The Bitter End

Title : The Bitter End 05
Author: Daedalus / Tak / Whatever, as long as the clock keeps ticking
Fandom: NCIS
Category: Slash
Pairing: Gibbs/DiNozzo – Allusions to Tony/Jeanne and Gibbs/Mann
Rating: PG for now (will be NC-17 later on)
Genre: Angst (a lot of it) – Action – Character study – First Time
Summary: What could have been a tragedy forces Gibbs and DiNozzo to realize they can’t deny what they long for any longer. But a ghost rises from the past and beats them to the game.
Spoilers: Every season from season 1.
Warnings: Homophobia
Disclaimer: Don’t own, don’t sue.
Thanks to Joey, who does an amazing job, for betaing this fic.

Like every single time when Tony got shot at, was abducted, or when he caught the plague, Tony had been extremely lucky in his woe.

The first bullet had grazed the liver, very near the portal vein, and though the wound had bled profusely, the beginning of an internal bleeding had been controlled easily. The legs were paradoxically more problematic, since one bullet had shattered the femur, and the other had punctured the femoral artery, which had caused him to bleed. But the surgeons had done a good job, and given the time to heal (which he would have to spend mostly in a wheelchair so as not to put a strain on his thighs that would compromise the healing of his thighbone or tear the stitches) Tony would be good as new.

That also meant that once Tony got out of ICU and was cleared by the doctors to go home, he would not be cleared for field duty for a while – which had annoyed Gibbs to no end because he needed his skills in the field, and because Tony was not fun to be around when he was assigned desk duty for a long period of time. Worse, he became reckless and did stupid – albeit very brave – things such as take a key to a trapped trunk to be blown up instead of his co-workers.

There was another problem. He could not live in his apartment. There were stairs, no elevator. So he had asked Tony to come live with him for a while without even thinking. It was only when Tony blinked and hesitated that he recognized the impropriety of his proposition. Impropriety that was there only because he had set the boundaries too tightly. Of course, he had asked Tony to come home with him for a while after the plague – but it had barely lasted a week. Here, he was offering his home for something that would probably exceed a whole month. He had cursed and was about to take it back when Tony had finally answered, wearily:


‘Yeah boss… I’d like to…’


So here they were. Tony still in ICU, on drugs, as he would be for a while, and after talking with the doctors, he had secured guards at the doors of Tony’s rooms – which, of course, Tony had contested until he told him that it was that or Gibbs at Tony’s bedside for the whole duration of his treatment.
On hospital coffee only.

And of course, Tony had relented.


He was not taking any chances. The woman was crazy, and she had preposterous ideas, but she did seem to know them well enough for him to feel the need to be as careful as humanly possible. Tony had already taken the full brunt of her disillusions. He was not risking his agent’s health anymore than necessary. And leaving him all alone for a long period of time, when he was wounded, in an unfamiliar place where he could not defend himself, was really not an option.

The bitch could still bomb the building, but he was sure she would not go to those lengths. Besides, she seemed to want to make him suffer, and bombing a whole building because one person inside happened to be ‘his precious’ was far too impersonal for her to use it.


So here he was now, back into his office, brainstorming everything they got – which was nothing, since Abby had already determined that there was no print on that tape other than Dowling’s, and neither was there on the envelope. As for the metal clip, there was a partial, but too tiny to be usable. Besides, someone could have picked the thing up just to have a look at it and thrown it back down because it was just junk. This was also problematic insofar as it could mean that the scene had been compromised.

They had cleared both the area and the club, and Abby was trying to make a computer reconstruction of the attack. But it was not easy.

So they were there with evidence that led them nowhere. And of course, Gibbs was getting more and more pissed off. It did not bode well. Ziva and McGee, who had just given their boss his coffee, which he had not touched in half an hour – which was a sign that the Second Coming was at hand –, exchanged a look.
And then, it hit Tim. He took a hesitant step forward, frowning, scratching his temple.


‘Boss?’


Gibbs wiped around and raised his eyebrows. He looked feral, even more like a wolf – a trapped wolf – that had for the last half hour been pacing holes in the office floor… McGee gulped but stood his ground. Even though he did lean his head backwards a bit, as Gibbs had stepped into his personal space, the tip of their shoes practically touching.


