Work Text:
Song of the Sea #1: Salt
by Margaret Newman aka Mererid
"How did the funeral go?" Gibbs asked without looking around. He knew it was Tony, knew his cologne, and the sound of his tread on the stairs.
"Horrible." Tony grumbled, stomping down the stairs and to the cement floor. "I mean, it was bad enough that Grandma died. I guess these last few years they had her in a special home for Alzheimer's patients."
"That's rough." Gibbs grunted. It made him glad that his own parents were gone. His dad had been bad enough to deal with when he was whole, Gibbs didn't want to think what dementia would have done to the psychotic bastard.
"Yeah, apparently, she was totally out of it. Didn't recognize anybody." Tony walked around the basement floor, stalking around the boat that Gibbs was working on. "The really bad part for me, and not to be conceited or anything, but I really thought my parents would be ready for a grown-up me. Accept me for a man. I mean, I'm your senior field agent, right?"
"Right." Gibbs nodded, smiling only slightly.
"I work hard. The work we do is important. I mean, this is a government agency. This isn't some two-bit police department in Hoboken." He flung his hands up in the air. "Do they care? Do they treat me like an adult? No!"
"Did you behave like an adult?" Gibbs glanced at him finally, pausing in his sanding. Tony was dressed in a black turtle neck with a gray jacket, and black slacks. Gibbs liked him black, but he would never admit it. Not aloud, and especially not to Tony.
"What?" Tony stopped. "Of course I did!"
"Right." Gibbs shook his head, and went back to work.
"I did too!" Tony whined. "My cousin Shelly went on about her job working with the homeless in New York. And my cousin John was going on and on about all he did for the tsunami survivors..."
"It's not a contest, Tony."
"Of course it isn't." Tony stopped, took a deep breath. He liked it down here. It was calm and quiet, smelled of wood, and of Gibbs. It soothed him in a way little else could.
After a few minutes of silence, Tony sighed and sat down in the old office chair. The vinyl padding was cracked and mended in places with gray duct tape. He watched Gibbs work, steady and sure. He was dressed in jeans and an old blue t-shirt. His hands worked the wood methodically. Tony had started wondering lately what it would be like to have Gibbs' attention centered on him, and those hands working on his body... He gave himself a mental shake.
"I acted like a jerk again, didn't I?" He grimaced.
"No." Gibbs stopped, tossing the sand paper down. "You acted like a son who wanted his parents' attention, their approval, and maybe their understanding."
"I'm never going to get it." Tony took a deep breath. "I don't know why I keep trying."
"Because you're human, Tony." Gibbs wiped his hands on an old towel. "Come on; let's go get something to eat."
"Yeah?" Tony perked up a bit. "I am kind of hungry. You sure you want to be seen with me?"
Gibbs frowned, not catching what Tony meant.
"You know, DiNozzo family black sheep and all that." He had a hard time meeting Gibbs' gaze.
"I don't know your family. I know *you*." Gibbs held a hand out to him. "You're the one I count on, Tony. You haven't ever let me down."
"Yeah?" Tony perked up a little bit. He hesitated at first, and then grabbed Gibbs' hand. Gibbs pulled him easily to his feet, and let go. "No, I haven't. I'd die first."
"I know." Gibbs nodded. He turned and headed up the stairs. "Steak or Mexican?"
"Steak, I think." Tony followed him, smiling. He took one last deep breath of the musty wood smell, and turned off the light.
end