Part 2
Tony DiNozzo: "Maybe instead of having a mid-life crisis, I'm having a mid-life crazy."
It's Christmas Eve and their last case has been neatly wrapped up and tied securely with a nice red bow. All the paperwork is done; the holiday party upstairs is winding down, and Breena has already taken a tipsy Palmer home. Abby left with Ducky twenty minutes ago, both of them dressed to the nines, heading for the cathedral for a performance of the Messiah, and Tony wishes he were accompanying them. Gibbs headed out an hour ago, at five on the dot, and everyone assumed he was heading straight to Pennsylvania to visit his father because they all have the week off and nobody wants to waste a minute of such a gift, which is well-deserved.
Tony sends the final report up to Vance's office and shuts down his computer. Due to bad timing Tony ends up riding in the elevator with Ziva and McGee, who are so full of the holiday spirit that Tony is afraid they're going to break into song. Instead of saying something cutting to stop the horror before it begins, he puts on smile #2, which involves a hint of patronizing and a whole lot of teeth. Some things he learned well at his father's knee.
He feels like shit and knows his appearance pretty much matches how he feels, but his co-workers haven't actually said anything even if they've been shooting concerned looks his way for the past couple of days. That afternoon, for no apparent reason, Abby gave him an unusually long and heartfelt hug - not that she ever needs a reason to give him a hug - but just as she was about to ask him difficult questions that he'd rather not answer, Gibbs had interrupted, making Tony wonder if he'd been waiting outside the lab in case an intervention was needed.
Being stuck in an elevator with Ziva and Tim, even if it's only for a couple of minutes, is something Tony tries to endure without freaking out. As the doors close on him he feels a bubble of panic arise, so he focuses on the floor numbers above the door and tries to slow down his rapid breathing. He wants to swipe his forearm across his sweaty forehead but knows that will only bring attention to himself. It's too late - Ziva is looking at him curiously. Tony swallows and prays he doesn't lose it because this is not the place to have a meltdown, and even though he knows his teammates care about him, more than any of them ever say aloud, he can't stand that they might see him at his worst, and sympathize. That's what he's petrified of, not just making a fool of himself, but of being the recipient of their overt sympathy, which comes so perilously close to pity that Tony can't tell the two things apart. Either way, the look in Ziva's eyes is far too perceptive.
Tony has been like this for days, and up until now he has been able to put on a pretty good act, and has kept the fact that he's unraveling under wraps. It's only because he's tired that his cover is deteriorating at the edges, and because, the doc says, he's suffering from the after-effects of the concussion he had three months ago. He's suffering - he laughs at that. Gibbs has borne the worst of it, suffered Tony's irritability, mood swings, anxiety - and lack of libido, which is downright embarrassing when Gibbs is doing his best in bed to rev Tony up and the shaft just won't crank. His headaches and depression are his own cross to bear, and he has been dealing with them just fine up until now, thank you very much. Except now it's Christmas once again, and things - unspeakable things - that Tony has always been able to handle in years past, are piling up and he is being immersed under their unbearable weight.
The dreams have never been this bad before, and they're spiking his waking hours with sudden, flashing visions that come out of nowhere and intrude on his life. They're scraps of film from the cutting room floor, desperate for another chance at life, flickering for brief, blinding moments that seem so real. Their very existence is terrifying. Ducky says they stem from post-concussive somethingorother but Tony knows differently.
The worst thing of all is that he's been avoiding Gibbs because Gibbs can see things that others can't and Tony doesn't want anybody to see what is going on in his fucked-up mind. Especially not Gibbs. Please, God, please, please, not Gibbs… If he knows, if he sees, he won't want to stick around, that's the bottom line, the bottom of the barrel, the bottom of the sea. If Gibbs had known back then what he was getting into he'd never have made the first move. Hell, Tony knows that if he met himself today, he'd back away faster than you can say Merry Christmas.
In the confining space of the elevator, Ziva turns to him and asks, "Why are we not watching 'The Wonderful Life'? Is it not a tradition?"
