Tony stopped cold in the hall, his impeccable hearing picking up Gibbs' words.

He turned, slowly, wondering if he had heard correctly but knowing he had. He slumped against the wall and started a slow slide to the floor when he really wanted to run as far away as his breath would take him. He knows me too well. I can't handle that. I need to get out of here. I need… I want…

"Hey."

Tony looked up at the soft word, at the sadness in Gibbs' eyes. He wondered how that worked. What sort of human version of the transitive property allowed Gibbs to feel his pain? And more importantly, why?

"Come back inside," Gibbs said, holding out a hand.

Tony almost laughed. Anyone else would have talked themselves blue in the face apologizing or asking if he was okay or what he wanted.

Gibbs just gave an order—even if it was a gentle one this time.

Tony let his boss haul him to his feet, and he followed Gibbs back into the room, oddly feeling like something had been righted in his world. He went and sat with his back against the headboard, drawing his knees up and letting the cast rest there. He took the beer Gibbs offered with a slight grimace and a wary "thanks."

Gibbs just smiled, got one for himself, and settled into a chair by the window. He chose the position as strategically as orchestrating a tactical maneuver, giving Tony space but still facing him to keep him from getting lost in his own head.

Tony sipped slowly, his head still aching from the previous night's libations. "Not to question your authority or anything, Boss, but do you think this is really a good idea?" For some reason, he'd had the song "99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall" in his head all day, but he didn't probe the memory too hard in fear of finding out why.

Gibbs smiled. "Only bought a six-pack," he said. "And you're no lightweight."

"Mmmm," Tony murmured, nodding and willing himself not to start picking at the label on the bottle with his swollen fingers. "I should really lay off the doughnuts," he said, letting the coolness of the glass soothe the self-inflicted damage.

Gibbs rolled his eyes, watching Tony use the bottle as an icepack and wondering if he was in pain, if he had lied about taking the painkillers—it was Tony, after all. He knew better than to ask or accuse, though, so he asked instead, "McGee giving you a complex?"

Tony bit down on a smile, feeling guilty that life went on, no matter who died. Unless it was you. The guilt turned to apprehension as he realized he was going to have to tell the rest of the team his father was dead. Remembering McGee's obvious glee at getting to meet the man, Tony shuddered a little, dreading that conversation and feeling weary about having to deal with the various reactions he couldn't anticipate because it was truly uncharted territory. There was a reason he didn't let people in. It just made times like these that much harder.

He pushed the thoughts aside and asked, "You ever get the urge to shove a cheeseburger down his throat?"

Gibbs grinned. "Yeah. Mostly when he's going on about some firewall doo-dad or whatever."

Tony laughed, taking comfort in the fact that some things never changed.

The silence stretched, and Tony suddenly realized he had peeled the label halfway off his bottle despite the clumsiness of his injured hand. He looked up to find Gibbs watching him with his usual intensity. "Well, this is kind of awkward," he said, glancing at the clock and seeing that it was only eight in the evening. "Since I'm not going to the funeral, we could leave?"

Gibbs heard the question in that and nodded slowly. "I'd be fine with driving back tonight," he answered. "But you're probably tired and could use some sleep first."

Tony frowned, wondering why Gibbs wasn't jumping at the chance to put an end to the hellish weekend, and he realized that Gibbs had a double purpose in letting him sleep most of the day.

"You're giving me time to change my mind," Tony guessed correctly, watching Gibbs' slight smile but missing the pride in his boss's eyes. Tony just looked away. "I thought you didn't want me to go."

"Already told you, Tony," Gibbs said with what passed for patience with him, "not about what I want."

Tony didn't respond. He just finished the beer and set the bottle aside.

"Or what anyone else wants," Gibbs continued. "You do what feels right for you."

Tony flinched and stared at his hands. He looked up after a moment and asked quietly, "What if I don't know what that is?"

Gibbs regarded him with sad eyes before giving his head a little shake and asking, "Is that really true?"

Tony smiled again, the sadness in it mirroring the emotion in Gibbs' eyes. He tried not to think about that again because it was just too much for his already quivering psyche. "I don't want to go," he said, watching the relief flick across Gibbs' face and now knowing it had nothing to do with sitting through a stranger's funeral. That knowledge made his voice stronger when he said, "I'm not going."

Gibbs simply nodded. "Leave tonight or tomorrow then?"

Tony debated even though he wanted to get up and make a run for the car. It was mostly the darkness under his boss's eyes and knowing that the man hadn't gotten much sleep the previous night—because of him. "Morning?" Tony said. "Early morning," he added quickly, not wanting Gibbs to misunderstand him.

Gibbs nodded again, getting up to hand Tony another beer and the television remote. Tony flipped channels with disinterest, his mind a thousand miles away—actually, more like 5,000 miles away.

"Can I ask you something?"

Tony started a little at Gibbs' voice and he realized he'd stopped on an infomercial. He wondered how long he had been spacing out as he turned and saw Gibbs watching him intently again.

Tony raised a wary eyebrow. "Since you're asking first, can I say no?"

The corner of Gibbs' mouth quirked up in a wry little smile. "If you want."

The simple statement—but more the idea that what he wanted mattered—gave Tony a little chill, but he shrugged it off. "Sure, what?"

"Did he really leave you in hotel room in Hawaii?"

Tony would have given Gibbs credit for not hesitating—had he not been shocked by the fact that his boss had apparently read his mind. It made him wonder if he had spoken some of his thoughts out loud. Just the idea of that made him shiver again, and of course Gibbs saw it. Gibbs almost asked if he was cold.

