6
He had no idea how long he'd been sitting there before he came to the conclusion that the world was not going anywhere, thank you very much. Which meant he was going to have to face it, sooner or later, whatever his personal feelings on the subject.
Ah well, no time like the present and all that.
Sticking firmly to facts, he started to take stock. Breathing? Back to normal, more or less. Ass? Sick to death of a hard kitchen floor. Back? Ow. Ow multiplied, in fact. Too long in one position while his thought processes took a short vacation. But he knew where he was, and when he was, which was a definite improvement.
Unfortunately, if all the signs were that that little episode was very much over, then that included the fact that a small area of his brain with all the safety instincts of a lemming was back up and running and trying to remind him that Gibbs was undoubtedly still sitting on his couch, waiting for him to explain this one.
That though, was something that he couldn't do anything about, and if he focused on it right now he'd probably bury himself back in his knees and refuse to come out for a year.
At which point Gibbs would still be sitting on his sofa waiting impatiently, and he'd still have to face him.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained, as his Grandmother used to say. Ok Tony, one step at a time. How 'bout we go with getting up right now?
He pulled himself to his feet, back, ass and legs protesting all the way, and gave a vote of thanks to his body for the fact that the earlier unsteadiness was gone.
First order of business was simple – the bourbon. Once both bottle and glass had been dealt with, the counter wiped, the kettle filled, everything straightened up and tidied whether it needed it or not and he'd checked around the kitchen to make sure there was nothing else he could come up with to do that could legitimately delay him further, he turned his mind to the next hurdle.
Gibbs.
No way was he walking in there to face the man without being absolutely sure there would be no repeat of that… interlude. Bad enough that his boss had seen that once – he wasn't going to let blatant carelessness set up a repeat. He heaved a huge sigh; albeit a noiseless one, because he'd be damned if he was going to give the other man reason to come charging in before he was good and ready.
Then he braced himself on the counter and set about stretching out all the aches and pains, concentrating on each one at a time and losing himself in the familiar physical ebb and flow of his old college warm down. He followed that with several slow, deep breaths, before turning around to lean back on the counter and blanking his mind of everything except the sights, sounds and smells of the woodlands a mile down the road from his childhood home.
It took the better part of five minutes to be sure that any residual shaking was gone, and another five to firmly cement away any hint of the treacherous tears that had been lurking around the edges of his emotions lately. Three more were spent double and triple locking away anything he didn't want to think about.
Then he gathered up all the courage he had left, and headed into the main room – only to stop short on the verge of losing the lot as he saw Gibbs standing out on the balcony, staring at the plastic bag parcel.
"This is…?"
Truth? Hide? Play Dumb? "Trash. Hadn't gotten around to throwing it yet." His voice sounded high, and a little thin, but the other man ignored it, and he was grateful, despite his irritation at being eyed like a horse that might bolt any minute.
"You want me to?"
What? He could feel himself gaping, and snapped his jaw shut before anyone else could notice. "You came round to play garbage man?"
"No, I came round to see what was going on with you, and I think I know less than when I arrived."
"Ah. Er… you still want that coffee?"
After a moment where Gibbs just looked at him, there was a slow nod that he was decidedly grateful for. And while it took some effort not to look like he was bolting, he thought he might have achieved it.
More precious minutes were put to work as he futzed with the coffee, He should never have gone back out in the first place if he could get wrong-footed so easily. So quickly. Still, he regained his hard won equilibrium more smoothly the second time around. The sheer familiarity of the process calmed both his abused nerves and his flagging resolve somewhat, so that by the time he went back through, he was steady enough to not spill a drop, and doubly certain that he was as ready as he could be for anything that might get thrown at him. The fact that the balcony was closed and locked again gave him an extra boost – just enough for him to decide to join the other man on the couch instead of keeping half a room between them.
They drank in silence for a while, as he worked through what he knew he had to say.
