FIC: Rock and a Hard Place 10/10
< <--- chapter 9>
.-#-.
Rule 10: Love
It was good to be home again. Their orders were to write their reports and hand
them over to the SSFD. Officially NCIS involvement with this case was over. Army CID
had Mrs. Mayer in custody and an aunt would be taking care of Alec's sisters until this
mess could be sorted out. All that was left was a broken family, a still-nameless corpse
and a lot of paperwork. And a lot of unsaid words between one adult Feline and his
owner.
A very silent, thoughtful Feline and an even more silent owner. Tony had ran upstairs
and changed into more casual clothes before hurrying down again. He honestly didn't
expect Gibbs to explain himself - he had never done so before - but Tony wanted to be
near the other man.
Light spilling out from an open door told him where Gibbs had disappeared to - the
basement. Tony weighted his options and then took a look into their refrigerator. He
wrinkled his nose at some of the things in there that hadn't taken kindly to be left there
for three days, or longer, depending on when they had put a particular box of leftovers
in there. It was a good thing that Gibbs always stored some non-perishable food as well;
the man had even added a small bottle of long-life milk for Tony to his pantry, or
there wouldn't be anything to eat in the house.
Tony felt like a coward, because instead of going downstairs immediately, he collected
the stinky leftovers into a bag and went outside to throw it into the bin - the kitchen
could only benefit from his actions. He even spared a friendly wave at Mr. Oppenheimer
who greeted him back before returning to the kitchen to prepare coffee. After all, was it
really cowardice to prepare a fresh offering of coffee for his partner and himself to carry
down or was it more common sense?
Gibbs was working on a plank of his boat, sanding it to smooth perfection with slow,
hypnotizing strokes that always made Tony feel like a fool because it was all kinds
of embarrassing to feel not only jealous of the wood but at the same time feel the
need to purr in sympathy. The Feline put down one of the two over-sized cups on the
workbench and then retreated to the stairs with his own. The beverage got him a nod
of thanks so he assumed that Gibbs was only brooding a bit and sorting things out in his
mind again, and not in a full out angry sulk.
The wooden skeleton was slowly developing into something that could be more easily
identified as a real boat without the need of in depth nautical knowledge. The first
time Tony had looked down here in his quest to learn every nook and cranny of his
new home he hadn't known what to think of it. Creating abstract art didn't seem to fit
Jethro Gibbs' nature, and it didn't look like it could ever develop into usable furniture.
Not switching on the light and instead relying on illumination provided by the two small
basement windows hadn't helped at all to make sense of the shadowy, curving shapes
and forms when all Tony had expected was cupboards with potatoes and veggies, cans,
and whatever else normal people stored in a room that was not meant to be used as
living space. Not a half-finished, handcrafted sailboat.
When Gibbs, sneaky as ever, had appeared behind him, gently shoved the tiger to the
side, switched on the light and gone down to pick up his tools, Tony had needed nearly
ten additional minutes to guess what his owner was building. And the fact that, from the
way the man was touching the pieces, it would be a very bad idea to sharpen his claws
with it.
No matter how much he wanted to, sometimes. It seemed to be a good tool to work off
frustration, according to Gibbs.
Tony had never asked the obvious question of what would happen with the boat when
it was finished, how to get it out of a door that was decidedly too small to fit a sailboat
through it. What did Tony know about carpentry, measurements and practicality? Nothing.
For all he knew the thing could have a collapsible feature so Tony had decided not to
spend too much time on the mysteries of the boat. He took it as an eccentric barometer
for the older man's moods instead. The longer Jethro was down here, the bigger the devils
he tried to purge. Today Jethro had only shed his jacked and coat before going straight
downstairs.
“Those kids are lively.” Gibbs commented without looking up from what he was doing.
Lively was one way to describe them. After Williams and Co. had returned to the office,
they had gone to the residential wing. Their group had been ambushed - there was no
other word for it - by a nosy, loud and clingy mass of juvenile Felines who wanted to
know all about the exciting visitors and their newest playmate. It hadn't been only Alec
who got overwhelmed by them.
“Lively... yeah.” Tony balanced his coffee-cup on his right knee. “Not what you expected,
huh?”
