CHAPTER 13

Tony drove around aimlessly. He hadn't driven his car in almost two weeks, and if he hadn't been so preoccupied, he would have enjoyed it more. The vehicle itself wasn't flashy; he'd been driving a hybrid for a while, its finest feature being the sunroof. Long gone were the days of Camaros and Mustangs, but Tony found driving any car along back roads with the music on was a sure way of clearing his mind.

This time it didn't work so well. "Maybe I need a new car, something sporty," he muttered, when he'd been driving for a couple of hours, and he was just as uptight as when he'd set out.

Tony pulled in at a diner and ordered a club sandwich. He couldn't eat much, no matter how hard he tried. The waitress asked if there was something wrong with it, looking insulted. No, he replied, giving her an apologetic smile. He slipped a generous tip under the plate and left before she could say anything more.

Tired, and not wanting to go back to his condo, Tony sat in his car in the parking lot and called Wendy. At least she and Zack were safe at her parents' home.

Wendy answered impatiently. She was working on an assignment for the paper, and couldn't talk to him right now. "It's bad enough Mom keeps knocking, asking if I need anything."

Tony could sense her eye-roll. He asked, "How's Zack?" Wendy's dad loved Zack, but he had trouble getting around and his conversation was limited to golf these days.

"He's bored. Watching too much TV." Wendy told Tony that as soon as the FBI took them home, later that day, she was sending Zachary to stay at his friend Albert's house. It was all arranged. Tony didn't ask where Wendy would be after she'd packed their child off to the friend's home.

Tony sat in his car for a while, slumping down in the seat. It was warm and he was close to falling asleep, but his thoughts kept buzzing around in his head, giving him no chance to rest. He had to sort things out with his father. He'd agreed to have dinner with him, but hadn't made a date. He couldn't face him right now. It was always such an effort talking with his dad. Senior was one of those people who just knew they were right, no matter what. Sort of like Wendy, Tony realized, smiling wryly, even though it really wasn't funny. Without much thought, he dialed Jethro's number, his cell this time, and was surprised when Jethro picked up on the second ring.

A gruff voice said, "Gibbs."

Tony smiled. "DiNozzo."

There was a moment of silence and then Jethro asked, "You okay?"

Tony cleared his throat. "Right as rain. The FBI has closed the investigation. Apparently it's safe for me to be alone again. No more bodyguards. I'm supposed to keep the eyes in the back of my head open though. Stay away from dark alleys."

"Don't go running alone," Jethro warned.

"Guess I need to find a running buddy," Tony said, wondering how he was going to ask Jethro when he could see him again. He started coughing and it was a couple of minutes before it was over.

"You need to take care of yourself," Jethro said, sounding concerned.

"I know. I'm trying." When no more words were forthcoming, and the silence between them started to become uncomfortable, Tony got up the nerve to ask, "You know how you said I could come around any time?"

"Still stands," Jethro said without hesitation.

"Do you think I can take you up on that invitation now?"

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

When Tony turned into the drive and got out at the gate, he stopped to look around. Seeing Kelly Brook Farm for the first time in broad daylight felt like coming home. He'd never imagined it was so beautiful. Before, during the storm with only lightning for illumination, he'd only had a vague idea of what the property looked like. There had been an impression of dark, rain-drenched fields and no neighbors for miles, and a hulking great barn, the kind that serial killers buried their victims in. He was glad to see that his imagination had been overactive, fed by watching too many slasher movies.

Several horses grazed knee-deep in spring grass just beyond the big gray barn, raising their heads to see who the visitor might be. The handsome old house was perched on a rise, just as it had for the past 150 years, its white clapboard and weather-worn bricks set off by large, gleaming windows. Knowing that this was Jethro's home, and that he was there, waiting for him, gave Tony a warm feeling. After navigating his car through the gate – having to get out to open it and then close it once he'd driven through – Tony parked near the barn. As he got out of his car and stretched his back, he had to give himself a pep talk in order to look towards the large front porch where Jethro had shot and killed Frank Beals.

To his amazement, the entire front porch of the house was gone. It looked as if it had been ripped off by a bulldozer. Tony didn't have to be in construction to know that it was going to take a huge amount of work to repair it. There were temporary support beams holding up the porch roof, because the columns were gone, and the entire floor of the porch had been removed, leaving nothing but soil and building rubble in its place.

