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Spoilers for “Stop the Bleeding,” Season 13, Episode 1.
Tony walked the streets of Shanghai, keeping an eye on Officer Teague. He hadn’t lied to her. He liked her straightforward honesty. It was better than the twists, turns, and hidden pitfalls in conversations with his team. He sighed. Zoë had been pulling back from their relationship.
“I can’t compete, Spider.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I thought maybe it could be different this time, and it was. Gloriously, it was for a very short while. But when he calls, you dance, and not just for work.”
They’d talked about it: how he was devoted to the other man. How if things were different, he would probably have been sleeping with him instead of her. Zoë had understood, or appeared to. Then, when he’d dropped everything, including a very romantic dinner, to help Gibbs out a little during his convalescence, they agreed to step apart. Neither wanted a repeat of what had happened last time.
“Send me out there, Director.” Tony stood in front of Vance’s desk. “We’ve got a better chance of surviving if we take him out. Or at least severely corral him. We can’t afford him still moving his kids everywhere.” He pursed his lips. “I’ll go with Officer Teague, and we’ll flush the bastard out.”
Vance stared at him, appearing for all the world like he was trying to read his mind. Tony suspected he was trying to decipher the layers that lay behind the request. Thing was, he mused silently, if Vance did that, he’d get farther than Tony himself had. Tony hadn’t wanted to look very closely at his reasons. “Teague would have lead, DiNozzo. I know how much you hate playing second fiddle to someone who isn’t Gibbs.”
Tony snorted, and tilted his head, acknowledging the point. Keeping the metaphor alive, Tony grinned. “Gibbs can’t even tune his strings, let alone play first chair, sir.” He conceded the point, and Vance seemed to be thinking it over.
“All right, Tony. Let me talk to Officer Teague, and send you on your way.” Tony nodded sharply, hardening his resolve.
He shot Budd, made sure that the CIA agent was okay in the hospital, and flew home.
“Tell me something, Tony.” Teague smiled as they sat together on the plane. “Does he know?”
“Who know what?” Tony played dumb, engaging his first line of defense.
“Come on. You said you respected honesty. I do too. Tell me.”
“I don’t know whether he knows or not. And it bothers me. I can’t do this anymore, though. I can’t play a losing game where only he knows the rules. But, you know, it’s pretty much Brokeback here. I can’t ‘quit him,’ and I really don’t want to.”
“If I were any less understanding, I’d be laughing. You know that, right?” He could see her smirk.
“Yeah, fully aware, thanks.” Tony closed his eyes and tried to sleep for the rest of the flight. He must have succeeded, because he felt Teague’s hand on his arm giving him the time to come fully awake before they landed. “Thank you.” For more than letting him sleep. He let his eyes show how much he appreciated everything, and she seemed to understand.
“Yeah, yeah. C’mon. Let’s go see Vance.”
Later, after he’d thoroughly embarrassed himself by asking Gibbs if they needed to talk, he sat in his easy chair, staring at a glass of single malt, trying to decide whether to drink it. With his mutual separation from Zoë, his time was his own again, and he wasn’t sure how to fill it.
He hadn’t decided to drink yet when his phone buzzed. He picked it up. “Yeah, Boss.” He was cursing himself for picking up, knowing that Gibbs wasn’t back to a hundred percent yet.
“Still want to have that conversation?”
“I’m assuming, since you’re calling me now, and not dragging me out of the Bullpen by my ears that this isn’t a work thing.” Tony snorted, setting the glass down and moving to change into jeans and a sweatshirt.
“Not a work thing.” Gibbs agreed. “Beer and steaks?”
Tony nodded, then remembered they were on the phone. “Yeah, Jethro. I’ll be over. I’ll even bring some of the beer.” He grinned. He wasn’t sure how this would turn out, but he was devoted to making it work. Unabashedly, unashamedly devoted.
***
Jethro sat on the couch, toes tapping, watching the steaks grill on the fire. He pursed his lips, remembering the conversation he had had with the surgeon.
“You are not alone. You’ve got your team, don’t you?¨ It had gotten him to thinking. Between that, and what Kelly had said, he was rethinking a lot of things.