‘Boss, I was thinking… That clip, you know? There were snipers, and we didn’t find them. But I’m sure there… well, at least there might be some kind of… device that would allow that woman to see us and talk to us.’
‘You mean, like a camera?’
‘With speakers, yeah, basically. That would explain why the voice sounded jammed from time to time.’
‘But it still worked.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Well, what are you waiting for?’
‘Boss?’
‘Why aren’t you looking for it, McGee?’
‘On it, boss!’


He grabbed his coat and was running towards the elevator as Gibbs turned to Ziva who was looking at him.


‘Why are you still standing here, Ziva?’ Gibbs asked with his ‘pissed off but oh so calm’ voice.
‘Ah… Right.’


She joined McGee as the elevator doors were closing under Gibbs’ scrutinizing gaze. Gibbs shouted in the direction of the elevator: ‘And try not to get yourselves killed!’ before he lifted his coffee to his lips and took a sip.

Cold.

He frowned, stared at his coffee as if it was the cause of all his sorrows, then at the elevator door as if it was McGee’s fault for bringing it to him, then spat in the bin, throwing the cup full of liquid inside. Then he headed towards the Director’s office.

**
*

A quarter of an hour later, Gibbs was reaching his car in the car park, snapping his cell phone closed after calling McGee to let him know he was going back to the hospital and to check any progress they could have made, when he noticed an envelope addressed to ‘Special Agent L.J. Gibbs’ that had been stuck underneath the windscreen wiper. Swearing under his breath, he slipped on a pair of gloves and snatched it up, before he practically ran back to headquarters, the wheels in his head turning at full speed. The car park was private, which meant whomever had slipped the envelope must have been cleared at the security post. Which meant he or she was one of them – a mole? – or a visitor.

But perhaps they would be able to get an ID through the recordings of the video surveillance. He snatched his phone and called the Director.


‘C’mon, Jen, pick up…’
‘Director Sheppard.’
‘Jen, it’s Gibbs. No one is leaving NCIS until further notice. Understood?’
‘Wha- Jethro, what’s going on?’
‘No time to explain. Meet me at Abs’ if you want to know. But in the meanwhile, no one is leaving.’
‘Jethro, I can’t poss-’
‘You’re the Director, Ma’am.’
‘Jet-‘


He hung up, displeased at the tardiness of the elevator. He fidgeted for a while, before he decided to take the stairs. The door to Abby’s lab banged open as he barged him, frightening so much the girl that she nearly dropped the slide she was holding.


‘Gibbs!! Don’t ever do that again! You want me to have a heart attack?’
‘I don’t frighten you anymore when I walk up on you. I had to find something else’, he joked, though his expression was sombre.
‘Uh oh… Something bad, hey? It’s not Tony, is it? Tell me he’s not dead!’


Gibbs rolled his eyes and produced the envelope.


‘Gimme gimme…’, she said, carefully putting the slide down. ‘Still that bitch, huh?’
‘That’s what I want to find out.’
‘Can I punch her nose when you find her?’


She had already placed the envelope in the box and had slipped her hands in the plastic gloves. That’s what he liked about her. Funny, smart, and efficient.


‘Maybe I can arrange that’, he said, his spirits lifting a little already.
‘Where did you find this?’
‘On my car.’


Abby stopped what she was doing, gaped at him, a worried expression on her face, and said after a while: ‘Oh my God!’
‘Exactly…’


She endeavoured to open the envelope and took the paper out for them to read.


‘So let’s see… “Do you trust the personnel in Bethesda with your beloved ‘Saint Bernard’, Special Agent Gibbs?” She’s mad! She’s raving mad! And why would she think Tony was “your beloved ‘Saint Bernard’? I’m your favourite, aren’t I?’


Gibbs had paled, his jaw tightening. She was right – she was raving mad. But it was something they knew already. If anything, her potential association with Ari was proof enough. And if not, her thinking she had lived the purest of love with him and plotting for years to bring down the man who was supposed to have killed him was concerning. The allusion to the ‘Saint Bernard’ was even frightening, as he was sure he and Tony had talked about it years ago. Worse, the reference to ‘Lord of the Rings’ made sense in a twisted way when you knew they called McGee ‘Elf Lord’.

