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Peja's Wonderful World of Makebelieve Import
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Published:
2020-11-04
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926
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1/1
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Tonight Not Again

Summary:

Summary: Nothing but a way to forget for another night.
Pairing: Gibbs/DiNozzo
Notes: This is what happens when I'm edgy and don't want to sleep and listen to Jason Mraz.

Work Text:

Tonight, Not Again
by rebecca

It's a long, hard, frustrating day at work and he's ready to just chuck it all in by the time he gets home. Just get out the booze--no need to bother with a glass--and go work on the boat until he falls asleep on the hard floor, to wake up with a sore back and aching bones and a head fuzzy from alcohol and restless sleep.

He's getting too old for this. Too old to see these soldiers ship out to Iraq, young and hopeful, only to return with eyes too old for their sunburned faces and jaded, world-weary attitudes they shouldn't have for years yet. Too old to see himself in their wounded souls.

He doesn't want to have to arrest them. Not these boys, not the ones who put on the uniform and serve their country day after day, month after month, who spend stretches of time separated from their wives and their children only to come home and find that their families have moved on without them. He can understand it, all too well, and hewonders how many times he almost ended up in their shoes.

But he arrests them for murder, for theft, for rape and larceny, for all sorts of crimes he doesn't want to think about and can't put out of his mind. He sends his team after them every day and they do the job, because it has to be done. Because someone has to stand for the uniform, and if not him, then who?

He parks the car and just sits there for a moment, looking down at the steering wheel and seeing nothing but memories. And he must be tired, because Elizabeth is who he thinks of, who he sees when he closes his eyes, and it takes everything he has to put her memory away.

"I miss you," he whispers in the darkness of the car, the sound of his voice the only thing he hears. "Oh, baby, I miss you."

Tomorrow he'll go to church and light a candle for her. It's not much, but it's all he can do, and if it makes him a fool to think that somewhere she sees and laughs and knows he's thinking of her, so be it.

His arms ache with the sense memory of her weight, of the way she'd come running and throw herself into his arms, fearless in the knowledge that he'd catch her. He always caught her, never let her fall, until he wasn't there and she--

No. No more. He puts the memory away with an effort, closing off thoughts of his baby girl, of Maggie, and forces himself to get out of the car and go inside.

Bourbon. And wood. Two things he can count on, two constants in his life. He's not thinking about anything else when he opens the door, nothing but a way to forget for another night.

But the (new) TV in his living room is on, images flickering and the sound turned down low, and there's a long-legged figure sprawled on his couch, a pizza box in his lap and two bottles of beer on the coffee table.

He hangs up his jacket and crosses to the couch, sitting down and shoving Tony's feet out of the way. Tony just snorts and puts his feet right back where they were--except that now they're in Gibbs' lap, the warm weight of them somehow comforting in the darkness.

Tony holds out the pizza box and he takes a slice, noticing that it's still warm and the beer Tony gives him is still cold. He doesn't know what that means. He doesn't know what any of this means, that Tony's here eating pizza and drinking beer on his couch with his feet in Gibbs' lap and an old black and white movie on TV.

And he doesn't ask. He doesn't want to know the why, tonight.

Tony nudges his arm with a socked toe, and when Gibbs looks over there's a soft smile on his face. "Are you watching this?" he asks.

"What is it?"

"Right." Tony laughs and turns off the TV. "Let's go to bed."

He leaves the pizza box and the beer bottles where they are and follows Tony upstairs to his own bedroom. Tony kisses him when they're inside, and he tastes like pepperoni and beer and home.

He doesn't know when or how or why that happened, and tonight he doesn't care.

Tomorrow will take care of itself, and tonight he has Tony. Tony, who draws him into bed and makes love to him with long, lazy kisses and slow caresses, who knows how to let it build inside him, slowly, one layer at a time so that when he comes he flies apart in Tony's arms.

Tony, who holds him while he sleeps, who keeps watch over his dreams.

Tomorrow, he'll light a candle for Elizabeth. He'll remember her, and he'll smile. He'll be able to handle the phone calls again, the bureaucracy and the paperwork and the too-old eyes in young men's faces. He'll be able to deal with the sergeant who killed his wife, the corporal who framed his friend for murder.

Tonight, he can let it go.

end