Semper Fidelis part 4
Nov. 5th, 2008 09:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
scarlettdreamHere's the next part
Gibbs was almost surprised it took so long for the shit to hit the fan.
It felt like doom was hanging over them. He'd tried to talk with Tony first thing, but they got caught up with some stolen Radar and a week-long stakeout. He ended up spending most of his time with Ziva while Tony ended up chasing yet another unimpressed woman, and the moment for resurrecting the talk they had been going to have in his basement that night was long past.
Tony seemed easier though. Gibbs finally started to believe the yonger man had made peace with himself over whatever he had done in the name of the job, so he let it be.
It was different for Gibbs. He was uncomfortably aware of the tension now, and he felt it whenever they were together. Whether Tony was by his desk, or leaning over to it to point something out on the computer screen, or standing beside him in front of the plasma screne, or when they were in the elevator, or in the car, it was as if the air around DiNozzo was charged and Gibbs was suddenly sensitive to it. He forced himself to ignore those feelings, forced himself to be blind to all that and just focus on the job whenever Tony was around.
It was getting harder to do every day though, because he had really begun to feel a change in himself. With others he was able to be more open, and it felt good, like finally coming up for air after being lost in deep cold water.
He cleared things with Duck, and he felt their friendship warm up again. It was far stronger and deeper than he realised, and he wasn't sure he'd fully appreciated before how dearly he valued his conversations with the older man.
With Abby he was even more certain that he'd changed things for the better. He could see in her the same kind of free spirit he'd recognised in his daughter. But Abby wasn't a substitute for his lost little girl, she was someone he'd come to adore purely on her own terms. He knew what he felt was a father's love for her, despite the way she flirted outrageously with him sometimes. She was always the person who could make him laugh and spending time with her lightened him. He spent as much time as he could in her lab, and he could see her old trust in him being renewed as he opened himself up to her a little more.
With Tim and Ziva there were subtle things he began to notice. Both of them were so much more confident than when he'd left. Ziva had relaxed a little, like she'd finally taken a breath or two and found she liked the air, and Tim had grown in confidence. Of course becoming a bestselling author could have had something to do with it too, but Gibbs had been so proud when McGee had stood up to him and Jenny over his sister. He knew some of the changes were also down to Tony's time as their Boss, and he tried to encourage it to continue.
Maybe the most startling thing was, how these changes affected his dealings with the civilians he encountered, witnesses, the families of victims, even suspects. He'd always had the capacity to feel and understand what others did, but something had stopped him from expressing it, from connecting with them. Now he was able to show something, share those kindred feelings and watch the way they reacted to his honesty. He could tell from the various reactions of the rest of the team that this was a complete departure from his old style, but it felt absolutely right to him now.
He wondered if he was going to have to talk to someone about it soon. He knew these were the kinds of changes Cpt Gelfand had spoken about when he'd discharged him. He knew he was reaching a point where he would either have to accept he was a different person now and live with it, or he'd have to crush it and return to being that other Gibbs, the one he'd been before.
It felt like he was living on the edge of a precipice. What he didn't know was if he let go would he be free-falling towards a new life, something different and better, or would he be a plummeting back into the cold depths, retreating into himself until he was beyond the reach of any emotion except anger.
Gibbs never had the chance to make a conscious decision, because two weeks later it all went to Hell, and before he knew it Tony was being accused of killing La Grenouille and all he could think about was the time when Tony had been locked up in a cell accused of murdering a woman and mutilating her body. He recalled the painful moment watching someone he cared for begin to loose it completely. Tony had not coped well with being locked up.
This time Gibbs was even more afraid, because now he'd come to understand how much Tony mattered to him, and that translated into Gibbs wanting to protect him. But he wasn't allowed. He had to stand back and let Fornell and Sacks take over. He had to watch as Jenny was relieved of her command. He had to watch as Tony walked away looking like death, like he believed he deserved what was happening to him.
Of course Gibbs didn't actually obey orders and do nothing. McGee, Ziva, and Ducky came to him and together they discovered what the FBI had on Tony. Then Jenny managed to get through to Jeanne, and once she withdrew her accusation Tony was cleared. The CIA even admitted that they had sanctioned the killing of the frog, but Gibbs still had a feeling there was more to come from this. He knew that Jenny was still hiding something. But he didn't call her on it. He was too busy watching Tony. He saw the heated conversation with Ziva and he watched Tony leave. He understood now how deep the younger man's feelings for Jeanne Benoit were, that he was clearly still in love with her.