The fact that she knew he was attracted to Tony – that he loved Tony – while none of the people of his team, including the object of his affections, had a clue, was worrying in two respects. He knew that it was partly his fault because he insisted on keeping private matters private, and he had been going out with Mann for a while before the break up. Though Tony kept teasing him about his ex wives, they all knew better than try to pry into his personal life. However, it could also mean that they were less observant than that woman. Or that she had been keeping a close eye on them all for years without them noticing. Close enough to know something he himself barely acknowledged.


He patted Abby’s shoulder and gave her a tight smile.


‘Of course, you’re my favourite. You’re like a daughter to me…’


But instead of squealing like he thought she would, Abby narrowed her eyes, as if it could help her see better into his soul, leaning a bit forward.


‘But that’s not all, is it? You’re hiding something. You’re hiding something from me, Gibbs. Or else, why would she think he was “your precious”, huh?’


He tried really hard not to let any of his embarrassment show and hid behind a raised eyebrow.


‘Like you said yourself, she’s “raving mad”.’
‘No, but I mean… of course he’s your Senior Field Agent, but you were fucking Colonel Mann weren’t you? And you’ve known me the longest, and Ducky of course, so why…’


She stopped, as if she was catching on something, and he tried desperately not to let anything show.


‘What are you trying to tell me, Gibbs?’
‘Well that I have to go check on Tony and see how he’s doing, and review the security tapes to find the cul-‘
‘No! I wasn’t talking about that… Why would she… oh God… That’s it, isn’t it?’


She looked and sounded far too excited for his liking. And her bouncing up and down, her ponytails dancing, as if someone had just come out of one of her machines and told her that Halloween would be early… It made him cringe slightly.


‘I really have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Ooh come on Gibbs, you’re no fun! I didn’t know! You’ve told him, right? You did?’


Gibbs wore a confused expression and blinked.


‘Told him what?’
‘That you cared…’
‘But of course, I care! He’s my agent!’
‘No, I mean, you really, really, really cared…’
‘Abs I…’


But he was saved by the arrival of the Director in the lab. She glanced at them alternatively, and he tried very hard not to look too relieved.


‘What was that all about, Jethro?’
‘Nobody going out?’
‘Yes. I passed the order on. So now will you please explain why I had to pass that ridiculous order?’
‘This.’


He showed the case that contained the envelope.


‘Another letter?’


Gibbs nodded. Abby looked strangely subdued, and kept glancing at him from under her lashes. He hoped she would keep whatever was on her mind to herself.


‘I found it on my car…’
‘That means…’
‘Yes. So now, will you excuse me, I have recordings to check.’


He was half-way to the door when his cell phone rang. He cursed under his breath, looking at the ceiling before picking up.


‘Gibbs.’
‘We found something, boss…’
‘Define ‘something’, M’Gee?’
‘Err… What we were looking for… Boss…’
‘Good job, McGee. So why is it not in Abby’s lab already…’
‘We’ll be there in forty.’
‘Make it twenty.’
‘What? But Boss-‘
‘Ziva’s driving, right? So she’ll be there in twenty.’
‘B-‘


He hung up and turned towards the Director and Abby, who were watching him guardedly.


‘What?’ he said, before storming off.

**
*

Twenty minutes later, he had been looking at the recording of the surveillance camera that showed his car when Ziva and McGee arrived with the ‘evidence’ they had found. Nobody had approached his vehicle, yet. He was getting impatient. He wanted to check on Tony, but there was no one he trusted enough to do it for him. He paused the tape before he looked at his agents, already grabbing his keys.


‘Ziva, take that down to Abs. Then you come back up and help McGee.’


Ziva ran off and McGee came up to him.


‘Someone stuck a second letter on my car. You find who that is and you bring him for questioning. Understood?’
‘Yes, boss.’
‘Good. I’m going to Bethesda. There’s a possibility that the staff are not entirely trustworthy.’
‘Oh my God…’


Gibbs was gone, already, heading towards autopsy. The elevator still was not fast enough. He had barely entered the room when he saw Ducky and Palmer in the middle of weighing the lungs of the stiff on the table.


‘Ducky, you’re with me.’
‘Not now, Jethro. You see, our Petty Officer here has some sort of a-‘
‘I don’t care. You come with me. Palmer can do the autopsy. He’s a big boy.’
‘Now Jethro I don’t mean to be rude but-‘
‘We don’t have time. Tony may be in danger, goddammit, and I won’t take the chance to ask a M.E. I don’t trust to check if there is anything “hinky” going on.’
‘Oh my dear boy…’
‘Quick, Duck.’
‘Alright, Jethro’, Ducky said, slipping off his gloves and robe. ‘Let me just grab my coat and I’ll be with you in a minute.’

