Title: Subjective Rating: NC-17 Summary: You did what you had to do. Series: Paradigm Shift He wanted to kiss Gibbs goodbye, but his bones had kind of melted and he didn't think he could get up. So he settled for a sleepy wave as Gibbs left, closing the door behind him. Once he was gone, Tony dropped his head back against the couch, closing his eyes. Well. Now what? First things first--he needed a shower. His pants were decidedly uncomfortable and the thought of hot water was way too appealing to pass up. It took some effort to push himself up off the couch, but he managed, stripping on his way to the bathroom. He nearly fell over when he tried to take off his pants before remembering he still had his shoes on and was intensely grateful no one was around to see him hopping into the bathroom, naked, pants around his ankles and one shoe still on.. Apparently his brain had melted along with his bones. Hot water helped, as did soap and shampoo and conditioner. Peppermint swirled around him and he closed his eyes, breathing in the scent and smiling a little. He'd never admitted it to anyone, but he bought the soap because its fragrance reminded him of his childhood--one of the few completely good memories he had. Louisa, the housekeeper, had always had time for him, along with a snack, and she'd never let him go without a hard white peppermint candy from her pocket. He'd used to suck on them for hours, after bedtime when he couldn't sleep. He finished rinsing the conditioner from his hair and wondered why he was remembering all this now. Apparently his conversation with Gibbs had opened a few doors he didn't want opened. For every good memory of Louisa, there was one of Peter looking scared and jumpy, of Margaret wearing long sleeves in July, of himself struggling not to cry after one of his father's 'talks'. No. He wasn't going to think about it. Sometimes repression really *was* a good thing. "All right," he said out loud, pulling on a soft black turtleneck and jeans. "Time to figure out what to do now." He buckled his watch, slipped his wallet and his keys into his pocket, glared at his cell phone for a moment before dropping that into his other pocket. He ran his hands through his hair in lieu of styling it and left. Dinner was easily obtained from the little diner down the street. Now he just had to figure out what to do about Gibbs. It was his move. Gibbs might not realize they were playing a game, or recognize it if he did, but this was one area Tony knew well. Thing was, not many people understood that the point of the game wasn't to win. Tony hid a smile behind his coffee cup as a thought occurred to him. Gibbs wanted to take this slow. He could do that. He'd always been good at seduction. Something came to mind as he left and he turned down a little side street instead of going back to his apartment. Was the store--yes, it was still there and, more importantly, it was still open. He ducked inside, explaining to the guy behind the counter what he wanted. Sixty dollars later, he was back on his way home with a brown paper-wrapped package under his arm and a grin on his face. Gibbs wasn't going to have a clue what hit him. Falling asleep that night was surprisingly easy and for once, he didn't dream. Waking up at six pretty much guaranteed he'd get into work before Gibbs. He left the package wrapped just as it was, sitting right in the center of Gibbs' desk, and went to get himself some coffee. By the time he'd returned, Kate was there. He wasn't surprised; she was always trying to make herself look good. And he was pretty sure she was one of those weird morning people anyway. "What is that?" she asked, nodding at the package. "No idea." Tony was glad for his years of undercover work; he could lie and not even have it show in his eyes. "Was here when I got in." Kate looked at it dubiously. "Should we get it checked out?" "If it came in here, it's already *been* checked out," Tony said, shrugging. "Yeah, but..." Kate tapped her pen against her teeth. "It's on Gibbs' desk." "What's on my desk?" Gibbs asked, walking in. "That." Kate pointed at it. "Either of you know where it came from?" Gibbs asked, glancing between the two of them. Kate shook her head; Tony just shrugged. "No idea, Boss." He wasn't *entirely* sure Gibbs believed him, but at least he didn't say anything. Gibbs frowned at it and pulled on a pair of gloves, undoing the string with a flick of his knife and unwrapping the paper. He blinked at the contents, picking it up. "Well," he said slowly. He looked up and glanced at Tony, who kept a bland, innocent look on his face. "What is that?" Kate asked in confusion. "It's an adze," Gibbs said, turning it in his hands. "You use it for woodworking. Traditional woodworking." "Someone likes you," she commented. "Someone knows a lot about boat-building," Gibbs said, still looking at the adze. "This is a shipwright's adze. It's designed for boats." "Whoa, what is that?" McGee asked, stopping short at the sight of the tool in Gibbs' hands. He looked decidedly uneasy when Gibbs swung it experimentally. "It's a--what'd you call it, Boss?" Tony asked. "An adze, DiNozzo." The look on Gibbs' face said that he wasn't fooled. "It's a tool used for woodworking." "Who gave it to you?" McGee asked curiously. "I don't know." Gibbs set it down carefully on the paper. "Gibbs, if you're building the thing by hand, don't you already have one of those?" Kate asked. "It's a different type," Gibbs said absently. "I've been meaning to get one of these." Tony quashed the swell of triumph, turning back to his desk to hide his smile. He'd been taking a gamble, but he'd figured Gibbs would appreciate the sentiment even if he didn't actually *need* the tool. Looked like he'd won on both counts this time. The morning passed quietly, although Tony couldn't stop glancing at Gibbs' desk every now and then, just to see the adze still lying there. He managed, somehow, to keep Kate or McGee from noticing. Gibbs, on the other hand... His email dinged at him around eleven. Two words, internal message from lj_gibbs. 'Thank you.' He smiled and sent back a two word reply. 'My pleasure.' With no hot cases pending, they were spending the day catching up on the endless paperwork and old case files that never seemed to get finished. Tony hated paperwork at the best of times, but he did his best to rein in his impatience and just work for once. He knew Kate was surprised; he felt her eyeing him from time to time. But he kept his head down and focused on his computer and didn't bother baiting her. Sometimes it was more fun to leave her alone and watch her get jumpy waiting for the axe to fall. The day dragged on forever, or so it seemed. Tony nearly cheered with relief when the clock hit five and they were free to go. He knew Gibbs wanted to talk to him, so he made a point of leaving as fast as he could, before Gibbs could say anything. If Gibbs wanted slow, then slow was what he'd get. There was a Bogart marathon on AMC when he got home; he tuned in to the second half of 'The Big Sleep' and leaned back, thinking. The adze had been a stroke of genius. Unfortunately, he'd used up his creative impulses for the week and would now have to make do with more mundane ideas. So dinner it was, then. Dinner he could work with. Dinner was perfect, really. The question was *where*? Tony frowned, tapping his fingers against the arm of the couch. Anything Asian was strictly out; he was not about to make a fool of himself with chopsticks again. Pan-American, maybe, or tapas, but...he wanted something a little closer to home. A little more solid. Not Italian. Tony'd learned his lesson on that one years ago. Dates you wanted to go well were best