Sawdust and silence. They surrounded him gently, but for once they didn’t bring him the comfort he craved. He was so far from peace he couldn’t even see it from where he stood. He turned the sanding block over and over in his fingers, the rough grain scraping gently at his skin, then tossed it onto the workbench. The soft clunk of its landing was the first sound that registered since he’d come down to the basement. He’d never minded silence; generally, he preferred it to listening to people use too many words to state the obvious. But sometimes, the silence opened the door to the memories, reminding him of everything he’d lost, every choice he’d made, and the often unintended consequences of his actions. Working on the boat was one sure way to banish the ghosts: focusing on every slow sweep of the sandpaper across the planks kept his mind from straying to the past.
Gibbs smiled slightly as he admitted another truth to himself: Tony was another sure way to banish the ghosts. The younger man had taken to dropping by some evenings, and Gibbs realised now that he’d begun to look forward to those visits. He looked up at Tony’s favourite spot, and could picture the young man easily. Settled halfway down the stairs, usually in old jeans and sneakers, and a well-worn sweatshirt, Tony would chatter about any number of inconsequential topics, before settling down to finish a crossword or read a book. Looking back now, Gibbs suddenly noted the pattern of the visits: always after a bad day or case, with just enough chatter to make sure Gibbs was free of his ghosts. Gibbs’ smile turned sad; just when he thought he had the younger man pegged, he realised there was more to learn. And with his actions this week, he’d all but killed their relationship.
The thought was painful, and Gibbs knew this pain would last longer than the throbbing headache caused by the hit he’d taken to the eyebrow earlier. He could always take the painkillers Ducky had given him for the physical pain, but the coroner couldn’t, and wouldn’t, help him with the emotional damage this time. Not when Ducky had made it clear that he thought Jethro was making a mistake by lying to Tony. Now that he was alone with the truth and its consequences, Jethro wondered if he’d made the right decision. But there’d been other considerations and he’d felt the need to cover every eventuality. He’d needed the certainty on one issue in particular. And if the price for that certainty was Tony’s trust, and his friendship, well, who’d ever said that life was fair?
Jethro rested his hands on the workbench and took stock. After Shannon and Kelly, he’d always thought that he could manage without any sort of close relationship again. It hurt too much to lose the people you cared about. But somehow Tony had slipped through his barricades and made himself a part of Gibbs’ life. A part that was now lost. Gibbs took a deep breath and raised his eyes from his splinted finger to the bottle of bourbon on the shelf. Ducky had said not to mix the painkillers with alcohol, but Jethro hadn’t taken them. After all, given what he’d done this week, he felt like he deserved to suffer, so why numb the pain? He’d just reached up to take the bottle off the shelf when he heard the sound above him in the house: creaking wood, and slow, careful footsteps.
NCISNCISNCIS
Tony DiNozzo was angry. Furious. Incandescent with rage. But you’d have needed to know him extremely well to see it. Keeping the emotions under control was a struggle, but at the moment, Tony relished the challenge. He couldn’t yell at Vance, as the plan hadn’t been the Director’s; and like he’d said to Ziva, he did like his job. He did actually want to keep it, and yelling at Vance would probably jeopardise that. He couldn’t yell at Ziva or McGee, as they had as much right to be angry as he did. And somehow, it was just impossible to yell at Abby, even when it was clear that she’d known quite a lot about what was going on. That left suppression, and Tony had learned over the years that suppressing emotions helped to exhaust you. Sleeping gave you a distance from events that almost always made further suppression easier. Although he had to admit he was battling to get the process started this time; he’d never had to use it on Gibbs. Then again, until now, he’d never needed to.
McGee and Ziva had both finished their reports an hour ago, and dropped them on Gibbs’ desk on their way home. Now he was alone in the bullpen, collating his final report for Gibbs to read through and most likely pass on to Vance. Over the years, he’d discovered that Gibbs often submitted Tony’s final report as the official case report on any investigation, as the older man hated report writing, and preferred to deal with the Director, whoever it was at the moment, in person. Despite his cavalier-seeming attitude, Tony knew how to write detailed, solid reports, and he knew that Gibbs appreciated being saved the chore.
The office was quiet, with most people having left for the day. The only sounds registering in Tony’s mind were the quiet clicking of his computer keys and the staccato tapping of his left foot on the floor beneath his desk. Another sign of anger, he knew, but one that only Gibbs would have noticed. The ping of the arriving elevator echoed loudly, and he spared it half a glance, ready to ignore Gibbs if it were him. Seeing Ducky step out actually made him smile for a second.