Gibbs grumbled, voicing his version of assent. The three youngest kids had found the
silver-haired agent especially fascinating and had crawled all over him, not scared off by
his stern face at all. The sight would have made nearly all NCIS Agents faint in disbelieve
if they could have seen the feared Lead Agent that afternoon. To Tony's shock one of
the three toddlers had transformed into a lion cub and gone trustingly to sleep right in
Gibbs lap. The boy couldn't be old enough to walk and was already able to morph?
“Our littlest Feline here is among the three kids with an activated gene, including Alec.
He got trapped in a cupboard he had crawled in, and was unable to get out for nearly a
day. When his parents finally found him, he had transformed into a cub.” Williams had
explained in a low voice and left the napping toddler right where he was, sleeping with
Gibbs as his pillow.
Tony had kept a close eye on Gibbs, when he wasn't busy dealing with admirers of his
own, but even if the other man had looked pained sometimes, it might have been from
feet where no feet should go, not dark memories.
“Parker, that was the head asshole during my time there, concentrated his attention on
adult Felines and left the kids mainly to the nannies and tutors. Told ya, it's not all about
sexual arts and none of that until late teens.” Some things even that scumbag hadn't
attempted, no matter how big the check someone waved in front of his nose. Or he had
enough brains to carefully divide kid and adult sections, even on the medical side, to
avoid a mutiny by outraged, too soft-hearted caregivers. Why none of them had ever
tried to stop what he did to the older Felines Tony did not know. Or maybe someone
had tried and failed.
“You are more reassured now? That you aren't responsible by affiliation to unspeakable
depravities?” Tony's free hand made an expressive gesture.
Gibbs exchanged his sanding paper for one with a different grain before he
answered. “Better, but I'm still not happy. Too much political crap, too little free
choice.”
“Ain't that the truth?” Tony moaned. He wasn't content either but he suspected that he
was more used to being helpless, if it came down to it, in the face of people in power
and their whims. Gibbs might have had to deal with delusional commanding officers and
orders that made little sense during his service as a soldier and later as an agent, but
such things were rarely personal. It might have helped them both to cope better if they
had talked more with each other about what bugged them during the case, but there
never seemed to be a good time or a good starting point.
“And you, how do you feel now, Tony?”
Wow, to hear that question out of Gibbs’ mouth, which mirrored Tony's own thoughts.
Hmm, how to answer that? The Feline thought. “Honestly? Like a wrung out wet rag.
But I will be OK. No more cases like that would help, though.”
Another grumble of assent. More sanding. More words. Other topic. “By the way, the
staff at the hospital wing dug into their computer system and found a set of more
complete medical files. They gave me a copy.”
Tony stopped fidgeting with his cup. “Ducky will be happy to get them. He found some
inconsistencies in the ones they sent him before and you should have heard him,
he can be polite, not use one swear word at all and still rip into someone he sees as
incompetent like you wouldn't believe.”
“Hmm.”
No more comments or questions were forthcoming for long minutes of sawdust floating
down and adding another layer to the already dusty floor.
“Speaking of files, Tony. Shouldn't you be dealing with some of that spam?”
A wretched moan, much bigger than the issue deserved, escaped the Feline. “Crap. And
I nearly managed to forget it, Boss. Thank you so much for reminding me, really.”
“Why don't you use my laptop and do it now? According to McGee my wireless internet
connection functions down here.”
Tony sighed deeply and, with the posture of a condemned man, climbed up the stairs.
Gibbs might have the right idea though; if Tony dealt with it now he could draw a real
line under the issue and go forward. When he returned with the seldom-used private
laptop, Gibbs had swept aside some of his tools on the workbench and cleaned the
surface a bit. He even spread a clean sheet of brown package paper to protect the
computer. And he had unearthed an old printer and an unused, unopened pack of
paper.
It wasn't hard to interpret what was being hinted, and after some fumbling, checking
if the ink was still in working condition and booting up the laptop, the printer began to
spat out that dratted questionnaire. Gibbs snatched the cover paper, held it as far out as
he could and squinted at the text.
“They want to know how satisfied you are with me, and whether I need to get some
extra training so you don't get inferior service just because you selected damaged
little me,” Tony rambled over the rattling printer noises. Damn remnants of an old
administration that clung to their power and insisted of butting in where they were
neither wanted, nor needed.
