He hates phone calls like this, hated how they always meant that he’d end up having to hop on a military transport to go put out another fire somewhere. He hated how it meant that he had to get out of a warm bed, with a warmer body laying curled up next to him. He hated how he had to leave a note behind, knowing that he wouldn’t have regular access to a phone to let his lover know that he was safe and in once piece. He hated how the phone calls always meant that another weekends plans were officially shot to hell, and that once again, he had to bail.

It’d been a long time since he had that much to look forward to on the weekend.

It wasn’t the plans being cancelled that bothered him all that much, although sometimes it really managed to piss him off. It was the little things, like how he’d get to curl up on the couch with a warm body and a movie, and just relax; it wouldn’t take long for his bastard side to fade away to leave the man he was behind.

He knew that Tony didn’t like it, but he’d yet to hear a word against it. He knew that Tony knew how important the Corps was to him, and after years of investigating crimes within and against both the Navy and the Marine Corps, he’d developed an appreciation for the work both branches did.

There were times that he really regretted staying in the Reserves. He’d thought about resigning his commission before, and had said as such to Tony, but the other man had shut him up with a glare and a kiss, telling him he was being a damn fool. He’d come closest when he’d moved Tony in, when they’d all but announced their relationship in the weekly email newsletter he was prone to deleting. Tony wouldn’t let him, stating that the Corps was simply too important to him to just throw away. He’d shot back that Tony was more important to him; this had ended up resulting in the other man delivering his first head-slap.

And now, at o dark thirty in the morning, he stands in the kitchen, trying to ignore the biting cold of the floor against his bare feet as he waits for his coffee to brew.

He doesn’t want to leave. He wishes he didn’t have to leave, but he swore an oath, and it’s time for him to uphold it. Tony would never forgive him if he stayed.


The note is short, blunt almost.

Home Sunday. Reservations are tonight at 7. Take Abby instead.

He wishes he could say more, but he doesn’t need to - Tony understands.

The thermal shirt he leaves next to the note is stained and has more than a few holes in it, washed to a buttery softness that can’t be duplicated. The first time he’d left, Tony had snagged it, and when he finally came home late that Sunday night, he’d found Tony asleep on the couch wearing it. Since then, it’s become their ritual - it’s almost as though the shirt is an amulet that Tony wears to keep him safe.

Sunday night, he’ll come home and find Tony asleep on the couch wearing it; another mission safely done. He’ll tuck the other man in with a blanket, and sit in the chair next to it, watching him sleep.

It’s strange, their relationship is like that worn thermal shirt… He’s had it around for ages, but only started wearing it constantly. It’s comfortable, and he’s glad he finally took it out of the drawer and started wearing it again. It’s like with Tony… He’s been around for ages, and he can’t help but be grateful that they finally owned up to the unspoken feelings and took things to the next step.

He can’t wait for the mission to be over, and for Sunday to come. He knows that Tony won’t take the shirt off from the moment he puts it on until he comes home, and that he’ll be the one to finally peel it back off the other man. It’ll be the thermal that keeps Tony warm, and the thoughts of it that keeps Gibbs warm until the weekend is over.

He‘s looking forward to it.