“Hey, Ducky. Gibbs isn’t here.” Tony knew Ducky had been kept mostly in the dark as well, so it was easy to bypass his anger for a moment. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen him since he gave Michelle’s badge to Amanda.”
“I should hope not.” Ducky was acerbic. “I made it perfectly clear to him that he wasn’t to do any more work after he left my office.” The older man shook his head and dropped his hat on the corner of Tony’s desk. “I do realise, of course, that most of what I say tends to be ignored by everyone I say it to, when it suits them.” Tony lifted a hand to object, to mention any number of stories he’d heard from Ducky, but the older man cut him off. “Don’t mind me, lad, I’m just letting off steam. That’s an interesting concept, too, because as far as I’m aware, it dates back to the original steam locomotives, and how …” Ducky’s own wry chuckle ended that train of thought.
“Back to the matter at hand. I just wanted to be sure that Jethro had left. The finger isn’t a worry, but the blow to the head and the blurred vision did concern me.” Ducky broke off at the look on Tony’s face. “You didn’t know? How typical of the man.”
“How bad is it, Ducky?” Tony felt a rush of panicked concern pushing his anger aside. In spite of what McGee thought, he did know his way around his computer, and his fingers flashed over the keys, saving the file and shutting down the machine at a speed that could have rivalled the probie’s own. He’d just be sure to get in early the next morning and finish up his report. “He’s been gone for at least two hours. Should he even be alone?”
Tony yanked open the top desk drawer with a clatter, grabbed his badge and gun and settled them in their usual positions, then snagged his backpack off the floor. He glanced at Ducky, waiting for an answer, and stopped dead at the slightly mystified and amused expression on the medical examiner’s face.
“Not bad enough to warrant panic.” Ducky smiled gently. “The finger will be painful, but should heal well as long as he leaves the splint alone. I don’t believe he has even a mild concussion, but I did tell him to go home, take the painkillers I gave him, and rest.” Ducky turned slowly to stare at Gibbs’ empty desk, and his last words were quiet, thoughtful. “I just never thought he’d actually listen to me.”
Tony let himself relax a degree, but still got his things together to leave. He stood and slipped his jacket on, picked up his backpack with one hand and stepped round his desk to rest his free hand on Ducky’s shoulder. He was a good undercover agent, maybe even one of the best ever, and he was convincing. “I’m sure he’s fine then, Ducky. Now why don’t you go on home as well. It’s been a long week for all of us, and I know I could use some proper sleep.” A soft smile and a gentle nudge, and Ducky headed into the elevator ahead of Tony.
A few minutes later, Tony watched Ducky drive away. Sliding into the seat of his own car, he stared out the windshield and tried to focus on making a decision about what to do next. He’d not been this angry since Baltimore. Back then, he’d felt that the case with Lawton had been bad from the start. Abby would have labelled it hinky, Tony knew. But then, when everything went south, Tony had learned that Lawton had deliberately set him up, lied to him, left him to take the fall, and then hoped that Tony wouldn’t live to tell the story. Some partner. But Gibbs and Ducky had been there. Their presence had made all the difference. The ankle still ached in bad weather, but thanks to Ducky’s actions, Tony could still walk. And until today, he’d believed that Gibbs had his back. Now he wasn’t so sure. He glanced back at the entrance to the building, and wondered if the time had come to cut his losses again. The CV was ready to be sent out, it always was, and Fornell’s offer was a standing one. Tony liked Washington, DC, and taking Fornell’s offer would let him stay in the city; near the museums, the theatre, near Ducky and Abby. He’d hate to lose them too.
Tony realised he was tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as he pondered, and moved to turn the key in the ignition. As the engine caught and started to purr, he made his decision. It took the edge off the rage. He’d contact Fornell tomorrow. But because of everything that had happened since Baltimore, he owed Gibbs one more chance. To explain, to make Tony understand how the older man could throw away the best thing Tony had ever had in his life. Tonight, he’d fulfil his final obligation to NCIS and check on his soon-to-be ex-boss.