Later, Gibbs sat in the dark with Jenny as she watched her screens and listened to the chatter on the wire. She was back where she needed to be, and while he was grateful for what she'd done to get Tony cleared he had the disquieting feeling that he didn't trust her any more. All this had happened because Jenny had used her position, and had used Tony, to get her revenge. He felt in his gut that it wasn't righteous. He understood intimately about revenge, he'd taken his own bloody vengeance out on the man who'd killed his wife and child, but it had been just that, personal. Just him and his rifle and the man who had wronged them. There hadn't been any bystanders, there hadn't been any collateral damage.
He told Jen he was thinking of retiring again. He wasn't even sure that's what he meant, it was more like he just knew there was going to be a parting of the ways. It didn't feel like he would be running this time. It was more like he had the feeling everyone was moving on a fixed course. That something was set in motion and he couldn't figure out how to stop it and he couldn't seem to see past it. He was tired of the lies, too. It botherd him to feel them hovering.
Gibbs' father's aunt, Sara Spicer had lived in a shack in the Appalachian mountains. People called her uncany becuase she had a way of seeing things. People always said when he was a child that Leroy Jethro Gibbs had his Great-Aunt Sara's eyes. He never set much store by that kind of thing, but he trusted his gut. His gut was telling him a goodbye was on the horizon, his retirement seemed most likely to fit the bill.
Jenny didn't seem that shocked. She did warn him to think it over carefully because this time there wouldn't be a second chance. He thought she even sounded a little relieved, but maybe she was just as tired as he was. He left her there, in her dark court. Like he'd said, the Queen was back.
Later still, Gibbs was in his basement, drinking. He hadn't turned on any lights. He hadn't made the pretence of working on his boat. All his tools were clean and neatly racked up on the workbench. There was no varnish or oil, no sandpaper or even paint out. He sat on the cold floor his back resting against the curved surface of the boat and he drank his way down a bottle of Rare Breed. He'd dispensed with using a glass.
He still hated the taste of his formerly favourite drink. Each swallow almost choked him as it brought a fresh memory of all the times he'd sat and drunk, all the times he'd wondered if that was the night when he'd finally end it. But he wasn't drinking for pleasure so it seemed fitting that each mouthful burned him like acid going down.
He was drinking to remind himself of who he had been. And maybe he was drinking to forget too, although it was an incredible cliché for a former amnesiac to be doing that. While Gibbs had never said so out loud, he truly hated clichés, especially when he found himself living one. But mostly he was drinking to forget that Tony had gone to see Jeanne and that he was going to tell her what she needed to hear, because Ziva had nailed it when she'd told him to be a man and do the right thing.
He had no doubt that Tony would tell Jeanne that he loved her, that despite the lies, his feelings for her had been real. He imagined a terrible fight. Shouting. Things being thrown. She'd likely hit DiNozzo a few times, hopefully only with her hand. Lord knows Gibbs had been on the wrong end of more than a few fights like that in his life, but like DiNozzo he'd taken his punishment knowing it was owed, and he'd always hoped that whatever storm was raging, it would blow over eventually.
Gibbs had known some wild women in his time, but he'd always believed that a woman had the strength and the compassion to forgive a man, if he proved that he was really hers. Eventually Jeanne would see that Tony was hers, that he loved her even though their relationship had started out as a lie. That in the end it didn‘t matter because his love for her was real.
Gibbs played the scene over and over in his mind and it always ended the same. Jeanne would finally accept how much Tony loved her, and he imagined that she would admit how much she loved Tony as well. He knew that no matter how impossible it seemed, she'd forgive Tony and she'd take him back.
Gibbs kept on drinking. He didn't want to sleep. He didn't want to dream. He was afraid of what his mind might show him. He wanted to burn this night into his memory so he'd never forget, Tony wasn't his. Never had been, never would be.
For a short time Gibbs had harboured the smallest glimmer of hope that somehow Tony felt something for him too. It was just the shadow of a look in the younger man's eyes. It was in the way he tolerated Gibbs getting close to him. He thought it had been there the night Tony had come to the basement, when Gibbs had hurt his hand. A tiny little spark of something, but nothing to compare with how Tony must feel about the lovely young woman. Gibbs might have been imagining making a fool of himself for love but that didn't make him stupid. He understood there was no competition, not against Jeanne.
He drank doggedly, but in the end his body gave up the fight. His hand dropped to his side, the nearly empty bottle slipping to the floor with a quiet thud. His his head tipped back against the curved side of the boat. He dropped into an exhausted sleep.