"What the hell?" Tony muttered.

From behind him, a rough voice said, "The trouble with these old places is, once you start pulling up a board or two, half the damned house needs to be replaced."

Tony turned quickly, his mouth agape, and found Jethro standing there with a smirk on his unshaven face. He was wearing loose jeans and a thin blue cotton shirt with rolled-up sleeves that was soaked with sweat. Bits of straw clung to his clothing and there was something that looked suspiciously like poop stuck to his boots. Tony, whose heart was beating a mile a minute, could only get out, "You…you…your house…the porch…"

"I thought they taught you public speaking in college," Jethro said.

Tony laughed in relief. "Guess I failed that course. Too busy playing sports. What made you do it? Termites?" They walked in the direction of the building project but Tony halted a good distance away, unable to go any closer.

Jethro stopped by his side. He scratched his unshaven jaw and squinted at his house. "Nope. Not termites. Rats," he said, not cracking even a hint of a smile.

"Wow. Lots of them?" Tony asked.

"One was enough, but he's been exterminated. No point in having any reminders," Jethro said, nodding wisely.

It hit Tony that Jethro had removed the entire porch as a way of getting rid of any evidence that Beals had ever been there. He was pretty sure that Jethro hadn't done so just for himself, which left Tony speechless that Jethro would go to all this trouble for him. "No," he said softly. "We don't want any reminders."

Jethro wiped his forehead with his forearm and glanced sideways at Tony. "Hot day. I could do with a beer." Without asking Tony if he wanted to join him, Jethro headed for the house, going around to the side porch. Smiling, Tony followed him, staying on his six.

Tony settled at the kitchen table and looked around, remembering the stormy night not so long ago, when he'd sat in this very chair while Jethro had bandaged the cut on the back of his shoulder.

Jethro sat down and handed Tony a bottle of cold beer. "You healing up okay?" he asked, looking at the vestiges of bruises on Tony's face and neck.

"Oh yeah. Sometimes my neck muscles act up. Otherwise…"

"Your cough seems better."

"I'm okay," Tony said, making light of it. Jethro nodded and Tony asked, "How about you? Is your arm all right? I see you're not using the sling."

Jethro flexed his left arm a little. "Shoulder is gonna be a pain no matter what I do," he grumbled. "I'm better if I use it. Just have to be careful when I lift anything heavy."

"Have you thought about hiring someone?"

"Money doesn't grow on trees." Jethro must have realized how curt he sounded, because he added, "Good news is, some folks have asked about renting the carriage house out back. They don't have enough acreage of their own, and want to expand their operation. They sell what they grow to fancy restaurants."

"And you have plenty of land," Tony surmised.

"I have enough to lease two other twenty-acre sections as well. This family, they have a couple of teenage daughters, both horse crazy. We'll see if they can do the stalls and feeding, maybe talk a trade of some kind."

Tony took a few swallows of his beer; the cool liquid felt good sliding down his throat. Jethro did the same, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. For some reason, that simple act turned Tony on, like nothing else. Jethro met his eyes with an intensity that Tony didn't know how to handle. He dropped his gaze and fiddled with the label on the bottle, afraid of what he might reveal if he looked into Jethro's eyes again.

Jethro knocked back the rest of his beer and stood. "So, you want to meet the horses or what?"

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

Tony was excited to finally meet the horses that were in Jethro's care. There were six of them. Chevron was a small bay with a dark mane and tail. Jethro said he had filled out nicely since he'd come to visit. The gelding had been neglected, and Jethro cautioned that he didn't like anyone reaching for her head. "Same with all of them. Move slowly, pay attention to their ears, and watch you don't get stepped on, in those fancy loafers of yours."

Jethro loaned Tony some boots, just in case, and they entered the field with Jethro carrying a bucket containing a few apples.

BigBoy was like his name – big. He was a dappled grey with a large head and gangly legs with big knees. Jethro reprimanded Tony for calling BigBoy ugly. "Even if he is…not pretty…we don't judge 'em by their looks."

Great White was another large horse, who laid back his ears when Jethro and Tony approached, even though they were a good twenty feet away. "Great White? Let me guess…he bites," said Tony, warily watching the horse.

