'Sorry, Jack,' Tony muttered sheepishly. The last time he'd felt like this, he'd been in third grade, apologising to one of the gardeners for decapitating the rosebushes with his new toy sword. He wasn't sure if being watched by Gibbs was better or worse than being dragged out to the potting shed by his ear by his grandmother.
'The mop is over in that corner, Tony,' the older man replied matter-of-factly, smiling kindly at him.
Grateful that his mentor's father wasn't making a bigger deal about his behaviour, Tony went to fetch the mop.
'And put on something warmer than that shirt. You're going to catch your death, like that.'
Tony flushed.
'My jacket got wet. I hung it up on that line you have in the back, but...'
He trailed off, glancing questioningly at his boss when Jack disappeared through the door into the back room. Gibbs simply shrugged and motioned at him to start cleaning up the mess he'd made earlier.
Jack returned a few minutes later, carrying a cream-coloured sweater. To Tony's surprise, Jack handed it to him and ordered him to put it on. He tried to decline, pointing out that, in his job, he could easily ruin the sweater, even if he tried to be careful.
'That sweater was a Christmas gift from my sister-in-law years ago. Never did fit me. But it looks like it should be close to your size, so it may as well finally get some use made of it. Now, put that on.'
Further protest was clearly pointless. So, leaning the mop against the counter, Tony pulled on the cardigan, feeling a rush of warmth that had nothing to do with the thick wool.