* * *
When it came, wakefulness was a series of painful sensations. The chill of the basement floor had seeped into his bones making them feel heavy and granular. There was an ache in his throat like he'd spent the night screaming. When he swallowed drily it ratcheted up to agony, as if he was trying to swallow barb wire. He could feel the blood moving sluggishly through his body and pooling in his head, where the unpleasant fullness intensified so that he was both light-headed from the pain of a thousand braincells dying in agony while the throbbing in his temples, conversely, made his head feel like it was a hugely distended a bag of mush that might simply burst if he so much as moved it an inch.
He tried to move his hand and found he couldn't. He tried to move his legs, they were similarly uncooperativeable. Strange thoughts filled his head and he wondered if he'd finally actually pulled the trigger, and yet he wasn’t dead, quite. His heart beat increased and the sensation of nausea oiled the surface of his stomach, but he swallowed painfully, fearful that he'd somehow managed to inflict enough damage on himself to end up trapped inside his useless body but not enough to be dead. It would be a terrible cliché for a trained sniper to actually miss while shooting himself in the head.
He remembered he'd been thinking about clichés earlier. It made him want to laugh, but what followed felt more like a sob.
He was suddenly afraid to know what had happened. He recalled being in the basement. He remembered drinking far too much. He remembered why he had been drinking so hard. Maybe he'd had some kind of stroke. He didn't know what would be worse, failed suicide attempt or his own body sabotaging him. He wished he was simply dead.
After a while he noticed the pain seemed to recede and he was left with a feeling of weight against his chest and stomach. And strangely, warmth spreading out from there. He remembered once being shot in the leg. After the first moment of unbelievable pain he had felt heat welling out from the wound, shockingly hot but soothing somehow, and then an iron hard pressure that burned cold and almost pleasurable. The sensations of his own blood spilling and then pressure on the wound as someone tried to staunch the bleeding.
He thought about opening his eyes.
The dim grey light that filtered into the basement was so bright to him it stabbed his eyes like icepicks and he moved his head in an attempt to avoid it. As his head rolled forward what he saw made no sense at all.
He didn't move, his breathing slowed, and he wondered if this would be the last thing his eyes would see. Maybe it wasn't so bad.
But Tony looked tired.
His hair was messed up, what Gibbs could see of it, a lock falling across his forehead.
There were dark circles under Tony’s eyes.
There were a few lines on his forehead, more around his eyes. Tony was beginning to look his age. Gibbs wondered when that had happened.
Maybe it was an illusion but Tony had always looked young to Gibbs, far younger than his years. Perhaps it was a trick of the eyes, the animation in his face, always talking, often laughing, sometimes even angry, always alive with some emotion. But now, with his eyes closed, his face at rest, the lines were visible and the whole cast of his features was sad. It was as if in sleep DiNozzo could no longer keep his secrets.
Gibbs kept on looking, hoping he might see more secrets laid bare. It was the only time he ever recalled being free to do that, just look his fill, unafraid of being caught.
In the dim light he could see that Tony needed a shave. Gibbs could actually feel the prickle of stubble through his t-shirt where Tony's head rested against his chest. Then Tony moved his head just a fraction, and the rasp of his stubble branded fire across Gibbs chest and the blood that had been pounding in his head just moments before headed south.
Gibbs could feel heat low in his body and he realised that his inability to move earlier was explained. His lap was full of Tony. Their legs were entangled, Tony was sort of curled up against Gibbs' chest and yet somehow he was sprawled out too. And he was holding on to Gibbs, a hand wrapped tightly round each wrist. Apparently he'd gone to sleep holding on tight and hadn't let go even as the rest of his body had relaxed.
Suddenly, Gibbs knew just how it would be if Tony held him down, by the wrists, pressing him into the mattress, spreading his legs wide and pushing into him, hot and hard and unstoppable.
It had been a long time, but Gibbs could never forget what it was like between two men.
Tony moved again and Gibbs felt the wet patch on his t-shirt that Tony must have drooled move shockingly over his nipple. He could not hold on to the soft aching gasp that escaped him. Gibbs was close, he was so close. If he moved at all, if he simply arched his back enough to get even a little pressure against the heavy feeling in his groin, or if Tony moved, just a little stretch or flex of his leg in the right place, then Gibbs would come, right there, in his pants, like a horny teenager. But Gibbs knew that even though it would be sweet, even though it was likely his only chance ever to know how it felt to come with Tony's body pressed tight against him, even though the thought of never knowing how that would feel was utterly unbearable, Gibbs knew that he couldn't do it. He knew that it would be wrong in some essential way.
