Gibbs slept poorly again. Ducky's visit had left him unsettled. He wanted to be angry, to lash out at the person responsible for turning his world upside down, for calling into question everything he thought he knew about himself, about his marriage to Shannon, about why his subsequent marriages failed. If they hadn't almost certainly imprinted on each other that day at the station in Stillwater, would they have been attracted to each other? Would they have fallen in love, regardless? Married? Raised the most amazing little girl for those eight precious years?
Gibbs hated not knowing the answer to those questions. But his anger, dependable, useable, something he could use to rebuild his defences, wouldn't come. The pain in Tony's eyes, his expectation that of course he wasn't worth Gibbs' time and attention, his love, cut to the bone.
No, not to the bone: to the heart.
He tried getting angry with the case that had brought imprinting to their attention in the first place, with Abby for digging further, with Doctor Childs for doing the research in the first place, but he kept seeing Petty Officer Jameson's battered face and Lieutenant Rogers' anguished cries rang in his ears and his anger failed him. They were all victims. It wasn't Doctor Childs' fault for researching the phenomenon, any more than it was Abby's fault for being interested in that research; her passion for science was what made her such an incredible asset to NCIS.
Giving in to his restlessness, he rose and ghosted silently down the hallway, pausing in the doorway to the guest bedroom. Tony lay curled on one side, facing the door. His face was pale, his hair standing up at odd angles and falling dark across his brow. He looked young, vulnerable, surprisingly innocent. At that moment, Gibbs wanted nothing more than to keep him safe, to take care of him and protect him from the world. Then Tony stirred, sighed, and Gibbs fled to the basement, where he rolled himself in an old blanket and lay underneath the boat until dawn filtered through the high windows and it was time to face another day.
Feeling snappy and out of sorts, he made coffee and pancakes, bacon, scrambled eggs, then went upstairs to fetch Tony. He was in the bathroom and Gibbs could hear him muttering from outside. He rapped on the door. 'Breakfast's ready, DiNozzo.' He paused, then added, 'Need a hand?'
The muttering stopped and a moment later the door opened. Tony had shaving foam spread over half his face and neck and was bleeding from a couple of nicks on his jaw. He had a towel wrapped around his hips, but otherwise, he was completely naked. He scowled at Gibbs.
Gibbs cleared his throat, his mouth suddenly dry. 'Well?'
Tony's shoulders slumped in defeat. 'Sure, why not? I might as well be completely useless. Just call me Blanche. On second thoughts, that would make you Baby Jane and you singing Daddy? Wrong like you wouldn't believe. Forget I said anything.'
'Tony, it would be my pleasure to forget everything you just said.' Gibbs followed Tony into the bathroom. He stood behind the younger man, locking eyes with him in the mirror. Through the material of his worn cotton t-shirt, he could feel the heat that radiated off Tony's bare back. Delicately he shaved Tony, stroking the razor down his cheek, up his throat, along his jawline, rinsing the razor off after each pass.
By the time he had finished, wiping the last of the soap off Tony's face with a washcloth, he was rock hard and so was Tony, judging by the flush that spread across his face and chest, across the back of his neck.
'Anything else?' Gibbs asked. His voice came out low, husky, and Tony swayed back towards him instinctively, his eyes falling half-closed. Gibbs stood there, frozen, watching in the mirror, as Tony licked his lips. Then, with a start, Tony's eyes snapped open and he leaned forwards, gripping the edge of the sink with his good hand.
'No, no, I'm fine. Uh... Shouldn't you be getting ready for work, boss?'
The spell broken, Gibbs stepped back. 'Yeah. Breakfast is getting cold.'
'Be right there.' Tony's brilliant green eyes held his in the mirror for a moment longer, then Tony looked down. As he drained the sink, Gibbs forced himself to turn and leave.
Breakfast was awkward. They ate without conversation, avoiding looking at each other. When they were done, Gibbs quickly washed the dishes and left them to dry on the side while he went to shower and change into his work clothes. He was just pulling on his shorts when he heard a crash from downstairs. Heart in his mouth, he raced downstairs, unable to banish the image of Tony, unable to breathe as his lung collapsed.