spent over a meal that *didn't* involve tomato sauce or gooey cheese. That was for later. Tony snapped his fingers as inspiration struck. Greek. He loved Greek and he was willing to bet Gibbs did, too. And there was that wonderful little place in Arlington, not too far from Gibbs' house--perfect. He settled back into the couch to watch the rest of the movie, smiling to himself. Sometimes, he was so good he amazed even himself. At some point after 'The African Queen', he found his way to bed, setting the alarm a little later. No gifts meant he didn't have to get to the office before Gibbs, thankfully. He could sleep in that extra half hour. The dreams woke him at two in the morning, sweating and shaking and so nauseous he barely made it to the bathroom before losing the contents of his stomach. Tony had to crawl to the sink to get water and his hands were trembling so badly he spilled half of it over his chest before managing to rinse out his mouth. God. He should have expected this. After the Espinoza case--he should have known. The dreams never left him alone, not after a case like that. If he closed his eyes he could still see Peter's face, white and scared, see the bruises on his wrists--and then he saw Peter sprawled over his bed, gun still in his hand and half his head gone. He'd told Gibbs Peter had killed himself. He *hadn't* told Gibbs he'd been the one to find him. And as for the rest--Tony managed to swallow some water, leaning against the tub. Years of practice made it easier to shove the memories down, to lock them away. He wouldn't sleep again tonight, but at least he wouldn't see accusing faces every time he blinked. He managed to get to the living room on two feet, falling onto the couch and turning the TV on to something random. He had no idea what it was and didn't much care; the images and low sound were all he wanted. They'd keep him company until it was time to get ready for work. Gibbs gave him a sharp look when he walked in in the morning, probably looking like death on toast. The immediate reach for the aspirin bottle in his desk didn't help his case, and he had a feeling Gibbs was about to say something when Kate came in. She took one look at Tony and smirked. "Drink a little too much last night, Tony?" she asked sweetly. "There's a lot of beer in the world, Kate," he said wearily. "It's got to get drunk by someone." He dry-swallowed three aspirin and slumped into his seat. "And that someone would be you." "Didn't say it was. Didn't say it wasn't." Tony managed an approximation of his usual grin. "You think what you want, Katie. You always do." McGee came in, looking flustered as usual, but Tony just wasn't up to baiting him this morning. Frankly, he was beginning to think he should have taken the day off--except that he'd have fallen asleep if he'd done that, and sleep wasn't something he wanted at the moment. Once again, they had a quiet day; Tony didn't even pretend to try and work for half of it. "DiNozzo, if you're coming down with something, either go home or get checked out," Gibbs finally said in exasperation. "If you're here, I expect you to do *something.*" "Right. Sorry, Boss." Tony rubbed his eyes and turned his attention to the cold case file in front of him, reading reports from a case he'd worked a year and a half ago. They hadn't solved it then and he was pretty much positive he wasn't going to solve it now, but at least it was fairly straightforward. Just a case of missing money. Thank God. By five o'clock, he was no closer to figuring out where five hundred thousand dollars had gone than he had been eighteen months ago. He closed the report with a groan and rubbed his eyes, looking up and realizing belatedly that Kate and McGee were already gone. Gibbs was still there, leaning back in his chair. "Bad day?" he asked casually. "Something like that." Tony pushed himself up and walked over to Gibbs' desk. "Want to help me make it better?" He grinned cheerfully. "Tony--" "Dinner, that's all. I swear." Tony held up his hands innocently. "You like Greek?" Slowly, Gibbs nodded. "Yeah, I do." "Lemme buy you dinner. You ever been to Dimitri's? It's this fantastic place in Arlington. Best spanikopita I've found around here and their egg-lemon soup is out of this world." Tony smiled again. "Interested?" Gibbs smiled. "How's their moussaka?" The restaurant wasn't that busy and they got a quiet table in the corner. They both ordered coffee and bowls of egg-lemon soup. "How'd you know about the adze?" Gibbs asked, picking up his spoon. Tony grinned. "I'm a detective, Gibbs. I find stuff out for a living." "That's not an answer." "I didn't know you didn't have one like that," Tony admitted. "But..." He shrugged. "Thought you might appreciate the sentiment." "I do," Gibbs murmured. "Good." Tony ate some more soup, his tastebuds purring with pleasure. "I'm glad." Gibbs smiled, wiping his lips with his napkin. "You never cease to surprise me, DiNozzo," he said wryly. "It's the nice thing about dating someone like me. I have a different rulebook than the one you're used to." Tony grinned and picked up his coffee cup. "And you don't know what's in it." "Am I going to find out?" "Eventually." Tony took a long sip and set his cup down. "But my rules are a lot more fun than 'always carry a knife with you'." "Fun, but not necessarily practical," Gibbs pointed out. "But necessary," Tony countered. "Romance, love, dating--" He gestured. "It's all necessary. Humans are social creatures. We're not meant to be alone." "No," Gibbs said quietly. "I suppose you're right." "Life should be fun, Gibbs. If it's not, something's not right. Our job isn't fun. It's grueling, it's demanding, it's draining and it's downright dangerous sometimes. So the rest of our lives should be enjoyable." Tony smiled, shaking his head. "It's what Kate doesn't understand. She doesn't have to be as tightly wound off-duty as she is at work." He looked up at Gibbs. "Neither do you." Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "There's more to life than work and woodworking," Tony said with a shrug. "Kate calls me shallow, and you--" He hesitated, honestly unsure what Gibbs thought at this point and not willing to chance saying the wrong thing. "I work hard. I play hard. I've never denied that." "I'm not the playing type," Gibbs said dryly. "Everyone is. The games just vary." Tony smiled at the waiter who came to clear away their bowls. "I was a phys ed major, Gibbs. I see the world in terms of games." "So what are we playing now?" Gibbs asked. Something in his tone told Tony to be very, very careful with his answer. "Not everything has a winner and a loser. Not everything is a competition." Tony spread his hands. "Who says we can't be on the same side?" "And here I thought your goal in college was to score as often as you could. When did you start taking sociology?" "I'm a cop," Tony said simply. "Yeah." Gibbs smiled. "That you are." Their entrees arrived--moussaka for Gibbs, a combination plate for Tony--and for a few moments they ate in silence. Tony popped the last of his dolmade into his mouth; he was just about to swallow when his phone buzzed and he nearly choked on a piece of rice. Damnit. Of all the timing--he hastily swallowed some water and flipped the phone open. "Yeah, DiNozzo," he said. "Tony, we've got a case. Dead Marine out at Quantico." Kate sounded frustrated. "Ducky's on his way in so we can get the truck and get out there." Tony bit back his curse and sighed. "I'll contact Gibbs. Be there in fifteen." He closed his phone and looked at Gibbs, who was already putting down his fork and getting his jacket. "Dead Marine at Quantico," he said briefly. "Ducky's on his way in." Gibbs