"Ready, Boss."

The voice came from the kitchen doorway, and Gibbs set his coffee cup on the counter and turned around. Tony was indeed ready: clothes on, hair combed, and shoes tied. He'd managed to button the white shirt, but it wasn't tucked in, which was all right – it didn't have to be. Tony's days of wearing tucked-in button-downs with suits and ties were gone now. Gibbs knew he really didn't remember those days. Not much anyway. He'd taken him to work a few times, and Tony had looked around with innocent wonder – nothing seemed familiar, although he had paused next to his old desk for a few moments before being drawn away by Abby's invitation to her lab.

The main focus of his life now was the centre – physical therapy for his leg, occupational therapy for everyday self-help skills, and counseling for the confusion and frustration that he encountered – often on a daily basis. It wasn't easy relearning what he'd lost, and there was only so much that he could learn. But he was improving.

Gibbs grabbed the car keys from the table and headed toward the backdoor. "Let's roll, then," he smiled, giving Tony a high five as he went past him. "Don't forget to get your bag," he added, glancing toward the backpack in one of the kitchen chairs.

Tony stepped over and picked it up, opened the flap, and peered inside. "I don't need these," he announced flatly, frowning toward the kitchen door that Gibbs had just exited.

Gibbs stuck his head back in the doorway, saw that he was looking in the backpack, knew what he was referring to. "You might," he replied.

Tony shook his head emphatically. "No. I won't," he insisted.

And Gibbs sighed, walked back into the kitchen. "Tony, you know what Ducky says – better safe than sorry."

He shook his head again, and Gibbs watched as his fingers closed tightly around the backpack. "I don't need these," he repeated. There was a pleading note in his voice, and his lower lip trembled. "It's been a long time…"

It had been two weeks, but, for Tony, that was interminable.

Gibbs nodded. "I know, but… just in case…"

"No." His eyes were growing glassy with unshed tears.

"Tony…"

"No!" He reached inside the pack and pulled out a folded bundle of clothes, threw it on the table. "I don't want 'em." Then, dropping the backpack on the ground, he turned and ran out of the kitchen, his footsteps hard in the hallway, followed by the slam of his bedroom door.

With a frustrated sigh, Gibbs sank into a chair, reached out, and picked up the clothing: navy sweatpants and a pair of boxers. A change of clothes – just in case. And he'd needed them just two weeks ago. Gibbs remembered. It was a Friday, and he'd been late picking him up.

Gibbs was out of breath by the time he reached the third floor waiting room. Liz met him at the door.

"Lot of traffic," he explained, his eyes scanning the room and finding Tony lying on a sofa across from him. "Fell asleep?"

Liz nodded. "About fifteen minutes ago."

"Tears?"

She smiled softly. "A few." Gibbs winced, and Liz patted his shoulder. "He's all right, Jethro. Why don't we let him sleep for a little while? I think there's a fresh pot of coffee in the break room." Liz had already discovered Gibbs' penchant for coffee.

He grinned. "Sounds good."

"I'll be right back."

Liz went down the hall, and Gibbs sank into a nearby chair. A part of him wanted to go check on Tony, but he didn't want to wake him. Instead, he contented himself with studying him from a distance. He looked fairly comfortable, on his side, knees drawn up to his stomach. His coat was scrunched up under his head, and he clutched his backpack to his chest.

A steaming cup of coffee appeared on the table in front of him, and Gibbs looked up at Liz. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." She sat down across from him. "He really is all right."

"I know, but…" There was something different about Tony, and he'd just figured out what it was. "Those aren't the same clothes he put on this morning."

Liz shrugged. "He had a little accident. But Joseph was here, and he helped him get cleaned up and changed."

Gibbs sighed. "How did he react?"

"I think he was a little disappointed with himself, embarrassed. He was quiet for a while afterwards, but then… Well, you know Tony, he likes to get involved, so he participated in the art project this afternoon. I think he's fine."

Gibbs nodded and moved over to the other side of the room. He knelt down by the sofa and ran his fingers through Tony's hair, gently fingering the lighter strands at his temples. "Tony?" he whispered. "Wake up."

Tony shifted on the sofa, groaned softly.

