioning pretty close to normal, even if he was a little unsteady on his feet. Of course he'd called Tony 'McGee,' but Tony had pushed aside his feelings of hurt, and told himself that was just Gibbs' way of yanking his chain. That Gibbs was up and moving around at all was surprising considering how seriously he'd been injured only a few days earlier. As Abby had pointed out, their boss really shouldn't have been out of the hospital, considering his injuries. Despite his shock and anger at seeing the Cape Fear explode before his eyes on the big screen in MTAC, Gibbs had soldiered on. He'd even managed to get through a long conference with the director and had given his statement as part of wrapping up the case. When he'd said his good-byes and walked out of NCIS, it was with a straight back and a sense of purpose. Or that's what it had looked like at the time.

Now that Tony was sitting opposite Gibbs at the kitchen table, he had to accept that all was not quite as back-to-normal with Gibbs as it had first appeared to be. Once he was back home, Gibbs had seemed defeated when he had admitted to Tony that his memory hadn't been restored as well as he'd led them to believe.

Tony saw the signs of exhaustion in Gibbs' face, and an air of hopelessness he'd never known Gibbs to have before. Tony, was worn down, too, from the worry of Gibbs' near-death experience and not being able to be by his side the whole time he was hospitalized, and from lack of sleep while chasing down an elusive terrorist. Seeing Gibbs sitting in front of him, so down, so unlike his usual strong self, made Tony want to take him in his arms and hold him close. He wanted to give Gibbs a shoulder to lean upon, just as Gibbs had done for Tony many times in the past.

Not that Gibbs ever asked for comfort straight out, not even when he was really hurting. Tony instinctively knew when Gibbs needed someone to help him bear the weight he carried on his broad shoulders, if only for a little while. Tony would be there with his arms held open wide and Gibbs would mutely accept the invitation. But now Tony had a feeling that Gibbs would push him away and he wasn't sure what to do about it.

While they had been sitting there, neither man talking, something in the back of Tony's mind kept needling at him, and until that moment he hadn't been able to put his finger on it. Unsure as to whether he'd be staying the night or not, Tony rose to pour himself a cup of coffee. Tony leaned against the kitchen counter and sipped on his hot coffee, studying Gibbs who was looking desolately into his coffee cup. He thought back to when he'd mentioned their camping trip as a reminder of their relationship.

Gibbs had denied any knowledge of the trip and yet he hadn't seemed surprised when Tony had pretty much said that they were lovers. Was he just numb, or hadn't it really sunk in that they were in a relationship – a homosexual one, to boot? Either way, it was odd that Gibbs hadn't reacted.

How was it that Gibbs couldn't remember that he and Tony had been lovers for the past month, and how they'd been flirting with each other and sending each other signals for months prior to that? It was one thing having a potholed memory that hadn't retained getting commendations that he hadn't given a rat's ass about in the first place, but not remembering them?

Didn't he feel any remnant of the love they'd shared? What about the fact they'd practically been living together, and had certainly been sleeping together for the past month – how could Jethro not remember any of that? Didn't Gibbs feel the intensity with which Tony cared for him? Didn't he sense Tony's devotion, his complete and utter love for him?

God, what if those feelings had been destroyed in the explosion, and Gibbs was no longer capable of loving him? What if was permanently stuck back in the early '90s, grieving for his lost wife and child, and never moved forward, into the present again? That possibility frightened Tony more than he wanted to admit. He'd always relied upon Gibbs to be there for him. Gibbs was the rock in their relationship, the partner who naturally took command. Gibbs was the one person in the world who Tony wanted to – needed to – follow, at work, at home, in life.

Gibbs squinted at Tony with bloodshot eyes. "You still here, DiNozzo?"

"Haven't got any other plans for tonight." Tony wanted to make sure that Gibbs understood that he was there for him and that he wasn't planning on going anywhere. Something told Tony that he had to make an attempt to get through to Gibbs, to provoke him into remembering, and he had to do it tonight. "I'm here for you, Gibbs," Tony said, meaning it with all his heart.

He refilled Gibbs' mug with fresh coffee and then sat opposite him at the table again. Tony thought about the empty travel bag Gibbs had left in the living room, and he asked casually, "You planning on taking a little time off, Boss? You have some medical leave coming."

Gibbs sipped from his mug of steaming coffee and then said wearily, "I'm not your boss, DiNozzo."

"You'll always be my boss," Tony replied with a fond smile. "You know what? I think it's a great idea for you to take a vacation. You never get away. What you need is somewhere warm, with white beaches and nothing to do except swim, sail, and check out the girls in bikinis all day…just what you need."

