Gibbs more than made up for his uncharacteristic loquaciousness on the remainder of the drive, but he didn't think Tony would mind—he had been out cold since Jersey. Gibbs chalked it up to exhaustion, painkillers and being emotionally wrung out like a dish rag.
He frowned tightly, flicking a glance at the cast on Tony's hand. Professionally, he was annoyed. Personally, he was furious.
But not at Tony himself. Mostly, Gibbs was pissed that the man had had to grow up in a house where showing emotion was considered wrong, punished even.
It called up a memory from early in their working relationship when Tony had spent hours cleaning and inventorying the truck only to find it trashed by some careless agent the next day. Gibbs had found Tony in the gym later that night, pounding the piss out of a punching bag, his hands dangerously unprotected. Gibbs had pried the reason for his anger out of the young man and asked why he didn't just go ream the offending agent.
"What?" Tony had asked, blinking in confusion and eyeing Gibbs as if he had suggested proposing to the jackass agent.
"Well, yeah, DiNozzo," Gibbs had said, perplexed. "Why not just go tell him he pissed you off?"
"I guess I just never…"
Gibbs had raised an eyebrow questioningly. "What? You gonna tell me you're not big on confrontation? Baltimore kind of disproved that. It's the reason I hired ya."
Tony had just let his eyes fall down to his puffy knuckles. "It's just easier to let things go sometimes," he had said quietly.
And Gibbs had just let it go at that then, but now, looking at DiNozzo's currently swollen fingers, he wished he had tried harder over the years to teach Tony how to feel—instead of just standing by and watching him do such a convincing job of faking it.
The sign for the state of Maryland flashed by and Gibbs thought about waking his passenger. He turned to find a pair of bleary green eyes watching him, and he bit down on a smile.
"Just crossed into Maryland," Gibbs said, answering the question in those eyes.
He was surprised when Tony groaned softly, and he almost asked him if his hand was bothering him.
But Tony said, "I don't wanna go back."
Gibbs just raised a surprised eyebrow. "Thought you'd want to be back. Sleep off the rest of that hangover."
Tony sighed, wondering why he had started this. "At least that part will be nice," he said, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. "I feel like I could sleep for days."
"Knock yourself out," Gibbs said, surprising him. "You've got leave. Take it."
Tony felt an odd relief at hearing those words, but he frowned as his eyes fell to the cast protecting his broken hand. "Might as well," he said. "It's not like I'm going to be of any use to you."
Gibbs heard the self-loathing in the words and wanted to have that conversation about it being okay to feel—okay to hurt. "It'll heal," he said simply. "Let it go, Tony."
DiNozzo smiled at that, finally starting to believe it might actually be possible. He thought about his father and wondered if he had officially made his peace with the man—and what the man had done to him. And then he realized it was a silly notion. He wasn't sure he would ever be at peace with the abuse he had suffered at the hands of his father, a man who should have loved and protected him.
He wasn't sure he ever wanted to be at peace with that.
Gibbs was right. There really was no such thing as closure. Tony glanced to his left, smiling when he saw Gibbs pretending not to be studying him. But it did get a little better every day.
"Thanks, Boss," he said, wanting to elaborate but knowing he didn't need to—even if Gibbs would have let him.
"Didn't do anything you wouldn't have done for me," he said. "For any of us."
Tony shifted uncomfortably at the quiet sentiment and then he sighed heavily, the smile gone. Gibbs could read the distress in his features but couldn't determine its origin—disturbing because it was usually the other way around. Often, he knew what Tony should be feeling—and why—but couldn't find any hint of the actual emotion.
Tony picked at the lining of the cast. "They're going to have a lot of questions," he said softly.
Gibbs suddenly understood the distress. He knew that Tony liked keeping the important things in his life—especially things as wrenching as the revelations of the weekend—closely guarded. Considering those revelations, Gibbs wouldn't be surprised if Tony bought a Doberman and posted several sentries around his secrets.
And his father's death. Gibbs knew his agent could give as good as he got when it came to ribbing and teasing, and he also knew Tony was extremely adept at offering support when it was needed—even if his methods were a little unusual. But Gibbs had never known anyone so completely clueless at receiving kindness. He chalked it up to inexperience—and was shamed to realize his own words and actions before this weekend had been more hindrance than help on that front.
"Offer still stands," Gibbs said, meaning it. If Tony couldn't deal with telling the team about his father's death, Gibbs had no problem giving him a hand.
More picking at the cast told Gibbs there were more issues at play than Tony being unsure of how to deal with the sympathy of his friends—if he even saw them as friends. Gibbs knew there had been deep wounds inflicted by the team during the Mexico disaster that, while now healed, had still left scars.
"What would you tell them?" Tony asked, unsure why he was even thinking about giving in to the temptation of letting Gibbs handle his problems.
Gibbs raised one silver eyebrow. "I was thinking about the truth," he said, referring to both the death and Tony's obvious injury.
Gibbs saw Tony wince, his eyes shifting away guiltily.
"I can tell them whatever you want," Gibbs said. "As little or as much as you're comfortable with."
They both knew Tony's threshold on that, but Gibbs was surprised when Tony verbalized it. "So I don't have to tell them anything?"
Gibbs saw the guilt, but he pressed on. "They're your friends, Tony. It ever occur to you they'll want to be there for you?"
Gibbs was expecting the flinch but not the full-on shudder.
"That's what I'm afraid of," Tony whispered, almost to himself.
Gibbs blinked in surprise. He had never heard his agent admit to being afraid of anything. Those soft words made his heart ache, made him realize his friend had gotten too used to being alone, to dealing with everything by himself without even a hint of support. A sudden vision of a twelve-year-old boy lying in a hospital bed, broken and hurt—in so many ways—made Gibbs see red.
Gibbs realized he had the steering wheel gripped furiously between white knuckles when Tony asked, tentatively, "What are you thinking?"
He loosened his grip, thinking hard, not wanting to tell Tony that he had been contemplating how to go about making a dead man suffer. He abandoned the thought quickly. Tony had suffered enough with those memories.
"Could tell 'em it was a bar fight," Gibbs said, half-joking.
Tony shook his head, fiercely it seemed to Gibbs as a shadow passed through his tired green eyes. "I don't want to lie to them."
Gibbs just nodded, recognizing the statement for what it was. He wasn't really surprised that Tony wasn't planning on letting him take over what the younger man considered to be his responsibility. It made him feel a dash of pride he wasn't sure was his right to feel.
"Be as vague as you want. You don't owe them any answers." And I'll make sure they don't press you on it, he added silently.
Judging by the relief that crossed Tony's face, Gibbs might as well have spoken out loud.
"Thanks, Boss."
Gibbs just nodded as he pulled into Tony's building's parking garage. He grabbed Tony's bag from the backseat, beating Tony to it and knowing it was only because of the younger agent's exhaustion and painkiller-induced fog. Gibbs expected a protest as he shouldered the bag, but Tony just smiled wryly and led the way to his apartment.
Once inside, Gibbs tossed the bag on the floor and hesitated only slightly before laying a gentle hand on Tony's shoulder. "Get some rest, okay?"
He saw Tony's eyes shift away uncomfortably and he made his last request sound more like an order. "You need anything, DiNozzo, you call me. Got it?"
The tired smile was not unexpected. "Got it, Boss. Thank you. For everything."
Gibbs nodded, squeezed the slightly trembling shoulder and left without another word.
No more were needed.