'Tony!' He ran into the kitchen, only to come to a halt at the sight of the younger man down on one knee, forehead creased in frustration, as he picked up shards of crockery and tossed them into the sink.
'I thought I'd dry the dishes. You know, the host cooks and cleans, the least the guest can do is dry and put away, right?' Tony said conversationally, his eyes fixed on the pieces he was picking up. 'But no, it seems as though all I can do is attempt to dry and smash. What good am I, Gibbs, if I can't even dry the fucking breakfast plates?' His voice had risen to a shout by the time he looked up, taking in Gibbs' lack of attire, then his tone changed to concern. 'Shit, boss! Don't move.'
Gibbs glanced down. There were bits of pottery all around his feet. 'Well, damn.'
Stiffly, Tony stood up and grabbed one of the kitchen chairs. 'Sit,' he said, placing it right behind Gibbs.
The ex-marine did as he was told, lifting his feet one at a time to let Tony check them out. By some miracle, there were only a couple of small pieces of pottery in one foot and they brushed out easily. Tony fetched antiseptic and cotton wool and, most importantly, sneakers. Gibbs let him dab over the tiny cuts, but took the sneakers from him and put them on himself. He went to stand, but hesitated. Tony was close; he reached out a hand and gently squeezed the back of the young man's neck.
'You aren't a guest, DiNozzo.'
Tony shivered. 'Then what am I, boss?'
'You're-' It was on the tip of his tongue to say more, so much more, but instead Gibbs cleared his throat. 'You're making me late.' With one last squeeze, he let go, squashing the flash of pain he felt at seeing the hurt Tony couldn't quite hide.
Gibbs made quick work of clearing up the broken plate, making Tony go and sit on the couch while he did so. Then he put away the rest of the crockery and hurried upstairs to finish getting dressed. As he was leaving, he paused in the hallway. Tony was flicking through channels, desultorily.
'DiNozzo?'
'Yeah boss?' Tony looked round slowly, his face an attempt at his usual affable mask.
'You're a damn fine agent who got thrown off a thirty-foot drop. Cut yourself some slack.'
After a moment, Tony nodded. A little of the spirit had returned to his eyes, but his expression was still guarded. 'Got it, boss.'
'I'll pick you up at three.'
Tony rolled his eyes. 'Can't we just say we went to a private counselor?'
Gibbs sighed. 'Sure we can.' He waited a beat as Tony began to relax in relief. 'If you want to be benched until you're as grey as I am.'
Tony groaned. 'Then you might as well just shoot me now, boss, because much as I hate being shrunk, I hate this more.'
'Suck it up, DiNozzo. I need you back on my team.'
As Gibbs walked out of the door, he heard Tony shout, 'Hey! Don't you get benched too?'
'I'd like to see Leon try,' Gibbs muttered as he shut the door and strode to his truck. It was after eight thirty by the time he pulled into the parking garage; too late to get coffee. He reached his desk, noting both McGee and Ziva glancing surreptitiously at him over the stack of cold cases on their desks. He grinned.
'McGee,' he snapped. 'Coffee.'
'On it, boss,' Tim said in unconscious imitation of Tony. He hurried off, leaving Gibbs to settle behind his desk.
'Something I can help you with, Officer David?' Gibbs raised an eyebrow and stared at the Israeli, who stared back at him.
'I was wondering how Tony is doing,' she said, refusing to be intimidated.
'Sore. Cranky. Go visit this lunchtime and you can see for yourself,' Gibbs said.
'I am not sure Tony would appreciate that,' Ziva began, but Gibbs cut her short.
'He's your partner. Go see him.' As she blushed, he turned his attention to the paperwork that had appeared in his in-tray overnight.
McGee seemed on edge, Gibbs noted. After he returned with coffee, he kept glancing up.
'Expecting a visitor?'