**
*

Apparently, he had had no need to worry. He had asked Ducky, as a personal favour, to check on Tony and on his treatment as often as possible. Tony had been sedated when he came in, but as far as he knew, neither of the two agents he had sent – fortunately, before the interval of time the second letter had been given to him – was aware of anything amiss.

She had just been baiting him. And he had bitten.

He had stayed with Ducky at Tony’s bedside, talking sotto voce and resisting the urge to take the young man’s hand. Every time he so much as glanced towards his agent, he felt Ducky’s speculative gaze on him. On his hand millimetres away from Tony’s, as if he knew his deepest craving.

And thinking back on their discussion in the car the day he had taken off to Mexico, maybe he did.


He had left Ducky with Tony, calling his team to know if they had anything and to update them on Tony’s (fortunately stable) condition. Abby had identified the metal clip as coming from one of the speakers. Ziva had told him they had used Tony’s movie tip to look for something in the wall when a search of the ground proved fruitless, even though it had been difficult because Ziva had had to threaten a passerby to get a cigarette, and because as they were outside, there was still some air making the smoke move, which made them think there was something where there was nothing at all. But in the end, they had found it.

Two tiny but powerful speakers, a microphone, and a video camera connected to a transmitter that were hidden in a cache arranged in the wall so that only the lens stood out in the mortar. They had tried to find the ‘source’ of the voice, but the area they had triangulated was completely barren, which indicated that they would have used a vehicle of some kind.

Unfortunately, the area was tarred and had been cleaned, so they had no impressions on the asphalt and nothing to go by. And as far as the preliminary reconstruction was concerned, it showed that there were certainly at least two snipers, hidden in buildings high enough to shoot into a somewhat narrow alley surrounded by walls.


As for the second letter, they had found the culprit, who had been apprehended and had been sitting in an interrogation room for the last four hours. He belonged to the maintenance service and had done nothing to hide his identity. He had left minutes before Gibbs went to his car.

The interrogation was short but intense. Gibbs knew there was something more to his story, in which he claimed that he did not know – which was possible – that Gibbs and his team were being targeted, that he had found a letter just outside the corner on his way back from Starbucks, and since Gibbs was such a celebrity in NCIS, and since he did not want to disturb him, he had just left the envelope on his car.

Which was possible, but much less probable. And the accumulation of ‘since’s, the careful construction of his discourse to make it plausible were too carefully woven for them to be extremely natural. Especially since the man who delivered them appeared very calm despite the predicament he was in, as if he knew they had nothing against him. Which posed another problem: why be so confident nothing was going to happen to you if you really had nothing to reproach yourself?

Gibbs was about to storm off, pissed, and thinking about Tony’s condition, him laying in a fucking hospital bed because of three bullets he had taken for him, and he just looked back at the suspect who was watching him guardedly, when he noticed his shoes.

He remembered Tony saying you could know a man by looking at his shoes. He smirked.


‘Good job, DiNozzo’, he said, as he left the interrogation room.


Of course, the Director, who had been supervising the interrogation from behind the glass, went out and stopped him, frowning as the huge smirk on his face.


‘Care to tell me what this was all about, Jethro?’
‘Care to tell me how long you’ve been hiring maintenance personnel who wore Testoni shoes, Jenny?’


He stared at her as she gaped, and decided to head home. Let Jenny handle this. He knew there was no way she could keep the FBI out of this now. But at least he would have the pleasure of seeing Fornell. And as far as he was concerned, two bastards on the arse of the bitch who had hurt Tony were even better than one.


But he was not prepared for the surprise that awaited him when he went down to the basement, to spend some ‘quality time’ with his boat and have a glass or two or bourbon.

He swore loudly, reaching for his gun.

There was a third letter pinned to the hull of his ship.


So now, the asylum he wanted to offer Tony for a while had been compromised. If he wanted to be honest, it was too easy for terrorists and murderers – and ex-wives – to get in. But this was the last straw. Gun at the ready, he cleared the basement, calling McGee to ask for reinforcements, and a search team to turn his house upside-down in look for any bug that could have given him away to the bitch.

