The Inside Man
by Rose Malmaison

The finest clothing made is a person's skin, but, of course, society demands something more than this. ~Mark Twain

When Tony slides his hand across Gibbs’ shoulders, along the muscles of his neck and up to cup his cheek, he understands what Mark Twain meant when he said the finest clothing made was a man's skin. When they're together like this, Tony loves the suit only he gets to see, all the textures on Gibbs' skin - the smooth and silky, and the rough and chapped. He adores the taut muscles, especially the broad chest with its smattering of freckles barely visible through the thatch of silver chest hair.

It's not just the outside of this suit Tony loves. Inside, beneath the fabric of Gibbs' skin is the rest of the body Tony loves, knowing how good, how connected he feels when he's embraced by those strong arms in an hug that threatens to take his breath away. Tony also loves Gibbs' softening belly that reveals his age and provides a warm pillow for his tired head in the aftermath of their lovemaking, and he needs to feel the way it rises and falls with every breath, as proof of life. Tonight especially, that confirmation is important.

He loves being part of Gibbs' life when things are good. His heart always leaps at his lover's all-too rare broad smile, all teeth and sparkling eyes and joy that comes straight from his heart, brought on because Tony says something silly to make Gibbs grin despite himself. Neither of them has done much smiling lately, what with the pressure of long hours made difficult by distrust and simmering anger, and the fear that this recent case has generated.

Now Tony's heart clenches in pain when he sees the deep sadness in Gibbs' blue eyes. He badly wants to be able to help the older man, to be the one to chase his demons away, to find the magic key that will lock out the darkness that is inevitable in the aftermath of any violent death. Tony's power lies in the steadiness of his love, in his stubborn refusal to be shut out of Gibbs' pain, and in the stamina it takes to remain strong for him. He wraps himself around Gibbs and consoles him with tender kisses and caresses.

Tony takes the lead when they make love. He thrusts into his partner with slow, achingly intimate strokes, getting under his skin, giving in the only way he knows how. It's a far cry from being on the receiving end of Gibbs' usual lust-filled and aggressive fucking that is more about conquering than sharing, but tonight the older man accepts Tony's lead. Tony holds back until Gibbs reaches orgasm, and comes into his lover's shuddering body without making a sound.

Afterwards they lie next to each other, barely touching, and then Gibbs makes a choking noise and turns into him, burying his face in Tony's chest with eyes closed tight. It takes far longer for the older man to recover than Tony expects but he waits it out with a patience he used not to have - before Gibbs. Eventually Gibbs draws in a ragged breath and makes a sound that seems to indicate he's finished, along with a mumbled "fine," even though Tony hasn't said a word. They both pretend the watery eyes are because Gibbs still can't find his reading glasses and his eyes are tired. Tony makes a mental note to order an extra pair - or two - of Gibbs' eyeglasses the next day.

They're accomplished at saying one thing yet meaning something else. Prevarication has become their second language, and over the years they've had plenty of practice at it. Tony's "I'm fine," means "I can handle it alone," and his terse "peachy" is more like "You ask me that one more time and I'll tell you what I really think and then we'll both end up regretting it."

When Gibbs swallows hard and says, "Need some time," Tony understands that Gibbs means exactly what he says.

Gibbs slips out of bed, unwilling to be consoled any further, and makes his way down to the basement to work on the intricate headboard he's carving for his goddaughter's new bed. Tony doesn't follow. He knows that Gibbs needs to be alone with his memories of the man who was his mentor, his boss, and his friend, who was the last connection to his former life and bridged the worst of times with a call to purpose, who gave him dispensation for revenge and helped him move ahead - the only man ever allowed to call him Probie.