A ghost of a smile touched Gibbs' lips, though when he raised his head to look straight at Tony, it was with a sober expression. "No, no bikinis, and you're fishing, DiNozzo."

Tony ignored the implication to mind his own business. "Oh, I don't fish, which you know all too well after that after that little camping trip we took together. When are you leaving? I'll give you a ride to the airport."

Gibbs seemed puzzled by Tony's enthusiasm, but said bluntly, "In the morning. Already got a ride."

At least Gibbs was talking, thought Tony. "Oh, so Ducky's taking you to the airport," he guessed, speaking as if he knew it for a fact. No reply was forthcoming. "Tell you what, now you're finished eating, I'll help you pack. What do you need to take? A few shirts and shorts, boat shoes and some sunblock? Maybe a paperback." Tony indicated Gibbs' burned face with a gesture. "Okay, lots of sunblock, and you have to remember to use that ointment Captain Gelfand sent over. I'll get your bag and–"

"I don't need any help–" Gibbs rose and Tony pushed back his chair at the same time.

"Now, don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Jethro. I don't offer my professional packing services to just anyone, you know, so just…let me help, okay?"

Tony smiled encouragingly and after a moment Gibbs relented with an ungracious, "Whatever."

Not one to be put off by a grumpy Gibbs, Tony grabbed the pills and ointment from the living room table, dropped them in the canvas bag and followed Jethro upstairs, noting the slow pace the older man took. No wonder Gibbs was beat, after everything he'd been through over the past few days. Jethro should still be in bed, taking care of that concussed head, resting quietly. Tony sighed inwardly. Who was he to dole out advice on after-concussion care when he didn't listen to it himself?

Once they were in Gibbs' bedroom, which Gibbs had no problem locating, Tony turned on the bedside light and had a quick look around. He hadn't left any evidence of his overnight stays in sight; no lube, toys or underwear to be seen. Too bad, they might have shocked Gibbs into remembering, he thought with an inward smile. Jethro stood just inside the room looking a bit lost, causing Tony to wonder, once again, how much recall he actually had.

"I'll get you that sunblock and you'd better throw in a hat. You have to protect your skin." Tony nodded, indicating Jethro's reddened and peeling burns from the explosion. He brushed past his boss and proceeded to make a selection of clothing from the bureau with businesslike moves that belied the apprehensive feeling that was trying its damned best to well up and overwhelm him. Everything was neat and organized, making his job easy. From the closet he pulled some short-sleeved shirts and shorts. A pair of jeans, too. They were all freshly laundered yet somehow also smelled like Gibbs. It took a lot of control for Tony not to bring a handful of Gibbs' underwear to his nose, and just thinking about it made his dick harden.

Ignoring the way the scent-o-Gibbs was bringing a rise to his dick, Tony held a couple of sweatshirts aloft. "Which one?" He waited for Jethro, who sat on the bed as if his back was aching, to make a choice, not really expecting him to answer.

Gibbs' silence was unsettling but after a pause, he indicated a hooded sweatshirt without any letters emblazoned across the chest. "I can do it myself, ya know." He made no move to help, though.

Tony laid out the clothes on the bed, standing close enough to Jethro that their legs brushed against each other. Tony said evenly, "Sometimes we all need to let someone else help out a little." Then he lightened his tone and said, "Besides, did I ever tell you I worked for a few weeks one Christmas at the Ralph Lauren store in Manhattan? It was when I was at college. I was staying with my cousin for the holidays and was strapped for cash. Folding cashmere sweaters was my specialty, and what a way to pick up babes. Man, talk about your choice of beautiful women." Tony smiled reminiscently and sighed. "That city has every flavor of female imaginable and they all seemed to walk through those doors that Christmastime, looking for a tight cashmere sweater and a chat with Tony DiNozzo."

Tony grinned as he leaned over the bed and went back to sorting through the clothes. Jethro shifted his weight a little, pressing his leg against Tony's, which Tony was certain was not an accident. Tony stood stock still, barely daring to breathe lest Jethro take it as a sign that he should move. Jethro's warmth seeped right through Tony's pants to his skin, and a wash of desire hit Tony hard. He looked down at Jethro's slightly bowed head, and even though Tony couldn't make out his expression, he was sure that the older man was as affected by their closeness as he was.

There were freckles on the back of Jethro's bare neck, making him seem unusually vulnerable, and all Tony wanted to do at that moment was to press his lips to the warm flesh, to kiss every one of those freckles, to taste Jethro, to savor the scent of the man.