nodded. "Let's go, then." "Yeah." Tony pulled out his wallet and laid bills down on the table, enough to cover their meal and leave a tip. He didn't bother counting, and if their waiter got an extra ten in there, so much the better. At least *someone's* night would be happy. They rode out to the crime scene in silence; Tony had been thrown too off-balance by the night so far to risk even opening his mouth. He focused on the drive and tried not to think about what might have happened if he and Gibbs had actually gotten to finish their meal. He was mostly successful. The body was in the middle of an outdoor firing range, sprawled on its back. "Corporal Lance Calhoun," the Marine who'd found the body said. He was too disciplined to let the shock show, but Tony had a feeling he wasn't feeling all too great under that exterior. "He lived down the hall from me. When he didn't show up at dinner, I went looking for him." "What made you look here?" Gibbs asked. The Marine—Bryan Watkins--shrugged. "Lance liked to shoot. He came out here a lot, especially when there was something on his mind." Tony grabbed the camera and began snapping pictures, leaving McGee to set up a perimeter and Kate to sketch the scene. Pictures required the least interaction with any of them and he could do it almost automatically, by now. He crouched down next to Calhoun's body, frowning at something. "Ducky, what's that white stuff on his hands?" he asked, taking pictures of it. "Ah. A good question, and one I'm afraid I can't answer until I get him back home. Mr. Palmer, if you would bag his hands, we can preserve the evidence. You know, this reminds me of a case--" "Time of death, Duck?" Gibbs interrupted. "For our young friend here? I'd say about four, five hours ago. Not long. I'll be able to give you a more precise answer after the autopsy." "Can we get him back yet?" Gibbs asked, looking up at the sky. "It's gonna start raining soon and I'd like to clear this before the weather washes away our evidence." "Oh, certainly. Mr. Palmer, if you would?" Tony snapped photos of the area where Calhoun had been lying and put the camera down, looking around for anything he'd missed. "Time to find his room?" he asked. Gibbs nodded. "And his hallmates. Let's find out what kind of Marine this guy was." They found Calhoun's room easily enough; his hallmates were clustered around, waiting. "Kate, McGee, you two search his room. Tony, you're with me." Gibbs jerked his head and they went to talk to the other students. "Calhoun was quiet," one of them said, hands behind his back. "Never really spoke much. I think he came from Georgia." Another one nodded. "You could hear it in his voice, sir. When he spoke." "What kind of student was he?" Gibbs asked. "The kind that made the rest of us look like slackers, sir," the first one said. "Always had a question, always paid attention. His notes--" He shrugged. "He was real good about lending 'em out if you asked, though. Nice guy, just not all that social." "He like to drink at all? Anything like that?" Tony asked. "No sir!" That was an almost unanimous chorus from all four Marines. "Calhoun never drank. He went out with us for a beer couple times on the weekend but he stuck to ginger ale, mostly." "Sarsaparilla," Tony muttered under his breath. "I don't even think he took aspirin," the first one--Tony was pretty sure his name was Stewart--said. Gibbs glanced at Tony and Tony nodded, making a note on his pad. Just because Calhoun didn't drink in public didn't mean he didn't drink alone. "He ever talk about his family? Anything like that?" Stewart shook his head. "No sir." "He enlisted right out of high school," one of the others--Thomas, if Tony was remembering correctly--said. "The Corps was his life." Tony grimaced at the turn of phrase. "So who saw him last?" Gibbs asked. "That would be me, sir," Thomas said. "I saw him this afternoon, after class--we were studying Arabic together. I asked him if he wanted to study, but he said he had some things to do and he'd see me later." "About what time was that?" Tony asked. Thomas shrugged. "Class ended at two, so right after that." Which meant that he'd been killed fairly shortly after class, depending. Tony just couldn't figure out why no one had seen the body at the firing range. It hadn't looked like Calhoun had been moved, so..."Was anything going on at the firing range?" he asked. Stewart nodded. "They'd been working on the field," he said. "We've been using the alternate range all week. The range is off-limits until next Monday." "Wait a minute." Tony frowned. "Watkins said he looked for Calhoun on the firing range. If it was off-limits, why look there?" "Maybe he got the dates wrong?" Thomas suggested. "It was a last-minute thing and they weren't real good about letting us know. Most of us only found out when we went to the range to practice." If he'd liked to shoot as much as Watkins had said, and they'd been using the alternate range all week, Tony didn't think that really made sense. But something here didn't sit right with him anyway. He made a note on his pad, figuring he'd look into it later. "Thanks for your help," Gibbs said. "We'll be in touch." As the Marines headed off, something occurred to Tony and he hid a snicker. Mostly unsuccessfully, given the way Gibbs glared at him. "Something funny, DiNozzo?" "Sorry, Boss, just--I have a feeling he was glad to get promoted. Can you imagine being Lance Corporal Lance Calhoun?" Tony asked, trying not to laugh out loud. Gibbs smacked him upside the head, but Tony was pleased to notice a smirk on his face. "Kate, McGee," Gibbs said as they re-entered the room. "Find anything?" "Nothing," Kate said with a grimace. "Man was neat as a pin." "He had a laptop--first glance there doesn't appear to be anything interesting on it, but I'll bring it back anyway." McGee shrugged. "Anything unusual in his clothes? Anything like drugs, cash, alcohol, *something*?" Gibbs pressed. Kate shook her head. "Not a thing, Gibbs. I checked the bathroom--he didn't even have a bottle of aspirin. Just toothpaste and a razor." That matched with what Stewart had said. Out of idle curiosity, Tony opened a desk drawer, noting out what looked like an old-fashioned day planner. He pulled on a pair of gloves and picked it up, undoing the Velcro. "Apparently he wasn't all that tech-savvy," he said. "I didn't find a PDA," McGee confirmed. "Not everyone has one." GIbbs looked disgruntled, glaring at the neat room like it was personally to blame. "And not everyone has a thousand dollars in cash in their organizer either," Tony said slowly, taking out a thick packet of bills from the back pocket. He set down the planner, counting the bills quickly. They were all hundreds; he counted seventy of them. "Seven grand," he said, looking at the money in his hands. "What was he doing with this kind of money?" "Find out," Gibbs said curtly. "He have a journal, anything like that?" "Not on paper. Might be something on the laptop. I'll check it out when I get it back to the lab, Boss." McGee looked up. Gibbs nodded. "You do that. Kate, I want to find out who his classmates were, his faculty advisor, all that. Talk to them, see what was going on. It's getting too late to do anything tonight--we'll have to check it all out and start fresh tomorrow morning." The grimace on his face showed what he thought of that idea, but Tony knew he was right. It was almost nine; by the time they got back to the office, began processing everything, got a list of Calhoun's classmates, and all the other little details, it'd be almost midnight. Just another day at the office. As he'd thought, it was just about twelve by the time they finished. McGee had found a journal