“The only thing that is a little damaged about you is the filter between your brain and
your mouth,” Gibbs looked around, collected his glasses and a carpenters pencil, shoved
the readers on his nose and then took another long, disgusted look at the sheet. “If they
want to know, they should have asked me directly. Let's get this over with.”
Tony watched him read through the first two pages, watched as the gray eyebrows
first drew together over the bridge of his nose and then rose to nearly touch his fringe.
Asking Gibbs to do it for him had never occurred to the Feline, and he was no longer
worried about a reaction, it couldn’t be worse than the last days. It was nevertheless
like watching an irresistible force meeting an immovable object.
“Crappier than the penis enlargement spam. Tony, would you please fetch a pen from
upstairs? Paper pushers frown on filling out their officious nonsense in pencil.”
“Sure.” This time Tony hurried and when he returned the printer had finished and Gibbs
was looking from one sheet to the other.
Gibbs didn't look in his direction, he straddled the only chair-like object in the basement
- a saw horse - and organized the sheets before he held out his hand, waited for the
younger man to place a pen in it. Tony observed how Gibbs made some notations,
crossed something out and put his sign under every page he finished.
“I don’t want to give you any reason ever again for not coming to me directly with
something, be it information, hunches or crap like this.” It was all Jethro said as Tony
watched him finish and turn to another page.
Tony shuffled behind the older man, no longer able to resist seeking body contact
and hugged him loosely. Gibbs didn't seem to mind so Tony rested his chin on Gibbs’
shoulder for a better view, watching the older man cross out whole sections and fill
out others in his spidery but precise handwriting. The more his owner wrote, the more
Tony relaxed. Someone's eyes would bulge when they read this, but since they would
get their answers, just more directly than they had intended, they wouldn't be able to
complain, would they?
One particular comment made him snicker against his better judgment and rub his
face against Gibbs’ neck. “No complaints or negative reactions about the way I address
superiors? Gee. Not something I hear a lot of but good to know.”
“Tony, if you annoy me too much with bad habits or get too mouthy, I don't need an
official trainer to make you stop; I'll do it myself.”
“True.”
Another 'I like the way it is so there's no need for you to know details' notation made
him snicker again, forgetting that Gibbs needed only one hand to write. His other hand
was free to reach behind and tug on Tony's sensitive neck hair.
“Ouch!”
“Nope, no problem at all,” Gibbs’ hand stayed where it landed, expressing better than
words that he wasn't really annoyed.
From the way they were touching, it was easy for Tony to guess which sections of that
file were annoying Gibbs more than others before the corresponding pointed answer hit
the paper. Tony closed his eyes. The low, disgusted grumbles would make the shoulder
under his chin vibrate, as the more invasive sections made Gibbs tighten up all over.
Some only provoked irritated, disbelieving head shakes that made the short hair on the
sides of Gibbs’ head rub against Tony's face.
“Nosy buggers. They try to cover everything, don't they?”
Tony had lost track for a bit, just enjoying the warmth and the smell of sawdust and
Jethro, and had to blink before the letters on the pages in front of him made any sense.
Ah yes, the section that made Tony want to punch someone. With a bold fresh cross
adorning every page and bold letters forming one word.
“Just 'Private'? They won't agree.”
“They can ask me to my face if they want to know whether or not we tried the Karma
Sutra from cover to cover and how I reacted to every damn detail. If they dare. It's none
of their business.” Gibbs put one last signature on the last page, collected all the loose
sheets into one tidy pile and put it aside.
“You don't mind that we haven't done some of those things?”
“No.”
“I mean, if you want I can-”
“Tony, no.” Gibbs turned halfway around and captured the younger man's mouth in a
tender kiss, the kind that made Tony weak in the knees - firm and slow. “I am happy
with what I have and the pace we've set, really.”
Jethro wouldn't lie, would he? The man horded his words like a dragon would gold and
when he gave them away privately, calmly like just now, they had weight. Tony got the
feeling that his words weren't directed only at the sexual aspect either. Tony gulped
hard, tried to dislodge the jumble of words and feelings which had taken residence in his
throat and firmly pressed his face against the older man's neck again, this time to hide.
It was silly to allow himself to come undone by something like this, but after the week
he had it was hard to hold back now.