"Yep."

Gibbs just let the confirmation hang there for a moment, wondering if he had asked to get Tony talking or if he had just selfishly given in to his own legendary curiosity. Once again, he couldn't read Tony's face to see if he had minded the question so he decided to let it go at that. He tried to think of something relevant to follow up with, and he realized that this was harder than any interrogation he had ever conducted. At least then, he hadn't cared about what his subjects felt in response to his questions—except to use it against them.

"Never been to Hawaii," Gibbs said, kicking himself for the lame comment.

"It's nice," Tony said, a thousand thoughts flying around in his head. He shook it as if to clear it, not sure he wanted to give any of them a voice. "Pretty. And the hotel was nice. It's not like he left me in some third-world hellhole."

Gibbs just nodded, wondering why Tony was defending a dead man who had never tried to protect his own son—just the opposite, in fact.

Tony took a deep breath and shook his head again. "And there I go defending him," he said, looking up at Gibbs as if for help. "Why do I do that?"

Gibbs was saved trying to answer that as Tony continued, his voice low, his expression mostly confused. "Probably for the same reason I found myself caving to him and letting him control me when he came to visit. I knew what he was doing, and I let him do it even though I hated myself for it. And then he did that thing he does with his hand, making me stay like I'm one of his damned dogs, and I wanted to break his fingers."

Gibbs felt a little rush of shame at that. He had known that Tony was unsettled by his father's visit, but he had never even picked up on the anger he must have felt. He wondered if that was the first time Tony had seen the man since losing consciousness on the music room floor beside a ruined piano. He didn't ask. He just marveled at his agent's skill even while lamenting it at the same time.

"And as I stood there, telling him things I shouldn't have, I realized I should just toss myself off the case right then and there."

Tony stopped abruptly, looking up at Gibbs as if realizing who he was talking to. Tony frowned, cocking his head a little as he tried to read Gibbs' eyes. "Why didn't you?" Tony asked. "Bench me?"

Gibbs hid his wince, but he found his gaze slipping to his hands before coming back up to meet his agent's perplexed gaze. "You're my best agent," Gibbs said, knowing it was only part of the truth and hoping Tony wouldn't push it.

The green eyes watching him turned thoughtful before hardening again. "That's a really good answer, Gibbs," he said, frowning. "And thank you. But you didn't particularly need me for that case."

Gibbs took a breath, looking away again. "Selfish curiosity," he admitted, hoping Tony wouldn't think less of him for it.

Tony just blinked in surprise. He thought for a moment before asking, "What's that mean?"

Gibbs took a long moment to answer, as if he needed the time to gather enough words. "I don't know anything about you," he finally said, holding up a hand to stop Tony from interrupting. "Every time you talk about your childhood, I get the feeling you're either lying or not telling the whole truth. I don't blame you. Knowing what I now know. But at the time, I just kept thinking how strange it was to have known you for so many years without actual knowing you."

Tony's gaze was blank again, and Gibbs suddenly wished he'd bought more beer. He wasn't kidding when he said Tony was no lightweight. Of all the responses Gibbs had been imagining, the one he got shocked and humbled him—and pained him.

"You know me better than anyone," Tony said softly.

Gibbs thought for a moment, knowing the gift that had been laid at his feet and not wanting to stumble over it and crush it. "In some ways, yeah," Gibbs said slowly. "You know I'm more about actions than words so I feel like I know who you are now—despite your best efforts to distract me, to distract everyone. I guess I just thought that with him around, maybe I'd get to see who you were then."

They simply stared at each other, the awkwardness like a third being in the room with them.

Gibbs looked away first—a first in itself, probably. "It sounds so… wrong when I say it now."

Tony simply shook his head. "There was a reason McGee was so excited to meet him. I just didn't get it then."

Tony watched Gibbs debating silently and just gave him a look.

"I could say something to them," Gibbs offered slowly. "If you want."

Tony shook his head. "No, don't," he said, chewing on his lip. "Thanks, but I'll tell them. Maybe it'll put some kind of cap on this whole mess."

Gibbs studied him through slightly narrowed eyes, trying to figure out what that meant. Finally, he just asked, "What are you thinking?"

Tony blinked, surprised by the direct question. "Something you said a while back. About closure. What does that even mean anyway? At some point, does this all make sense?"

"I wish I could tell you it will," Gibbs said softly.

The blood drained from Tony's face and he felt like burying his face in his knees and hiding. "Shit, Gibbs," he said, shaking his head and kicking himself hard for his stupidity, for being so insensitive. "I'm so sorry."

But Gibbs just watched him with concern. "What for?"

"This is twice that I've…" He waved a hand, not sure how to verbalize it.

Fortunately, he didn't need to. Gibbs just shook his head. "No, you didn't," he said, lifting a shoulder. "I did."

He let that hang there for a moment, gave Tony time to absorb it.

"And a funeral doesn't make it all better," Gibbs said. "I'd be pushing you harder to go if it did."

"I still don't want to go."

"Then don't," Gibbs said, making it sound so simple.

And making Tony realize that it was simple—and his decision.

"Thanks, Gibbs," he said. "For everything."

Gibbs just nodded. "Get some sleep, Tony. I can't tell you it will be all better in the morning. But it might be a little better. Gets a little better every day."

Tony snorted lightly. "Couldn't possibly be worse than this morning," he said, his hand on his belly. "I'm never drinking again."

Gibbs flicked a glance at the empty bottle on the table and smiled.

Tony grinned back. "Well, damn."

Gibbs just rolled his eyes and handed him the last bottle. "There's always tomorrow."