on Calhoun's computer and was going through it, but there wasn't much. Calhoun referred to people either by nickname or initials and matching up the names was going to be a tedious process. It was too late for Tony to pull bank records or any other kind of financial data; he went through Calhoun's bills, but nothing added up to him having seven grand in cash. He'd have to find out the rest in the morning. "All right," Gibbs said a little after midnight. "Nothing we can do until we can talk to people. Go home, get some sleep. I want you all back here first thing in the morning." Tony stretched, watching Kate and McGee grab their things and leave as fast as they could. He wasn't in any particular hurry to go, not when Gibbs was still sitting at his desk. "You're thinking drugs," he said once they were gone. "Makes sense. We'll see what was on his hands, if there was anything on the cash, but..." Gibbs shook his head. "You got a better explanation?" "Right now, I don't have enough evidence for an alternate theory, no." Tony sighed and got to his feet. "Not much evidence for that one, either." And his own personal loathing of drugs wasn't enough to really help him one way or the other, except to make him despise the case. "Nope." Gibbs leaned back in his chair. "Go home, Tony." "I'll walk out with you." Tony picked up his bag. "Let's go." He smiled to himself at the surprise on Gibbs' face. They'd parked relatively near each other; Tony dug his keys out of his pocket and leaned against his car door, watching Gibbs unlock his own car and open it. "See you in the morning?" he asked, idly toying with his keys. Gibbs nodded. "Yeah." "Maybe tomorrow night we can finish dinner," Tony offered. "If we get the case finished." "I know." The case came first--it likely always would, and Tony knew it. That was just how Gibbs was--how he was too, to be honest. He didn't *think* Gibbs knew about the nights he came back to the office around one in the morning to work, but he wouldn't put it past the man, either. Gibbs looked about to say something, but just shook his head, a faint smile on his lips. "Go home, Tony," he said. "Get some sleep." "You gonna do the same?" Tony raised an eyebrow. "What are you now, my keeper?" Gibbs gave him a skeptical look. "I've been taking care of myself for a long time now. I don't need you telling me when to go to bed." "I could say the same," Tony pointed out. "C'mon, Gibbs. I've called you too many times and woken you up under the boat." "So what, you want to tuck me in?" Tony fought down the instinctive response and counted to ten slowly before trusting himself to speak. "Thought you were the one who wanted to take it slow," he managed. "That wasn't what I meant." To give him credit, Gibbs looked a bit sheepish. "I didn't think so." Tony pushed off his car and took the three steps to stand in front of Gibbs. He raised a hand, stroking the backs of his fingers over Gibbs' cheek. "But that's not to say I wouldn't mind tucking you in sometime," he murmured. "Tony--" Gibbs' voice was a bit strained. "We can't do this here." He was right and Tony knew it. A bit reluctantly, he stepped back, rubbing his thumb over his fingers absently. "Tomorrow," he said, not sure if he was talking to himself or Gibbs. "Yeah." They stood there for a long moment before Tony managed to turn away and get in his car. He started the ignition and turned on the music, sighing a little when he heard 3 Doors Down coming out of his speakers. Rock, angst, and a great melodic line; just what he needed. He waited until he heard Gibbs drive away before dropping his head to the steering wheel and letting out a deep breath. It was going to be a long night. Thankfully, the dreams left him alone and he managed to get about five hours sleep before it was time to get up and back to the office. It wasn't much, but he'd worked on less before and likely would again. Kate arrived about ten minutes after he did, looking a bit bleary-eyed and rumpled. "Sleep well, Katie?" Tony teased. She glared at him. "Shut up, DiNozzo. What've you got to be so cheerful about, anyway? If we can't crack this case today, I doubt Gibbs will let us go home." "If we can't crack the case today, no one deserves to go home," Gibbs said shortly, walking in. "Tony--I want to know everything there is to know about Calhoun's finances. How'd a Marine corporal end up with seven grand in cash in his desk?" "On it, Boss." Gibbs nodded. "McGee!" "Y-yeah, Boss?" McGee poked his head up from behind his monitor warily. "Anything on that computer, I want to know about it. He wasn't that tech-savvy--doesn't mean there's nothing there." "Abby's got it, Boss." "So go find her and find the damn computer, McGee." Gibbs glared in his direction and McGee all- but- ran to the elevator. "Kate, you're with me. Let's go talk to his classmates." The two of them headed out, leaving Tony alone in the office. He indulged himself a little by imagining how things *could* have gone if he'd actually offered to tuck Gibbs in...and then he sighed and got to work. Two hours later, he threw his pen down on his desk in disgust and got up, heading for Abby's lab. Maybe she'd have something more than he did. If she didn't, he was sunk, because he was coming up blank. Calhoun's finances were exactly what he'd expect from a corporal with no dependents and no real outstanding debt. If he'd had anything to do with drugs, it had been completely in cash--which wasn't unusual, but nothing in his bank records indicated he'd made any kind of deposits or withdrawals for large sums of money. There weren't any hidden accounts, no safe deposit boxes, nothing. From what Tony could find, he was as clean as his room. And that *really* didn't sit well with him. Not when he'd found seven grand in Calhoun's desk and some kind of white powder on his hands. God, he hated it when it was drugs. "So what's up?" he asked, strolling into Abby's lab. She had the music blaring and was frowning at something in the microscope. "Something hinky," she answered absently. "Ducky sent me a sample of some weird stuff on Calhoun's hands. It matches whatever's on the money, but so far I haven't been able to figure out what it is." "Try baby powder," Tony said absently. "Or coke." "Baby powder?" Abby blinked. "Dealers use it to cut the drugs. It clings. So does the coke." Tony shrugged, fighting back memories of shopping at Costco for Johnson & Johnson's. "I was running tests for drugs, but there was barely enough to test for anything. Lemme see if talcum powder shows up." She went back over to her machine, pressing some buttons. "Hm. Do we know if any of Calhoun's classmates were Welsh?" McGee asked. Tony blinked. "Welsh? No, but I can call Kate. Why?" "Last couple of weeks he has a lot of references to someone he calls the Welshman. He's upset about something he saw or heard--it's all vague, but he was definitely worried about something." McGee shrugged. "Last entry I found was the day before he was killed. He says he spoke to the Welshman and he'd have to see how it played out, but he was hoping it didn't have to go to the sarge--I'm guessing that's Staff Sergeant Wesley?" "Probably." Tony shoved his hands in his pockets. "So either this Welshman saw something Calhoun did and was threatening to report him, or the other way around." "Hm." Abby pushed her chair over to them. "Residue on Calhoun's hands was mostly baby powder, with some coke. The traces of coke were so faint I had to reprogram my baby to look for them." "Odds are you'll find the same on the money," Tony told her. "Der." She gave him a *look* and peeked over McGee's shoulder. "Welshman?" "Don't ask me." Tony sighed. "Did Ducky find any signs of drug