Tim looked over at Gibbs, quickly schooling his expression, but Gibbs spotted the brief flash of guilt. 'No, boss.' He paid more attention to his work after that, although Gibbs caught him looking up a couple more times.
Gibbs was about to go in search of more coffee when he discovered why his agent was looking so shifty. The mail came round, and with it a parcel for Ziva. It was a large padded envelope; Ziva took it with a frown.
'I did not order anything,' she said, puzzled.
'It's been screened,' the mail clerk shrugged.
'Here.' Gibbs crossed to Ziva's desk and took the parcel. 'You know the rules. It goes down to Abby.'
'Er...' McGee got to his feet.
'Unless there's something you want to say, McGee?' He stared at the agent, who shifted from one foot to another, then sighed.
'I, uh... I ordered it,' Tim confessed, coloring.
Gibbs tossed the envelope to him. 'Well?'
Tim opened his mouth to object, then thought better of it. Blushing furiously, he tore open the envelope and pulled out the contents. A white folded piece of paper was wrapped around something.
'Let's see,' Gibbs said, hiding his amusement. Having spotted the dvd Ziva had sent Tony, he had a good idea what was coming.
Tim extracted a dvd and handed it to Gibbs.
'Kosher Queens?' Gibbs eyed the two brunettes kissing on the cover, then turned it over. He shook his head at the sight of the 'milchic kitchen' displayed on the back. 'Here.' He handed it to Ziva, who scowled. Turning his attention to his other agent again, he raised an eyebrow.
With a sigh, Tim handed over the piece of paper.
Gibbs unfolded it. Sure enough, it was the poster that went with the dvd. He cast an experienced eye over it, then handed it to Ziva. 'If I remember that seminar on harassment, you can put it up but we can't.'
'I don't want to put it up,' Ziva said, wrinkling her nose in distaste. 'And as I recall, you did not attend that seminar.'
'Nope,' Gibbs agreed. 'Don't have to go if you're working an active case. Which as you may notice, we don't have right now. And the next seminar is on cultural and racial sensitivity and it's on Monday. So if you want to go to it, by all means, sit around watching porn and pinning nude posters to your wall.' He watched, satisfied, as their eyes widened in alarm and they hurried to get back to work. Chances were they wouldn't break one of their cold cases by Monday morning, but extra motivation never hurt.
Feeling a little less out of sorts, Gibbs went to get coffee.
Lunch time sent Ziva to visit Tony, after a pointed stare from Gibbs, and brought Ducky to his desk. 'I haven't forgotten,' Gibbs said.
'Actually, I was on my way out for a spot of lunch and I wondered if you cared to join me,' the ME said.
'Got a lot to catch up on,' Gibbs said, looking over the piles of paper and folders that cluttered his desktop. Most of them were cold case files, but he saw no need to point that out.
'Coffee, then?' Ducky asked. 'Jethro...'
Gibbs sighed. 'Make it quick.' He got to his feet and lifted his jacket off the back of his chair. Together, they headed for the elevator. Gibbs glared at a couple of junior agents from another team when his keen ears caught Tony's name, then glared harder when one of the two agents coughed and turned red.
'I suppose you didn't ask me to lunch for the company,' Gibbs said as the ME set a leisurely pace through the lunchtime crowd.
'Your company is always welcome, Jethro,' Ducky sad with a hint of reproval in his tone. 'Our friendship has been a little strained of late and I very much regret that.' He glanced sideways at the agent, assessing his mood.
Gibbs remained silent, keeping his eyes front as they walked.
It was a minute before the older man spoke again. His voice was low, earnest. 'Sometimes it is difficult to choose one's course wisely. There appears to be no direction one can take that does not lead to hurting someone else, or oneself. And inaction is something one cannot in all conscience live with.'
Gibbs stopped and scowled at his friend, feeling his anger finally start to rise. 'I don't need a sermon. I have too many people lecturing me on what I should be doing already.'
'I was speaking of myself,' Ducky said sadly. He stared at Gibbs, then sighed. 'What I did was a gross invasion of your privacy.'