He shut his eyes tightly. It hurt so bad to give this up, but he had to.
Slowly he felt his control ease him back from the edge of oblivion.
With a sigh he opened his eyes again and found himself staring down into confused hazel eyes. Tony had woken up too.
Gibbs cleared his throat and managed to rasp out. "What … ”
Tony chose the same moment to mumble tiredly. “How … ”
Gibbs tried again. “How … ”
As did Tony. “Uuh … what?”
This time Gibbs asked his question silently, eyebrow slightly raised, blue eyes staring intently at Tony.
“Gibbs?” DiNozzo swallowed thickly. “What are you doing here?”
“I live here, DiNozzo”
“Oh, uhh yeah, so ... What am I doing here?”
“I honestly don't know.” Gibbs took a deep breath, every part of him hurt like a son of a bitch but it seemed he wasn't dead or even dying, much. And slowly it began to come back to him: Jenny, The Frog, Fornell, that smug bastard Vance ... Tony making up with Jeanne.
“Huh?”
DiNozzo shifted against Gibbs struggling like he was trapped. It set off all kinds of agony in the older man's stiff muscles and aching joints, and it set off another kind of ache again too.
“Tony, careful with your ahh … knee!”
Tony's eyes were wide, staring up at Gibbs. “What did you say?”
“Move your knee ...please.”
“Oh ... Oh! … Is that? ... umm ... Better?”
“Thanks.”
Tony settled back beside Gibbs. There was a little colour staining his cheeks now, but he was still looking right at the older man. “But I meant earlier.”
“Earlier? What happened earlier?”
“No what did you say earlier?”
“I don't know.” Gibbs head was hurting worse now, and something even more urgent than Tony's knee was beginning to press him as well. “What ever I said …”
“You said ...”
“DiNozzo, before we get into that ...” Gibbs tried to sit up a little but it felt like his back has been set in concrete, so reluctantly he said. “You got to do something for me.” He hoped Tony would get the message.
“I do?”
But Tony wasn't getting it so Gibbs swallowed his pride. "I don't think I can manage to …”
“Sure you can, Boss.”
He hated that Tony was gonna make him beg, but he had to move, and soon. “Ah, Christ, I'm old DiNozzo and I spent the night on the floor.”
“Yeah but you do have a bed, right?”
“You're gonna make me beg?”
“Would that be something you'd ...”
“DINOZZO Goddamn it.” Gibbs didn't want to lose it with Tony, not now. “Just help me up off the floor. Please.”
There was a comical second when DiNozzo didn't seem to know what to say or do. He seemed completely at a loss and Gibbs knew he would store that moment away. Sometime, when he didn't feel quite so impossibly ancient and sad, he'd take that memory out and look at it and it would make him smile. He was sure it would.
Then Tony moved and Gibbs had a moment of pure envy. His body could no longer move like that, with such easy grace. A night on the floor left him feeling like a six day old corpse. In some small perverse way he was glad that he was never going to have a chance with Tony after all, because at least that meant Tony wasn't going to see all the ugly things time had done to him.
Then Tony grabbed him and he was on his feet and things were moving way too fast and in at least two directions they didn't want to, and for another moment Gibbs felt so bad he really believed he was dying. Again.
“Boss? You okay?” Tony was supporting him, and he sounded a little worried and a little strained.
“In a minute.” Gibbs breathed shallow waiting for everything to settle back in place. “I'll be okay in a minute.”
“Do you need ...?”
“Coffee!”
“Boss?”
“And painkillers.”
“Okay.”
“Now, DiNozzo.”
“Where should I go, Starbucks?”
“Machine's in the kitchen, just switch it on.”
DiNozzo was still supporting him mostly and he eased away slowly. “I'll get right on it, Boss.”
When Tony moved Gibbs leaned forward, so he could fold his arms on the work bench he rested his head there with a quiet groan. “Just get the coffee going, I'll be up in a minute.”
“Right. On it, Boss.”
After a few moments Gibbs straightened up and tried to stretch his back out. He ignored the bloated pounding in his head and the quiet agony of his over-full bladder. If he didn't get the kinks out of his back he'd be crawling up the basement stairs. Eventually there was enough movement for him to climb heavily up to the hall and he used the downstairs bathroom. After he washed his hands and splashed cold water on his face, he glanced quickly in the mirror over the sink then dropped his head down again, hanging over the basin.
link to Semper Fidelis part 5
Gibbs was almost surprised it took so long for the shit to hit the fan.
