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Peja's Wonderful World of Makebelieve Import
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2020-11-04
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Mushy

Summary:

After `Bête Noire', Gibbs and DiNozzo have a chat. Of sorts.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

Mushy
by Jools


Tony stepped back from the door as Gibbs approached, his murky silhouette blacking out the view through the frosted glass. He opened the door and looked down at Tony darkly.

"What are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you too, boss," Tony replied with a grin, which faded at Gibbs' lack of response. "I came to see if you were ok."

"You couldn't have just called?" The older agent asked in a vaguely disinterested tone.

"Well, I knew if I used the phone, you could have just hung up on me. But since I'm here in person you can't get rid of me." He tried another smile, but to no avail. Gibbs' already cool expression turned just a little bit icier, and he twisted his mouth in an unpleasant imitation of a smile.

"You wanna bet?" he asked, raising his eyebrow before attempting to slam the door closed. It was only Tony's quick reflexes that enabled him to shove his foot between the door and the frame, and he winced at the pressure being applied behind the door.

"Hey, boss," he said in a slightly wounded tone. "What's the deal?"

"The deal, DiNozzo, is that I want you off my property, and you're not budging." The ex-marine's chilly tone sent a disagreeable shiver up Tony's spine, and he frowned, his concern for Gibbs doubling.

"Gibbs, if this is your way of trying to convince me you're ok, then I have to tell you, it sucks," he said gently.

"Look, DiNozzo!" Gibbs exploded, opening up the door so he could get into his subordinate's face. "I've warned you from the very start that I'm a bastard. You knew what you were letting yourself in for when we started sleeping together, and that's not changed! We're not in a relationship, and there's no need for you to come around here asking if I'm ok. Is that clear, Agent DiNozzo?"

Tony managed - just - not to flinch as Gibbs' voice echoed in his ears. The older agent drew back slowly, his expression a strange mixture of fiery anger and icy indifference. This time, when he slammed the door shut, Tony withdrew his foot just in time, and watched Gibbs retreat blurrily. He remained standing stock still for a few moments, breathing unsteadily, before whirling around and heading for his car.

***

Gibbs managed to make it as far as the kitchen, where he knew he was out of sight of the front door, before doubling over and breathing hard, blood pounding in his ears and making the tiled walls tilt and sway dangerously around him. He shut his eyes against the nauseating scene and took a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm his racing heart. It had taken all of his willpower to keep his shakiness from Tony, and he grasped his injured arm as though he could somehow squeeze the weakness away.

After a few minutes he was able to stand, and he headed for the counter to awkwardly pour himself a glass of water, hampered, as he was, by the sling still encasing his arm. Draining it in one gulp, he felt marginally better, but still unsettled, and so he headed for the place he could always retreat to: the basement.

Flicking the switch, the television snapped on and the solitary light bulb flashed on and off before staying lit, leaving the unfinished boat illuminated duskily. Gibbs turned off the television jerkily and reached into his pocket. Taking out the one vaguely clear picture of the terrorist Abby had managed to produce, he grabbed a few thumb tacks from his desk and tacked it up on a beam.

Gibbs drew his pistol and, sitting down a few metres away from the image, looked up at it, glowering with anger at the impertinence of the man - the man who had entered the building as though it were no more than a public playground to him; the man who had then proceeded to endanger the lives of his people and severely wound one of them. His own wound, though serious, was not what he would consider severe. He'd had worse, although this one held a more personal sting than most.

That terrorist had a lot to answer for, he decided, running his hands over the gun he held, feeling the smooth, metallic texture against his palm. And he had let him get away, out into the world where he had the potential to put even more lives at risk. Kate and Ducky were ok, thankfully, although Kate had been shaken up. He'd noticed, despite her best efforts to hide it. Gerald would be out for months, and that alone was enough to make Gibbs want to shoot the terrorist - right between the amused eyes that he could feel looking at him at that very moment. Yet although it made him feel unspeakably guilty, he also felt slightly relieved that it had been Gerald, and not someone closer to him: someone like Tony.