abuse on Calhoun?" Abby shook her head. "Didn't say. I'll call him." She picked up her phone and hit a button. "Yo, Ducky!" "Ah, Abby. Have you found out what that substance was?" "Baby powder. And coke, although not much. You find anything on Calhoun to indicate he was a drug user?" "No, nothing like that. Nasal passages were clear, no track marks anywhere on his body. I'll send up hair and blood samples for you, but I doubt you'll find anything. Frankly, he was in perfect health." "Until someone shot him. Thanks, Duck!" Abby hung up and turned to Tony with a shrug. "That help at all?" "Unfortunately not." Tony sighed. "He didn't have to be a user to be a dealer, and most dealers won't use their own product anyway." He knew that only too well. Marcos had never—no. He wasn't going to think about that. Not now. Not ever. "Good point." Abby wrinkled her nose. "I'll see if I can find prints on the money. Gonna take a while, though. Seventy bills? Ouch." "Do what you can, Abs. I'm sure McGee will be happy to help out." Tony grinned. "Anything else on the computer, Probie?" McGee shook his head. "No. Email, but there's nothing in there aside from correspondence with his professors and a couple students. Nothing in the history of his browser--class stuff, news sites, and a couple of webcomics. He had a spreadsheet to manage his money--" "Print that out for me," Tony interrupted. "I'll match it against his bank records." "Sure. And other than that, there's nothing." "What about the organizer? Anything in there aside from the money?" "Class schedule and notes about assignments. That's it." McGee shrugged. "This guy was so clean he practically squeaked." "Reminds me of you, Probie." Tony snagged the printout. "I'll check with Kate on the Welsh thing." The records from the alternate firing range were waiting from him when he got back to his desk; he dropped into his seat and flipped through them, looking for Calhoun's name. As he'd thought, Calhoun had signed in every day that week, ever since the main firing range had become off-limits. One more loose end. Tony glared at the ledger for a moment before picking up the phone to call Kate. Welsh?" Kate sounded about as confused as Tony felt. "I can look, but...why?" "Calhoun had a lot of references to someone he called the Welshman. Any idea who that might be?" Tony spun around in his chair, toying with the phone cord. "No, not a clue. I'll send you the list of his classmates--you can background them, see if you find anything." "Will do. You two making any progress out there?" "Not much. His professors remember him as being quiet, studious--didn't speak up much but always had an answer when called on. Classmates said much the same." Kate sighed. "We've got two more to talk to, and...there's the list." Just as she said it, Tony's email dinged. "Got it. Thanks." "Find something, okay? Gibbs is on his fifth cup of coffee already." Tony winced. "I'll do my best." "Thanks." Kate hung up. By the time Gibbs and Kate got back to the office, Tony was ready to scream. He hadn't found anything in the list Kate had sent him--no one anywhere had any kind of Welsh blood. The closest he'd gotten was Ewan Murphy, whose parents were from Scotland. But somehow he didn't think someone as anal as Calhoun would make that kind of mistake. "Anything?" Kate asked. "Nope. No one Welsh, from Wales, nothing. You?" "Closest we got was one of Calhoun's classmates saying he was having what looked like a really intense discussion with Thomas day before yesterday." "Thomas is black, so..." Tony frowned. "What's his first name?" "Devon." Kate shook her head. "He's no more got Welsh blood in him than you do." "Maybe it was a play on his name somehow?" McGee offered. "Devon Thomas..." Kate tapped a finger against her lips, thinking. "Wait. Devon Thomas. *Dylan* Thomas, the Welsh poet." "You think Thomas was the Welshman?" Tony asked skeptically. "You have another idea?" Kate retorted. "No, but that's a fair amount of a stretch." "It's also about all we've got, unless you found something I don't know about," Gibbs said pointedly. "Residue on his hands was baby powder and faint traces of coke. Same on the cash. Abby's printing the bills now, but that's going to take a while." Tony shrugged. "Nothing in his finances that was out of the ordinary, and I looked." "What about the computer?" McGee shook his head. "Nothing, Boss. All I have is a journal--the last week had a lot of references to the Welshman, but nothing specific. Calhoun was worried about something, but he never says what." "Of course not," Gibbs said with a grimace. "Why make our lives easy?" "Well, I have something that might help," Abby said, walking in. "I'm about halfway done with printing the bills, but none of them have Calhoun's fingerprints on them. However, there *are* prints from a Corporal Devon Thomas. He sound familiar to anyone?" "Thanks, Abs," Gibbs said with a faint smile. She flashed him a grin back and skipped out of the room. "Get a search authorization," Gibbs told Tony. "Let's see if our Welshman's hiding anything else in his room." Tony nodded and picked up the phone. Thomas' room wasn't quite as neat as Calhoun's had been. He did have a PDA, along with a laptop; McGee took both. Tony looked around for anything resembling cash or drugs--he didn't find either, but..."Hey, Boss," he said, standing up. "Look what I found." "What's a single corporal doing with an economy-size container of unscented baby powder?" Gibbs asked. "Don't know, but I'm willing to bet Abby can match it to the powder on Calhoun's hands." Tony bagged the container carefully. "I'm starting to think our dead corporal was as clean as he looked." Gibbs nodded. "Bring him in for questioning." "On it." Tony grabbed his gun and his jacket and headed out the door. He made it to the car before letting himself slump against the side for a moment. But only a moment. "C'mon, DiNozzo," he muttered to himself. "Let's go." Thomas sat upright in the chair, hands neatly folded on the table, face giving nothing away--yet. Gibbs took a seat across from him, the brown folder landing on the table with a slap. "You have an infant we don't know about, Corporal?" he asked mildly. "No sir." "Then what was a giant-size bottle of baby powder doing in your room?" Thomas stared straight ahead and didn't answer. Gibbs shrugged. "We'll come back to that, then." He leaned back in his chair. "You read poetry?" That got a response; Thomas blinked and looked at him warily. "Poetry? No sir." "Did Calhoun?" "Some, yeah. He liked Eliot. And Thomas--Dylan Thomas. Made me read a couple of his once--said that since my name was so similar, I should read some of it." Thomas shrugged. "Never did see what the fuss was about." "That explains the Welshman," Tony murmured. Next to him, Kate nodded. "So what did he catch you doing?" Gibbs asked. "Hand-off? Packaging the merchandise?" "I don't know what you're talking about," Thomas said evenly. "Then how did your fingerprints end up on seven thousand dollars in cash?" Thomas looked uneasy, but kept quiet. "Cash, I might add, that had traces of coke on it. And before you say anything else--Calhoun's prints were *not* on that money." "Maybe he used gloves," Thomas offered. He was starting to crack; Tony could see it. Thank God. He really, *really* didn't want this case to go on any more than it had to. "Still doesn't explain how your prints got on there. Or why the baby powder we found on the cash matches the stuff from your room." Gibbs stood up, leaning forward on the table. "He catch you dealing?" he asked softly. "He was going to turn you in, wasn't he? And you couldn't let that happen. So you brought him out to the abandoned firing