Happy. Yeah, that was an adequate word to describe how he felt right now. Maybe he
should translate his speechless state into something else and try for even happier with
touches where words simply would not reach. Tony didn't remove his face, keeping
it where it was, but slung his arms around Jethro more firmly, with one of his hands
resting on the small of the other man's hard muscled chest and the other hand stroking
over silver hair.
Happy was perfect. This second.
And the next as well, when holding still wasn't enough anymore but moving would
be too much. But gliding was all right. A little up, a little wet, a little open. Stubborn
jawline; stubbly, warm cheek; a welcoming mouth. Thin, agile lips moving patiently
against his own. Two tongues touched and touched again with an understanding foreign
to the words those muscles normally helped forming.
Kissing Jethro, this second, was like compressing a hundred touches and whole nights
into one.
.-#-.
Epilogue
Gibbs was unable to find sleep, despite being bone tired when they finally made their
way up to the bedroom, in contrast to Tony, who was snoring softly already. Washing
sawdust out of hair and short fur had been a nice way to calm down but it was even
better to relax into the sanctuary of their familiar bed.
His fingers stroked, lightly, not really touching at all, over Tony's sleeping features as if
to sear them into his brain just the way they were now. Tony at rest didn't look younger
than he was, unlike poets pretended people did when asleep. He didn't look more
innocent either. Innocence would mean that life hadn't touched him and that was just
not true. Shadows concealed nearly his whole face, but what he could see, in addition to
what his fingertips told him, still bore the signs of a life lived and not lived easily. Some
of those wrinkles had been caused by laughter but not all. Lines were carved on the
younger man's forehead and in the corner of his eyes that rest couldn't erase and there
was nothing poetic about the drool slowly dampening Gibbs’ shoulder.
Tony shuddered a little bit, his eyeballs moving rapidly under closed lids and his lover,
guessing that it was a dream and not the cold night air, pulled the comforter higher
nevertheless and rubbed his palm down Tony's back. The younger man snuggled down
trustingly, made a little sound and then stilled again.
Earlier today Gibbs had turned around, halfway down the hospital wing, changing his
decision to stay with the Mayers in favor of talking to Tony, and to try and clear some
things up, maybe ask some questions. When he silently opened the door he found Tony
in front of that big file cabinet in the Major's office, staring down at something in his
hands. Gibbs' eyesight might not be what it had been in his sniper days but most people
who teased him about his need for glasses tended to forget that Gibbs needed them to
read things up-close. He had absolutely no difficulties with long distances and could still
distinguish letters forming his own name on a page at the other end of a room any day.
He could easily guess what Tony was holding in his hands; he had seen it before. That
damn, comprehensive, invasive, complete file the White House had compiled about him
before deciding he was worthy of a special reward.
In hindsight he should be more surprised about the lack of anger he had felt this
afternoon. Thoughts and memories that had been his constant companions during the
last three days might have leeched any emotional energy from his bones, there was
nothing left to fuel his anger again. That was one possible explanation for not storming
in and confronting the Feline. Another reason might have been the way Tony was
handling that piece of papery misery, like it might explode in his hands any second.
While Gibbs watched him undetected, Tony shook his head, like his tiger form shacking
off water-drops after playing in the snow, smiled sadly and stroked over the cover
before putting the file back. Without taking a look into it. Like Gibbs hoped he would.
Like he somehow knew Tony would.
There were some things black words on white paper forming sentences and descriptions
could never manage to convey, and it was a phenomenon they saw on the job in less
personal glimpses. The agents could try all they wanted, but they would still be unable
to capture the true essences of what had happened during their cases. The resulting
documents would be good enough for lawyers and judges, but some things, if they
really had to be understood, should be shared by looks and touches, voluntarily, not on
paper.
Neither a detailed file describing his own past nor descriptions in the data-stick that
contained Tony's complete medical history resting in his coat pocket should be touched
without permission.
Gibbs closed his own eyes and tightened his hold on the man in his arms
Maybe they would never need to have those talks, because knowing for sure what was
in the past didn't change how they felt in the present.
The End
Note: This would not have been possible without the support of a few people^^ Wintermute for hunting down the worst of my blunders, Riazendira for cheerleading and EllensCult for calming me down during the writing process.
Now, on to new projects, something I titled (tentatively) "Pandora" NCIS/Sentinel crossover.