The thought of DiNozzo made Gibbs squirm uncomfortably: not just the image of Tony bleeding and in pain, but also the memory of his harsh words just a little while ago. Tony hadn't deserved that, he knew. He probably deserved praise, for acting so professionally while his colleagues were in danger and while his nerves were just as shattered as Gibbs` own nerves had been. Gibbs just hadn't been able to work past his own guilt and anger to give him that praise. Praise which Tony so rightly deserved and would feel twice as hurt about not receiving because of their relationship.

Gibbs grimaced as he remembered what he'd said: harsh words, even by his own standards. He would bet anything that Tony was beating himself up right at that moment, blaming himself for being too forward. He knew that he should pick up his phone and give the agent a call: apologise, explain that he was riled up by today. Unfortunately, he also knew that he was liable to mess things up even more if he did so. Saying sorry had never been something he could do easily - or talking about his feelings in general, for that matter.

Gritting his teeth, he grasped the gun firmly and evened his breathing, bringing up the terrorist's photograph in his mind. Letting all of his anger and tension build up, he took a last deep breath and held it, then calmly, swiftly, and efficiently, aimed his weapon at the real image of the terrorist and fired.

***

It had taken Tony fifteen minutes of driving away from Gibbs' house to realise that he shouldn't have left in the first place. He spun the car around, eliciting angry drivers eliciting angry honking from the drivers behind him. He ignored them with a vague scowl, and pressed down on the accelerator.

Sure, Gibbs' words had hurt, but, he reflected, the man was injured, and no doubt tense from the day's events. Tony hadn't failed to notice the lines of pain around Gibbs' mouth and the unhealthy pallor of his skin, but he knew that Gibbs would go to great lengths to keep up his impenetrable façade. Which was ok; it was part of Gibbs' character and Tony accepted that; it made it all the more enjoyable whenever he managed to work past the rock barriers the ex-marine had erected, reinforced by the dissolution of all three of his marriages. However, sometimes he just wanted Gibbs to open up: to show Tony some of the affection that he craved.

Tony made it back to Gibbs' house in half the time it had taken him to cover the same distance in the other direction. He got all the way back to the front door before hesitating. He had the overwhelming feeling that being at Gibbs' house was right; it was where he wanted to be and where he was meant to be. The problem, he mused, was going to be getting Gibbs to admit that he felt the same way.

Steeling himself, Tony raised his hand and rapped his knuckles hard on the door. Receiving no response after a couple of minutes, he reached up to knock again, only to freeze at two short, muffled cracks, which he was only just able to hear. If he hadn't heard gunshots more times than he could count, he probably wouldn't have recognised the sounds for what they were. As it was, he snapped into action almost immediately, acting instinctively. He drew his gun, kicked down the door in the blink of an eye, and moved methodically through the house towards the basement, where he was sure the shots had originated from.

The basement door slammed open easily, and he stepped in brandishing his weapon, descending the staircase slowly.

"You can put the gun down, Tony." Gibbs' voice resonated soundly through the dimly lit room, and Tony ducked down, still not relinquishing his vice-like grip on his weapon, peering under the banister to see Gibbs sitting calmly, his gun lying beside him innocuously.

"What...how...was he here?" he stuttered as he came down the rest of the steps, lowering his gun cautiously.

"What are you talking about, DiNozzo?" Gibbs demanded roughly.

"I thought that...he was here. The terrorist..." Tony trailed off as his eyes locked onto the photograph of the terrorist, two neat holes right between his eyes. Sudden, hot relief hit Tony like a ton of bricks, and he grasped onto the wall to steady himself. "Oh, God...Gibbs...I thought he'd shot you."

"Well, he didn't," Gibbs informed him matter-of-factly. Tony's head snapped up, anger at Gibbs' offhand manner joining his relief that the older agent wasn't lying on the floor dead. Tony's eyes prickled involuntarily, and he blinked rapidly.

"Gibbs...I... You're a bastard," he managed to say, before turning to bolt up the stairs. He was damned if he was going to cry in front of Gibbs.