He winced. If there had been a bug in his room, no wonder they knew about his little obsession over Tony. When he came screaming his name, he tended to be rather… loud, after all.

He cleared each room, one by one, waiting for the search team to arrive, never holstering his gun. He still wanted to take care of Tony, still wanted to be there for him during his recovery. And his house really was the best one for someone who needed a wheelchair.

When the search team finally arrived, McGee and Ziva in toe, he barked orders, arranged for a locksmith to change every single lock in his house and make it as safe as the White House, ordered McGee to bring the envelope to Abby – wherever she was – and call him when they knew what was written on the letter, and then informed his team that he would go back to the hospital to check on Tony again and have some sleep.

Of course, Ziva had started to object.


‘Gibbs, he is a big guy, you need some real sleep, and there are already two fresh guards outside his room.’
‘Not good enough for me. I won’t leave him out there all alone, Officer David.’


And without so much as a goodbye, he was gone.


McGee called him about twenty minutes after he reached Bethesda. Gibbs went out of Tony’s room, keeping his voice low.


‘Gibbs.’
‘We’ve opened the envelope.’
‘Good job, McGee. I’m glad you can still open something else than electronic mail…’
‘Uhh… Well, don’t you want to know what it says?’
‘If I hadn’t, McGee, do you think I would have asked you to bring the letter to Abby and call me ASAP?’
‘Hey, Bossman, don’t need to get all bossy on poor lil’ McGee…’ said Abby’s voice.
‘Hey Abs. Now will you read the damn letter for me?’
‘Seriously. You really have to learn to say “please”, you know.’
‘Abs…’
‘Alright, alright. Says: “There was no need to get all paranoid, was there?” Bitch. Will you let her make fun of us any longer?’
‘You know I want to lock her away as much as you do, Abs.’
‘Yeah, what with you being all lo-‘
‘Abs!’ he warned, acutely aware McGee was listening. ‘Now is not the time!’


He could almost hear her pout as she said: ‘It will never be the time.’
‘Damn straight. Now, can you tell me if we have anything on this last envelope?’
‘Nope boss. It’s clean. As clean as the two others. Well, except from Rodriguez’s prints all over the second one, but you would know that. How is Tony doing?’


Gibbs sighed and rubbed his face tiredly.


‘Not bad for a guy who is suffering from three gunshots.’
‘That’s our Tony! Did he wake up?’


Gibbs looked at Tony through the strips of the shutters.


‘No’, he said. ‘Not yet. Doc said he’s still sedated. He said it’s better because even with the pain medication, his stitches will be itching as hell when he wakes up so it’s better if he’s out of it for a while.’
‘So you’re staying there?’


He did not answer straight away, watching Tony’s tired profile. He could see the bags under his eyes, too reminiscent of horrible times.


‘Gibbs?’
‘Yeah I’m still here. Yeah, I’m staying.’


Abby did not answer for a while. Then she said:


‘You could still take my coffin, you know.’
‘It’s better if I’m not seen with you too much, these days. I don’t want you to be in danger.’
‘You know I can take care of myself.’
‘Yeah. Well I’m not taking any chances.’
‘It makes no sense. Why are you staying with Tony? If he gets shot at now he does not stand a chance.’
‘No, but he’s in a hospital facility. A military one. There are guards.’


Abby snorted.


‘Whom you obviously trust since you-‘
‘Abs. Please.’


The magic word. That stopped Abby. Thankfully.


‘Just admit that you want to be with him right now.’
‘Obviously. Otherwise I wouldn’t be there.’
‘Come on. You know what I mean.’


He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.


‘Abs, I’m just very tired. And besides’, he said, looking up at a nurse who was making infuriated gestures from behind her window. ‘I’m trespassing. So, see you, Abby.’
‘Aww that’s sweet you really should t-‘


He hung up, chuckling a bit nervously, torn between the tender amusement he had for her and certain exasperation. To talk like that in front of McGee. Tim was bound to find out something and rat out someday – he just knew it.