.-#-.
Rule 10: Love
It was good to be home again. Their orders were to write their reports and hand
them over to the SSFD. Officially NCIS involvement with this case was over. Army CID
had Mrs. Mayer in custody and an aunt would be taking care of Alec's sisters until this
mess could be sorted out. All that was left was a broken family, a still-nameless corpse
and a lot of paperwork. And a lot of unsaid words between one adult Feline and his
owner.
A very silent, thoughtful Feline and an even more silent owner. Tony had ran upstairs
and changed into more casual clothes before hurrying down again. He honestly didn't
expect Gibbs to explain himself - he had never done so before - but Tony wanted to be
near the other man.
Light spilling out from an open door told him where Gibbs had disappeared to - the
basement. Tony weighted his options and then took a look into their refrigerator. He
wrinkled his nose at some of the things in there that hadn't taken kindly to be left there
for three days, or longer, depending on when they had put a particular box of leftovers
in there. It was a good thing that Gibbs always stored some non-perishable food as well;
the man had even added a small bottle of long-life milk for Tony to his pantry, or
there wouldn't be anything to eat in the house.
Tony felt like a coward, because instead of going downstairs immediately, he collected
the stinky leftovers into a bag and went outside to throw it into the bin - the kitchen
could only benefit from his actions. He even spared a friendly wave at Mr. Oppenheimer
who greeted him back before returning to the kitchen to prepare coffee. After all, was it
really cowardice to prepare a fresh offering of coffee for his partner and himself to carry
down or was it more common sense?
Gibbs was working on a plank of his boat, sanding it to smooth perfection with slow,
hypnotizing strokes that always made Tony feel like a fool because it was all kinds
of embarrassing to feel not only jealous of the wood but at the same time feel the
need to purr in sympathy. The Feline put down one of the two over-sized cups on the
workbench and then retreated to the stairs with his own. The beverage got him a nod
of thanks so he assumed that Gibbs was only brooding a bit and sorting things out in his
mind again, and not in a full out angry sulk.
The wooden skeleton was slowly developing into something that could be more easily
identified as a real boat without the need of in depth nautical knowledge. The first
time Tony had looked down here in his quest to learn every nook and cranny of his
new home he hadn't known what to think of it. Creating abstract art didn't seem to fit
Jethro Gibbs' nature, and it didn't look like it could ever develop into usable furniture.
Not switching on the light and instead relying on illumination provided by the two small
basement windows hadn't helped at all to make sense of the shadowy, curving shapes
and forms when all Tony had expected was cupboards with potatoes and veggies, cans,
and whatever else normal people stored in a room that was not meant to be used as
living space. Not a half-finished, handcrafted sailboat.
When Gibbs, sneaky as ever, had appeared behind him, gently shoved the tiger to the
side, switched on the light and gone down to pick up his tools, Tony had needed nearly
ten additional minutes to guess what his owner was building. And the fact that, from the
way the man was touching the pieces, it would be a very bad idea to sharpen his claws
with it.
No matter how much he wanted to, sometimes. It seemed to be a good tool to work off
frustration, according to Gibbs.
Tony had never asked the obvious question of what would happen with the boat when
it was finished, how to get it out of a door that was decidedly too small to fit a sailboat
through it. What did Tony know about carpentry, measurements and practicality? Nothing.
For all he knew the thing could have a collapsible feature so Tony had decided not to
spend too much time on the mysteries of the boat. He took it as an eccentric barometer
for the older man's moods instead. The longer Jethro was down here, the bigger the devils
he tried to purge. Today Jethro had only shed his jacked and coat before going straight
downstairs.
“Those kids are lively.” Gibbs commented without looking up from what he was doing.
Lively was one way to describe them. After Williams and Co. had returned to the office,
they had gone to the residential wing. Their group had been ambushed - there was no
other word for it - by a nosy, loud and clingy mass of juvenile Felines who wanted to
know all about the exciting visitors and their newest playmate. It hadn't been only Alec
who got overwhelmed by them.
“Lively... yeah.” Tony balanced his coffee-cup on his right knee. “Not what you expected,
huh?”