NCISNCISNCIS
Gibbs moved to grab his gun, and gasped at the pain when he tried to move the broken finger. As the pain ebbed, he considered other weapon options, knowing that he’d left his gun with Internal Affairs for the investigation into Lee’s death. His back-up gun was upstairs, locked away as usual. The screwdriver could be used as a dagger, so Gibbs picked it up left-handed, hefted it slightly to get the balance perfect, and then stood with his hand concealed behind the boat. He watched the stairs, and cursed his lapse. He knew he’d not being paying enough attention to the sounds outside the cocoon of the basement, and now it seemed he might pay the price.
Another floorboard creaked, but the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee wafting down the stairs set Jethro’s mind at ease. Murderers and thieves rarely brought creature comforts to the scene of the crime, so whoever was upstairs had to be a friend. If he still had any friends left after Domino. The smell of melted cheese joined the scent of coffee, and Gibbs was certain that it was DiNozzo upstairs. Coffee and pizza were a DiNozzo trademark, and Gibbs was hopeful; if DiNozzo was here, maybe there was still a chance to repair the damage he’d done to their relationship.
Slow, careful steps on the stairs drew Gibbs’ attention, and in seconds, Tony’s face appeared above a pizza box that bore two cups of coffee on its closed lid. The look of concern on Tony’s face was wiped away as soon as the younger man saw Gibbs, to be replaced by a carefree grin. Which faltered slightly when Gibbs moved towards the workbench and dropped the screwdriver on the plank lying there.
“Variation on rule 9, boss?”
Gibbs couldn’t hide a small smile. Trust Tony to be totally unfazed by being greeted with a makeshift weapon. He took a step sideways to let DiNozzo put the box down, and gratefully accepted the proffered cup of coffee. He leaned a hip against the workbench and breathed in deeply, the scent of coffee lifting his spirits slightly.
DiNozzo’s sneaker scuffed gently across the floor, highlighting the fact that the younger man had obviously gone home before coming to see Gibbs. Possibly a good sign, as jeans, sneakers and an Ohio State sweatshirt usually meant that Tony felt comfortable about whatever he was doing. Possibly a bad sign, because it also meant that all the difficult decisions had been made and there was nothing left to worry about. So Tony had made a decision on how to deal with the whole operation. The only trick now would be finding out what decisions had been made. Asking would do no good, Gibbs knew, as Tony could misdirect attention as easily as breathing. So Gibbs decided to take the question at face value and simply see where the conversation led. Not his favourite approach, but maybe the only one that would work this time.
“Haven’t left home, DiNozzo. Doesn’t have to be a knife.”
Tony tipped his head in acknowledgement and moved to flip the pizza box open. Gibbs didn’t even need to look to know it was sausage, pepperoni and extra cheese. Some things never changed. Like the speed at which Tony consumed pizza; the younger man was already halfway through a slice when he stopped, looked pointedly first at Gibbs, then the pizza, and waved a finger meaningfully at the food. Gibbs gave in and took a slice, watching Tony’s eyes hide a flicker of concern. “So, Ducky’s been talking about me.”
Gibbs was feeling mean enough to enjoy DiNozzo’s flash of discomfort at being so easy to read. Still, he only saw it because he knew what to look for. And DiNozzo always gave as good as he got. “More like, he was amazed that you’d actually listened to him. Which made us both wonder if there’d been more damage than he thought.”
Gibbs snorted in amusement. “I do listen to advice, DiNozzo, and sometimes I even take it; from people I trust.” He’d hoped that taking Ducky’s advice would show the coroner that he trusted Ducky, no matter what had happened with the Domino case. But his reputation for being a bastard had apparently only made the older man worry instead.
“He’s Ducky. What’s not to trust?” Tony nodded agreement, then started on another slice of pizza.
“Then why don’t you ever believe him when he tells you that all this junk food will kill you, DiNozzo?” Gibbs finished the slice he was holding, and licked the last pieces of melted cheese off his fingers. He was honestly curious.
“Two reasons, boss. Comfort food can’t kill you, and some days, just going to work can. Ask Lee about that.”
Gibbs winced at the reminder of what he’d done earlier, and realised too late that DiNozzo was watching him like a hawk. Then the younger man spoke again. “I’m not blaming you, or anything. Just saying.”
“Doesn’t change what I did, though. Hell, I blame me, why shouldn’t you?”
“’Cause you did what you had to, to save Amanda. And Domino. That’s what Lee wanted, in the end. She had to know it wouldn’t " couldn’t " end well for her.”
“I guess so. And she was willing to die for Amanda.” Gibbs had given this idea a great deal of thought, starting from when he’d lost Shannon and Kelly. He would have died for them, without a second’s thought or doubt, and it spoke volumes about Lee’s love for the child that she’d sacrificed herself. “In a way, what she did at the end was a type of redemption. Maybe.”
