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Tony hated these things. Whoever had decided that a black tie dinner would aid interagency cooperation was a fool; Inter-agency co-operation was a joke. What it actually meant was that the CIA had priority, and everyone else just had to make do. NCIS was the bottom of a very long list of agencies, and they were never allowed to forget it. Tony had lost out to McGee in the game of rock-paper-scissors, and so had been forced to attend. Ziva had accompanied him and looked absolutely ravishing. Tony consoled himself that, if nothing else, NCIS had the best looking agents.
He had allowed Ziva to be pulled away by one of Colonel Mann’s ATF minions, grinning at her as she promised death through her eyes but followed her dance partner politely. That was how he’d ended up on the balcony, alone, with a stolen, half empty bottle of Moet.
“You going to share?”
Tony didn’t jump. He’d been aware of the silent scrutiny for a while and had been ignoring it, hoping Gibbs might decide to leave him alone. No such luck. He tried not to turn and look, but he’d had just enough champagne that his body and mind weren’t really corresponding in that moment. His head turned and his eyes drank in the rare sight of Gibbs in a tuxedo. Tony’s bow tie hung unfastened around his neck, he had long since loosened the top two buttons of his shirt and discarded his jacket with Ziva’s shawl, thrown carelessly on a chair inside. Gibbs looked as crisp and pristine as he had when he and Colonel Mann had walked in.
“Sure.” Tony tipped the champagne into Gibb’s glass, filling it more than was polite – but hell, this was Gibbs, what did he care about etiquette?
“What are you doing out here?” Gibbs asked. “It’s raining.”
“Not really.” Tony shrugged. There was a fine sheen of moisture in the air but it wasn’t real rain and it was better than the stuffy atmosphere in the hall with Franks smirking at him and Colonel Mann taunting him by hanging off Gibbs’ arm. Gibbs ran his thumb across Tony’s cheek bone, removing the moisture left there from the air, and sucked his thumb into his mouth. “Where’s your date?” Tony turned to look at him, leaning back against the railing, legs spread wide. He knew exactly how appealing he looked to Gibbs right then, the moisture in the air making his hair fall into his eyes which were heavy lidded from the alcohol. Gibbs kept taunting him with what he couldn’t have, why couldn’t he return the favour?
“Where’s yours?” Gibbs asked.
“Dancing. I figured at least one of should have a good time.” Tony shrugged, topping up both of their champagne glasses and then setting the empty bottle on the floor.
“She went home.” Gibbs answered after a moment’s silence. “She has to work tomorrow.”
“It would have been polite for you to make sure she got home safely.” Tony turned to look away from Gibbs, focusing his eyes on some imagine point on the horizon.
“She’s not my wife.” Gibbs shrugged. Tony didn’t see it, but he knew all of Gibbs’ body language by now. Could detect and understand the most minute shift in stance. “She’s not my anything.”
“Could have fooled me.” Tony replied lazily. “Think you’ve probably got her fooled too.”
“That’s her problem, not mine.”
Gibbs was next to Tony now, back tensed and straight as always. Tony knocked back the rest of his champagne, retaining his own feigned relaxed stance. One foot on the bottom of the balustrade, elbows resting on the top. Gibbs held his hand out for Tony’s empty glass but when Tony held it out to him he caught his hand and pulled him until he was standing straight, facing Gibbs.
Gibbs kissed him, one hand on the back of his head, stopping him from pulling away, the other on Tony’s waist, pulling their bodies flush, the empty glass balanced precariously on the balustrade. Tony raised his hands to Gibbs’ shoulders but didn’t make much effort to push him away.
“We can’t do this here.” Tony panted when Gibbs finally ended the kiss. He wondered if Gibbs had been able to taste it; the sadness, the loneliness, the sorrow that had been building in Tony’s heart for so long.
“So come home with me.”
“We can’t do this.” Tony shook his head. “I can’t do this anymore.” He couldn’t stand being second best to Mann, didn’t want to be Gibbs’ dirty little secret anymore, and lying to Jeanne was killing him. He loved her. He just wasn’t in love with her. He had to get out before he ended up like his parents had been; locked in a loveless marriage that had ended with the premature death of one and the descent of the other into painful addiction. Tony wasn’t prepared to lose control of his life like that.
“Fine.” Gibbs replied. Tony slumped a little, expecting Gibbs to walk away, for this to finally be over. He didn’t expect Gibbs to pull him close and kiss him again. “Fine. Tomorrow I’ll end it with Mann.” He promised. “But you have to end it with your little girl.”
“That’s already over.” Tony replied honestly. He’d told the Director last week that he wasn’t prepared to ruin the girl’s life over Jen’s obsession. He was pretty sure he’d broken her heart, and he knew what that felt like but he knew it was the best thing for both of them in the long run.
“So come home with me.” Gibbs pressed.
“I can’t.” Tony wanted to move away but once again his body was loath to obey his mind’s commands and move away from Gibbs’ warmth. “Not until you’ve done it.” Tony wanted badly to go home with Gibbs. To forget about the months, years, of pain. To forget about Jeanne, who he was sure was probably crying herself to sleep because of him.
But Abby had told him he should have more respect for himself than to let Gibbs treat him like a plaything, and the voice in his head that sounded like Kate had agreed. The two smartest women he’d ever known couldn’t both be wrong.
“I can’t.” He said again, voice choked with regret and real tears. He wished it was raining enough to hide them. Gibbs kissed him again.
“Tomorrow.” He promised. “I’ll end it tomorrow.”
“Then maybe we can talk.” Tony nodded. He finally forced himself to move away from Gibbs. “I’m going to rescue Ziva and see her home.” Tony had been raised with manners. Ziva was more than capable of protecting herself but that was beside the point and the evening would have been a lot harder to bear without her by his side.
“I’ll speak to you tomorrow, Tony.” Gibbs kissed his cheek softly and Tony smiled, straightening his shoulders. Ziva would sigh and threaten to shoot Gibbs if she saw him looking so downtrodden. Having such good friends warmed Tony and he thought for a second that even if Gibbs reneged on his promise he could survive this.
“You know where I’ll be.” Tony nodded, went back into the hall and found his jacket with Ziva’s shawl. He managed to cut in on her dance and smile somewhat convincingly. “Ready to leave?” He asked, helping her wrap the shawl around her shoulders before she could answer.
“Your face is wet.” Ziva frowned as they made their way to the door. “Have you been crying?”
“No.” Tony denied smoothly. “It’s raining.”
They stepped outside and Ziva didn’t comment on the fact that it wasn’t actually raining. Not hard enough to explain the wetness on Tony’s face. She glanced behind them, seeing Gibbs watching them from a balcony and shook her head at him. She took the hand Tony offered her and let him help her into the waiting cab, as the cab drove away from the building and Gibbs stepped back inside she promised herself that if Gibbs didn’t give Tony what he needed soon, she would.