Gibbs grumbled, voicing his version of assent. The three youngest kids had found the
silver-haired agent especially fascinating and had crawled all over him, not scared off by
his stern face at all. The sight would have made nearly all NCIS Agents faint in disbelieve
if they could have seen the feared Lead Agent that afternoon. To Tony's shock one of
the three toddlers had transformed into a lion cub and gone trustingly to sleep right in
Gibbs lap. The boy couldn't be old enough to walk and was already able to morph?
“Our littlest Feline here is among the three kids with an activated gene, including Alec.
He got trapped in a cupboard he had crawled in, and was unable to get out for nearly a
day. When his parents finally found him, he had transformed into a cub.” Williams had
explained in a low voice and left the napping toddler right where he was, sleeping with
Gibbs as his pillow.
Tony had kept a close eye on Gibbs, when he wasn't busy dealing with admirers of his
own, but even if the other man had looked pained sometimes, it might have been from
feet where no feet should go, not dark memories.
“Parker, that was the head asshole during my time there, concentrated his attention on
adult Felines and left the kids mainly to the nannies and tutors. Told ya, it's not all about
sexual arts and none of that until late teens.” Some things even that scumbag hadn't
attempted, no matter how big the check someone waved in front of his nose. Or he had
enough brains to carefully divide kid and adult sections, even on the medical side, to
avoid a mutiny by outraged, too soft-hearted caregivers. Why none of them had ever
tried to stop what he did to the older Felines Tony did not know. Or maybe someone
had tried and failed.
“You are more reassured now? That you aren't responsible by affiliation to unspeakable
depravities?” Tony's free hand made an expressive gesture.
Gibbs exchanged his sanding paper for one with a different grain before he
answered. “Better, but I'm still not happy. Too much political crap, too little free
choice.”
“Ain't that the truth?” Tony moaned. He wasn't content either but he suspected that he
was more used to being helpless, if it came down to it, in the face of people in power
and their whims. Gibbs might have had to deal with delusional commanding officers and
orders that made little sense during his service as a soldier and later as an agent, but
such things were rarely personal. It might have helped them both to cope better if they
had talked more with each other about what bugged them during the case, but there
never seemed to be a good time or a good starting point.
“And you, how do you feel now, Tony?”
Wow, to hear that question out of Gibbs’ mouth, which mirrored Tony's own thoughts.
Hmm, how to answer that? The Feline thought. “Honestly? Like a wrung out wet rag.
But I will be OK. No more cases like that would help, though.”
Another grumble of assent. More sanding. More words. Other topic. “By the way, the
staff at the hospital wing dug into their computer system and found a set of more
complete medical files. They gave me a copy.”
Tony stopped fidgeting with his cup. “Ducky will be happy to get them. He found some
inconsistencies in the ones they sent him before and you should have heard him,
he can be polite, not use one swear word at all and still rip into someone he sees as
incompetent like you wouldn't believe.”
“Hmm.”
No more comments or questions were forthcoming for long minutes of sawdust floating
down and adding another layer to the already dusty floor.
“Speaking of files, Tony. Shouldn't you be dealing with some of that spam?”
A wretched moan, much bigger than the issue deserved, escaped the Feline. “Crap. And
I nearly managed to forget it, Boss. Thank you so much for reminding me, really.”
“Why don't you use my laptop and do it now? According to McGee my wireless internet
connection functions down here.”
Tony sighed deeply and, with the posture of a condemned man, climbed up the stairs.
Gibbs might have the right idea though; if Tony dealt with it now he could draw a real
line under the issue and go forward. When he returned with the seldom-used private
laptop, Gibbs had swept aside some of his tools on the workbench and cleaned the
surface a bit. He even spread a clean sheet of brown package paper to protect the
computer. And he had unearthed an old printer and an unused, unopened pack of
paper.
It wasn't hard to interpret what was being hinted, and after some fumbling, checking
if the ink was still in working condition and booting up the laptop, the printer began to
spat out that dratted questionnaire. Gibbs snatched the cover paper, held it as far out as
he could and squinted at the text.
“They want to know how satisfied you are with me, and whether I need to get some
extra training so you don't get inferior service just because you selected damaged
little me,” Tony rambled over the rattling printer noises. Damn remnants of an old
administration that clung to their power and insisted of butting in where they were
neither wanted, nor needed.