“Not terribly useful, though. Michelle’s dead, Amanda will grow up alone.” Without a parent to love her, or care what happened to her. The unspoken sentiment hung in the air between them, clear but unacknowledged. “She seems like a good kid, too. It’s all just … unfair, somehow.”
Gibbs wished, not for the first time, for just half an hour alone with Tony’s father. How a successful, wealthy and supposedly intelligent man could have wasted the opportunity to get to know a son like Tony made Gibb’s blood boil. The younger man’s compassion was boundless when it came to lonely children, knowing from personal experience the difficult years that lay ahead.
“Life’s not fair, DiNozzo.”
“Too true.”
The bitterness in Tony’s voice cut Gibbs deeply. He knew Tony was angry. Hell, he was angry about how badly things had ended, but instinct told him that there was something deeper bothering the younger man. Tony ran both his hands through his hair, leaving dark brown spikes standing to attention, before despondently dropping his hands to his sides. Then he spoke, just one plaintive word.
“Why?”
“I’m not going to explain myself to you again.”
“Again? You haven’t explained at all.” Tony’s control slipped its leash, and his voice rose until he was nearly yelling. “I trusted you. And you used me. Just like Lawton.”
“I’m nothing like him.”
“The hell you’re not! You’re the reason I survived him, and Baltimore. Reasonably healthy and mostly sane. You know what he did to me. How could you do this?”
Gibbs sighed. He knew he should have seen this coming, but after all the years he’d worked with Tony, he’d thought this particular demon had been dealt with. Now he needed to find a way to make things right again. A way to uproot Tony’s doubts before they bloomed into something wild and ungovernable.
“Remember how things ended with Lawton? I’d do it again. In a heartbeat.”
“How can you say that? You don’t even trust me.”
“Damn it, DiNozzo! You’re the only one who knows where the rules come from.” The words were out before Gibbs could censor them or think twice, but the discomfort he felt at the baring of his soul was more than offset by the pure joy that lit Tony’s eyes. Gibbs could see the bare statement had brought Tony us short.
The first weekend after they’d come back from Stillwater, Tony had shown up unannounced late on Saturday afternoon, carrying Chinese take-out, and almost begging to see the car. Gibbs knew he’d indulged the younger man by allowing him to fawn reverently over the vehicle, but thinking about it now, he realised that once more, Tony had been checking up on Gibbs. It was subtle, but there was no denying it. Considering that day now, Gibbs realised that he’d been deftly manoeuvred into talking about his dad, then his family, and the happy times of his childhood; just enough to dull the knife edge of pain from seeing all the places he’d grown up in and hoped to share with Kelly one day. He’d talked about meeting a girl at the station the day he left to join the Marine Corps. He’d never mentioned a name, but when he’d laughed about Shannon’s rule for never dating a lumberjack, he’d seen the realisation on Tony’s face. He’d confirmed it with a nod, not needing to say anymore. And he realised now that Tony knew him better than he’d imagined.
But he knew Tony as well, probably better than anyone alive knew the younger man. If Tony was comparing Domino to Baltimore, there was trouble brewing. The kind of trouble that had Tony polishing a CV and talking to Fornell. Gibbs sighed gently and faced an unpleasant fact: nothing but the unvarnished truth would be enough to fix things this time. Tony’s voice cut into his thoughts.
“Then I don’t get it, boss. Why didn’t you just tell me what was going on? You know I would’ve kept it quiet.”
The earnest expression, the desperate need to understand what he’d done wrong, was so clear on Tony’s face that Gibbs couldn’t let it slide. “Yeah. You would’ve. The whole Frog thing proved you can keep anything quiet. Not that I needed proof.”
Gibbs watched the realisation sink in, the understanding that it was nothing the younger man had done or said that had prompted Gibbs’ actions. “Then why?”
“DiNozzo.” Gibbs patience was stretched thin. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re like a dog with a bone?”
“Sure. And that’s one of the many things you love about me, boss.”
Gibbs had to smile at that. That was actually true. Tony’s ability to stick with something, and dig up every little detail, was what made him a great investigator. And Tony’s memory for keeping track of all those details was what made him perfect for undercover work. But it also meant that until you answered his questions to his satisfaction, Tony would keep chipping away at your defences. Toddlers could take lessons from Tony in the fine art of asking endless questions. Gibbs drained the last of his coffee and decided to be honest. Tony was too important to him to let the opportunity pass.