"He won't," said Jethro, holding out an apple and waiting patiently for Great White to approach. "Attaboy," Jethro said softly, when the horse munched the apple and left slobber all over his palm. Jethro turned his head and smiled at Tony. "He's really a sweetheart. I've ridden him; he's slow but steady. You want to give him an apple?"

Tony's instinct was to say no, but Jethro was watching him, almost as patiently as he did the horses, so Tony agreed. He wondered what it would be like if Jethro was to reward him with an attaboy and scratch him behind the ears. Really nice, he expected.

Jethro pulled a knife out of a sheath on his belt, and cut another apple into pieces. He laid one in Tony's palm, and immediately the horse went for it. The feeling of the horse's tongue on his palm made Tony laugh. Great White snorted when he was done, and startled Tony when he nodded his head vigorously.

"It's okay. He doesn't want Madagascar to get too close," Jethro explained, as a couple of smaller chestnut-colored horses approached and got pushy. "Madagascar has the white face. He's a mustang; that's why he has a number tattooed on his neck. Nacho's a mustang, too. They both came from people who meant well but couldn't handle them. They're about ten years old. Now Rocky, he was abused, and he kicks up a fuss when I halter him, but we've come to an understanding." As soon as the apples were gone, and Jethro had made a point of touching every one of the horses, the big animals dropped their heads to graze, and slowly moved away.

As they walked among the horses, Jethro told Tony about their backgrounds, and what kind of people who might be a good match for which horse. Tony was impressed by the way Jethro handled these beautiful animals so well, how he seemed to understand them and appreciate each one as an individual. That he was gentle and caring showed in his touch, the way his hand slid along the back of one horse, how the horse with the v-shaped blaze on his forehead dipped his head and encouraged Jethro to pat his neck, and then shook his mane and softly nickered.

"I think he's laughing at me," Tony observed.

Jethro gave a small smile of his own. "Ya think?"

"How can you part with them when the time comes?" Tony could see the bond between Jethro and this horse, Chevron, was strong. If any of these animals were his, thought Tony, he'd never be able to give them up, not even if he knew they were going to the best of homes.

Jethro looked over the horses munching contentedly on the grass. "That's how the system works. When one of my visitors moves on, another one will come to stay for a while. I'm glad to have a chance to help them out." Jethro's eyes lingered on Chevron, and Tony had a feeling that when the time came, it was going to be tough for Jethro to say goodbye.

By the time the afternoon sun was dipping behind the trees, Tony had been won over by the horses, and the way Jethro treated them with affection and respect. Jethro opened the gate, and closed it securely after Tony had slipped through. They walked side by side to the house, taking their time, and when they were almost there, Jethro asked, "Want to stay for supper?"

"Um, I should be getting back," Tony replied, thinking of all the work he had to do, to prepare for a week in DC.

Jethro nodded and opened the screen door, saying nonchalantly, "I've got homemade apple pie and ice cream."

Tony squinted at the sky as if deciding whether or not to stay. "Depends. What kind of ice cream?"

Jethro shot him an irritated look. "Coffee ice cream, DiNozzo. Now, you coming or not?"

With a wide smile, Tony dropped all pretense of being disinterested. "Coming, Jethro."

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

They sat on hard metal chairs on the patio off the kitchen. Jethro brought out two mismatched bowls with gas station logos on them, and handed one to Tony. It was, as promised, coffee ice cream. For the first time since he'd returned to 'life,' as he thought of it, Tony was hungry. He not only polished off two slices of pie with extra helpings of ice cream, but he also had a glass of white wine. It was from a local vineyard, Jethro said. He'd bought several bottles during a fundraiser put on by the Maryland horse rescue community.

The last time he had seen Jethro, Tony had been loopy on pills and bourbon. He had acted like a horny teenager, had acted…badly. Jethro hadn't mentioned it, nor had he said anything about the way he'd stayed all night to take care of him. Tony knew he owed the man an apology, at the very least, and this was as a good time as any. He put his wine glass aside and cleared his throat. "Jethro? I want to thank you. For being there, taking care of me. I had no idea what a stupid thing I'd done until the next morning. And by that time, you were gone."

"And which stupid thing was that?" Jethro asked, turning to look directly at Tony. His expression was impassive.

"Drinking. I don't usually mix and match my drink and drugs."

"I should hope not," Jethro replied dryly.