**
*

Less than a week later, though Tony still was on high pain medication, he was cleared. He had to use the wheelchair in order to let his thighbone heal properly, but the doctors said overall, he was healing nicely.
He took Tony home to a house that now looked more like a bunker than anything. He had had his windows changed to accommodate ‘bullet resistant’ glasses, metallic bars to complete the locks on the different doors… If anyone other than himself wanted to get inside, they would probably have to bomb their way in.


Abby had been a constant visitor of Tony’s bedside, coming whenever she had free time – which, fortunately, hadn’t been all that often, because she was so anxious Gibbs was worried she would stress his agent out and hamper his recovery.

What worried him even more were the meaningful glances she kept throwing in his direction whenever Tony said anything remotely sexual, or do something she would qualify as ‘cute’, as if she was checking his reaction to Tony’s behaviour and telling him: ‘See, told you, though of course you won’t talk to me about it, but you can’t resist…’

Which was true, in a way, but when she went as far as buying hot dogs for Tony to eat so that she could say: ‘Wow Tony you can put so much of it in your mouth at the same time!’ or ice cream that he had to eat with a spoon – Gibbs had always found the way Tony ate ice cream totally licentious – he had to try hard not to just groan away his frustration. He knew it was Abby’s take at revenge since he still hadn’t talked to her about his presumed ‘feelings’. Well, he was guilty as charged, but it did not mean he wanted Abby to know it for sure. She could pester him all she wanted, but as long as he had not said the words, as long as he had not confessed, it was only an assumption.

He had considered telling her just so that she would shut up, but he knew that if he did, he would never hear the end of it. It was bad enough that she seemed to have shared her suspicions with Ducky, who had always known things about him that he did not tell anyone, and who had said as much two years before, in that car, as he had been fleeing NCIS.

But this conspiratorial game was dangerous, and he was afraid for Tony’s safety. If his two friends did not pay attention to what they were saying and around whom, they might make a mistake that would cost Tony his life…
So… Maybe he would have to tell them and stress how important it was that they kept it quiet. And that no, he would never confess to the one man he loved.

Especially after his reaction to that gay bar. If Tony was homophobic, which he could partly understand after the Voss debacle, he was not losing him by exposing himself. The man certainly saw in him the father he had not really had, anyway. And if he had some interest in men, he would certainly go for the pretty hot ones. Not older grumpy guys like himself. Hell, he would not pick himself.


A confession would not prevent the goofy grins Abby would be throwing in every time she got the chance or saw them in the same rooms at the same time – she was not an agent after all, and would be no good at undercover work – but at least, the only thing they had discovered, both in his house and in the bullpen had been mikes. Of course, as hard as McGee tried, he couldn’t trace the signal back to a single source, and every place they had checked had turned up to be, like the very first one, carefully chosen: deserted areas with no surveillance system and no traffic camera nearby that would allow them to find anything. The FBI had gotten nothing either and Fornell was beside himself, and – which had Gibbs more surprised that he cared to admit – partly blamed himself for Tony’s condition.

Truth to be told, since even Ziva had no idea who the woman could be – which proved how crazy ‘The Bitch’ (as they called her now) was, and since Rodriguez had said nothing after a week in custody – which proved him as disillusioned as his employer if he thought help was on its way, as very resilient and carefully chosen, or as being an insect in The Bitch’s Grand Scheme of Things.


But Tony was home now and it was all that mattered. He was a bit peeved as Jenny had insisted that surveillance would be arranged 24/7, but if it was for Tony’s safety, he could only accept her decision. It made his house even more alien to him, and it had bothered Tony as he had gone in, mumbling a ‘I’m so sorry, boss’ that had earned him a good whack over the head, but now, slouched in the sofa in his living room in front of the TV they had fetched from Tony’s house for the duration of his stay, he felt strangely comfortable.
His only regret: that he could not sit closer to Tony and take him in his arms, or even wrap an arm around his shoulders.


Now, Tony was kind of high on drugs and grinning silly at him as the credits scrolled down on the screen, and he could see the light in his eyes and wished it could be something else – something he craved but dared not claim for himself.


‘What?’ he asked, a bit gruffly.
‘Was just thinking, it’s nice when you’re nice to me. I mean, it freaks me out as well, but it’s not like when Kate just died, you’re just concerned and-‘
‘I’m not being nice to you’, he huffed.
‘Yes, you are. And yeah, I know it’s because The Bitch is after my arse but it’s nice to know you care… Tell me you care…’


*You have no idea…*


Gibbs rolled his eyes, but Tony insisted.


