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Tony was waiting on the front steps when Gibbs got home. He arched a brow, glancing at the pizza box and six-pack of longnecks. “You’re always welcome inside, Tony,” he said, confused.
“Wasn’t sure if Mike was here, wasn’t sure what he knew.”
“Knew?” Gibbs bounded up the stairs, taking the beer from Tony and motioning him inside. “Ya mean about us?”
“Yeah.” Tony stood, looking uncomfortable. Gibbs knew he should have expected this. Tony must have questions. Hell, he’d probably pumped Franks for information before Mike had even left NCIS.
“Mike knows,” Gibbs replied, shrugging Tony’s worry off.
“Knows what,” Tony pressed in a subdued tone. “Knows that you just had a personal visit with your son? Or knows about you and me? Or maybe—just maybe—he knows how shitty I feel that you took Franks along as your backup and not one of your team.”
Gibbs kicked the door closed, watching Tony carefully. “You have it wrong, Tony. Tomas isn’t my son. And I gave him his orders and he had some questions. That’s all.”
Tony slid the pizza box onto the table, staring at the wooden surface. “He’s not your son?” he repeated carefully, watching Gibbs put the beer beside the pizza.
“No, he’s not. And if he were, it wouldn’t change a thing between us. You’re my second in command, my…” He trailed off, apparently unable or unwilling to put a name to what they had.
“Your what? Say it.” Tony’s voice had turned low and dangerous.
“My best friend.”
A flare of pure fury rose up in Tony and he stared at the pizza box, trying to rein himself in. “Is that all, Gibbs?” When Gibbs didn’t answer, Tony felt his control snap. Without thinking of the consequences of what he was doing, he rammed his shoulder into Gibbs’s chest and shoved him against the wall.
Gibbs hit hard, making an audible sound of shock but not saying another damn word, jaw set, eyes glittering blue fire.
“Is that all,” Tony growled, angrier than he had been in years.
Gibbs shook his head.
“Then say it. Or I’m leaving. For good.” Tony winced inwardly as he said the words. He knew that Gibbs didn’t take well to ultimatums but Gibbs would react even worse to Tony backpedaling. He stood his ground, meeting Gibbs’ eyes, frustrated that he couldn’t read what Gibbs was thinking.
“There’s the door,” Gibbs said quietly, the sorrow in his eyes at war with his words. Did he really think that Tony didn’t know him at all? After three years together as lovers, eight as co-workers, Tony could write a book on Gibbs.
“You don’t want that,” Tony said, anger gone now. “Jeth, you know it and I know it. Sit down and tell me what has you so messed up. Is it Tomas? His mother? Me? Your inability to tell anyone you love them?”
Gibbs shrugged but sank into a chair, his posture slumped.
“Jeth, tell me about Rose.”
Gibbs’ eyes flashed then, just once. “Don’t want to talk about her, Tony.”
“But you need to,” Tony insisted.
Gibbs shook his head. “No. I need to come to terms with what happened.”
“Which was?” Tony asked gently.
“Abandoned her. She died in DC and I never knew.”
“You loved her?” Tony asked gently.
Gibbs shrugged and nodded. Tony felt a shaft of pain lodge in his belly. Why couldn’t Gibbs tell him that?
“She saved my life. I was broken. Guess I fell a little in love.”
“But the baby—Tomas. He isn’t yours, you’re sure?” Tony pressed.
“Positive.” Gibbs’ voice grew strong, he sat a little taller. “We never slept together. She was pregnant, was going to take care of it in the big city.” His face darkened. “When I left, I gave her money to do so. Guess she…didn’t.”
Tony opened the pizza box, taking a piece and chewing slowly, thoughtfully. “Did you ever tell her?”
Gibbs cocked his head, looking at Tony until he continued.
“Did you tell her that you cared? That you loved her? Or was she expected to wait and hope?” Suddenly they weren’t talking about Rose any more. “And hope that he…she wasn’t making a big mistake by waiting for you to say it? If you even felt it?”
Gibbs stood, taking Tony’s head in his hands, the small ghost of a smile playing over his mouth. “You’re an idiot, DiNozzo.”
“I am?”
“Yeah. How come ya doubt me?” His thumbs stroked over Tony’s cheeks in small circles and Tony felt the tension bleed away.
“Because you never said it.”
“You really need to hear it that badly?” Gibbs asked.
“Maybe,” Tony admitted. “You ever gonna say it?”
Gibbs cocked his head, opening his mouth, but before he could speak, another voice broke in.
“Probie loves ya, DiNozzo. Now you sharin’ that pizza and beer or do I have to buy my own?”
“Mike!” Gibbs exclaimed, exasperated.
“Probie,” Mike retorted, rolling his eyes. “Ya can’t expect me to wait ‘til you say it to get fed. Might take forever.”
Gibbs shook his head and Tony found himself grinning broadly. “He’s right, Tony. I do.”
“Me too, Jeth,” Tony replied, leaning in close and almost but not quite kissing Gibbs.
Mike rested a strong hand on Tony’s back and when Tony looked up, the older man was rolling his eyes. “Now that we got that settled, let’s eat!”