Chapter 18:
Gibbs got his shoes, his favorite red sweater and tossed another one over to Tony, before he headed for the basement. After a short stop in the kitchen to get the beer, he turned around at the door and saw that Tony had stopped behind him, staring at him like at a mad man.
Tony had watched way too many movies to think that going into the basement would be a good idea. He had some personal experience on the matter to, even though dark basements only made a good third place behind attics in the summer and garden sheds in the winter, on the all time high score list of the worst places to be locked in, they still worried him all the same.
"Boss, you actually want to go down there?"
Gibbs gave him one of those looks. "Do you know a better place to build a boat?"
To that question Tony really had no answer. He was still trying to find out what exactly Gibbs meant by 'boat' and he was pretty sure, whatever it was, there must be loads of better places for it.
Probably the brain eating aliens keep their starship, sorry, star 'boat' down there, he muttered under his breath.
The older man didn't hear him and started down the stairs.
"Come on DiNozzo, your help may actually come in handy; a second pair of hands could be useful."
His boss sounded completely at ease, and even a little excited. There was something hinky going on.
Tony reluctantly followed him.
On seeing the basement, he stopped again in surprise. It was a well-equipped workshop chock-full with a lot of wood.
"What? … That is a load of lumber boss!"
"It's the boat."
Tony stepped down to stand next to him and took a look around. There were quite a few piles of rectangular blocks of wood, boards and maybe even planks.
A boat. Yeah, right!
"If you say so, boss."
The head slap snapped him out of his slightly disbelieving haze.
"Are you going to help, or not?"
"Wow, no!" Tony raised his arms in defense and took an involuntarily step back. "No way."
Gibbs gave him a confused look. "Why not?"
"You are actually serious about this?!"
"Yeah."
"Oh!" Tony eyed him for a moment and then the wood. He blushed. No way! He had never built anything before. He would ruin everything before, well, before it even was something. He took another step back.
"No, Gibbs. I can't. "
"And why's that?" Once again Gibbs asked, not judging, but just interested in the answer. Tony wished he would stop that already, it was getting creepy.
He gasped exasperated: "Ah, you know, its woodwork – I have no, no, idea about woodwork. I can't do this."
Gibbs gaze seemed to measure him up and he was seriously surprised when his boss gave him a small smile, he looked somewhat satisfied.
"So, Tony," he emphasized his use of the younger agent's first name, "it's about time you learn it, I think."
"No, I'll suck at this, really!" Tony pleaded for mercy.
"Oh, shut up about it already, DiNozzo! You are going to learn it. Trust me."
What sounded like a threat was in fact a promise.
Silently Tony cursed the damn stubbornness of his boss. He really could be a bastard.
Well, he would fail and disappoint him again. His thoughts were bitter, when he realized that he started to get used to it. Once again he had no choice. Doomed.
"Look at this!" he nodded him over to the workbench to show him the plans. Tony only saw a hurly-burly of blue lines and numbers that held no meaning to him. Gibbs seemed quite excited about it though and so he forced himself to nod appreciatively for his pleasure.
"So what do you want me to do?" he asked resigned.
As the wood load had only been delivered a couple of days ago, it had to be sorted out. First, pieces had to be measured and cut.
Gibbs' instructions were short and to the point. Tony could work with that.
To his surprise, after all, he proved to be of some use. Some of the planks had to be lifted by two men and Gibbs showed him how to use the saw.
Cutting the wood, the waste parts falling off to the floor, seeing and feeling the neat cut face, left him unexpectedly satisfied.
They worked side by side and without noticing it, Tony was having a good time.
After about one and a half hours they settled down, after all, it was already past midnight. Gibbs sat on some sort of stand and Tony had pulled an old chair up next to the workbench. The beer was long gone, but the older man had dug out his secret-basement-stash of scotch.
It had been a long day and for the younger agent a very long week. Gibbs noticed how, after their late night physical work, Tony's eyelids became heavy. He definitely was looking almost dead on his feet.
He smiled as he told him: "See, you did a good job after all."
Tony smiled widely at the praise, his eyes sparkling with joy.
But the sparkle vanished quickly, his eyes darkened and he dropped his head in defeat again.
He had enjoyed the work with Gibbs and he was thrilled to hear a rare praise from his boss.
But he knew better than to give in to that kind of illusion. He knew better than to think he deserved any praise.
Gibbs noticed the change and it caused him deep concern once again. He stared at the amber liquid twirling in his glass, while contemplating how to reach his friend, how to prove him that he was appreciated and cared for. He needed to find a way to make him trust in his friendship so he could open up, so he would finally be able to understand and help him.
"Thank you for your help tonight, Tony." He told him quietly.
"Ah boss, that was nothing. It was probably more a bother, because you had to explain so much to me first." Tony waved it aside.
"No, you've been a great help."
"It's the least I can do."
Gibbs desperately tried to understand, how the young man could be so ready to offer his help, be so generous and selfless, and at the same time be so completely incapable to accept kindness himself. Maybe, not selfless, but self-forgetting would be a better way to describe it and the problem itself.
They sat in silence for a while.
"Tony?" Gibbs asked and wanted to know what the problem was and what he could do to fix it.
Tony did understand the question, but he wasn't able to have that conversation.
"I'm fine."
Gibbs could have told Tony again that he cared, that he wanted to know, because he wanted to help and that he could trust him. But, it would have probably sent the other man running again, or maybe it would finally reach him.
He could have told him that he valued him, because he was an excellent agent and good friend. Both things, which were rare in his life.
He could have told him about his family and how it hurt to have lost them and that he needed someone he could care for.
He could have said it. But he didn't.
Tony could have told Gibbs that he was insecure, ashamed and afraid.
He could have told him that his parents had mostly been absent and on the rare occasions they had been there they were drunken, disapproving and demeaning.
He could have told him that his father used to beat him to pulp and that his mother was giving him the wrong kind of attention.
He could have said it. But he didn't.
Gibbs kept staring into the depth of his drink and they continued sitting together in silence.
Tony had propped his feet on a stack of wood and his head was leaned back against the wall, while he was staring into the space before him.
Finally he fell asleep.
Gibbs got a blanket he kept in a closet under the stairs, and covered the sleeping agent with it.
He didn't leave him there alone, even though he probably should have. He bedded himself on a pile of wood, taking a second blanket for himself.
It was the first time he slept in the basement by the boat.
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