“I remember when I … lost Shannon and Kelly.”
“Boss, you don’t have to ta-” One look was all it took to make Tony swallow his objection.
“I thought I’d never survive it. But I did.” A moment’s silence, and Gibbs carried on quietly. “I survived. Sometimes, some days, I’ve even moved on. Others, not at all. And I swore that I would never let it happen again. I’d never lose anyone again.”
Gibbs risked a glance at Tony, and found the younger man staring fixedly at his cooling coffee, the pizza ignored in the box. The cheese was congealing into something only Tony would find appetising in the morning. Tony managed to look intent, patient and uncomfortable; an odd mix, but the sort of combination that only Tony, in Gibbs’ opinion, ever seemed to manage. Yet another sign that there was more to the young man than most people ever saw.
“There’s always a choice. Life is full of them. And sometimes, you have to choose the lesser of two evils. Sacrifice something you thought you couldn’t live without, to save something more important.”
“Domino.” Tony was clear, his tone dangerously neutral. “I get it now, boss.” He looked up to meet Gibbs’ gaze. The depth of betrayal was gone, replaced by an infinite sadness. Gibbs knew he needed to banish that look; the one that made it clear how little regard Tony had for his own needs. The one that showed so clearly what a sterling job Tony’s father had done in making the younger man see himself at too unimportant to consider in any situation. It wasn’t quite as effective left-handed, but the head slap got Tony’s attention.
“Are you being deliberately dense, DiNozzo?”
“No, boss. But you said …”
“What did I say in Autopsy?”
“That it was your plan; all of it.”
“After that.”
The blank look on Tony’s face made it clear to Gibbs that the supposed betrayal of trust had hit Tony far harder than Gibbs had thought. He prompted. “If I didn’t make the right play …”
“She’d kill again.” Tony completed the thought.
Gibbs let the silence lengthen, hoping that Tony would put the pieces together to reach the right conclusion.
“She killed Langer.” Tony mused. Gibbs could almost see the cogs turning as the younger man ran through options and scenarios. “So, you thought she might try to …”
Tony trailed off as Gibbs nodded. Gibbs tried to let his pride in the younger man show, pleased that Tony had worked it out so fast. The young agent sounded stunned as reality sank in. “Oh. I see.” Blank amazement, then very quietly. “Wow.”
“Rather your trust than your life, Tony.” Gibbs knew he was being gruff and abrupt, but the sheen in Tony’s expressive green eyes was pushing him into dangerous emotional territory. Places he tried to avoid to keep his sanity. The slow spread of a genuine, sweet smile on Tony’s face made it all worthwhile. But the irrepressible personality surfaced again. “I really need to start carrying a tape recorder around.”
Gibbs laughed outright at that, before grimacing at the bottom of his empty coffee cup. Turning towards the stairs, he set off to make more coffee. He glanced over his shoulder to see Tony smiling absently into space. Who’d have guessed that telling him the truth would be the best way to keep Tony quiet? Gibb shook his head in silent amusement. “Move it, DiNozzo. I’m the only one who sleeps down here.”
“Not tonight, boss. Ducky’d kill me.” Tony’s answer was sure and quick, making it clear that Ducky was a far more intimidating presence in Tony’s life than Gibbs could ever be. The younger man collected the pizza and headed up the stairs behind Gibbs. The silence was expectant and Gibbs knew they hadn’t finished this discussion yet. He planned to wait for Tony to make the first move now. He knew the younger man needed to feel like he was in control of what happened next, needed Gibbs to show that the trust between them was still strong. Besides, Tony was notoriously short on patience, so the wait probably wouldn’t be a long one.
“So.” Five minutes had passed, and Tony watched the coffee machine do its job. He leaned comfortably against the counter top in Gibbs’ kitchen, arms loosely folded across his chest, right ankle crossed over the left. “Next time " and God forbid there’s a next time " you tell me. No more lies. No more rule eighteen. Not with me.”
“You think I need your permission, DiNozzo?” Gibbs’ question was honestly curious, and the clear, direct green gaze that met his blue one was answer enough. Forgiveness this time was contingent on Gibbs getting Tony’s permission for jobs like this in the future. Agreement came easily. “Okay. Not with you.”
“That was almost too easy, boss. What aren’t you telling me?”