'Yes, it was,' Gibbs said grimly.
'I am so very sorry that I have caused you hurt and distress, but where there is a danger to life - both yours and Anthony's - I am compelled to act,' Ducky argued.
'What danger?' Gibbs said, his voice rising. 'How is it going to kill us if we don't fuck? No one ever died from blue balls. You should know that.' He ignored the startled glances he got from a couple of passing pedestrians, focusing instead on the man in front of him. 'Tony told you in confidence when he was hurt and off his head on pain medication. You had no right even telling me, Ducky! None whatsover.' He jabbed at Ducky's chest with a finger, punctuating his tirade. 'But you told Leon and you told my team. You didn't even give us the chance to decide whether or not we wanted anyone to know and now I can't go out and do my damn job until I get over myself and take my senior field agent to bed! Do you know how humiliating that is, Ducky? To be told I can't be trusted to do my job because I won't fuck my male subordinate and I can't fuck anyone else?'
'What do you want me to say, Jethro?' Ducky asked, his temper rising. 'All the evidence suggests that what you and Anthony are fighting is an incredibly primal bond, one that lends itself to violence. How often have you come close to killing someone for hurting him? To dying for him?'
'That's different! It's my job: I'd die for any of my kids and you know that,' Gibbs said angrily.
'But how often has he come close to dying for you, Jethro?' Ducky snapped. 'It's been far too many times! That young man would die for you in an instant and you know it. His upbringing has left him horribly unprepared to deal with the situation you have placed him in.'
'I never asked for this!' Gibbs roared.
'Neither did he! I understand neither of you is comfortable with an intimate physical relationship, but sex isn't everything,' Ducky pushed. 'By refusing to admit this bond is there you are denying him not only the affection and approval he has always sought from you, you're denying him the chance ever to have a meaningful relationship.'
Gibbs glared at Ducky, refusing to back down, but his anger fell away yet again, leaving him exposed, vulnerable, as his friend continued in terse, clipped tones.
'Anthony has had so very little true affection in his life. Put yourself in his shoes. How would you feel if you knew for certain you'd spend the rest of your days alone? Tell me, Jethro, just how easy is it to live a life devoid of all hope?'
With that final volley, Ducky pierced something vital in Gibbs. Turning on his heel, he strode away, then broke into a jog, leaving behind his friend and those terrible, damning words.
***
Ziva returned to the office a little late, and looking equal parts relieved and exasperated. It took her a moment to notice the poster pinned to her divider wall and a moment longer to transfix it with a knife to the throat of one of the women on it. She allowed herself a tiny smile as Tim flinched.
'Seminar, people. Don't make me have to go.' Gibbs didn't look up from the case folder he was reading through, but his air of disapproval was apparent in the tense set of his shoulders and the thin, set line of his mouth.
Ziva sank into her chair gracefully, returning to cross-checking details from interviews in a case from two years ago. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tim glancing repeatedly at their boss with a faint frown, his lips pursed as he always did when he was trying to work out some puzzle. Half an hour later, Gibbs got up from his desk and stalked out of the bullpen.
'What happened?' she hissed at Tim, who put on an air of innocence.
'What do you mean, what happened?'
Ziva pulled the knife out of the poster and stabbed it into the heart of the other woman. She raised an eyebrow.
Tim caved. 'Just after you left, Ducky asked Jethro to lunch and about forty minutes later, Gibbs came back in a foul mood. And he'd showered and put on a clean shirt. I haven't found an excuse to get down to Autopsy, but Abby says Ducky's upset, but won't say why.'
'Oh,' Ziva said thoughtfully. 'Do you think Ducky attempted to have a mouth to mouth with him?'
Tim blinked. 'Er... Do you mean a heart to heart?'
'I mean a talk, yes? Which is the mouth, not an internal organ,' Ziva argued.
'Well, yes, technically, but it's called a heart to heart because it's an intimate talk. Mouth to mouth is the resuscitation technique. And goodness knows, but whatever it was, I don't think it went well,' Tim said.