He had invited DiNozzo over almost on autopilot. He wanted someone at his side, and Tony immediately came to mind. They needed to have that talk, as painful as it might be. Tony thought he was angry with him, and he was, a little. The anger was irrational, though. If he was fair about it, he was angry with himself most, at his girls second, and then everybody else. He was trying to listen to Kelly, but years of habitually doing things the other way had taken their toll. If he wanted to change, it was going to take a lot of work.
He sighed, pushing the steaks around on the fire, letting them sear more evenly. As he finished, he heard the door creak open. “Up here, DiNozzo,” he called.
Tony ambled in, dressed in ass-hugging jeans and a sweatshirt. He grinned, held up the beer, and then set it down on the coffee table. The grin faltered for a moment, and Gibbs could see how nervous he was. “Hey, Boss,” he smirked, sitting down on the couch, splaying out.
“None of that, DiNozzo.” Gibbs cautioned. “Tony.” His voice softened. “Met with Taft today. He said some things that got me t’ thinkin’.”
“Good things?” Tony blinked, unsure where this was going.
“Yeah. Good things.” Gibbs pulled the steaks off the fire and plated them. “Here.”
“Thanks, Boss.” Tony took the plate and settled it on to his lap, waiting for the meat to cool a little before he began to cut it up and eat it. “Work things? Life things?” He flailed a hand, trying to understand. Jethro huffed at his antics, and shrugged.
“Little bit of both.” He pulled his plate back and sat on the other end of the sofa, then began cutting up his own steak.
“I kind of need more than that, Gibbs. What’s going on? Did he say you’re relapsing? Complications from the surgery?” Gibbs could see that Tony was flailing, and was about to panic.
“No, Tony.” He emphasized the man’s first name, and leaned back, taking a bite of the steak. When he had chewed and given Tony enough time to calm down, he continued. “Lotta things going through my mind.” He tried to explain how things had changed. “Look. When you had the plague, and spent that week at home, everything kinda …”
“Shifted.” Tony finished for him, comprehension dawning on his face. “Yeah. A lot of things shifted. Sideways. It took a lot of shit happening for it to come back into alignment. It’s part of why I made some of the dumbass decisions I did.” Tony cut up his steak, pausing to gesture with his knife. It often made Gibbs smile, but not tonight. This was way too deep.
Gibbs grunted his agreement, finishing chewing his piece of steak. “Exactly. Still tryin’ to find that place between where I was and where I am now. Where I can be comfortable. I’m thinkin’ more things shifted than I even realized.” He huffed a quiet sigh, and fell silent again. They sat silently, each lost in his own thoughts. Gibbs was wondering how to broach the subject, and Tony was chewing, that pensive look on his face, gazing over at Jethro every few moments to make sure the man was okay. “I’m fine,” he finally huffed, half amused, half annoyed.
“You’re about as clear with that as I am, Gibbs. You have to admit.” Tony huffed his own amused exasperation. Gibbs had to privately admit that they were definitely too much alike in that way.
He grunted again, and then set his empty plate down, reaching for his beer. “Look.” He sighed. “More going on than I can really explain. Drivin’ me nuts.” He winced as his knee started aching again.
“Have you been doing those exercises the PT left?” Gibbs looked over at the worried tone in Tony’s voice, and grimaced. He had, sort of, but they were stupid, and they hurt.
With a resigned sigh, Tony set the plate on the coffee table, and slid over to sit beside him. “Goddammit, Gibbs, I know they’re horrible. One of my instructors used to say that there were sadists in many jobs, but physical therapy got more than most. It’s got to hurt to get better. You won’t get the full range of motion otherwise.” He reached down, and gently and expertly began probing the knee, feeling for something. It didn’t hurt much, and he was content to let it happen. Especially if Tony could help. He’d forgotten that Tony had learned about injuries in college.
Now, it was Tony’s turn to impose the silence, and Gibbs was content to keep it. Tony pursed his lips again in concentration, eyes unfocusing as he let his hands roam around the thigh and calf, searching for knots. He found a few, and slowly and surely rubbed them loose, thumbs pressing in just the right places to keep him from screaming.
“Good at this,” Gibbs managed, eyes closed.