“The only thing that is a little damaged about you is the filter between your brain and
your mouth,” Gibbs looked around, collected his glasses and a carpenters pencil, shoved
the readers on his nose and then took another long, disgusted look at the sheet. “If they
want to know, they should have asked me directly. Let's get this over with.”
Tony watched him read through the first two pages, watched as the gray eyebrows
first drew together over the bridge of his nose and then rose to nearly touch his fringe.
Asking Gibbs to do it for him had never occurred to the Feline, and he was no longer
worried about a reaction, it couldn’t be worse than the last days. It was nevertheless
like watching an irresistible force meeting an immovable object.
“Crappier than the penis enlargement spam. Tony, would you please fetch a pen from
upstairs? Paper pushers frown on filling out their officious nonsense in pencil.”
“Sure.” This time Tony hurried and when he returned the printer had finished and Gibbs
was looking from one sheet to the other.
Gibbs didn't look in his direction, he straddled the only chair-like object in the basement
- a saw horse - and organized the sheets before he held out his hand, waited for the
younger man to place a pen in it. Tony observed how Gibbs made some notations,
crossed something out and put his sign under every page he finished.
“I don’t want to give you any reason ever again for not coming to me directly with
something, be it information, hunches or crap like this.” It was all Jethro said as Tony
watched him finish and turn to another page.
Tony shuffled behind the older man, no longer able to resist seeking body contact
and hugged him loosely. Gibbs didn't seem to mind so Tony rested his chin on Gibbs’
shoulder for a better view, watching the older man cross out whole sections and fill
out others in his spidery but precise handwriting. The more his owner wrote, the more
Tony relaxed. Someone's eyes would bulge when they read this, but since they would
get their answers, just more directly than they had intended, they wouldn't be able to
complain, would they?
One particular comment made him snicker against his better judgment and rub his
face against Gibbs’ neck. “No complaints or negative reactions about the way I address
superiors? Gee. Not something I hear a lot of but good to know.”
“Tony, if you annoy me too much with bad habits or get too mouthy, I don't need an
official trainer to make you stop; I'll do it myself.”
“True.”
Another 'I like the way it is so there's no need for you to know details' notation made
him snicker again, forgetting that Gibbs needed only one hand to write. His other hand
was free to reach behind and tug on Tony's sensitive neck hair.
“Ouch!”
“Nope, no problem at all,” Gibbs’ hand stayed where it landed, expressing better than
words that he wasn't really annoyed.
From the way they were touching, it was easy for Tony to guess which sections of that
file were annoying Gibbs more than others before the corresponding pointed answer hit
the paper. Tony closed his eyes. The low, disgusted grumbles would make the shoulder
under his chin vibrate, as the more invasive sections made Gibbs tighten up all over.
Some only provoked irritated, disbelieving head shakes that made the short hair on the
sides of Gibbs’ head rub against Tony's face.
“Nosy buggers. They try to cover everything, don't they?”
Tony had lost track for a bit, just enjoying the warmth and the smell of sawdust and
Jethro, and had to blink before the letters on the pages in front of him made any sense.
Ah yes, the section that made Tony want to punch someone. With a bold fresh cross
adorning every page and bold letters forming one word.
“Just 'Private'? They won't agree.”
“They can ask me to my face if they want to know whether or not we tried the Karma
Sutra from cover to cover and how I reacted to every damn detail. If they dare. It's none
of their business.” Gibbs put one last signature on the last page, collected all the loose
sheets into one tidy pile and put it aside.
“You don't mind that we haven't done some of those things?”
“No.”
“I mean, if you want I can-”
“Tony, no.” Gibbs turned halfway around and captured the younger man's mouth in a
tender kiss, the kind that made Tony weak in the knees - firm and slow. “I am happy
with what I have and the pace we've set, really.”
Jethro wouldn't lie, would he? The man horded his words like a dragon would gold and
when he gave them away privately, calmly like just now, they had weight. Tony got the
feeling that his words weren't directed only at the sexual aspect either. Tony gulped
hard, tried to dislodge the jumble of words and feelings which had taken residence in his
throat and firmly pressed his face against the older man's neck again, this time to hide.
It was silly to allow himself to come undone by something like this, but after the week
he had it was hard to hold back now.