'Heart, mouth, whatever, I don't care,' Ziva waved her hand.
'How was Tony?'
'Sore. Annoying. He asked why I didn't take him the poster and said he would swap me his dvd for my dvd if I agreed to watch them both with him,' Ziva scowled theatrically, not in the least annoyed. 'I told him I would watch porn with him only on the day he admits I am the superior agent.'
'So he admitted it?'
'I told him it didn't count if he had his fingers crossed,' Ziva laughed.
'You really think he's doing okay?' Tim asked anxiously. 'I mean, I messed up when I went to see him in hospital and he was about as far from okay as I've ever seen him.'
Ziva sighed. 'I think he is doing remarkably well, but no, I don't think he's okay. Were I imprinted on Gibbs, I would probably have shot him by now. He is not an easy man to love.'
'I just... I can't imagine them together,' Tim confessed in a low voice. 'I know they've always had this... connection, I guess, but together? As in... together? I can't get my head around it.'
'I think... neither can they,' Ziva said slowly. 'And that is the problem. Their hearts are too hurt for them to be able to trust.'
'But Tony trusts Gibbs completely, and I know Gibbs trusts Tony more than anyone else,' Tim argued.
'Sure, they trust each other. They just don't trust themselves,' Ziva said, then looked round as the elevator dinged. Gibbs strode out carrying a large cup of coffee and as one, the agents bent their heads to their cold cases, fervently searching for any hint of a clue that could get them out of Monday's seminar.
***
Two thirty rolled around and Gibbs left to pick up Tony. The drive was tense, angry; he couldn't pretend he was taking Tony to physiotherapy and he couldn't take out his frustrations on the road because Tony was in no shape to be thrown around. By the time they reached the clinic, Gibbs' shoulders were so tight he had difficulty helping Tony from the car.
They had a ten minute wait in a floral-scented beige walled waiting room. A man and a woman sat opposite, glaring at each other until they were finally called into one of the therapy rooms.
'Wow, the last time I saw a couple look that mad at each other, it was just before vases started getting thrown,' Tony said, watching after them.
'I know. Ex-girlfriend?' Gibbs asked, despite himself.
'Second step-mom. The golf club-wielding ex-wife?'
'Pretty much.'
The receptionist called them. Gibbs felt a wave of relief that they didn't have to make small talk any more, immediately followed by a sickening lurch as he realised they were going to have to actually talk.
'We could just shoot our way out,' Tony whispered, reading his mind.
The corner of Gibbs' mouth twitched. 'Yeah, but then I'd have to arrest us.'
'I'd rather do time than counseling,' Tony groused, but then they were entering the therapy room and a narrow-faced tall man stood to greet them. The fleeting amusement Gibbs felt died away as he shook the man's hand and took a seat on the two-seater couch.
'Doctor Burlman,' the man said, shaking Tony's good hand. 'Can I get you anything before we start? Water? Coffee?'
Gibbs grunted assent and Tony huffed a tiny laugh.
'I think you just went up a fraction in my boss's estimation,' he said, sliding into an easy charm. 'He takes it black, no sugar, and strong enough to tar roads.'
'I was going to say you should wait until you've tasted it, but it sounds as though you might be the one person who can drink this stuff without spitting it straight back out,' Doctor Burlman said, aiming a smile at both of them. He poured Gibbs a coffee from the pot in the corner of the room and got Tony some water. The drinks handed over, he sat in the single chair opposite the couch.
Gibbs tried the coffee. Strong, bitter, slightly burned: it was still a damn sight better than the swill in the break room. 'It'll do,' he said with a nod.
'Hallelujah! I'll have to tell Rosie,' Doctor Burlman laughed. 'She owes me a twenty; she bet me no one would ever like the stuff.'
'I didn't say I liked it,' Gibbs pointed out.
'But you don't hate it,' Tony said.
'Nope. I've had a lot worse.' Gibbs agreed.