"It said I could take two on the label," Tony said, knowing it was a weak excuse. "I tend to get sort of…wacky when I take pain pills, so I should've been more cautious, but my neck muscles were cramping up and…" He rubbed the side of his neck; the muscles were taut right now, but not bad. He caught Jethro frowning at him, which brought out a sheepish smile. "I'm sticking to over-the-counter pain meds from now on."

"Wacky, huh? You always go overboard like that? Dancing around and thinking your fingers have fallen off?"

"I did?"

Jethro nodded.

Tony shrugged. "Yeah, I don't know what it is about my fingers. They seem to take on a life of my own when I get like that. They feel strange, like they're tingling, sort of disconnected." It wasn't easy to explain so Tony shrugged.

"Your mouth takes on a life of its own, too," Jethro pointed out.

It was getting dark out and the only light was from the kitchen window behind them, so Tony was pretty sure he saw the corner of Jethro's mouth lifting in the hint of a smile. He had a strong feeling that Jethro was just pretending to be annoyed. Tony said with a little laugh, "Yeah, I tend to babble."

"I wasn't talking about you babbling, though you did that, too."

"What're you…? Oh…you mean…" Tony laughed uncomfortably, his fingers touching his lips, almost of their own accord. "Did I…"

"You kissed me," Jethro stated.

Tony felt a blush rising and was glad it was dark. "Hey, I must have been joking around. You know me."

"It didn't feel like a joke," said Jethro, his voice hardening slightly.

"I didn't mean to…"

"You planted one on me, Tony," Jethro said sharply.

Tony snapped back, "Well I was little stoned, okay? It was a mistake. Won't happen again, Officer Gibbs." Tony moved as if to get up but Jethro caught his arm, his fingers circling his wrist. It didn't hurt but it was a firm enough grip that Tony knew he'd have trouble extricating himself. Only he didn't want to. Jethro's hand was strong and warm, and the message, 'I am the boss,' came through loud and clear.

Jethro leaned forward, his face so close that Tony could feel he warmth of Jethro's breath against his cheek. Jethro asked, his voice low and rough, "You sure it won't happen again?"

It didn't seem as though retreating was an option, so Tony retorted, "I seem to remember you kissing me back. And lying on the bed with me. That was you, wasn't it?"

"Who the hell else did you think it was? Someone had to wake you up every hour, make sure you were still breathing," Jethro countered.

Tony tried not to pant too obviously, but this was turning him on, this back and forth, the way Jethro was so close that he could breathe in his masculine scent. Wishing he could see Jethro's features, his mouth more clearly, Tony licked his lips. "Guess I was lucky you were there then."

To his surprise, and then dismay, Jethro chuckled and released his wrist.

Tony immediately held onto his wrist with his other hand. The bandages had been removed days ago, and the cuts and abrasions from being tied up during the kidnapping had healed. Now all he could feel was the ghost of Jethro's touch, the residual warmth, and a tingle that was probably his imagination. What was going on with him that he wanted Jethro to hold him in his firm grasp again? That he wanted a repeat of that heated kiss that had left him moaning and wanting more? That he wanted Jethro…a man.

Jethro saw Tony holding his wrist and his smile disappeared. "Damn it. Did I hurt you?"

Tony shook his head. "No." His voice came out as a whisper.

"You sure?"

Tony nodded. Jethro gently took his wrist and held it up to catch the light, and after a brief inspection, he seemed satisfied.

Slowly, Jethro reached out with one hand and stroked Tony's hair, lingering for a moment. His palm caressed Tony's neck and then his hand dropped away, leaving Tony speechless and close to trembling. Jethro nodded and said absently, "Good. I didn't mean to grab you there. I wasn't thinking."

Tony couldn't help pointing out, smiling weakly, "I guess it's pretty easy to get caught up in the moment."

Jethro bowed his head for a moment, and then smiled back at him. "Guess so."

Something seemed to settle between them, a deeper understanding perhaps. A barely voiced attraction that they both acknowledged. Whatever it was, Tony was glad his actions hadn't scared off Jethro. Having the older man as a friend was good, but this moment they'd shared seemed to be the beginning of something bigger, something long-lasting, Tony hoped.

"Maybe we should go inside," Tony suggested, not sure where this was going.

"There's no hurry," Jethro replied, and so Tony nodded and they sat there, close but not touching, until it grew late and the stars came out, and their thoughts turned to mundane things, like washing up and making sure the barn door was closed securely for the night.

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~