21
Gibbs had had plenty of practice at sitting and waiting and watching for as long as it took to get the desired result.
Meant he could do it. Didn't make it any easier to tolerate the journey.
Right now he couldn't quite persuade himself to move his focus off Tony, off the way his head was tucked down, his shoulders hunched, trying to hide six foot and change in as small a package as he could. Felt like abandonment, not to look.
The man was stripped bare emotionally, and he could hear how hard every word was. Saw him groping blindly for each step, and cursed his own inability to make it any easier. Too painful, this. Way too painful.
He knew full well he couldn't make Tony accept help. But the kid didn't have any clue as to how to make that step alone. Vicious circle.
All you can do is encourage him, Jethro. Be there. Keep trying.
"You can."
He couldn't imagine what hidden demons it took to drive someone – a strong, resourceful someone, at that - to this point.
Weeks brewing. Years in the making. God alone knew what exactly had set off this meltdown.
Other than himself, anyway.
How on earth was he meant to show the man how to believe again?
Better figure that one out fast. Don't care how much he begs you to go. Leave him alone like this and it'll be the ultimate in cruelty. Not an option.
Didn't have many options, all things considered.
Knew what he would have done once, a lifetime ago.
"You know, if you were my kid I'd be over there hugging the crap outta you."
"If I was your kid, you'd know better."
Stated as fact. And it was the last straw. He'd had it with the ghost of Francesco DiNozzo in the room.
Words were not going to solve this.
Before he could think twice about it, he was on his feet. Crossed the room quickly, and Tony's head was still down. Kid didn't see him till it was a done deal.
"No! No. I-"
Wasn't listening. Up in his face, and with the wall at his back he had nowhere to go. Caught his eye, and held it, and told a truth.
"From what I can tell, your father knew nothing about family, nothing about kids, and nothing about you."
Tony's head was shaking in denial. Looked ready to run again. This time, Gibbs made damn sure there was no way past.
***
Tony was a fraction too slow, and before he knew it, he found himself trapped, wall behind him, one arm either side of his head, full on Gibbs in his face. There was one moment of bright, clear shock, then the panic broke free, sweeping through him in a flood of pure ice, rushing and racing and submerging him completely.
He fought. Shoved hard at the man in front of him, hitting out without thought or reason, trying to force a break. But all that happened was that the arms took a grip, and tightened, and held despite his frantic struggling. Wasn't until the wave of terror eventually eased a little, that he realised he was speaking. Pleading. "No", and "Don't" and "Please".
And he could hear Gibbs as well, murmuring quietly in his ear. "It's ok." "I got you." "Just let it go."
But he couldn't give in, because he couldn't have this now and never have it again, because that would break him.
It was too late though. He could feel himself shattering into tiny pieces, and as soon as Gibbs let go they'd all fly apart, and he'd never find a single one of them again.
Then what would become if him? He knew, and he didn't know, and the panic came back. He fought some more, and it got him nowhere.
"Take it easy, kid. Stop now. It's ok."
It wasn't ok. It would never be ok.
But there was nothing left. And he wanted this so badly. Wanted to feel like someone cared, if only for a few minutes. Desperately needed to feel that he wasn't on his own in the face of it all. Wanted to be known.
He should know better. Did know better, but it didn't change anything. Because you still couldn't argue with facts. No point in fighting when the battle had already been lost.
***
Gibbs felt the moment when Tony gave in, briefly offered thanks, and held just a little bit tighter, stroking the back of his neck in an attempt to soothe.
The breathing hitched, and stuttered, and settled again.
"She… she took my control. Never saw her coming. I couldn't stop her."
So that had been what he was hiding. Or part of it, at any rate.
"It…It's all gone."
He never wanted to hear the younger man sound like this. Bewildered. Desolate.
"I can't… can't find me, any more. Can't get it back."
So young. So lost.
Made his throat ache, just listening.
"I'll help you. It's going to be ok, Tony. It's going to be ok."
***
He felt so empty, and so broken, and Gibbs had it all now. No point hiding anything any more. If he wanted to grind him into the dirt, he could. He had no say.
Everything was out of his control, and he realised it a hundred times a day. Each time was a sharp as a new wound.
It could all happen again, now, tomorrow, next week, and there was nothing he could do about it.