For long moments neither of them moved and then the corner of Jethro's mouth quirked. He asked, "You sampled all of those women?"

That was more like it, Tony thought, letting out a laugh of relief. "I tried my darnedest, Jethro." Keeping the slight physical contact with Jethro, brushing up against him, Tony started to pack the clothes in the canvas bag, but he noticed there was something already in it besides the meds he'd tossed in earlier. He reached in and pulled out a small photo album. It was a gift he had put together for Jethro, one that he'd given to him soon after they'd returned from the camping trip. Tony held it aloft. "You're taking this with you?"

Jethro shrugged and looked slightly embarrassed as if he'd been caught stashing a porn magazine in his luggage.

Tony moved the clothes and bag aside and sat on the bed, close enough for his hip and shoulders to touch Jethro's. He slowly opened the album to the first page and read the note scrawled in his own writing that he'd slipped under the clear plastic. He read it aloud. "For Jethro - memories old and some new ones, too."

The first few photos were small, deckle-edged black-and-whites, rescued from a shoebox he'd discovered in the guest room closet. There was Gibbs' family home; a photo of his parents when they were first married with his mother smiling sweetly and his dad straight-faced but with a twinkle in his eye like he was trying to hold back a smile; a photo in faded color of Gibbs as a ten-year-old, proudly displaying a large fish he'd caught; Jethro the teenager working on a car.

Then came some pictures from Gibbs' early days in the Marines, and a small formal shot of a fresh-faced Leroy Jethro in full uniform. Casual snaps of his buddies, dog-eared at the corners. Color photos of Shannon and Kelly came next, and an empty space that had held the photo of Gibbs' girls, the one that Tony had taken to Gibbs in the hospital. Then there were some other photos that Tony had chosen because he guessed they were significant in some way, not really knowing what Gibbs would like or even care about: people who might be relatives and summer vacation photos of sailing on a lake.

There were photos of their NCIS colleagues, too, photographed on the rare occasions they got together for a barbeque, and a few of the goofy shots Tony had taken when on the job, of McGee and Abby and Ducky.

There was also one that McGee had taken of Tony when he was laughing, his head thrown back, eyes almost closed. Gibbs stood directly behind Tony in the picture, and the lens caught the blur of his hand in motion just before he slapped the back of Tony's head for some infraction that was now long forgotten. Just the same, the photo brought a smile to Tony's face when he looked at it. "Some things never change," Tony mused, almost to himself.

It had been a risk to assemble something so personal as a surprise for Gibbs, that was taken mostly from his private collection of old photos, but it had been a success. He'd given it to Jethro after they'd enjoyed a home-cooked meal at Tony's apartment. At first Jethro hadn't said anything and Tony had been afraid he'd overstepped his bounds. But Gibbs had slowly leafed through the album, fingers sliding across some of the photographs, touching faces that stirred fond memories, smiling at a few. Then he'd looked straight at Tony with such love in his eyes that, for once, Tony hadn't been able to find any words.

Now Gibbs reached into his pocket and withdrew the photo of his long-gone wife and daughter that Tony had brought to him in the hospital. "Better put this back where it's safe." Tony handed Jethro the album and he slipped the photo into the empty slot and slowly flipped through the photos, sowing down when he reached those that were more recent.

The latter photographs included ones that Tony had taken during their camping trip. There were some images of the camp, some scenic shots, and one of Gibbs fishing. That weekend trip together was what Tony would always remember as being the time that had cemented their relationship. Jethro had rolled his eyes when Tony had declared joyfully that they were bonding but Tony knew his lover felt the same as he did, even if he was too stubborn to admit it. Something fundamental in their relationship had changed on that trip. Maybe it was getting away from work and all those outside influences, but Tony had never felt so close to another person in his adult life, so loved and safe and thoroughly happy.

Jethro stopped at the last photo. The horizon was at an angle, as if it had been taken hurriedly. There was Tony with a huge grin plastered across his face, knee-deep in a stream with his clothing and hair wet, holding aloft a large fish that looked mangled, with half of its body missing.

Tony laughed and pointed to the photo. "Man, was that water ever cold."

"You caught that fish…" It wasn't quite a question but Gibbs didn't seem entirely sure.

"Sure did. Tasted damned good, too, fried over an open fire." He leaned into Jethro, prodding him with his shoulder. "You remember the trouble I had starting the fire 'cause your Zippo was wet?"

"A good camper doesn't need a Zippo to start a campfire, DiNozzo."

