When Tony was a child, his mornings consisted of the housekeeper banging on his door until he finally woke up, then a hurried shower, a not-so-hurried time in front of the mirror to get his hair just right, and then the worst part of his day: breakfast. His father had the mistaken idea that if the family ate breakfast together, they would be happy. So, his father sat at one end of a ridiculously long table, his mother sat opposite him, and Tony sat in the middle. They would have extravagant breakfasts - eggs, bacon, cereal fruit, toast - but Tony hated it. The sun always shone right into his eyes when he ate, and he would much rather sleep a while longer than sit at the table with his parents while the cook stood silently behind them, waiting for complaints or requests.
The worst part, though, was the silence. The room was always quiet and tense, with his mother sipping a 7 AM bloody mary and his father using his fork to stab his breakfast with vitriol. Tony, in between them, could often feel the intensity of their glares passing over him before reaching their intended recipient across the table. Sometimes they argued, and the table was so long that one of them would say, "Anthony, be a good boy and tell me what your father just said, because I know I must have heard him wrong," or, "Junior, tell me what that woman just said or I'm cutting your allowance," and Tony was forced to repeat the insults-but sometimes, at least, that was fun because he got to use words that would usually earn him a round with the belt. And, of course, there were also the times when the glares were directed at him, and the insults were meant for his ears, and usually on those mornings he sat with his shoulders squared and his eyes straight ahead and his mouth in a thin line.
When his mother died, his father gave up on the "family breakfast" tradition, and Tony ate breakfast while he walked to the bus stop. He liked breakfast, then. Sometimes, he'd give some of his toast to one of the dogs he passed on the way - usually the big golden retriever in front of the cottage on the corner, looking out of place amongst the large estates with sprawling acres, and he liked the way the dog always wagged his tail at him so happily in response.
Then, when he went to boarding school, breakfast was fun, a last chance to see his friends before he went off to classes. They could copy each other's homework at the last minute, and gripe about the tests that day, and just be boys for a while before they had to buckle down and be serious students. He didn't think breakfast could get any better than that.
Then there were the times he had breakfast in bed with a girlfriend, or just a girl who happened to stay in his bed, and when sometimes they ended with repeat rounds of the night before, he thought for sure those were the best mornings yet.
But somehow, none of that compared to mornings in Gibbs' house.
Tony loved to wake up in Gibbs' guest room. The bed was old and not as comfortable as the bed in his apartment, but it felt familiar and warm and cozy, and Tony particularly liked the hand-crocheted blanket on top of his comforter. When his alarm went off, he could always hear Gibbs moving around down the hall or in the basement. He wasn't sure what time Gibbs woke up, but he was always awake when Tony woke up.
When he finally managed to haul himself out of bed, sometimes with his head pounding and spinning with dizziness, he'd take a shower in Gibbs' guest bathroom, where you had to jiggle the knob just right for the water to come out of the showerhead correctly and the paint was peeling along the ceiling. Tony's towels at home were thick and extra luxurious, but Gibbs' were old and worn in...and yet Tony loved the feel of them against his skin because they were a special kind of soft that only seemed to happen with age.
And when he went to the kitchen for breakfast, Gibbs was always sitting at the kitchen table already, drinking coffee and eating cereal, and he always shoved the box of Cheerios towards Tony with a grunt, and gave a jerk of his head towards the coffeepot to let Tony know he could have some. Gibbs always seemed to have hazelnut creamer for Tony, too, even though he would never touch the stuff himself. And so Tony always sat across from Gibbs silently, drinking his (very strong) hazelnut coffee and eating Cheerios, and smiling while he ate for no reason at all.
Sometimes Gibbs would glare at him for being so cheerful. Other times, if Gibbs was up a lot earlier than Tony and he already had enough coffee, he'd start a conversation, and say something like, "Why're you so damn happy?" (No one ever claimed Gibbs was a great conversationalist, after all.)
If Tony seemed extra tired some mornings, Gibbs didn't comment-he would just watch him a little more carefully than usual, and sometimes he'd take his cereal bowl to the sink for him when he finished. Tony thought that was kind of him.
On Friday morning, one week after Tony woke up with barely any sight and his world seemed to flip around, Gibbs didn't comment when he saw that Tony was eating his cereal with his eyes half-closed. He didn't ask him if he was okay, or if he was sure he should go to work that day. Instead, he drank a little extra coffee himself, brought Tony's empty bowl to the sink for him, and walked a little bit slower out to the car that morning so Tony didn't think he had to try and keep up. On the way to work, he drove a little more cautiously than usual, too, so that he didn't wake Tony up from his catnap.
And when they got to work, and he shook Tony awake in the NCIS parking lot, and Tony looked around blearily, realized where they were, and opened his eyes with a start, Gibbs merely walked into work with him, gave him orders to follow like usual (looking up the phone records of a murder suspect-something that didn't take much energy), and treated him like nothing was different.
In turn, Tony acted like himself and teased McGee, got teased by Ziva, mocked her English, teased McGee some more, and teased Ziva until she threatened to kill him with a paperclip, and instead teased McGee again in her place. Life at NCIS was beginning to turn back to normal, except that Tony took a few more breaks than usual, and never got to go anywhere with the team.
So when Tony discovered a strange pattern to their suspect's phone records and found a woman who seemed to be involved with him that the team should definitely check out, he was forced to stay behind. But he kind of liked the way Gibbs came over to him, put a warm and strong hand on his shoulder, and said, "Good work, DiNozzo," before he left.
Ziva and McGee didn't spare him a second glance as they rushed to the elevator, eager to please their boss, but Tony felt happy and content that Gibbs never washed fresh towels for them, and he never bought hazelnut creamer for them. So it was with a smile and a spring in his (admittedly slightly unsteady) step that he made his way down to Abby's lab, smiled at her, endured her hug, collapsed onto her couch, and fell right into sleep. Mornings with Gibbs were definitely the best mornings yet.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Just a little interlude between parts 7 and 8.