It felt like doom was hanging over them. He'd tried to talk with Tony first thing, but they got caught up with some stolen Radar and a week-long stakeout. He ended up spending most of his time with Ziva while Tony ended up chasing yet another unimpressed woman, and the moment for resurrecting the talk they had been going to have in his basement that night was long past.
Tony seemed easier though. Gibbs finally started to believe the yonger man had made peace with himself over whatever he had done in the name of the job, so he let it be.
It was different for Gibbs. He was uncomfortably aware of the tension now, and he felt it whenever they were together. Whether Tony was by his desk, or leaning over to it to point something out on the computer screen, or standing beside him in front of the plasma screne, or when they were in the elevator, or in the car, it was as if the air around DiNozzo was charged and Gibbs was suddenly sensitive to it. He forced himself to ignore those feelings, forced himself to be blind to all that and just focus on the job whenever Tony was around.
It was getting harder to do every day though, because he had really begun to feel a change in himself. With others he was able to be more open, and it felt good, like finally coming up for air after being lost in deep cold water.
He cleared things with Duck, and he felt their friendship warm up again. It was far stronger and deeper than he realised, and he wasn't sure he'd fully appreciated before how dearly he valued his conversations with the older man.
With Abby he was even more certain that he'd changed things for the better. He could see in her the same kind of free spirit he'd recognised in his daughter. But Abby wasn't a substitute for his lost little girl, she was someone he'd come to adore purely on her own terms. He knew what he felt was a father's love for her, despite the way she flirted outrageously with him sometimes. She was always the person who could make him laugh and spending time with her lightened him. He spent as much time as he could in her lab, and he could see her old trust in him being renewed as he opened himself up to her a little more.
With Tim and Ziva there were subtle things he began to notice. Both of them were so much more confident than when he'd left. Ziva had relaxed a little, like she'd finally taken a breath or two and found she liked the air, and Tim had grown in confidence. Of course becoming a bestselling author could have had something to do with it too, but Gibbs had been so proud when McGee had stood up to him and Jenny over his sister. He knew some of the changes were also down to Tony's time as their Boss, and he tried to encourage it to continue.
Maybe the most startling thing was, how these changes affected his dealings with the civilians he encountered, witnesses, the families of victims, even suspects. He'd always had the capacity to feel and understand what others did, but something had stopped him from expressing it, from connecting with them. Now he was able to show something, share those kindred feelings and watch the way they reacted to his honesty. He could tell from the various reactions of the rest of the team that this was a complete departure from his old style, but it felt absolutely right to him now.
He wondered if he was going to have to talk to someone about it soon. He knew these were the kinds of changes Cpt Gelfand had spoken about when he'd discharged him. He knew he was reaching a point where he would either have to accept he was a different person now and live with it, or he'd have to crush it and return to being that other Gibbs, the one he'd been before.
It felt like he was living on the edge of a precipice. What he didn't know was if he let go would he be free-falling towards a new life, something different and better, or would he be a plummeting back into the cold depths, retreating into himself until he was beyond the reach of any emotion except anger.
Gibbs never had the chance to make a conscious decision, because two weeks later it all went to Hell, and before he knew it Tony was being accused of killing La Grenouille and all he could think about was the time when Tony had been locked up in a cell accused of murdering a woman and mutilating her body. He recalled the painful moment watching someone he cared for begin to loose it completely. Tony had not coped well with being locked up.
This time Gibbs was even more afraid, because now he'd come to understand how much Tony mattered to him, and that translated into Gibbs wanting to protect him. But he wasn't allowed. He had to stand back and let Fornell and Sacks take over. He had to watch as Jenny was relieved of her command. He had to watch as Tony walked away looking like death, like he believed he deserved what was happening to him.
Of course Gibbs didn't actually obey orders and do nothing. McGee, Ziva, and Ducky came to him and together they discovered what the FBI had on Tony. Then Jenny managed to get through to Jeanne, and once she withdrew her accusation Tony was cleared. The CIA even admitted that they had sanctioned the killing of the frog, but Gibbs still had a feeling there was more to come from this. He knew that Jenny was still hiding something. But he didn't call her on it. He was too busy watching Tony. He saw the heated conversation with Ziva and he watched Tony leave. He understood now how deep the younger man's feelings for Jeanne Benoit were, that he was clearly still in love with her.
