20

Moving on instinct, Tony found himself towering over his boss's spot on the couch before he could think better of it. His every move had been watched by a pair of hooded blue eyes and a guarded expression that only once, briefly, flickered from his face down to his hands and back again. But the owner remained silent, and Tony refused to acknowledge the unvoiced question.

He had other things on his mind right now.

"You know what? I shouldn't trust you. I don't want to trust you."

He saw the words strike home, with a something in the expression that was quickly hidden, walled away behind a deliberately blank look. After a beat, it slid into a curt nod, and he realised that the words had been as hard for his boss to hear as they had been easy for him to say.

It should have been a victory, but he felt nothing more than a hollow, empty void where the celebration was meant to be.

He thought about leaving it there, but he was so, so tired, and right at the end of his rope, and determined to do something to finish this. It was the only way he'd ever get any sort of peace tonight.

You don't trust me.

Well that was the crux of it, wasn't it? An age old lesson, taught by an expert, that was going to last him forever. Couldn't change facts.

The longer he stood there, just looking, the more Gibbs' expression closed off. The worn look was long gone, along with any other hints that the man was anything less than fully in command.

Had he imagined there were cracks? Probably. He seemed to have developed a real talent for seeing what he wanted to, instead of reality.

So who had control here? Really, Tony. Who? Who's running this show? Who's making the decisions? You? Him?

Someone else?

And did it really matter any more?

No, it didn't, because it was all just more of the same.

Finish it.

"But I do."

He dropped the remaining part of his declaration into the quiet, and it had a ring of finality about it that set his teeth on edge. He couldn't quite get his head around having said it out loud, and instead distracted himself by focusing on the fact that he'd actually managed to surprise the man.

To be fair, he'd been much further along to shocked when he'd realised it himself. And his mood hadn't gotten any better for the discovery. He'd have been happier not to have had it.

Didn't want to be rudely shoved face to face with the fact that he hadn't got a handle on his weaknesses in all this time. That for all the running, and the different versions of himself, he hadn't changed at all. That he still couldn't do right for screwing up. Same damn patterns, over and over again. Why hadn't he seen it?

How many times had he listened and tried and trailed blindly along wherever some authoritarian bastard felt like leading? Pathetic. Utterly pathetic.

You will do as you are told, boy. Don't you want to earn my respect?

And exactly how many times had that worked?

Precisely. And the worst thing? He never damn well learned. Thirty years of lessons, and he was still making the same mistakes. And really, if he was that stupid, then surely he deserved everything he got?

"You see, that bottle of bourbon is still in the kitchen, middle cupboard on the right. Doesn't matter how much I tell myself not to trust you – it wouldn't still be there if I didn't. Follow the evidence, boss."

***

Gibbs supposed he should be glad to hear it, but the admission had come spitting through such a cloud of anger and resentment that he couldn't feel anything outside of the waves of emotion rolling off the younger man.

Should have been a breakthrough, but it wasn't. Not a declaration of belief. Not a door opening. No more than a single battered thread of trust that the younger man clearly believed was a weakness.

He wasn't entirely sure how to respond, and before he'd done more than thought "Right", Tony was talking again.

"Nothing to say? This is the point where you start gloating. You won."

Won? This did not feel like winning.

"This isn't a competition, Tony." Deliberately kept his voice level, and calm. Could see that volatile tension building up again, and he didn't want a repeat of earlier. Still in no rush to be on the wrong end of that temper.

He'd thought they'd been getting somewhere. Had no idea how they'd ended up at odds again, Tony isolated and bitter, himself in the unfamiliar position of always being a couple of steps behind the play.

"No. You're right, it isn't. It never was, was it? Right from the moment you walked in, there was never any chance of you leaving again without your pound of flesh."

At least this time he was aware he was slap bang in the middle of an unmapped minefield. It might not help him avoid the explosion, but there was always the possibility he could minimise further damage.

"You really think that's what I want?"

