The heavy bag doesn't fight back. It doesn't punch back, doesn't fake him out before landing a solid uppercut to his jaw. It doesn't make him gasp and stagger back, the way Gibbs does when they're sparring.

It's not enough.

He slams his fists into it again and again, dancing back a little before hitting it again, a series of fast pounding blows that do nothing to dull his anger, take the edge off his frustration. Sweat trickles into his eyes and he wipes it away with the back of his arm, exhaling through his mouth.

The music's blaring in his ears, the heavy bass pounding through him in rhythm with his blows. He's wearing himself out; he's going to have to stop soon, but he can't lower his arms. He needs to do something, even if it's just beating up a bag that's hanging from the ceiling.

Someone's saying something over his shoulder, over and over again. He ignores it, refusing to give in to the burning in his arms, the heavy feeling in his hands from the gloves. If he turns away now he'll have to stop and he can't do that.

"Tony!" A hand lands on his shoulder and he jumps, arms falling to his sides anyway. "i've been trying to get your attention for five minutes!"

"Sorry, Boss," he mutters, tugging his gloves off. "You need me for something?" He doesn't look around.

"How long have you been down here?" Gibbs takes his gloves, setting them down on the bench.

Tony shrugs and picks up a bottle of water. "Don't know. Does it matter?" He drinks from the bottle, letting some of it stream down his face and his throat.

"Yeah, it does." Gibbs moves around in front of him. "You look like hell."

"I can still do the job." Tony drinks again. "I'm fine."

"You look about as bad as when I saw you in the hospital, DiNozzo. You're not fine." Gibbs glares at him and Tony drops his eyes. "You can't keep doing this, Tony," he says gently. "You're going to run yourself into the ground."

"You're not exactly one to speak," Tony snaps. "Or have you forgotten all those nights you spent sleeping in your chair trying to find Ari?"

As he'd thought--hoped?--that gets a reaction. Gibbs' jaw tightens and his hand clenches into a fist at his side. "You're going to put yourself back in the hospital if you don't stop this," he warns Tony.

"I'm fine." Tony grinds the words out.

"For Christ's sake, DiNozzo--you think she'd want this? You think she'd want--"

"Shut up!" Tony explodes, his own hands clenching. "Just shut--you've got no right to tell me what she would or wouldn't want. You're on your own Captain Ahab boat over there and God forbid any of us try to help or even say something! So shut the fuck up if you're going to tell me Kate wouldn't want this, because you think she'd want you sleeping in the office every night, trying to find the bastard? You won't let me help try to find him--you're not even supposed to be looking, officially, so don't fucking tell me to stop this!"

The punch comes out of nowhere, a solid blow to his jaw that makes him stagger back a couple of steps. He tastes blood on the inside of his cheek and doesn't bother wiping it away from the split lip he knows he has. "That how you want it?" he demands. "You gonna hit me again if I say something you don't like? Fuck you, Gibbs. Fuck you and the fucking white whale you're chasing."

He lashes out with a fist, a right hook that Gibbs doesn't manage to duck in time. "Fight me, you bastard," Tony hisses, going up on the balls of his feet. "That what you want?"

"Don't do this, Tony," Gibbs says warningly. "I don't want to hurt you. Don't do this."

Tony swings at him again. This time, Gibbs catches his wrist and spins him around, trapping his arm. "Don't do this," Gibbs warns him again. "Don't, Tony."

"Damnit, Gibbs--" Tony yanks himself away and Gibbs lets him go. For a moment, they stand there, staring at each other, Gibbs' blue polo shirt and khakis a contrast to Tony's ragged sweatshirt, darkened by sweat.

"Tony--" Gibbs pauses, shakes his head. "Go home. Have a drink. Watch something on TV."

"Right. And you're gonna stay at the office all night--or go home and work on that boat." Tony's mouth twists. "Hypocrite."

"Never claimed to be perfect."

"Yeah, well." Tony glares at Gibbs and hits the music again, making it impossible for them to hear each other. He bends to pick up his gloves, intending to get in some more time against the bag.

Gibbs pulls the gloves out of his hands and turns off the music. "Enough, Tony."

"You don't get to tell me that!"

"Yeah," Gibbs says, throwing the gloves across the gym. "Yeah, I do."

"What are you gonna do?" Tony steps toward him. "Hit me again?"

"No." Gibbs closes his eyes briefly. "No. Tony--go home. Now. Before we do something--"

"We'll regret? Like the last time? Or the time before that? Or the first time?" Tony challenges him. "How much of it do you regret, Gibbs? How much do you wish it had never happened?"

"We can't do this," Gibbs says in a low voice. "We can't, Tony."

"You've said that every time and it's never stopped you yet. C'mon, Gibbs. You gonna tell me that's not why you came down here? You gonna tell me you didn't come down here to get me into bed?" Tony pushes him, hard enough to make him step back.

"Tony--"

"She knew, Gibbs," Tony says suddenly. He runs a hand through his hair, grimacing at the stiff-salt feel. "She knew about us."

"There is no us."

"Us, relationship, fucking, stress relief, whatever you want to call it. She knew." Tony looks down at the gray floor. "She said something to me."

"What'd she say?" Gibbs asks quietly.

Tony laughs, remembering that conversation. "She told me I was an idiot. She told me you were an idiot." His smile fades as he remembers the rest. "She told me I was going to get hurt."

"She was right," Gibbs tells him. "You are."

"I'm a big boy, Gibbs. I can make that decision for myself. And neither you nor Kate are always right."

He hears himself use the present tense and his throat tightens. "Were," he says thickly. "She wasn't always right."

"I didn't come down here to get you into bed," Gibbs says.

"End result's the same thing, isn't it?" Tony shrugs. "Fighting, fucking, it's all the same with us."

"I don't want it to be."

"You don't want us to be," Tony retorts.

"No." Gibbs admits it evenly. "I don't." He sighs. "But what I want and what I have are two separate things, Tony. And for some unknown reason...I have you."

Tony laughs bitterly. "And that's the rub, isn't it, Gibbs? Yeah. You've got me. Whether you want me or not, you've got me. Does that make you happy? Knowing that I'm yours, that I won't tell you no even if you want me to? Because that's what you want, isn't it? You want me to say no so you don't have to. But I won't. I can't."

It's Gibbs' turn to look down at the floor. "Enough," he says finally. "Enough, Tony."

"I'm right, aren't I?" Tony says evenly. "That's what it is."

"And if it is?"

"Then it's your call, Gibbs, because I won't tell you no. You want to stop this, you have to say so."

Gibbs is quiet for a long moment. The silence rings in Tony's ears as he waits for Gibbs to say something, do something. Anything. He remembers Kate pointing a chopstick at him over late-night shrimp lo mein and mu shu pork. "He's going to push you away," she'd said. "He won't let you get too close."

She was right. But that isn't going to stop him from trying.

Finally, Gibbs sighs. "Come home, Tony," he says wearily. "Just...come home."