‘State of grace'

He turns his head so that he is looking out of the window, staring with unseeing eyes at the houses and quiet streets. They've been driving around like this for at least an hour, drifting through neighbourhood after neighbourhood of typical suburbia.
Tony doesn't notice any of it, heedless of everything including the tears that steak his cheeks.

It's been a hell of a day.
Scratch that, it's been worse. His idea of what happens when things go to hell in a handbasket.
He had known, from the moment he had received the first phone call from his father in-oh, at least two and a half years- that today was not going to be a good one. He had expected things to go from bad to worse, and they certainly had. Tony hates it when innocents die, but children… it's a whole ‘nother ballgame. And when the said child was a boy with big green eyes, sandy brown hair that stuck up in all directions, and the evidence of abuse marring his small, still form…

Tony closes his eyes, unable to stop the tears from falling despite his efforts. The child could have been him, had the potential to be him, in fact, had almost been him… It's a secret he carries around with him like a scar. No one knows, although he's reasonably certain that Ducky suspects. If he does, he's not telling. That suits Tony fine; he doesn't know what he'll do if Gibbs ever finds out, although the marks are there, on his body, like small, oddly shaped carvings in his skin. They are old, years old, but when he runs his fingers over them, it could be yesterday, and he could be a child again, desperately craving his father's approval, his love, his affection…

The voice, filled with concern, breaks into his thoughts.
‘You ok?'
Tony shakes his head. ‘No,' he whispers. ‘I-‘
He stops, mid-sentence, not even sure of what he wants to say. Only then does he realise that they are no longer driving. A hand covers his, fingers twining together, and Tony is grateful for the comforting touch. He turns his head to see the concern, the tenderness in the cool blue eyes that are focused solely on him. Out of the people who have walked in and out of his life- more out than in- the other occupant of the car is the one who means the most, the one whose approval, affection, matters the most… the one person that he would gladly, willingly, give his life for.

‘Talk to me.' Gibbs urges gently.
Tony takes a deep, shuddering breath, unsure of how to phrase the words, how to confide the secret that has haunted him for as long as he can remember. It's not just that he's… different. The way he feels about his superior has nothing to do with the way he was abused as a child. He's told himself that, over and over. It's the truth.

‘Can we walk?' Tony asks.
Without hesitation, Gibbs opens the door and gets out. After a pause that seems to stretch on for an eternity, he slides out as well. A park, Tony realises in sudden comprehension as he takes in his surroundings for the first time. It's a little ironic, actually. Gibbs knows him better than anyone.

There's no need for words just yet. Hand in hand, they walk through the park, the warm breeze welcoming after the stuffiness of the car. Tony takes a breath, lets it out slowly.
‘I just wanted to make him proud, but I seemed to make him angry instead,' he confides softly. ‘I was six when he hit me for the first time.'
Tony is tense. This is something he has never told anyone. Slowly, he has begun to open up to Gibbs, to let him see the real Tony DiNozzo, to share some of the pain from his childhood. Tony still can't understand how one case can affect his equilibrium so badly that he's revealing the one thing he promised himself he never would. But once the words start, he is unable to stop them.

‘I told you before; he used to tell me I was weak. Feeble. A poor excuse for a son. What I never said was that sometimes, he would hit me, and that it would just get worse. There were days when I wouldn't come home just to avoid him.'
Tony's laugh is mirthless.
‘When I was twelve, I ended up in hospital. I was just so tired of being thrown into walls, that I tried to take my own life. My dad came to see me at the hospital. All he wanted was to ask me why I didn't manage even that. I didn't go home for three days after that. I spent the nights on the streets until I was so hungry I could have killed for food. My father never even noticed I was back.'

Tony doesn't realise he is crying again until Gibbs turns to face him, brushing the tears away with his thumbs. The gentle gesture is nearly Tony's undoing. He bows his head for a moment, a small part of him unable to understand why Gibbs hasn't left him.
‘I could kill him for what he's done to you.' Gibbs' voice is rough, filled with an anger that he can barely suppress. ‘You don't deserve to suffer like this.'
‘It was a long time ago,' Tony answers honestly. ‘Sometimes I still feel like I'm a kid again, but it never lasts for too long. I have something that helps me remember that I'm not my father's son anymore.'
‘What?'
‘You.' Tony says simply. His green eyes are calmer now.
Gibbs frames his face with hands that are rough from long hours working on the boat. He runs a finger along Tony's lips, tracing their outline.
‘Thank you,' he whispers. ‘You humble me.'

He leans in, and brushes his lips across Tony's. The touch is feather-light, but Tony opens his mouth, inviting Gibbs to deepen the kiss. Gibbs does, pulling him closer, hands tightening on his hips. Just when Tony moves his hands, shifts them to the growing bulge in Gibbs' pants, Gibbs stops him.
‘No. Let me do this for you.'
He pulls Tony deeper into the park, where the shrubs and trees are more concealing. Pushing Tony to the ground, he leans forward and kisses him again, tangling one hand in Tony's hair and using the other to rub along the length of him. Tony's back arches, an involuntary whimper escaping him before he can stop it.
Gibbs smiles. He unbuttons Tony's jeans and slowly lowers the zip, pulling his boxers down enough to free him.
For a moment he straddles Tony, rubbing suggestively against him. Tony writhes, panting. Already he can feel himself growing harder.
Gibbs' smile grows wider.
Moving backward, he bends over and takes Tony into his mouth, using his tongue and teeth in a way that makes Tony plead for more. When Gibbs lifts his head, his pupils are dilated.
‘What do you want, Tony?'
‘You.' Tony gasps. ‘Just you.'
Gibbs licks his finger and slides it into him, watching as Tony shudders.
‘Like this?' he asks, sliding his finger in deeper.
‘Yes…oh sweet mercy, yes… don't… don't stop…'
‘I don't intend to.'
Gibbs bends over again, taking him, all the while sliding his finger in and out. Tony is gasping now, an almost unbearable pressure building up inside him. The pressure of his finger increases, and Tony moves his hips, thrusting upward. In answer, Gibbs uses his other hand to stroke him, mimicking the movement of Tony's hips. Just as Tony is about to come apart, Gibbs stops, moving away from him. At the moan of disappointment, his lips quirk, but he doesn't say anything, just unbuckles his pants. He too, is aroused.
He lowers himself on top of Tony, and with a twist of his hips, guides Tony inside of him.
Their eyes lock as Gibbs begins to move, hands braced against Tony's thighs. Somehow, Tony reaches out and begins to stroke Gibbs, quick sure strokes that make him gasp for breath. Gibbs pushes his hand away, and increases the rhythm.
‘Look at me,' he grinds out. ‘I want to see your eyes.'
Tony manages to keep his eyes on Gibbs, and cries out when he comes, watching as Gibbs touches himself, coming a hairsbreadth later.
As his muscles relax, Tony smiles faintly. ‘Thank you.'
‘Any time, DiNozzo.'

Lying on the ground, birdsong in his ears, Tony marvels at a thought.
Somehow, he has managed to achieve a state of grace.