“Gee, thanks, Boss. A vote from the peanut gallery.” He fell silent again, and after a while, Gibbs dozed off, the pain having quieted enough to let him do so. When he awoke again, the room was empty. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but it didn’t seem like much. He wondered if Tony had left. He cocked an ear, listening for the sounds of the other man in the house. Hearing the toilet flush, he relaxed and let himself fall back into a light doze. Shortly after, Tony came over toward the coffee table, grabbed the empty plates, and headed into the kitchen. Gibbs turned enough to watch him clean up the area, wash the dishes, and mutter quietly to himself all throughout. As he finished up, he turned toward the door, and Gibbs knew he had to stop him.
“Thank you, Tony.”
Tony quirked a brow at the words, and shook his head. “For what?”
“The knee, cleaning up, all of it.”
“Least I could do, Gibbs. You cooked, I clean.” Gibbs could get behind that. Then, Tony went on, clearly deflecting from something. “Besides. Nobody wants you to be grumpy tomorrow. That just makes for a bad day for all of us. Just a little self preservation.”
Gibbs narrowed his eyes, and patted the seat beside him. Tony gave him another questioning look, but he sat down anyway. “More to say, but not sure whether I should.”
“Because I shouldn’t hear it or because you shouldn’t say it?”
“Because I’m not sure it’d be welcome.”
“If I promised not to hold it against you … eh, no. That sounds too cliché.”
“Damn right it does.” He paused, rubbing his chin. “I know you say everything but what you’re really thinkin’. And I say nothin’ at all. But one of the things I’ve been thinkin’ since I got shot this time is that I should say somethin’, regardless of whether it changes anything between us or not.”
“Gee, Boss, that’s more words you’ve said at once since that money laundering case.” Gibbs rolled his eyes, and lightly tapped his second’s leg, trying to get his attention back on the discussion at hand. “Sorry, Jethro. I’m listening.”
Gibbs wondered at the change in address, but he nodded, thinking a moment before continuing. “One of the things I found out when I was recovering, especially after you went on your hunt, was who was important to me, and how. Couldn’t figure out why I was so mad at you for leaving. For doing your damn job. It’s what I’d asked you to do a hundred times before, so why was it makin’ me mad now?”
Tony sat very still, only nodding to show he was paying attention. He’d stopped fiddling with the hem of his shirt, and had looked over at him with a blank expression. It was the expression he wore when something was extremely important to him, but he couldn’t show how much. “Yeah,” he breathed out, obviously curious himself, but unwilling to voice more than a cursory listening sound.
“Realized I missed you a hell of a lot. Needed you close. Wanted you closer.” He chewed on his lip, his own nervousness showing.
“How much closer, Gibbs? Because I’m sitting pretty damn close as it is.”
“As close as you could get.” He didn’t voice the words his mind added to the sentence. Inside me. Kissing me. In my bed. In my life.
“That’s pretty damn close, Gibbs.” Tony leaned in, and Gibbs wondered at the intense look on his face. “Thing is, I had this conversation with Joanna about my own realizations. She’s very perceptive, you know?”
“Caught that, yeah,” Gibbs nodded. “Made me nervous a couple times. Reminded me of Ryan.” He grimaced.
Tony frowned. “Yuck. No mentioning the head shrinker now.” Gibbs huffed again, and Tony flipped a hand, brushing it off. “Anyway, she asked me if you knew how much I loved you. I told her it didn’t matter. I couldn’t change it.”
Gibbs had to know. “Loved how?” He leaned forward, expectant, the moment full of promise.
“Like it fucking killed me to leave you while you were recuperating, but I knew you wouldn’t let me be as close as I wanted to be. I wanted to help you heal up and then we fall magically in love.” Now it was Tony’s turn to roll his eyes. “Like a Bogey and Bacall or something.” He snorted.
Gibbs echoed the snort. He realized how close he was to the other man, and closed his eyes.
“Whatever you want, Jethro,” Tony whispered, suddenly right there. Tony had leaned in, too. Cliché or not, Gibbs was going to take what he was given. He opened his eyes long enough to make sure the kiss would land where he wanted it to go, and then closed them, savoring the strong emotions and lust coursing through him.
“Want to take you upstairs.” Gibbs breathed against Tony’s lips.
“Then do it, Marine.” Tony replied just as softly,
“C’mon then.” Gibbs stood, reached out his hand, and pulled his lover to him to drag him upstairs to the bedroom.
Tony stood, all fluidity and flow, confident now that he’d gotten the discussion out of the way.
If anyone tried the door the next morning, they found it locked.