"Tell me."
The command broke into his spiralling thoughts, sending a brief shiver down his spine. Still gentle. Didn't Gibbs know he didn't have to be anymore? That he'd tell him whatever he wanted to know?
Anything. Just… didn't know what he expected to hear. Couldn't bear to get it wrong. Needed a clue
"What… what do you…"
There was no sound, but he still heard the sigh, and he stiffened and tried to pull away again. But Gibbs didn't let him, and he knew it was a command, and forced himself to stay where he was and surrender to the contact.
"What if, you said. What if what?"
How did he do that? Effortlessly home in wherever he didn't want to go, and drag him along without trying?
Didn't matter. He wasn't running this show. Had to spit it out this time. Couldn't worry about handing power over, because he'd only been fooling himself that he ever had any in the first place. "What if… I don't want to run?"
It was so quiet, that he was almost surprised Gibbs heard it. But there was something oddly light in the voice that responded. "Then something tonight will finally be going my way."
"I don't… I don't know if I can stay. Everything's wrong."
"Then we'll put it right, Tony, one piece at a time."
He was still wondering if that was even possible, and why Gibbs was saying we, when he felt the arms pulling at him. "Sit down."
Didn't know what else to do but follow orders, so he sat, and that was when the arms disappeared, and the warmth along with them. And it hurt. Every bit as much as he'd known it would, and he grabbed on to the threads with an effort, wrapping his arms around himself to try and keep the feeling a little longer, to see if he could hang on to any of the pieces. He couldn't look, because the tears were in his throat, and his mouth and his nose, and they were all that was stopping him from the utter humiliation of begging to have the comfort back. So he stared at the floor as hard as he could, and wondered how come every inch of his skin hurt.
The hand that suddenly arrived on his shoulder had him scraping himself down off the ceiling.
"Easy."
Easy? Breath was coming a mile a minute, and one of those tears had escaped. And this was the worst torture imaginable, to offer someone what they most desired for not nearly long enough, and then take it away again; to hold it at arms length, where it could be seen but not owned.
Gibbs had him now.
"Look at me, Tony."
He didn't want to, but obeyed without hesitation. And there was a sharp intake of breath, and a shocked look, and he was ashamed and lost and embarrassed and weak, but he knew how to do as he was told.
And the head shook, and the hand on his shoulder burned, and another tear was following the first, and he had no choice, and no control, and he didn't think he was Tony any more.
He was Anthony. He was Boy. He was his father's son, and he always would be.
He was disappointment, and failure, and wrong.
"No. No you don't. Come here."
The hand on his shoulder pulled, and pressed, and then the arms were back, and the warmth was back, and this wasn't how it happened. This was never how it happened, no matter how much he hoped, or wanted, or tried.
He ached to be able to curl in forever, but he didn't dare, because he knew as soon as the arms realised how much they were wanted, they'd be gone. But he couldn't fight, because there was nothing left; and anyway, things would only get worse if he did.
Then the solidity under him shifted, and twisted, and he was half lying on the couch, and half on solid warmth, and he heard a choked down protest, and figured after a while it might have been him.
He stayed folded around himself, until there was a snort, and he felt movement, one arm, another, always with the warmth never losing touch. And he let himself be rearranged until he was placed to return the hold, and he hated himself for giving in, but he couldn't help but cling on. He waited to be pushed away, to be left alone in the cold and the dark, hurting and disorientated and lost.
But the warmth stayed, and the arms held tighter, and a voice just above his ear spoke.
"Not going anywhere, kiddo. Just let it go. I got you."
And he tensed, although he knew he shouldn't. And then he tensed some more, because he knew what happened when he didn't do as he was told.
"Tony? One more question."
He waited in silence.
"Tell me you know who I am."
He had to think for a minute, and that scared him a little, but the answer was there when he reached for it, even if his voice was tight and foreign.
"Yes, boss."
"Good boy."
It was all it took. One strangled, hopeless, animal sound of pain and despair and fear, and then the dam broke.
He knew tears were wrong, and weak and would not be tolerated. But he couldn't hold out anymore, each breath feeling like it was being ripped out by a force far greater than he had ever had.
And this time the arms stayed, one hand stroking his hair, the other holding him together, as the voice gently rumbled on in the background. And he cried.