Later, Gibbs sat in the dark with Jenny as she watched her screens and listened to the chatter on the wire. She was back where she needed to be, and while he was grateful for what she'd done to get Tony cleared he had the disquieting feeling that he didn't trust her any more. All this had happened because Jenny had used her position, and had used Tony, to get her revenge. He felt in his gut that it wasn't righteous. He understood intimately about revenge, he'd taken his own bloody vengeance out on the man who'd killed his wife and child, but it had been just that, personal. Just him and his rifle and the man who had wronged them. There hadn't been any bystanders, there hadn't been any collateral damage.
He told Jen he was thinking of retiring again. He wasn't even sure that's what he meant, it was more like he just knew there was going to be a parting of the ways. It didn't feel like he would be running this time. It was more like he had the feeling everyone was moving on a fixed course. That something was set in motion and he couldn't figure out how to stop it and he couldn't seem to see past it. He was tired of the lies, too. It botherd him to feel them hovering.
Gibbs' father's aunt, Sara Spicer had lived in a shack in the Appalachian mountains. People called her uncany becuase she had a way of seeing things. People always said when he was a child that Leroy Jethro Gibbs had his Great-Aunt Sara's eyes. He never set much store by that kind of thing, but he trusted his gut. His gut was telling him a goodbye was on the horizon, his retirement seemed most likely to fit the bill.
Jenny didn't seem that shocked. She did warn him to think it over carefully because this time there wouldn't be a second chance. He thought she even sounded a little relieved, but maybe she was just as tired as he was. He left her there, in her dark court. Like he'd said, the Queen was back.
Later still, Gibbs was in his basement, drinking. He hadn't turned on any lights. He hadn't made the pretence of working on his boat. All his tools were clean and neatly racked up on the workbench. There was no varnish or oil, no sandpaper or even paint out. He sat on the cold floor his back resting against the curved surface of the boat and he drank his way down a bottle of Rare Breed. He'd dispensed with using a glass.
He still hated the taste of his formerly favourite drink. Each swallow almost choked him as it brought a fresh memory of all the times he'd sat and drunk, all the times he'd wondered if that was the night when he'd finally end it. But he wasn't drinking for pleasure so it seemed fitting that each mouthful burned him like acid going down.
He was drinking to remind himself of who he had been. And maybe he was drinking to forget too, although it was an incredible cliché for a former amnesiac to be doing that. While Gibbs had never said so out loud, he truly hated clichés, especially when he found himself living one. But mostly he was drinking to forget that Tony had gone to see Jeanne and that he was going to tell her what she needed to hear, because Ziva had nailed it when she'd told him to be a man and do the right thing.
He had no doubt that Tony would tell Jeanne that he loved her, that despite the lies, his feelings for her had been real. He imagined a terrible fight. Shouting. Things being thrown. She'd likely hit DiNozzo a few times, hopefully only with her hand. Lord knows Gibbs had been on the wrong end of more than a few fights like that in his life, but like DiNozzo he'd taken his punishment knowing it was owed, and he'd always hoped that whatever storm was raging, it would blow over eventually.
Gibbs had known some wild women in his time, but he'd always believed that a woman had the strength and the compassion to forgive a man, if he proved that he was really hers. Eventually Jeanne would see that Tony was hers, that he loved her even though their relationship had started out as a lie. That in the end it didn‘t matter because his love for her was real.
Gibbs played the scene over and over in his mind and it always ended the same. Jeanne would finally accept how much Tony loved her, and he imagined that she would admit how much she loved Tony as well. He knew that no matter how impossible it seemed, she'd forgive Tony and she'd take him back.
Gibbs kept on drinking. He didn't want to sleep. He didn't want to dream. He was afraid of what his mind might show him. He wanted to burn this night into his memory so he'd never forget, Tony wasn't his. Never had been, never would be.
For a short time Gibbs had harboured the smallest glimmer of hope that somehow Tony felt something for him too. It was just the shadow of a look in the younger man's eyes. It was in the way he tolerated Gibbs getting close to him. He thought it had been there the night Tony had come to the basement, when Gibbs had hurt his hand. A tiny little spark of something, but nothing to compare with how Tony must feel about the lovely young woman. Gibbs might have been imagining making a fool of himself for love but that didn't make him stupid. He understood there was no competition, not against Jeanne.
He drank doggedly, but in the end his body gave up the fight. His hand dropped to his side, the nearly empty bottle slipping to the floor with a quiet thud. His his head tipped back against the curved side of the boat. He dropped into an exhausted sleep.