'There's hope, then,' Doctor Burlman said and Gibbs remembered all over again why they were there. He set the coffee down on the side table.
'Don't know about that,' he said drily. If the couch had been a fraction wider, he wouldn't have felt the minute flinch that Tony gave at his words: in turn, he felt as though he'd been kicked in the gut. Suppressing a flinch of his own, he asked, 'So what do we have to do to get out of here?'
Doctor Burlman looked from one to the other, his manner all business. 'You need to be able to talk about your relationship, openly and honestly and you need to be able to at least start to work through the issues that you have.'
'We don't have a relationship,' Tony pointed out. 'Not like that. Gibbs is my boss. We aren't together.'
The doctor nodded. 'Doctor Mallard explained your situation and sent through some information on it, about the study that was done by Potts and Childs. I've read it through and done some research of my own and I think I'm qualified to help you.'
'Help us how? Help us reclaim our brains? Our bodies?' Gibbs asked, his voice tight.
'I'm sorry, no.'
'Then what damn use is this?' he demanded, his voice sounding alien to his own ears. High, tight: he sounded trapped and the realization made him reckless. 'I want my body back!'
'You know, I'm pretty sure the doc doesn't have pods in his back room,' Tony said. 'Right?' He looked questioningly at the tall man.
'No pods,' Doctor Burlman confirmed.
'What?' Gibbs frowned, momentarily diverted.
'Pod-people. Invasion of the Body Snatchers.' Tony grinned.
'What the hell are you on about, DiNozzo?'
'I'm just saying, he doesn't have your real body stuffed in a pod somewhere in his back room, boss,' Tony explained, his smile falling away. 'Just going to have to make do with the one you've got. Me, I'd like a pod-body. No more coughing fits on cold mornings.'
Gibbs frowned. 'Your lungs still bothering you? I thought you were over that.'
'Sometimes if it gets really cold and dry, first thing on a morning it'll make me cough like crazy for about a minute and a half. That's it, I swear,' Tony shifted uncomfortably and Gibbs could feel Tony's leg press against his for a moment before he pulled away.
'You should get that checked out,' Gibbs said, still frowning. 'I'll see if Dr Pitt's free after your next physio appointment.'
'There's no need, really. If all I have is an occasional bout of coughing, I think I can live with it,' Tony said. 'Could have been a whole lot worse.'
'Get it checked anyway.'
Tony rolled his eyes but didn't argue. The conversation died away and Doctor Burlman took the chance to speak. 'You've worked together for a number of years now. How would you characterize the way you interact? Tony? Is Gibbs just your boss, or do you see him as a mentor, a father-figure?'
'Don't you think, if Gibbs really were some kind of father-figure, that would make this whole thing really creepy?' Tony asked, leaning back a little.
Gibbs let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding and grunted in agreement. 'Tony acts like a kid at times, but he sure as heck isn't mine.'
'But you have acted as a mentor and an authority figure since you recruited Anthony,' the doctor said.
'Because I'm the lead agent on the team and I'm his boss,' Gibbs said. 'And I've been doing this job for fifteen years.'
'Do you see the discrepancy in equality as a stumbling block in terms of a potential relationship?' Doctor Burlman asked.
'There is no potential relationship,' Tony said. Gibbs could tell he was beginning to get irritated by the edge that crept into his voice, belying his relaxed posture.
'Why don't you tell me a little about your previous relationships,' Burlman backpedalled.
Tony looked at Gibbs. 'Don't ask me,' he said. 'I'm not the one with all the marriages.'
Gibbs narrowed his eyes at Tony's throwing him to the wolf. 'My first wife was murdered, along with our daughter. I've been divorced three times since then. Apparently Shannon and I were... were imprinted and none of my other wives were the imprinting type,' he said sourly.
'How does it make you feel?'
'How do you think?' Gibbs repressed the urge to get up and leave. He hated being forced to talk to a stranger about things he hadn't willingly talked about in years.