Gibbs watched coolly as the younger man's cheeks turned red, but let his mask fall when he turned to leave, finding himself gripped suddenly by the awful premonition that if he let Tony go now, he might never return. Giving up on pride, he pushed himself up with his bad arm deliberately, not having to fake the loud yell of pain that the awkward movement caused, or the subsequent dizziness that would have sent him sprawling to the floor had two strong arms not caught him, easing him back into a sitting position. Gibbs leant into the warm grip of Tony's embrace, firm but gently reassuring as the younger man muttered in his ear, "Could you please stop trying to give me a heart attack?"

A smile crossed Gibbs' lips, even through the light-headedness, at the frightened concern he could hear in Tony's voice. When he was able to open his eyes again, he found himself looking down at a kneeling Tony, whose arms were still propping him up. The worry in Tony's eyes made him feel incredibly apologetic, as he realised just how hard it must have been for Tony to see him lying bleeding in the morgue. Coupled with the fright of the gunshots, he reflected, Tony's reaction was perfectly understandable. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. It sounded too weak to him to convey just how much regret he felt over making Tony suffer, and he tried to repeat it again louder, only to feel Tony's finger against his lips.

"It's ok." Tony said gently. "I know."

"You do?"

"Yeah, of course I do," Tony reassured him, moving his finger and cupping Gibbs' cheek tenderly, concern still marking his expression. "Do you want some water?" he asked after a moment.

"No...I'm ok. I need to talk to you," Gibbs said emphatically. "I shouldn't have said what I did. I'm sorry. And I'm sorry for making you worry."

"It wasn't your fault that he shot you. None of it was your fault, boss. Stop trying to make yourself responsible, ok? I'm not trying to fuss over you." Tony's eyes clouded over with what Gibbs recognised as apprehension. "Or change you... But you do that, a lot: take the weight of the world on your shoulders and shut the rest of us out because you think it makes you weak. You think getting shot in the shoulder makes you weak. It doesn't, ok? Nobody thinks any less of you. I don't think any less of you. I think more of you because you survived. I accept who you are, boss. I know you don't like to talk about your feelings a lot - maybe you want to pretend they're not there, maybe you think they make you weak, maybe you've got some kind of communication problem. That's who you are, and I lo... I really like you for that. But I also want to help you with any problems you've got. If you're hurt, I want to help make it better. If you're upset, or angry, I want to help you feel happier. Don't get me wrong, boss. I'm not the mushy type - talking about feelings too much gets on my nerves, too. But sometimes it's ok." Tony took a deep breath and lowered his eyes from Gibbs', dropping his hand. The ex-marine watched him for a few moments before speaking, taking in the embarrassed blush on Tony's cheeks and the tense set of his shoulders that conveyed his fear that he'd stepped too far over the line.

"Hey, Tony," he said, reaching out with his uninjured arm and gently tugging the younger man's chin back up. "It's ok. I'm not mad at you. If anything, I'm grateful to you, for being so understanding." Tony's eyes sparkled hopefully. "And while we're being all mushy with one another, I'd like to verify, just for the record, that we are in a relationship; things have changed - and from now on I'd like it a lot if you came around here to ask if I'm ok." Gibbs offered Tony a genuinely sincere smile and watched as Tony's face lit up.

A few seconds later, he found himself with an armful of Tony as the younger man leapt onto his lap enthusiastically, burying his face into Gibbs' shoulder. A little shyly at first, Gibbs locked his good arm around Tony's waist, and then relaxed into the embrace, feeling the tension from Tony's body against his dissipate as well.

After a few moments, Tony murmured, "I can't believe Jethro Gibbs just went all mushy on me." Gibbs thumped him gently on the back and Tony sniggered into his shoulder before drawing back, his lips curved into an enticing smile. Gibbs leaned forward and captured them, kissing Tony for what felt like the first time ever, as he explored every contour of Tony's mouth, enjoying the faint whimpers he elicited from the younger man. When he finally drew back, the younger agent's eyes were a little glassy, and Gibbs knew Tony had enjoyed the kiss as much as he had. Drawing the dazed man back into their embrace, he shut his eyes, relishing the feeling of being with Tony.

"Hey," he whispered into Tony's ear, "I love you for who you are too."



The End

Notes:

This orphaned work was originally on Pejas WWOMB posted by author Jools.
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