Tony doesn't bother to correct her. "Well, I don't know about you, but as it's a DiNozzo tradition, this DiNozzo is going home to watch it, with a big bowl of popcorn all to himself," he responds with a smile that Tony hopes projects that he's been looking forward to seeing the movie all day.
Tim sends him a look that forms a deep crease between his brows and, with a sinking feeling that has become all-too familiar, Tony waits. Three… two… one… marks the countdown sweep at the beginning of the black-and-white movie reel, and right on cue McGee says, "I thought you and Gibbs were…" It only takes one sharp look from Tony to quell whatever McBigMouth was about to say, but Ziva catches the awkward moment and launches into a multitude of questions.
Tony sees her lips moving but he can't hear a word she says. He smiles some more, sure that his expression appears brittle because he's clenching his teeth so hard his molars ache, but he feels too off to care if she realizes how false the smile is. Mercifully the door slides open and Tony almost falls out of the elevator in his haste to escape. He heads straight for his car, calling insincere wishes of Happy Holidays over his shoulder.
*
Gibbs is leaning over the kitchen sink with his hand stuffed deep inside a turkey.
Tony can't help asking, "Doing a thorough cavity search? Did you read him his rights first?" Of course Gibbs sends Tony a glare and indulges in a little bit of eye-rolling because they both know that Tony would never stick his hand in any dark, moist hole without first doubling up on latex gloves. Tony goes straight to the fridge, pulls out a beer and drinks half the bottle before he sighs deeply and settles on a kitchen chair to watch Gibbs making preparations for their Christmas dinner.
Eventually Gibbs finishes up, puts everything away in the fridge, washes down the sink and the counters, scours his forearms up to his elbows that would do a surgeon proud, and then gets himself a beer. Even though Tony has drained the last of his beer, Gibbs doesn't offer him a second one because they both know that one is the limit, with the meds Tony is currently taking. Tony thinks he might sneak a second one later on. It isn't as if he's going to be working tomorrow or doing anything like driving heavy machinery. "What time will Jack be here?" Tony asks.
"Around two. He's taking a courtesy car from the airport." Gibbs takes a sip then says, "I bought that stuff you wanted for the stuffing."
"I'll make it in the morning. We're still planning on eating at five? You get enough cranberries so I can string some for the tree?"
Gibbs nods. "It'll be ready at five." He plans a meal down to the last detail as if it's the invasion of Normandy and Tony knows that it will taste great and that there will be enough leftovers to last them a week. It's the same every year, a Gibbs-DiNozzo tradition, the two of them, and sometimes Jackson Gibbs if he isn't visiting his only remaining sister who lives up in Elkland. Every Christmas, Tony makes the dessert and follows Grandmother Paddington's recipe for a cranberry-walnut stuffing with extra spicy sausage; Gibbs handles the bird and the veggies which tends to mean a lot of bird and a little veggies. After five years of Christmas dinners together they have it down pat.
This is their sixth Christmas as a couple, Tony thinks with a sigh. They had danced around each other for much of the four years before that, and it was only after Tony was cleared of murder that their heightened emotions compelled the two men to declare their feelings for each other. Actually, Tony had broken down and said he didn't want to waste any more time, still shaking with relief that he wasn't going to spend the rest of his life in prison, and Gibbs had jumped his bones. To be fair, Gibbs had been extraordinarily gentle even when Tony had wanted it otherwise. A weekend of being together, truly together, had sealed the deal and they'd never looked back.
"Tired?" Gibbs asks, careful not to appear like he's assessing Tony, although it's obvious that he is. Tony knows that Gibbs knows that Tony knows.
*
These days, Gibbs rarely asks Tony straight out if he's okay. This is because Gibbs is well aware that the reply will be, "I'm fine," and that those words carry no weight owing to the fact that Tony's 'fine' is usually an outright lie.
There is no fine any more.