'I'd imagine that I'd feel angry, maybe even betrayed,' Doctor Burlman said. 'But I'm not you.'
'No, you're not.' Gibbs said, stone-faced.
The doctor waited until it became apparent he had nothing further to add before turning his attention back to Tony. 'How about your previous relationships, Tony?'
'Special Agent DiNozzo,' Gibbs said.
'I'm sorry?'
'Don't apologize. It's a sign of weakness,' Tony grinned.
'I'm not sure I follow,' the doctor admitted.
'His friends call him Tony. You expect us to call you Doctor Burlman. He's Special Agent DiNozzo,' Gibbs said.
'And what do you call him?' the doctor asked.
'DiNozzo. Tony. Whatever's appropriate,' Gibbs said.
'And what do you call Special Agent Gibbs?'
'Boss, usually. The bossman if I'm talking about him. Gibbs.'
'You never use his first name?'
'Only my father uses that,' Gibbs grimaced.
The doctor looked from one to the other and sighed. 'You make a great team. I imagine you work incredibly well together.'
Gibbs raised an eyebrow, silently inviting the doctor to explain.
Burlman smiled. 'You realise you've been protecting Special Agent DiNozzo from me from the moment you stepped into my office, yes? With your help, he's managed to avoid answering any of my questions, while appearing open and approachable. And he did a great job of redirecting your emotions when you got frustrated earlier.'
Gibbs looked at Tony, only to find Tony looking at him. Their eyes locked for a long moment and Gibbs found it difficult to breathe. He tore his gaze away, only to find Doctor Burlman watching them, interest and curiosity plain on his face. Angrily, he said, 'We've been working together for years. He's my senior field agent for a damn good reason.'
'So he's good at his job. Excellent, even. Will you let him answer my questions?'
Gibbs could feel Tony's shrug, his shoulder moving against Gibbs' arm. 'If he wants to,' Gibbs conceded.
'What questions would those be?' Tony asked, leaning back and stretching out his legs, giving the appearance of getting comfortable despite the cast on his arm and the pain Gibbs knew he still felt in his shoulder.
'How would you describe your previous relationships?'
Gibbs could feel Tony slide into his frat-boy persona.
'I'm a love 'em and leave 'em kind of guy. A few dates, a little fun, everyone walks away with a smile,' Tony said.
'So you've never had a longer-term, more serious relationship? There was never anyone you felt you might be able to live at least some of your life with?' Burlman pressed.
'Not me,' Tony said, skirting the edge of the truth. 'If I'd been someone else, maybe.'
'You never wanted more?'
For a second, Tony's mask slipped. Gibbs felt the younger man's breathing pause, then start again with a hitch. 'Never crossed my mind.'
'But you've been looking for what you lost ever since, Special Agent Gibbs?'
'Maybe. Probably.'
'How was your sex life, at least up until the imprint took effect?'
Gibbs took a deep breath and imagined how it would feel to give in and punch the man. He forced his jaw to unclench and answered. 'Good, when I had the time.'
'Had you been seeing anyone in particular?'
'Not really.'
'So you had a number of partners?'
'Two or three, I guess.'
'Gibbs! You dog!' Tony crowed, then ducked his head, clearly expecting a headslap. He winced as the movement jarring his shoulder.
Gibbs looked sideways at him. 'Channelling Abby, DiNozzo?'
'Something like that,' Tony admitted.
'And how was your sex life, Special Agent DiNozzo?'
Tony grinned. 'No complaints there, Doctor Burlman.'
'So when did you start having problems?'
Tony's grin became fixed. 'About eighteen months ago, maybe? A year, definitely.'
'You haven't had intercourse in a year?' the doctor clarified.
Looking away, Tony didn't answer. Reflexively, Gibbs put a hand on Tony's knee and squeezed. He felt the younger man jump, then relax under his touch. Hastily, he moved his hand back to his own knee.
'How about you?'
'Around a year, I think,' Gibbs confessed, feeling as though the admission had been ripped from the bottom of his soul.
'Were there occasions when you tried to have sex, but couldn't?'