range and you shot him." Thomas swallowed. "I want a deal," he said roughly. "And why the hell should I even bother talking to JAG about that?" Gibbs shook his head. "We've got you, Thomas. Murder compounded by drug charges--you'll be lucky if you're only looking at life without parole." "Get me the possibility of parole and I'll give you my supplier and the people I dealt to." "What makes you think we won't find that on our own?" "You won't." Thomas shook his head. "And I want a lawyer before I say anything else." "Good idea." Gibbs didn't bother hiding the disgust on his face. "Tony, read him his article 31 rights and book him," he said to the window. It would take the rest of the day for Thomas to find a lawyer and for said lawyer to get caught up on his case. In the meantime..."Let's see if we can't find out who he was supplying him," Gibbs said when Tony came back to the office. "If we don't have to make a deal, so much the better. McGee, you and Kate go through his stuff, see what you find. DiNozzo, you're with me. Let's go talk to *his* professors and classmates." Tony grabbed his jacket and followed Gibbs down to the car. "You think we'll find anything, Boss?" he asked, tossing Gibbs the keys. "Calhoun did." "Not really an answer, Boss." Gibbs glanced at him as he merged onto the highway. "I don't know," he admitted, sounding tired. "But it's worth a shot." Tony nodded. "Yeah." Gibbs had one hand on the wheel and one hand on the gearshift; probably a leftover habit from the days when everything was stick shift. Tony remembered his dad doing the same thing, the few times he'd been allowed to sit in the front seat. Impulsively, he rested his hand on top of Gibbs'. "We got the killer, at least," he said quietly. "Yeah. We did." Gibbs looked down at their hands for a moment. "Now let's get the drugs." To Tony's complete and utter surprise, Gibbs turned his hand over under Tony's, linking their fingers. They drove the rest of the way to Quantico in silence and it wasn't until Gibbs pulled onto base that he let go of Tony's hand. "Let's go find something," he said, parking the car. "Yeah." Unfortunately, it looked like Thomas had been right. They didn't find much. His faculty advisor--Jane Marquis--was so stunned to find out what he'd done that she nearly threw up. "He--" She shook her head. "He wasn't the best student I had, or the smartest, but his work was solid. I don't understand why he'd do something like this. Are you sure?" "He confessed, Dr. Marquis," Gibbs said evenly. "He had a supplier on-base--do you know anything about that?" She looked aghast. "No, God no. The last time I knew anything about drugs I was a freshman in college and it was '68." Marquis smiled a little wryly. "And I didn't know much then, either." Marquis could have been lying, but Tony didn't think so. He glanced at Gibbs and caught the miniscule nod that told him Gibbs thought the same. "Do you know anything about who he hung out with, who his friends were, anything like that?" Tony asked. "No, not really. I didn't see Devon all that much outside meetings or class. I'm sorry." She shrugged. "Thanks for your time." Tony put away his PDA and he and Gibbs left. The rest of the afternoon and evening didn't yield much more. Thomas was apparently a loner; everyone they spoke to was about as surprised as Marquis had been. Even the men he hung out with had had no idea what he got up to. "He never seemed to have all that much cash, sir," Stewart said, shaking his head. "I mean, he always had enough for a few beers, and he'd buy a round when it was his turn, but he never had all that much on him that I saw." "He had to keep the cash where he kept the coke," Tony said in the car on their way back. "Only thing that makes sense." Gibbs nodded. "Question is, where'd he keep the coke? There aren't too many places on a damned Marine base you can hide a few keys of cocaine." "He'll tell us, if--" "Do *not* go there, DiNozzo. I'm not making a deal with this scumbag if I can help it." Gibbs' voice was grim and Tony winced inwardly. "Sorry, Boss," he said quietly. "Maybe McGee or Kate found something." "Let's hope so." Unfortunately, they hadn't. "Whatever he knows, it's not on paper or on his computer," McGee reported, shaking his head. "I doubt he wrote any of it down." "Makes sense," Kate added. "If he did, there'd be a chance of someone finding out." "So we've got nothing?" Tony asked. "So far," Kate admitted. "And he's not talking without his lawyer." "Great." Tony sighed and dropped into his seat. "We came up empty too," he said tiredly. Kate made a face. "I hate to say it, Gibbs, but--" "Then don't," Gibbs interrupted. "We came up empty today. Doesn't mean we will tomorrow." Tony looked at Kate, who grimaced back. They both knew the chances of finding anything were all but nil; if they hadn't gotten anywhere today, they weren't going to get anywhere tomorrow. But neither one of them was about to tell that to Gibbs. "Go home," Gibbs said with a sigh. "Nothing more we can do tonight." Tony lingered, watching Kate and McGee head for the elevator. Kate shot him a questioning look which he returned as blandly as he could. "You want to finish that dinner?" he asked Gibbs once they were alone. Food, drink…something to wash the taste of this case out of his mouth. Anything would be good. "Not hungry. But I could go for a cup of coffee," Gibbs said, not-quite asking. "Coffee's good--but I refuse to drink yours." Tony grinned and grabbed his keys. "C'mon. There's this great little place near my place, if that's okay?" Gibbs nodded. "Sure." Coffee turned into coffee and a brownie for Tony and a muffin for Gibbs. "I need to call Jennifer tomorrow," Tony said quietly, looking down. "The funeral was yesterday, but with the case..." "She'll understand, Tony." "I know. I just wish I could have been there." Tony sighed. "I made a donation to Make-A-Wish for them," he admitted. "It was what Jennifer said they wanted, instead of flowers." "Good." Gibbs nodded, looking at his coffee cup. "It's a good foundation." "I know." Tony picked at a piece of his brownie. "Do you--" He grinned. "You want to come back to my place?" he asked impulsively. He didn't miss the flare of desire in Gibbs' eyes. But--"Want is one thing, but...I don't think I should," Gibbs said, sounding regretful. "Not tonight." "Okay." He hadn't really expected Gibbs to say yes, anyway, and if he was disappointed he had only himself to blame. "Raincheck?" Gibbs offered with a smile. "I'll hold you to that." Or just erase the last two words of that sentence, Tony thought wryly. "Good." Gibbs grinned and leaned back in his chair. "And now you need to go home before I lose my resolve and follow you." "Or before I lose my self-control and drag you with me," Tony countered. He stood, stretching a little. "See you tomorrow morning, Boss." "Yeah." Gibbs smiled a little. "You will." As Tony walked away, he caught one last glance of Gibbs sitting at the little table, leaning back in his chair, looking at the insulated paper cup in front of him. He smiled a little and tucked it away for future reference. He didn't dream that night. The next morning, he got in after Gibbs but before McGee--Kate caught him in the elevator on the way up. "We've got trouble," she said, adjusting her purse. "How so?" "JAG's here. Remember Lt. Commander Coleman? I saw her getting out of her car as I pulled in." "Oh, hell." Tony groaned and thumped his head against the elevator wall. "Gibbs is *not* going to be pleased." They stepped off the elevator to find the lawyer standing in front of Gibbs' desk. "Make the deal," she said tightly. "What?" Gibbs looked at her, startled. "Why the hell?" "I don't like it any