"Remember?" Tony asked once again, hopefully.

Jethro turned his head a little and looked Tony in the eye. They were only inches away from each other, close enough so Tony could feel him breathing. Those breaths came a bit faster when Jethro said plainly, but with a hint of what could be regret, "No. I don't remember."

Tony waited a beat, unsure of how hard he should push the man, but feeling there was more to be said. He looked into Jethro's eyes but couldn't make out if he was telling the truth and he wondered why he had any doubt in the first place; Jethro didn't lie. Then Tony's gaze slipped down to look at Jethro's slightly parted lips and he found his own breath hitching at the sight. "You don't remember how I was freezing from getting wet in the stream and how you made me take my clothes off so they'd dry by the fire? How we were laughing so hard about that dead fish…and how you kissed me?"

After they'd set up camp, Gibbs had produced an expensive fishing pole that one of his wives had bought him, and had ordered Tony to catch them some dinner. Although he'd tried his best, and he could see the fish - big ones, too - swimming close to shore, literally within reach, Tony couldn't get a nibble. He had become so frustrated with his failure, and with Gibbs' teasing remarks, that he had pulled out his handgun and had shot one of the big suckers that was swimming around in the shallows. When retrieving what remained of the fish's body Tony had fallen in and had come up spluttering and laughing, and Gibbs had hauled him to shore and into his arms and they'd kissed for the first time.

"I was freezing, standing there shivering with blue lips," Tony said softly. "You kissed me, Jethro, and warmed me up." Gibbs' warm lips had met his cold, wet ones and the ensuing kiss had swept Tony away.

Jethro's eyes moved down to Tony's mouth and back up to meet his eyes. "I don't remember," he whispered. "Tony, I don't. I can't." The way he said it, it sounded like he was begging for forgiveness.

Tony leaned slightly closer to Jethro, and with their shoulders rubbing together he said in a husky voice, "I know you wouldn't forget us making love under the stars."

Jethro shook his head. "No."

Tony pursued his line of questioning. "You remember how we yelled and howled at the moon until the coyotes joined in?" Tony slowly dipped his head and when Jethro didn't move away, Tony kissed his slightly parted lips. There was no response, but at least Jethro didn't pull back. "How we stayed awake all night, having sex?" Tony kissed him again, that time feeling Jethro's mouth soften against his lips. It wasn't much but it sure was something. "And more sex?"

Jethro pulled back a couple of inches and gave another, barely perceptible, shake of the head, and a sad look passed across his features.

"I'd been waiting for you to make the first move, and you'd been waiting for me – for months. I knew you'd been looking at me differently, just wasn't sure what you really wanted, how far we should take it. But after you kissed me you asked me why we waited so long to get down and dirty." Tony kissed Jethro again, ever so slowly, introducing his tongue, his heart jumping when there was a slight response, parted lips and a tentative touch of Jethro's tongue. "At least I caught a fish for our dinner. Or maybe half a fish. More than you did, Mr. Fancy Fishing Pole."

Jethro murmured, "You're supposed to fish with a pole, not a Sig, DiNozzo." He leaned in, one tentative hand rising to brush against Tony's ribs, then up his back, pulling him closer. Their mouths met, tongues teasing and taunting, eliciting murmurs of encouragement from Tony and a soft groan from Jethro.

Tony closed his eyes, focusing on the feel of Jethro's hand on his back, warm and firm in its caress. Another hand slid through his hair and then cupped his jaw as Jethro sought just the right angle, and deepened his kiss. Tony smiled into the kiss, then suddenly stopped and pulled back a couple of inches. He stared into Jethro's eyes, watching the older man's expression change from sexually charged to confused and then wary.

Tony moved back and Jethro's hands dropped away. Desiring to be held and at the same time feeling the need to be apart, Tony sat on the bed, staring at the older man. Eventually Tony spoke, with the volume of his voice escalating with each sentence, "You do remember. You said I pulled out my Sig." Jethro's eyes flickered and Tony's heart seemed to freeze. He accused, "You remember, Jethro, that I pulled out my gun and shot that fish! Why do you…why do you keep saying you don't remember when it's obvious you do?"

Gibbs reached for Tony, but Tony brushed his hand away impatiently. "No!" Tony stood up, bristling with a slowly mounting anger, staring down at the man who sat stiffly on the bed, looking down at his hands clasped so tight his knuckles showed white. "Damn it, don't just sit there! Say something, Jethro! Why the hell would you lie to me and say you don't remember anything about us?"

*** end chapter 7 ***