‘Come on. Tell me you care. Just this once. It won’t kill you, ya know.’
‘Okay. I care. Happy?’


Tony grinned.


‘You have no idea.’


Gibbs blinked. The exact same words had crossed his own mind only seconds earlier. Tony must have picked on his puzzlement because he asked, a frown of worry creasing his brow:


‘What. Something wrong, boss?’
‘No. Just thinking about the case.’


Tony looked at him pointedly, and he knew he was not buying it for an instant, but he gave in. Gibbs sighed and stood up, switching the TV off.


‘Come on. Bed time.’
‘You make me feel like a seven year old.’
‘Still two years older than what Ziva gives you.’
‘Ha ha. Very funny, boss.’
‘Come on. You need some shut eye and God knows I need it as well.’
‘Are you admitting to a weakness, here?’
‘I am only human, DiNozzo. If I don’t sleep I-‘
‘Boss… I was kidding. You’re not in a tribunal.’


Gibbs helped him move from the couch to his wheelchair and Tony whined to mask the pain he still felt when he had to leave his wheelchair for a while. The femur still was not healed and his weight strained the wound more than he cared to admit.


‘Oh come on, Boss, I can take care of myself…’


His knees buckled, and only Tony’s reflexes and Gibbs’ already steady grip around his body prevented him from falling.


‘Yeah. Obviously you can’, Gibbs snorted.


Tony rolled his eyes, then buried his face in Gibbs’ neck, and inhaled deeply. Gibbs took a sharp intake of breath. This was not happening. It could not. And he should not let his thoughts drift that way because he would be doomed and lose the only man he had ever loved. The second human being he had ever had those kinds of feelings for.

He helped him into his wheelchair, reluctant to let Tony go, just as Tony appeared reluctant to loosen his grip on his shoulders.


‘Mmmh Boss… I’ve always loved the way you smell…’
‘If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were hitting on me, DiNozzo…’


The younger agent chuckled, still clearly high on the drugs.


‘Hey, maybe I am. Maybe it’s the drugs speaking. Maybe it makes me tell things I wouldn’t dare tell you if I was myself. You should take advantage of me, ya know.’


Gibbs did not answer. It was not until he had wheeled Tony in his room and helped him into bed – ignoring Tony’s protests that he really did not like sleeping in pyjamas – that he agreed to do so. If only so that Tony would not cling onto his shoulders.


‘Yeah. Well, they’re supposed to make you sleep, DiNozzo. So get some sleep. G’night.’


He disentangled himself from Tony’s hug and stood up.


‘Boss?’


Gibbs stopped at the door, turning to face the young man he loved so much.


‘Thank you boss.’
‘What for?’


Tony blushed and looked away. The drugs were not that effective, then, if he still could be embarrassed.


‘For taking care of me. For caring. And ah… For telling me. I needed it.’
‘Ah… Well. You’re my Senior Field Agent. Of course I care. Even though I don’t show it. Often.’
‘Of course…’, repeated Tony, looking down at his palms on his lap.


Gibbs frowned. Tony had sounded dejected. Why? Wouldn’t that be enough? He had admitted twice that he genuinely cared for him in the span of ten minutes. Much more than he had ever acknowledged in all those years they had spent together.

He sighed.


‘And you’re a good man, Tony. And… Well, a friend, I guess. So of course it pisses me off badly when some fucker gets you hurt.’


Tony glanced up, even though he kept his head lowered, watching him from under his lashes. He gave his boss a bitter smile.


‘Yeah. Like I said, thanks boss… You’re a good man too. Even though you’re a real bastard…’


Despite the anxiety and discomfort Gibbs felt at seeing the young man so despondent, the ex-Marine chuckled.


‘Yeah. I’m a lovable bastard. Good night, Tony. Sleep tight’, he said softly.


When he closed the door of Tony’s room, the bitter smile was still there on his beloved’s face… He heard a sigh, then a whispered: ‘You really have no idea…’ An echo to both his thoughts and Tony’s earlier line. He wondered what that meant. He toyed with the idea of going back in and confronting his agent with it, but it would feel like he was taking advantage of his drug-induced willingness to talk. It was not right. He shook his head and headed towards his own room, his head filled with thoughts of a magnificent man sleeping just one storey below…