* * *
When it came, wakefulness was a series of painful sensations. The chill of the basement floor had seeped into his bones making them feel heavy and granular. There was an ache in his throat like he'd spent the night screaming. When he swallowed drily it ratcheted up to agony, as if he was trying to swallow barb wire. He could feel the blood moving sluggishly through his body and pooling in his head, where the unpleasant fullness intensified so that he was both light-headed from the pain of a thousand braincells dying in agony while the throbbing in his temples, conversely, made his head feel like it was a hugely distended a bag of mush that might simply burst if he so much as moved it an inch.
He tried to move his hand and found he couldn't. He tried to move his legs, they were similarly uncooperativeable. Strange thoughts filled his head and he wondered if he'd finally actually pulled the trigger, and yet he wasn’t dead, quite. His heart beat increased and the sensation of nausea oiled the surface of his stomach, but he swallowed painfully, fearful that he'd somehow managed to inflict enough damage on himself to end up trapped inside his useless body but not enough to be dead. It would be a terrible cliché for a trained sniper to actually miss while shooting himself in the head.
He remembered he'd been thinking about clichés earlier. It made him want to laugh, but what followed felt more like a sob.
He was suddenly afraid to know what had happened. He recalled being in the basement. He remembered drinking far too much. He remembered why he had been drinking so hard. Maybe he'd had some kind of stroke. He didn't know what would be worse, failed suicide attempt or his own body sabotaging him. He wished he was simply dead.
After a while he noticed the pain seemed to recede and he was left with a feeling of weight against his chest and stomach. And strangely, warmth spreading out from there. He remembered once being shot in the leg. After the first moment of unbelievable pain he had felt heat welling out from the wound, shockingly hot but soothing somehow, and then an iron hard pressure that burned cold and almost pleasurable. The sensations of his own blood spilling and then pressure on the wound as someone tried to staunch the bleeding.
He thought about opening his eyes.
The dim grey light that filtered into the basement was so bright to him it stabbed his eyes like icepicks and he moved his head in an attempt to avoid it. As his head rolled forward what he saw made no sense at all.
He didn't move, his breathing slowed, and he wondered if this would be the last thing his eyes would see. Maybe it wasn't so bad.
But Tony looked tired.
His hair was messed up, what Gibbs could see of it, a lock falling across his forehead.
There were dark circles under Tony’s eyes.
There were a few lines on his forehead, more around his eyes. Tony was beginning to look his age. Gibbs wondered when that had happened.
Maybe it was an illusion but Tony had always looked young to Gibbs, far younger than his years. Perhaps it was a trick of the eyes, the animation in his face, always talking, often laughing, sometimes even angry, always alive with some emotion. But now, with his eyes closed, his face at rest, the lines were visible and the whole cast of his features was sad. It was as if in sleep DiNozzo could no longer keep his secrets.
Gibbs kept on looking, hoping he might see more secrets laid bare. It was the only time he ever recalled being free to do that, just look his fill, unafraid of being caught.
In the dim light he could see that Tony needed a shave. Gibbs could actually feel the prickle of stubble through his t-shirt where Tony's head rested against his chest. Then Tony moved his head just a fraction, and the rasp of his stubble branded fire across Gibbs chest and the blood that had been pounding in his head just moments before headed south.
Gibbs could feel heat low in his body and he realised that his inability to move earlier was explained. His lap was full of Tony. Their legs were entangled, Tony was sort of curled up against Gibbs' chest and yet somehow he was sprawled out too. And he was holding on to Gibbs, a hand wrapped tightly round each wrist. Apparently he'd gone to sleep holding on tight and hadn't let go even as the rest of his body had relaxed.
Suddenly, Gibbs knew just how it would be if Tony held him down, by the wrists, pressing him into the mattress, spreading his legs wide and pushing into him, hot and hard and unstoppable.
It had been a long time, but Gibbs could never forget what it was like between two men.
Tony moved again and Gibbs felt the wet patch on his t-shirt that Tony must have drooled move shockingly over his nipple. He could not hold on to the soft aching gasp that escaped him. Gibbs was close, he was so close. If he moved at all, if he simply arched his back enough to get even a little pressure against the heavy feeling in his groin, or if Tony moved, just a little stretch or flex of his leg in the right place, then Gibbs would come, right there, in his pants, like a horny teenager. But Gibbs knew that even though it would be sweet, even though it was likely his only chance ever to know how it felt to come with Tony's body pressed tight against him, even though the thought of never knowing how that would feel was utterly unbearable, Gibbs knew that he couldn't do it. He knew that it would be wrong in some essential way.