"I was going to tell you about the job myself – you shouldn't have had to hear it from someone else. I just thought I'd wait until I had something official. Honestly, I'd no idea it would get so out of hand."
"But why go at all? I don't get this, Tony. I know that it was a rough op, but running clear out of the State? Right after a commendation? Can't make any sense of it."
"A what?"
Gibbs looked at him blankly, and he offered a prompt. "Right after…"
"…a commendation. If you can't grasp the logic of what you're doing, then what hope do the rest of us have?"
"What commendation?"
The blankness was giving way to impatience, and he could feel the fluttering starting in the pit of his stomach. Those nerves in his spine were off and running too.
"The one for your actions in saving a marine's life?"
Nope. Sorry. Not falling for that one again. And shit, but that's a dirty trick, even without an audience.
"Tony?"
"Whatever you say, Gibbs. Look, I'm sorry it came out this way, but it did, and I can't do anything about it now."
"You won't reconsider?"
"Is there any point?"
"You really want to leave that badly?"
"Can't stay here."
For once, the almighty Gibbs looked at a loss. Evidently he had expected him to fall hook, line and sinker for the commendation comment. Victory would have felt good if it didn't still hurt so bad he could barely think straight.
"Have you even talked this over with anybody?"
Oh for… he had had more than enough of this. "What, you think I can't make decisions on my own any more? Who, exactly, do you think I should have been getting to wield the rubber stamp?"
"Any of us! Making your own decisions isn't all its cracked up to be at the best of times, and its hardly one of those when you rush headfirst into a bad choice on the back of one lousy experience. You're not thinking straight, Tony, and every last one of us would have told you so if you'd only given us the chance. You're all over the place!"
"I'm fine."
"No. You're not. If you don't want to talk to me, that's your choice, but for pity's sake talk to someone. Talk to Abby."
That forced a strangled laugh. "Haven't you heard? Abby's not talking to me. At great length. Screwed that up too."
"So talk to me, about Abby."
Goddamn persistent… Enough was enough. This was his home, and he wasn't going to put up with being pushed around in it. "What do you care? You'll all be glad to see the back of me. Why not just admit it instead of stirring up all this goddamn fuss over absolutely nothing?" He knew he'd shouted the last few words, and berated himself for letting his calm slip. Too emotional. Too telling. He knew how to do this dance, and emotion had no place in it. Give an opponent a glimpse of how to slip inside your armour, and next thing you knew, you'd be in control of nothing at all.
Suddenly too agitated to sit still, he gathered up the lone coffee mug and headed to the kitchen. Once there he found himself at a loss, settling for standing in the middle of the room, staring in fascination as his hands quivered under his gaze.
"Tony?"
Of course he'd followed him. At least he only jumped a little this time. He was proud of himself for that.
"Just go."
"Can't do that."
"Please?" He kept his back to him. If he looked right now, the dam was going to burst, and within twelve hours all of NCIS would know about every last juicy detail. He wanted to keep some dignity. He wanted to keep a lot more, but you had to make choices in life, between the necessary and everything else. Self preservation was necessary. Houses, jobs, people – they could all be replaced if it came to it. Lose his ability to look people in the eye, and there might not be enough left to start over with.
"No. Boston be damned, right now you are still my agent, and I'm not about to walk out and leave you alone like this. You're on the verge of a breakdown."
Closer than you think, boss. And. You. Are. Not. Helping. "I'm fine!"
"So those aren't your clothes from three weeks ago still sitting on the balcony?"
Busted.
"You're trembling, Mr Fine." He felt a hand on his shoulder, and the combination of wanting so badly for it to be the comfort it pretended to be, while knowing it was just another way to try and control him, had him shaking it off abruptly, accompanied by a single mostly choked back sob that he hadn't meant to let free.
"Throw what you like at me. Figuratively or literally. I'm not going anywhere."
"Why can't you just leave me alone?"
"Because you look like you're too alone already."
Well. He really didn't have an answer for that one.