better than you do. But those above me are *not* pleased with the idea of a drug ring at the CCE. They want it shut down. Now. An investigation'll take too long and they would rather keep this as quiet as possible." Coleman grimaced. "And…there's the racial issue. Thomas is black. Calhoun was white. You do the political math." "I don't do politics," Gibbs all-but-growled at her. "I do. Make the deal." "So we're going to offer a murderer the possibility of parole so they can sweep this under the rug?" Gibbs demanded. Coleman's mouth tightened. "I said I didn't like it." She folded her arms over her chest. "Make the deal, Gibbs. Find out what he knows." Thomas turned out to know quite a lot--and with the possibility of parole after twenty-five years, was willing to tell most of it. "Harry Salzman," he said, looking at his hands. "He's a professor at the CCE--teaches Hebrew and Middle Eastern history. He brought the drugs in, gave them to me. I got them off-base once a week and met a contact who sold them on the streets--all over, I think. He gave me sixty percent, I gave Salzman thirty percent of that." "How'd Calhoun figure into it?" Gibbs asked. "He saw Salzman give me the drugs, followed me to where I was keeping them. It's an old storage space on base--no one uses it now. He told me I could either turn myself in or he'd go to the staff sarge. I told him I wanted to explain, that it wasn't what he thought. I arranged to meet him on the firing range and..." Thomas shrugged. "You know the rest." "Who was your contact off-base?" "Jake Monze. Goes by J-Mon. I've got a beeper number." The rest of the day passed in a daze, or at least it seemed that way to Tony. They turned Salzman and Monze over to the local LEOs, found the drugs on base and dealt with them accordingly, wrote up their reports, and in general tied up the loose ends. It was pretty routine, up to and including the point where they found out that Monze's client base consisted mostly of kids and runaways. Tony had to remind himself that punching a wall would accomplish absolutely nothing, save hurting himself. It didn't help. By the time he was done with the reports and loose ends and got to leave, he was ready to fall down. He went home and stepped into the shower, clothes piled haphazardly on the floor. The water ran as hot as he could stand it, scalding his skin; he braced himself against the wall and let it cascade over him. First kids--now this. God, it was like every nightmare he'd ever had come back to visit him. And he knew Gibbs had noticed, had seen the tightness around his jaw, the shadows under his eyes. Gibbs hadn't asked, but...it was only a matter of time. Tony sighed and reached for the shampoo. He had to tell Gibbs, no matter how much he didn't want to. He just prayed he'd still be in one piece at the end of it. By the time he got out of the shower and dried off, it was after ten. He didn't bother pulling on clothes; just crawled into bed and pulled the comforter over his head, willing himself not to dream. Four hours later, he woke sweating and shaking, heart pounding as he fought to remember where he was. "God," he mumbled, fighting to turn over. He'd been so exhausted when he'd fallen asleep that his body didn't want to move now, despite the adrenaline flooding his system. It made for a very upsetting combo--his brain was screaming at him to get up and run, while his body was refusing to lift a muscle. One or the other was going to have to give and he had no idea which one it would be. Eventually, the panic subsided. Sweat cooled and dried on his skin and he managed to get his breathing to something approximating normal. His heart stopped thundering in his veins and slowed enough that he could drift off again. Not that he really wanted to, but he was too exhausted to stay awake. When he opened his eyes again, the sun was bright and the clock by his bed said it was ten-thirty. Tony blinked in surprise; it was rare for him to sleep well after a nightmare and eight and a half hours was practically unheard of. He stretched, rolling over to bury his face in the pillow for a moment before picking up the phone. "Gibbs." Tony hid a snicker. "Hey Boss," he said as lightly as he could manage. "You, uh, got any plans today?" "Nothing that can't be changed. Why?" Tony heard a swallow and wondered what number cup that was today. Three? Four? "You want lunch?" "That'd be good. Where?" Tony closed his eyes. This was the hard part. "Why don't you just c'mon over here?" "You cook, DiNozzo?" Gibbs sounded amused. "I'm Italian, Boss. Even I can't screw up pasta. One okay with you?" "Yeah, that's fine." "Cool. See you then." Tony hung up and dropped his face into the pillow again. When Gibbs arrived at one, Tony had managed to get out of bed, shower, get dressed in faded jeans and a green shirt, and start making lunch. He was barefoot, but somehow he didn't think Gibbs would mind. Then again, he didn't think Gibbs would really be noticing his feet after lunch. "What are you making?" Gibbs asked, following him back into the small kitchen. "Nothing fancy. Spaghetti bolognese. And I cheated and got one of those pre-made loaves of garlic bread. It's in the oven." Tony shrugged and stirred the pasta. "Smells good," Gibbs said, peeking into the saucepan. "You make that yourself?" Tony laughed and shook his head. "Nah. It's from a jar, but I jazzed it up a little. Had a girlfriend once who was really into that sort of thing. She used to do it all the time--get stuff from jars or cans or whatever and just add some stuff to make it better. I learned out of self-defense." The timer dinged and he checked the spaghetti before picking up the pot and draining it in the sink. Steam billowed around his face and he blinked it away. "You hungry?" he asked, adding a couple spoonfuls of sauce to the pasta to keep it from sticking. "You did invite me over for lunch," Gibbs said dryly. "Good point." Tony grinned and served them bowls of pasta before slicing the garlic bread and setting it on the table. He was stalling and he knew it, but maybe Gibbs didn't. "So what do you need to tell me that you couldn't do in public?" And then again, maybe not. He twirled a few strands of spaghetti around his fork. "We don't even get to finish lunch first?" he asked. "What is it, Tony?" That wasn't Gibbs' impatient 'spit it out' voice, that was the new one. The 'I care and I'm concerned' voice. Tony set his fork down carefully. "You asked me why I left Philly and I didn't tell you. Still want the story?" Gibbs nodded and Tony hid a snicker. Of course he did. He was Gibbs. Find the truth and all that. Tony sighed, pulling one knee up to his chest. "Six months before I left, I went undercover. There was a task force there trying to break a drug ring--I was in homicide, but we were pulling detectives from all over. They'd killed more than a few people, so. This ring was ruthless, efficient, and mostly made up of Italians. I'd been working undercover since I got there, mostly, so my name and picture weren't well known. The Powers That Be thought I'd be perfect to go in." Tony shrugged. "So I did. Left Tony DiNozzo behind and became Mateo Vespucci, ambitious drug runner with a fondness for expensive clothes and women." He looked down at his knee. "It went well, for the first few months. I worked my way into the inner circle. Pissed off some of the flunkies, got the attention of those in charge, and kept compiling hard evidence. Pictures, tapes, anything I could get. I met my handler once a week and passed on everything I could, but mostly I was on my own. Anyway, by about month four I was considered a lieutenant. By month five I had the ear of Anthony Marcos, the head of the