He shut his eyes tightly. It hurt so bad to give this up, but he had to.
Slowly he felt his control ease him back from the edge of oblivion.
With a sigh he opened his eyes again and found himself staring down into confused hazel eyes. Tony had woken up too.
Gibbs cleared his throat and managed to rasp out. "What … ”
Tony chose the same moment to mumble tiredly. “How … ”
Gibbs tried again. “How … ”
As did Tony. “Uuh … what?”
This time Gibbs asked his question silently, eyebrow slightly raised, blue eyes staring intently at Tony.
“Gibbs?” DiNozzo swallowed thickly. “What are you doing here?”
“I live here, DiNozzo”
“Oh, uhh yeah, so ... What am I doing here?”
“I honestly don't know.” Gibbs took a deep breath, every part of him hurt like a son of a bitch but it seemed he wasn't dead or even dying, much. And slowly it began to come back to him: Jenny, The Frog, Fornell, that smug bastard Vance ... Tony making up with Jeanne.
“Huh?”
DiNozzo shifted against Gibbs struggling like he was trapped. It set off all kinds of agony in the older man's stiff muscles and aching joints, and it set off another kind of ache again too.
“Tony, careful with your ahh … knee!”
Tony's eyes were wide, staring up at Gibbs. “What did you say?”
“Move your knee ...please.”
“Oh ... Oh! … Is that? ... umm ... Better?”
“Thanks.”
Tony settled back beside Gibbs. There was a little colour staining his cheeks now, but he was still looking right at the older man. “But I meant earlier.”
“Earlier? What happened earlier?”
“No what did you say earlier?”
“I don't know.” Gibbs head was hurting worse now, and something even more urgent than Tony's knee was beginning to press him as well. “What ever I said …”
“You said ...”
“DiNozzo, before we get into that ...” Gibbs tried to sit up a little but it felt like his back has been set in concrete, so reluctantly he said. “You got to do something for me.” He hoped Tony would get the message.
“I do?”
But Tony wasn't getting it so Gibbs swallowed his pride. "I don't think I can manage to …”
“Sure you can, Boss.”
He hated that Tony was gonna make him beg, but he had to move, and soon. “Ah, Christ, I'm old DiNozzo and I spent the night on the floor.”
“Yeah but you do have a bed, right?”
“You're gonna make me beg?”
“Would that be something you'd ...”
“DINOZZO Goddamn it.” Gibbs didn't want to lose it with Tony, not now. “Just help me up off the floor. Please.”
There was a comical second when DiNozzo didn't seem to know what to say or do. He seemed completely at a loss and Gibbs knew he would store that moment away. Sometime, when he didn't feel quite so impossibly ancient and sad, he'd take that memory out and look at it and it would make him smile. He was sure it would.
Then Tony moved and Gibbs had a moment of pure envy. His body could no longer move like that, with such easy grace. A night on the floor left him feeling like a six day old corpse. In some small perverse way he was glad that he was never going to have a chance with Tony after all, because at least that meant Tony wasn't going to see all the ugly things time had done to him.
Then Tony grabbed him and he was on his feet and things were moving way too fast and in at least two directions they didn't want to, and for another moment Gibbs felt so bad he really believed he was dying. Again.
“Boss? You okay?” Tony was supporting him, and he sounded a little worried and a little strained.
“In a minute.” Gibbs breathed shallow waiting for everything to settle back in place. “I'll be okay in a minute.”
“Do you need ...?”
“Coffee!”
“Boss?”
“And painkillers.”
“Okay.”
“Now, DiNozzo.”
“Where should I go, Starbucks?”
“Machine's in the kitchen, just switch it on.”
DiNozzo was still supporting him mostly and he eased away slowly. “I'll get right on it, Boss.”
When Tony moved Gibbs leaned forward, so he could fold his arms on the work bench he rested his head there with a quiet groan. “Just get the coffee going, I'll be up in a minute.”
“Right. On it, Boss.”
After a few moments Gibbs straightened up and tried to stretch his back out. He ignored the bloated pounding in his head and the quiet agony of his over-full bladder. If he didn't get the kinks out of his back he'd be crawling up the basement stairs. Eventually there was enough movement for him to climb heavily up to the hall and he used the downstairs bathroom. After he washed his hands and splashed cold water on his face, he glanced quickly in the mirror over the sink then dropped his head down again, hanging over the basin.
link to Semper Fidelis part 5
