Work Text:
Title: Fifth Time's The Charm.
Author: Neichan
Fandom: NCIS
Pairing: G/D
Rating: Incredibly mild.
Summary: Staying married isn't all that hard.
Warnings: Slash. Coffee. Reference to an enema....horrors!
Disclaimer: Not mine, they aren't, though...I'd love to have them stay...
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"..there was something in the air that night...the stars were bright..."
"God!" The silver haired man stepped up to the radio and switched it off. "Abba, DiNozzo?" He asked, disbelieving.
The young man swung his legs around and off of the couch, planting bare feet in the carpet, playing the air drums. "Just wanted to get familiar with your early music, boss. You know the stuff you grew up listening to." He grinned unrepentantly.
Gibbs shook his head. "I did not listen to Abba, ever. I was overseas. Shooting people." He hadn't meant to say it quite that way. He turned and went towards the kitchen and the coffee maker.
"Conversation stopper there, boss!" He heard Tony mumble under his breath.
"You want coffee?" He asked pretending he hadn't heard, pretending there wasn't a smile quirking at the corner of his mouth.
"Yeah." The taller man came up fast, all but licking his lips. Gibbs made good coffee, strong coffee, coffee the service could be proud of. Put hair on your chest. Guaranteed.
"Cream and sugar, you know where they are." Gibbs poured the oversize mugs full, then took his to the living room couch, leaving Tony to rummage through the cabinet and refrigerator.
Tony wiggled and jigged to some tune he was listening to in his head. Gibbs didn't even try to look away. Tony knew how to dance. Probably knew how to use his body in other ways. Don't ask, don't tell, ways. Gibbs refused to avert his eyes as Tony stirred his coffee, and his hips. Jethro continued to watch as he strutted his stuff to the other end of the couch, and flopped bonelessly down.
"So, boss..." Tony seized the remote and flicked the big screen TV on. He'd paid for it, all four thousand bucks, and Gibbs didn't try to stop him. As far as he was concerned the TV was DiNozzo's. "Sssports!" Tony drew out the word. He flipped through the channels at light speed until Gibbs was dizzy.
"Ah! The Bulls!" The channel surfing stopped, and Gibbs stopped feeling like he was going to throw up. What had happened to getting up to change the channel. One click, maybe two, and watching whatever was on until it wasn't on any longer? Remotes made it too easy, to frantic.
If it weren't for Tony there would only be the one rabbit eared TV in the basement, the one that hadn't been turned on more than once a month for the last ten years. There wouldn't be a Cuisinart on the counter in the kitchen, or the brand knew brushed steel refrigerator. Or the Sonic Care set up in the master bathroom. In fact the only piece of high tech in the house would have been the toaster, because Gibbs liked his toast, and the Mr Coffee, because coffee was next to godliness in Gibbs' world.
But he'd gotten shot, not once but twice, and laid up in the hospital for a week. They let him go home early because Tony volunteered to stay with him. The doctors being stubborn, more so than an exhausted Gibbs could overcome, refused to release him on his own. Having Tony take care of him was the lesser of two evils. The lesser of three evils, actually, as Ziva had offered her own services. Gibbs didn't kid himself, if Ziva came to stay, one of them would be dead within a week, and as lousy as he was feeling, he wouldn't have cared if it was him.
But Tony had moved in six months ago, tapping into the impressive pool of sick and leave time he'd accumulated, taken over everything, nursing Gibbs back to health. Ignoring the snarled lack of thanks, the bitching, the general surliness that was a sick Gibbs.
Gibbs had always known he had no talent being a patient, it was another reason, besides Tony volunteering his services, why Gibbs had been discharged days before he otherwise would have been. The nurses were threatening to discharge him themselves if the doctors put it off too long.
So Tony had once again stepped up and kept the peace. Oil on troubled water, all of that. Six months ago.
And he'd never left. Even after Gibbs had healed and they'd both gone back to work. He'd never left, and Gibbs had never asked him to.
Near as he could figure, at some point during that time, in between the baths, the massages, the dressing changes, and the one enema he wished he didn't remember, Gibbs had decided he was pretty much married again.
For the fifth time. This time not to a hot redhead, not to a soft limbed woman with hidden delights.
No, this time it was to a tall, good looking, occasionally goofy, younger man who shot better than anyone at NCIS outside of the firing range officer and Gibbs knew.
A man who despite his too often ridiculous antics was more than competent; had proved it when Gibbs had fled his memories of the past all the way to Mexico, and yet had turned down the offer of his own plum team.
A man who had dived into freezing water to save Gibbs' life, who had almost died himself more times than Gibbs liked to count. A man who had shared his life everywhere but in his home or his bed. A man who had dared stare him down and give him the one, horrible, very necessary enema and lived to talk about it.
And this time, this marriage thing, it was going to last.
nei