“That if I do what you want, you might be in my position next time. Can you handle that from McGee? From Ziva? Do you even want to?”
“I’d rather lose their trust than yours.” Such a simple statement, but the wealth of feeling in it overwhelmed Gibbs for a second. Drawing a deep breath, he broke his own rule. “For what it’s worth, I really am sorry, Tony.”
“Never apologise, boss, it’s a sign of weakness.”
“Not between friends.”
The silence stretched out until Gibbs shifted slightly and stifled a yawn. Immediately, Tony straightened up and moved towards the door. “I should let you get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow. Just call me if you need anything.”
Gibbs cut off the hurried flow of words with a raised hand, then pointed towards the bedrooms. “Spare room’s always ready, DiNozzo.” When Tony looked doubtful, Gibbs simply stared him down. “It’s late. You’re tired. And you’ve still got a change of clothes here from last time.” That had been after Stillwater, and Gibbs smiled when he saw Tony heading in the right direction at last. Message received, hopefully loud and clear this time.
NCISNCISNCIS
Hours later, Tony woke to the sound of running water. A glance at his watch showed the hour to be almost unforgivably early, but late by Gibbs’ standards. At least Ducky would be pleased to hear that Gibbs had slept in a real bed for more than a small handful of hours.
Tony burrowed deeper into the warm bed and smiled as he considered Gibbs’ apology from the night before. He knew that the older man trusted him; after all, he wouldn’t have survived the first year at NCIS if Gibbs hadn’t thought Tony trustworthy enough to do the job. Now he was sure again that Gibbs trusted him personally. He knew he shouldn’t give the doubts any consideration, but sometimes everything just got to be too much. Thanks to his childhood, he’d learned not to trust anyone in authority. Trusting Gibbs had been a first for him. So it was always good to hear the words, to have the truth acknowledged openly. Even if had only been between the two of them, and no-one else would ever know. That was enough. It always would be.
Tony knew his feelings for Gibbs were confused " and confusing. The older man was always there when Tony needed him, just as Tony had always wished his own father would be. But Gibbs’ behaviour was often more like that of an older brother, with just enough irritation and goading to get the best out of Tony. So he’d always found it difficult to define their relationship; or at least, he had found it hard. Now things were different. Tony felt a shiver of appreciation run through him again at the realisation that Gibbs considered him a friend.
Tony slid out of bed and stretched his arms high above his head, enjoying the sounds of his joints popping and settling for the day. Moving to make up the bed, he ignored the chill of the floor on his bare feet, and continued his musings. He and Gibbs were friends. It was an almost surreal thought. Which, of course, made him consider the reason for the admission and the apology. Gibbs had lied to him. That had never happened before, and it still caused Tony concern. Then again, he had Gibbs’ promise to never do anything like the Domino thing again without telling Tony, and Gibbs had yet to break a promise.
Deeper though, under it all, was the reason Gibbs had lied in the first place. To protect Tony. Even if it had made Tony hate Gibbs. Even if it had driven Tony away, ended their friendship, and left Gibbs alone again. No-one had ever done anything that selfless for Tony before, and it was a humbling experience. Not to mention, it confirmed in spades that Gibbs was always guarding Tony’s back.
Where did that leave things, then? Tony smoothed the comforter absently on the bed, and wondered if the answer was as simple as it felt. He worked at NCIS because the people there watched his back, unlike the people in Baltimore. He spent the occasional night in Gibbs’ spare room, and it always felt like coming home. Sometimes, that was enough. More than enough, if he were being honest. If he’d learned nothing else from Gibbs, Tony had learned to trust his instincts. Nothing good came easily, and any sort of relationship with Gibbs would always be hard work. Hard, but worthwhile. Kind of like his own little boat building project.
Tony grinned as he headed out the door, anticipating his morning shower. He called out as he crossed the hallway. “Morning, boss.”
“Tony.” The quiet voice, less than six feet away, almost shocked Tony into orbit. As he turned to face Gibbs, clutching a hand to his chest and feigning panic, the older man spoke again. Still quiet, but confident, sure of his ground. “That grin on your face tells me Fornell’s lost out again.”
Tony stared for a moment, flabbergasted. Then he couldn’t help but burst into laughter, thrilled when Gibbs joined him. He knew then he’d made the right decision. The small, proud smile on Gibbs’ face was all the confirmation he needed.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Takes place after "Cloak" and "Dagger", and deals with the fallout of Gibbs keeping Tony in the dark about his plan.