Gibbs gently shook his shoulder. "Wake up, Buddy. It's time to go home."

His eyes opened, and he blinked sleepily at him. "Hey, Boss." He let out a heavy breath and pushed up on one elbow. "You're late."

Gibbs smiled at the note of accusation in his voice. "Yeah. Sorry. Long day."

Tony stretched and yawned, rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Me, too."

Gibbs touched the back of Tony's neck, then leaned closer and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Let's go home," he said softly and felt him nod his head in agreement.

~vVv~

Tony was quiet on the ride home. Usually he talked, describing every activity of his day, answering Gibbs' questions in minute detail, voice rising and falling with emotion, laughing at remembered jokes. His therapist encouraged this; the recall was good for his memory and sequencing. The more he talked, the more his skills improved.

But he was silent now, head leaning against the window, eyes seemingly focused on the side of the road, gravel and scrub grass rushing by.

Ten minutes passed, and they were half way home when Tony finally spoke, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm not… a baby."

Gibbs glanced over at him. He had slumped further into his seat, eyes still staring out the window.

"Of course, you're not," Gibbs reassured him, shifting his focus back to the road. When Tony didn't say anything else, Gibbs continued, "Did somebody say you were?" He knew none of the employees at the centre would say such a thing, but he couldn't be sure about the other patients.

"No," Tony answered after several long moments, "but I… I can't…"

"Can't what, Tony?" Gibbs could hear the frustration in his voice. Sometimes he hated to make him talk, but his therapists said that it was better than the alternative. It wasn't a good idea to keep strong emotions bottled up inside for too long.

"Can't… do things, and…" He drew in a ragged breath. "I… had… 'n accident."

"It's all right, Buddy," Gibbs assured him quickly, reaching over and touching his arm. "Remember what the doctor said. You don't have complete sensation on your right side and sometimes it's difficult to know when you have to go to the bathroom."

"I… try… Boss."

He didn't have to look to know that there were tears in Tony's eyes.

"I know you do. And think of all the things you can do. All the things you've had to relearn. How to read, and write, and dress, and-"

"Can't tie… shoes too good," Tony interrupted.

And Gibbs smiled, knowing a small crisis was passing. "But you're working on it."

"Yeah," Tony breathed.

"And you can tie them halfway."

"Can't make… loops," he sighed.

Gibbs gave Tony's lower arm a reassuring squeeze. "Why don't we practice those loops when we get home?"

"Okay."

~vVv~

And they'd practiced – over and over, loops and ears, and bunny rabbits going through holes – until finally Tony could do it on his own, leading to his performance last night for the team. But tying shoes was one thing and toileting accidents were quite another. Gibbs stared at the clothing on the table before him, wondering why today, of all days, Tony had reacted so strongly. Gibbs always put extra clothes in his backpack – even though he hadn't needed them in the past two weeks. But he knew that often there was no rhyme or reason to Tony's reactions – some days he just didn't notice things, and other days he did. Today was one of those days.

With another heavy sigh, Gibbs pushed himself up from the table and headed down the hall to Tony's room, taking the clothing with him. He tapped on the closed door. "Tony?"

He waited. There was no reply. He knocked again. "Hey, Buddy? Can I come in?"

Still, nothing. So he turned the knob and pushed the door open a bit, just enough to stick his head in. "Tony?"

He was sitting cross-legged in the middle of his bed, Bert the Hippo on his lap. Gibbs smiled. "Can I come in?" he repeated.

Tony nodded, so Gibbs crossed over and sat on the corner of the bed, setting the clothing beside him. "You don't have to take these if you don't want to."

But Tony nodded again, reaching out and touching the leg of the sweatpants. "No. Like Ducky says… better sorry than safe."

Gibbs wondered whether he should correct him or not, but Tony corrected himself.

"I mean… better safe than sorry."

Gibbs grinned and placed a hand on Tony's knee, gave it a reassuring squeeze. "It's just in case, Tony. You haven't needed them in a while – probably won't need them, but…"

Tony turned his face to Gibbs. "Just in case," he sighed.

And Gibbs nodded in agreement. "Just in case."

~vVv~