So now Gibbs tends to ask specific questions. "Can I get you something for your headache?" "Would you like me to give you a back rub?" "Where did you leave your inhaler?" His attentiveness makes Tony feel both loved and annoyed at the same time. Tony knows his limits - how much he can drink, when to take his meds, when he needs to call Dr. Rachel for an emergency session â€" and he does not want or need a watchdog.
Gibbs has smartened up and won't even bring Tony an aspirin without asking first, not since Tony blew a gasket over being mothered - this was just before Christmas, six years ago - and accused Gibbs of "sticking your fucking nose in where it is none of your business and treating me like I'm being self-destructive or some shit. I do not need that shit." Needless to say that fight did not end well and the ensuing coldness grew wider by the day until it stretched between them like the fucking Grand Canyon.
If Gibbs hadn't come over to Tony's apartment late one night a whole week later to say, "I'm sorry and I want you to come home," just when Tony was heading out of his own apartment with the intention of going over to Gibbs' place to say, "I'm sorry and I want to come home," well, that would have been the end of their affair and the end of them ever working together again.
For Tony, that would have been the end.
But they talked, learned, adjusted, and both men swore they'd never go through that hell again. They moved in together a month later, and that was six years ago.
*
Sure he's tired, but it's more about mental exhaustion. "I'll be okay if I get a good night's sleep," he assures Gibbs, not meaning to lie because they have this kind of pact that says they're not allowed to lie. Not that Gibbs lies outright; he's more of the 'if I don't open my mouth then I can't lie' school of reasoning. This brings Tony back to rule number 18, the one about seeking forgiveness later, which Tony thinks of as Gibbs' version of a wild card. Tony uses that particular rule too much and they both know it.
Maybe he should make that his New Year's resolution. Rule 18B, revised January 1, 2012: It's better to seek permission than ask for forgiveness later because the other way around is just an excuse to lie.
Tony thinks (hopes) he has the stamina to make it through this holiday in one piece, and he will, if he keeps busy and doesn't think too much about the past. He's done it before, for the last thirty years, so it should be old hat by now. Tony takes a deep breath and asks Gibbs, "Are we still planning to take Jack back to Stillwater a couple of days after Christmas? On Tuesday?"
They'll only stay in Stillwater for a couple of nights, sleeping in the upstairs bedroom that is about as far from Jack's downstairs suite as is possible. Tony always enjoyed his time there, in Gibbs' childhood home. When they went up to Stillwater last summer, Gibbs installed a heavy wall-to-wall carpet in the upstairs guest bedroom. Although Gibbs swore it was simply intended to make the room cozy, Tony poked him in the ribs and whispered in his ear, "You think it'll help muffle the noise so your dad doesn't hear your screams?"
Even Jackson hadn't been fooled, but then it had been he who had exchanged the twin beds for a queen between visits and hadn't even blinked at Tony's glee. Gibbs had blushed when he'd set his eyes on the big bed, and Tony had been so turned on they'd christened the mattress almost before Jackson had shut the door behind him, mumbling something about going to visit an old buddy for the rest of the afternoon.
Now, seated at the kitchen table, Gibbs replies, "We'll drive up Tuesday if the weather holds," and drinks some of his beer, and Tony can't help but be fascinated with the way Gibbs' lips wrap around the mouth of the dark brown bottle. Tony looks up to see that he's being watched and it's obvious that Gibbs has a good idea of what Tony's thinking. Gibbs places his beer bottle firmly on the table and ducks his head, the corners of his eyes crinkling when he smiles. He looks like a shy teenager and that goes straight to Tony's dick. Gibbs looks up to meet Tony's eyes and Tony smiles in response and relaxes for the first time in days.
They're going to travel by car, and Tony is looking forward to that. Gibbs will drive and Tony will sit in the back with Jackson and coerce stories out of him about Young Leroy while Gibbs pretends he's not listening even if an occasional derisive sound escapes from his throat.
Sometimes it seems that Tony just can't get enough of Gibbs and he doesn't care who knows it. Jackson will catch Tony's eye and they'll grin at the predictability of it all and Tony will get that warm feeling in his chest because this is his family and they're not afraid to love him.
***
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