This one is a little longer than usual. Wouldn't leave me alone.
Rule #12.
"This was a bad idea from the start, Tony! And I damn well should have known better!" Jethro shouted at him, balling his hands into fists and pacing around their living room. "I've lived this before! Relationships between agents… Damn it, that's why Rule #12 existed in the first fucking place!"
"I'm sorry, but I'm failing to see what's got you so worked up, Jeth." Jethro had exploded when they'd walked through the front door, but he didn't understand how this case was any different than the others.
"What's got me so worked up is I was more concerned with making sure you were alright that I didn't even notice the fucker with a gun pressed to the back of Ziva's head until it was almost too late, Tony!" Jethro was shouting, truly angry in a way he rarely saw him anymore. Tony sighed and rubbed his temples firmly. This wasn't the first fight like this, but it would be the last.
"Everything turned out fine, Gibbs." He said exasperatedly, moving over to his antique liquor cabinet and grabbing a few glasses and a crystal tumbler full of Jethro's favorite bourbon.
"And when it doesn't work out next time, DiNozzo? What then? You going to keep telling me it's a good idea that we are so wrapped up in each other that we don't see anyone else?" Tony ignored him for the most part, splashing some bourbon into one of the glasses and downing it quickly to steel himself for his play. He poured two fingers in each glass and moved over to the couch, setting one down and cradling the other. "What happens when one of us, when I get someone killed because I can't stop worrying about you?"
Tony ignored the barb directed at him, reached down to his belt, unclipped his badge and tossed it on the coffee table next to Gibbs' bourbon. "I quit."
Jethro was stunned into silence for a moment, looking from the badge to Tony with a dumfounded look on his face. "What?" he said intelligently.
"Want a formal letter of resignation? I said, I. Quit. I would rather quit my job, and walk away from it all, then walk away from you." Tony told him calmly, pausing to take a sip of the warm liquor in his hand. "There's always a risk in our jobs Jeth, but I'll be damned if I let you throw all this away over your stupid fucking rule and the fact that a suspect managed to get the slip on us. McGee and Ziva were focused on me too. I was shot in the chest, and I went down and didn't get back up right away. Involved or not, you wouldn't have left me there without making sure I was okay."
Jethro deflated, letting out a heavy sigh and sinking down on the couch. "Damn it, I hate it when you're right. But Ziva-"
"Is fine. And will still be fine when you're done beating yourself up. I was wearing a vest, Jeth. McGee is apparently a damn good shot. We are all fine." He stressed the word fine, before taking another sip of his drink.
Jethro leaned his head back against the couch cushions. "You really gonna quit?"
Tony snorted and shook his head, flopping down next to Jethro. "You gonna leave me?"
"Nope."
Tony turned and granted him a dazzling smile. "There's your answer."
Jethro snorted, reaching forward to grab his glass and take a long sip. "You really willing to walk away from everything, for a bastard like me?"
Tony raised his eyebrow at that, but his smile didn't falter. "Every single time Jeth, every single time."