'What the hell kind of a question is that?' Gibbs burst out. 'That's none of your damn business!'
The doctor gave a pained smile. 'You clearly have a lot of anger and resentment built up. I'm trying to find out exactly what that's about and if it's directed at Special Agent DiNozzo.'
'Then you should ask,' Gibbs said, scowling. 'I don't resent Tony. I'm not angry at him. It's not his damn fault we're locked into this farce, that now some damn test says we're imprinted, I have to care about him and everything about our relationship, the one we've built up over the years of working together and watching each other's six, is reduced to sex as though we're nothing more than animals. I'm angry about the way my business, my private life, is all over Washington. I resent the way I can't be trusted to do my damn job without seeing you because apparently not wanting to sleep with a member of my team makes me suspect. Since when did showing some restraint become a bad thing?' He glared at the doctor, who who simply nodded sagely.
'Thank you for being honest and sharing that. Special Agent DiNozzo, how does that make you feel? And how do you feel about the whole situation?'
'I guess... Betrayed? Not so much by you, boss,' Tony hastened to add. 'By my body. And Ducky, Director Vance. I feel like some kind of object. Everyone thinks you should be fucking me except you. No one's bothered to ask if I want to be fucked, if I'd rather be the one doing the fucking, or even if I'd rather become a monk than sleep with a man, no offence. Because I liked sex, I really did. And the women I slept with, they enjoyed it too.'
He spoke faster, the words falling over themselves as the hurt he hadn't known ran so deep came spilling out. 'You know, I'm a great lay. A fantastic lay,' Tony said fiercely, addressing his words to the doctor. 'God knows, I've had it made abundantly clear to me over the years that I'm not husband material. But for a good time, I'm the go-to guy. And that's fine. I've never particularly wanted to stick around with one woman, settle down and have that picket fence life.
'You want to know what really bothers me about this whole thing? Fine. It's not that Gibbs is a guy, that he's older than me, that he's my boss. It isn't any of those things.' By now Tony was leaning forward in his chair, his good hand gripping the arm so tightly that his knuckles had gone white. His voice was low, intense and absolutely furious. 'No, it's that with this whole imprint thing, he's supposed to care about me. Soul mates, partners for life. People keep telling me this is some wonderful thing, that it's true love, but it sure as hell doesn't feel like it to me.
'My whole life, I've heard about how people are supposed to love me. I had more love from the damn housekeeper than I've ever had from anyone who was supposed to care. And now I have the ultimate in love? I should have known it'd be the ultimate in life slapping me in the face. So we're imprinted. You know what? I don't care. I've had enough.' Eyes blazing, he turned to Gibbs, who was sitting beside him, astonished.
'I quit. Get yourself another damn field agent. And while you're at it, go find the person you should be imprinted on. I'm sure if you date enough redheads, you'll find her.' Awkwardly he got to his feet and limped to the door. 'I'll get Abby and McGee to get my stuff from your place. Don't worry, you won't have to care about me any more.' He stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him.
Doctor Burlman looked at Gibbs. 'How do you feel about that?'
Gibbs stood up, hands clenched into fists at his side, trembling with the effort of not reaching over and snapping the doctor's neck. 'I think we're done,' he said roughly. He slammed out of the office; the ply door hit the wall and bounced back, but he was past it, striding down the corridor and out of the small lobby. He was just in time to see Tony shut the door of a cab, which shot away from the curb almost as though Gibbs himself was driving.
'Sir? You need to make another appointment.' A small, black-haired woman stood at his elbow.
Gibbs assumed she was the Rosie to whom Doctor Burlman owed twenty bucks, opened his mouth to tell her, but found himself snarling instead as a wave of pain crashed over him. 'We won't be needing it,' he choked out, stumbling towards his car. When he reached it, it took him four tries to get his key into the lock, his hands - marine sniper, surgeon-steady hands - betraying him by shaking so hard he dropped the keys to the ground. It was another minute before he could see clearly enough to drive.
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