Tony pictures Gibbs as a fresh, young agent, and realizes that when his lover started at NIS he was in his mid-thirties, already a widower and a decorated veteran. Tony would liked to have known him back then - just out of the Marines, with a damaged knee and an even more damaged soul, barely coping after the murder of his family. He wishes he could have been there for Gibbs, back in the beginning, even if it was just to offer the friendship of a college kid who was soon heading into the big leagues to play pro ball. God, how naive they'd been, he with his head in the clouds and Gibbs honestly believing he could make a difference in the fight against crime. Now they're two aging men with static careers, and bodies that have seen more than their fair share of injuries, involved in a secret love affair that's been going on for nearly eight years.

Tony thinks he won't be able to sleep alone, but eventually exhaustion gets the better of him. Sometime in the night a bad dream wakes him up and makes him desperate for Gibbs' touch, but tonight there's nobody there to hold him and it makes him ache right down to his bones. If he's very still Tony can hear the sound of a tool rasping on wood down in the basement; even though the bed is cold he won't call for Gibbs.

In the morning Tony puts Gibbs' best two-button, darkest-of-dark navy suit out for him so he doesn't have to think or make any big decisions, and then spends an hour polishing Gibbs' dress shoes even though they'll soon become wet from the dewy lawn of the cemetery. The white dress shirt he pulls out of the back of the closet is one of four that he bought for Gibbs, back when he was tired of seeing the threadbare cuffs on his stubborn old lover's decades-old Sears' best. His monkey-suits, as Gibbs calls them, are limited to only three, one each for court, weddings and funerals. The darkest suit has had the most use, which is really sad from any angle you look at it.

Gibbs had shaken his head at the extravagance when he'd watched Tony pull the new shirts from a Brooks Brothers' bag. "I can only wear one shirt at a time," he'd said, but Tony had seen how secretly pleased Gibbs was.

Gibbs likes to be taken care of even though he'll die before he admits as much to anyone.

Tony isn't so sure about which tie to put out; Gibbs favors reds so dark that they're far too reminiscent of dried blood for his own taste. He carefully lays a couple ties on the bed, though he is certain that Gibbs will make a choice without any real thought. Will it be the dark blue silk tie with a sort of retro leaf pattern, or the crimson one with the faint gold dots?

Gibbs comes out of the bathroom, showered and smelling nice, a towel wrapped around his waist. Although his eyes are still sad there's a plea in them, too, so Tony doesn't hesitate to take him in his arms and hold him close. They breathe into each other's hair and take all the strength they can get from each other because they're really going to need it today. A few minutes later Tony thinks they're done and tries to step back, but Gibbs clings to him fiercely and says in a deep, raw voice, "Don't." So they remain that way for some time, until Tony gently peels Gibbs' arms from around him, kisses him tenderly, and encourages him to get dressed.

They're at the front door, facing each other in their somber suits; Tony has opted for basic black. He stops to fix Gibbs' slightly crooked tie - Gibbs chose the dark blue one with the leaf pattern - and to secure his gold badge with its mourning band in his breast pocket. The other mourners won't know Gibbs spent all night in the basement - they'll just see what Gibbs wants them to see. There's no such thing as an ex-Marine, Tony thinks with pride.

They'll be late if they don't go in a minute, but Tony takes the time to smooth down Gibbs' suit, running his hands across the well-tailored shoulders, palms flat across his chest and down to his waist, feeling the heat coming off his body as well as his ever-present holstered gun. Tony does this laying on of hands, not because there's a hair out of place, but because he needs to touch Gibbs one last time before they step outside of their haven. Gibbs won't let anyone see his feelings today. They're private, another thing only Tony gets to witness.

Gibbs takes Tony's hands in his own, and brings one of them to his lips, impressing a soft, dry kiss on his knuckles. "You okay, Tony?"

No, he isn't, not really, but he somehow pulls off a small smile because Gibbs needs to see it, and he says, "I'm fine. And you?"

Gibbs can't smile, but he nods and seems to be all right. It looks as though his time alone with his wood helped to settle things a bit. He squeezes Tony's hand once before he reluctantly lets it go, and together they open their front door and step out into the bright sunny morning.

***end***