Happy. Yeah, that was an adequate word to describe how he felt right now. Maybe he
should translate his speechless state into something else and try for even happier with
touches where words simply would not reach. Tony didn't remove his face, keeping
it where it was, but slung his arms around Jethro more firmly, with one of his hands
resting on the small of the other man's hard muscled chest and the other hand stroking
over silver hair.
Happy was perfect. This second.
And the next as well, when holding still wasn't enough anymore but moving would
be too much. But gliding was all right. A little up, a little wet, a little open. Stubborn
jawline; stubbly, warm cheek; a welcoming mouth. Thin, agile lips moving patiently
against his own. Two tongues touched and touched again with an understanding foreign
to the words those muscles normally helped forming.
Kissing Jethro, this second, was like compressing a hundred touches and whole nights
into one.
.-#-.
Epilogue
Gibbs was unable to find sleep, despite being bone tired when they finally made their
way up to the bedroom, in contrast to Tony, who was snoring softly already. Washing
sawdust out of hair and short fur had been a nice way to calm down but it was even
better to relax into the sanctuary of their familiar bed.
His fingers stroked, lightly, not really touching at all, over Tony's sleeping features as if
to sear them into his brain just the way they were now. Tony at rest didn't look younger
than he was, unlike poets pretended people did when asleep. He didn't look more
innocent either. Innocence would mean that life hadn't touched him and that was just
not true. Shadows concealed nearly his whole face, but what he could see, in addition to
what his fingertips told him, still bore the signs of a life lived and not lived easily. Some
of those wrinkles had been caused by laughter but not all. Lines were carved on the
younger man's forehead and in the corner of his eyes that rest couldn't erase and there
was nothing poetic about the drool slowly dampening Gibbs’ shoulder.
Tony shuddered a little bit, his eyeballs moving rapidly under closed lids and his lover,
guessing that it was a dream and not the cold night air, pulled the comforter higher
nevertheless and rubbed his palm down Tony's back. The younger man snuggled down
trustingly, made a little sound and then stilled again.
Earlier today Gibbs had turned around, halfway down the hospital wing, changing his
decision to stay with the Mayers in favor of talking to Tony, and to try and clear some
things up, maybe ask some questions. When he silently opened the door he found Tony
in front of that big file cabinet in the Major's office, staring down at something in his
hands. Gibbs' eyesight might not be what it had been in his sniper days but most people
who teased him about his need for glasses tended to forget that Gibbs needed them to
read things up-close. He had absolutely no difficulties with long distances and could still
distinguish letters forming his own name on a page at the other end of a room any day.
He could easily guess what Tony was holding in his hands; he had seen it before. That
damn, comprehensive, invasive, complete file the White House had compiled about him
before deciding he was worthy of a special reward.
In hindsight he should be more surprised about the lack of anger he had felt this
afternoon. Thoughts and memories that had been his constant companions during the
last three days might have leeched any emotional energy from his bones, there was
nothing left to fuel his anger again. That was one possible explanation for not storming
in and confronting the Feline. Another reason might have been the way Tony was
handling that piece of papery misery, like it might explode in his hands any second.
While Gibbs watched him undetected, Tony shook his head, like his tiger form shacking
off water-drops after playing in the snow, smiled sadly and stroked over the cover
before putting the file back. Without taking a look into it. Like Gibbs hoped he would.
Like he somehow knew Tony would.
There were some things black words on white paper forming sentences and descriptions
could never manage to convey, and it was a phenomenon they saw on the job in less
personal glimpses. The agents could try all they wanted, but they would still be unable
to capture the true essences of what had happened during their cases. The resulting
documents would be good enough for lawyers and judges, but some things, if they
really had to be understood, should be shared by looks and touches, voluntarily, not on
paper.
Neither a detailed file describing his own past nor descriptions in the data-stick that
contained Tony's complete medical history resting in his coat pocket should be touched
without permission.
Gibbs closed his own eyes and tightened his hold on the man in his arms
Maybe they would never need to have those talks, because knowing for sure what was
in the past didn't change how they felt in the present.
The End
Note: This would not have been possible without the support of a few people^^ Wintermute for hunting down the worst of my blunders, Riazendira for cheerleading and EllensCult for calming me down during the writing process.
Now, on to new projects, something I titled (tentatively) "Pandora" NCIS/Sentinel crossover.