It was supposed to be a glare, he thought, but it wasn't. It was a searing glimpse of loss and fear. And he had to do something. Needed to, for both their sakes. Couldn't just bear witness.

Didn't know what.

Tony was clearly not going to answer the question. So he broke the silence. "No gloating. I don't honestly get what you think I'd gloat about."

"Oh, come on!" The undercurrent of self-loathing that bled through left a burning trail on his senses. "I've seen you in action. I know how it works. You got what you came for. Now you can go. Tell the team. Tell the world – it's not like it matters any more. Make sure Kate's first though - she's gonna love this."

There was way too much wrong with that outburst.

He wanted to grab hold of the man and shake some sense into him. It took the sharp sting of nails in palms to hold himself steady, a reminder that aggression would trigger God alone knew what reaction. That even the slightest touch was unpredictable at best.

Words and presence would have to do.

"I'm not going to say anything to anyone, unless you want me to."

"Why not? It not like I've not got it coming." Gibbs had only a few seconds to try and process that comment before the direction changed again. "Tell me something - who's more worthy of contempt? The fool who doesn't know any better, and gets taken advantage of? Or the man who knows what's gonna happen, and walks in with his eyes open and lets it?"

He was barely clinging onto the edges of this conversation.

"Neither, Tony. And you don't deserve it. Any of it."

A dismissive curl of the lip proved that that hadn't got him anywhere.

"Look, I don't know how we got to here, but I do know this: I will not betray your trust a second time. Just tell me how I can prove it to you."

***

Oh no. No. Not going down that path. Not giving you that deal. I don't want you to prove it.

Tony turned his back for a moment, aware he was still giving away things he didn't want to. Had to be, because Gibbs was still being gentle, and careful.

And it was working. He wanted to give in. Every avenue he opened, his boss firmly closed again, and he was running out of directions. He ran a hand through his hair, and pulled in a breath that was altogether too unsteady to help.

He had to get the man out. Now. Before it was too late, and something fractured and he was left with less than nothing.

He gathered the anger close around him, and turned back, using it to spur him on. "Why are you still here?" A pause. A step. "Just go." And there was forcefulness there, a strength to the demand he'd not been sure he could pull off.

"Because I told you I wouldn't leave."

But that strength proved to be fleeting in the face of quiet resilience, and when he spoke again it was gone, leaving his question a soft plea that tore at his self-respect. "I've had enough, boss. I can't do this any more. Just leave me alone. Please. Just… leave me alone."

And Gibbs said nothing, just shook his head, slowly, looking at him with… pity? Sorrow? Concern? He didn't know. Couldn't hold it for long enough to tell.

"This is my home." And his voice cracked and stopped, and it wasn't supposed to sound like that.

"I know. But you're one of my family, Tony, and I will not let this pull you under. You end up hating me in the process, so be it."

He could feel himself staring, and the sheer unexpectedness of that remark gave him enough distraction to push the onslaught of everything back yet again.

"I don't understand."

"I got that."

"I'm not…"

"You are. Family, Tony. And I more than regret not making sure you knew that back when it would still make a difference."

No way of knowing if it was a lure, or actually meant. He bit down on his lip hard for a second, caught the fleeting frown that came his way, and stopped. His hands were trembling again. If they'd ever stopped.

He shouldn't even consider listening. He should know better.

"You really think this can be fixed?" It came out as little more than a whisper, much shakier than he'd intended.

"Yes, I do."

The sheer certainty in the comment cut through what was left of his resolve, and he took a couple of steps backward, finding the wall and leaning, just to be sure of staying upright.

"What if…"

Saying it was way, way harder than it should be.

"What if…"

Of course it was, because some part of him that was trying to actually learn those lessons knew that there were things that should not be admitted.

"Abby's your family, boss. Ducky. Don't let me screw that up too."

"Not gonna happen."

For a long time, he stood, and considered, and tried to see where this conversation could go. Held it several times inside his own head. Ended the same way, each time round.

He had to start learning some time.

"I can't. I'm sorry… I can't."