whole thing. He liked me--he didn't *trust* me, because I was ambitious and about as ruthless as he was, but he liked me." Gibbs nodded silently, giving Tony the strength to continue. "Marcos had three daughters. Two of them had moved away, but the third--Christina--still lived in the area. Her husband David was part of Marcos' circle and they had two children. A boy, Gregory, and a girl. Julia. "Marcos had a big family dinner every Sunday. You knew how important you were by if you got invited or not. I started getting invitations about month five. So I went--you did *not* say no to him--and I met Christina, and David, and the kids. Julia was about five when I met her. Beautiful little girl with long brown hair, big brown eyes...she was absolutely adorable. And she liked me, which pretty much cemented my bond with Marcos then and there. He loved his grandkids." Tony pressed his lips together. "Two weeks after I met them, I found out how *much*." He heard the sharp intake of breath from Gibbs but didn't look up. If he looked at Gibbs he'd never be able to finish this. "See, Marcos liked me and knew that his grandkids liked me too. So I got told to babysit a couple of nights, which was fine. I mean, I was spending time with the guy's family. You didn't *get* much closer than that. The more time I spent with them, the more I could get him to listen to me." His hands were ice-cold. "David was about three, so he didn't say much. We played and colored. And then I put Julia to bed and she asked me if I was going to climb in with her the way Grandpapa did." Tony swallowed. "He'd been molesting her for years. She didn't remember a time when he didn't. And yeah, she was five, but..." "What happened?" Gibbs' voice was too quiet. Tony closed his eyes. "I went to my handler, told him what I'd learned. Told him I had to get out, we had to arrest the bastard. Drugs were one thing, but this--I couldn't let this go on. I couldn't sit there and smile at the guy and flirt with the ladies he kept around when I knew that he was raping his five-year-old granddaughter. And for all I know, he'd done it to his daughter. Probably had." He exhaled deeply, looking up at the ceiling. "My handler checked in and was told that the operation was too important. We couldn't jeopardize bringing the ring down for one little girl. I was to do nothing, they told me. Maintain cover." Tony shook his head. "Maintain cover," he repeated bitterly. "Did you?" "God, Gibbs, what kind of man do you think I am?" Tony snapped. "No, I didn't maintain cover. I turned in my resignation, threw my badge in the face on my lieutenant, along with my gun, and left. I called CPS and gave them an anonymous tip about the abuse going on in that household, backed up with just enough information to make them take it seriously. Mateo Vespucci disappeared and I went to Baltimore because it wasn't Pennsylvania and I thought maybe I could be a cop I could stand to look in the mirror. My lieu wouldn't give me a reference but my record spoke for itself." "What happened to the drug ring?" Gibbs asked quietly. "They brought it down. Anthony Marcos was arrested for child molestation and rape and without him, it fell apart." Tony heard the bitter triumph in his voice and shook his head. "They asked me to be on the Baltimore drug task force. I turned it down. I couldn't--I couldn't do it again. Not so soon." "So why do you love undercover work so much? If this bothered you--" "Because I don't have to be me!" Tony threw at him. "Because when I'm undercover, I don't have to close my eyes and see Julia. Or Peter. Or Margaret--oh, I didn't tell you about her, did I? She was another one of our circle growing up. Always wore long sleeves, even in July. Fell down a lot, too. Or so they say." Tony shoved his chair back, pacing. "We were all fucked up, Gibbs. All of us. Peter's father raped him, Margaret's mother beat her, Laura tried so hard to please her wannabe-model mother that she was bulimic by thirteen, and I--I still can't stand the smell of Scotch. My father used to call me into his study, have me fix him a drink, and then he'd sit there and very calmly rip me to shreds, tell me everything I'd done wrong in the past two days, or day, or however long it'd been. I got a ninety-five on a test and it wasn't good enough. I won the race at school, I should have been faster. And when I wasn't the little robot he wanted, he shipped me off to boarding school." Tony pressed the base of his palms against his eyes. "God. Most of the time I don't think about it, you know? Most of the time I'm fine. Repression is wonderful. Don't let the shrinks tell you otherwise." He looked up, flinching instinctively from the cold rage on Gibbs' face. He'd known this was going to happen. He'd known--God, how could anyone hearing that story *not* hate him after? He hadn't stayed to help, he'd made one phone call and left. He hadn't hung around to see what had happened. Julia was on his conscience, just like Peter. Just like all the kids he couldn't save. "So now you know," he said wearily. "You want my resignation, it'll be on your desk Monday." Gibbs rose and Tony closed his eyes. "Don't, Gibbs. Rip me apart later. Just--just go." "Tony--" "Just *go*, Gibbs. There are two people in this room who hate me right now and I'd really, really rather there only be one." "There is only one," Gibbs said quietly. "I don't hate you. I'm not mad at you." "Don't fucking pity me!" Tony snarled at him. "You think I do?" "I think you need to leave." Tony managed to look at him. "I think I can't deal with whatever it is you're feeling right now, because whatever it is, it's not something I want." Gibbs stepped closer to him. "You're wrong," he said evenly. "I don't hate you, Tony, and I sure as hell don't pity you. Yeah, you had a fucked up childhood. So did thousands of kids. You were trapped in a bad situation in Philly and you dealt with it the best you could. I'm angry at the situation, not you." "Don't patronize me. Don't--" Tony shook his head. "Don't pat me on the head and tell me you understand, that it'll be all right, because it won't. It isn't. You honestly think the first time Robert Espinoza touched Grace was three weeks ago? You think the kids Monze sold drugs to aren't going to find it somewhere else?" "You can't take it on yourself." "Gibbs, just *go*," Tony pleaded. "God, just leave me alone." There was silence for a long moment. "This isn't over," Gibbs said quietly before he turned to go. Tony managed to wait until the door closed behind him before sinking to the floor. "Yeah," he whispered. "It is." He let himself sit on the floor for a few minutes, head resting against his knees, fighting back the anger and the helplessness and the depression. But there was only so long he could let himself wallow before habit kicked in and he pushed himself up with a groan. As he scrubbed the pots from lunch and put away the food and ran the disposal, he didn't let himself think about what it had meant that Gibbs had left. "Shoulda known better, Anthony," he muttered, turning on the disposal. "You shoulda known." He thought about running before dismissing the idea; thought about weight training before dismissing that as well. Movies were too passive, TV didn't interest him, and there was no one he wanted to see right now. So he gave into entropy for once and fell back into bed, sprawling across the mattress with his face pressed into the pillow. He woke to the feeling of light fingers stroking through his hair and down the back of his neck. Tony sighed and leaned into the caress, waking up slowly. There was a warm body against his, an arm wrapped around his waist; he felt a heartbeat under his ear and smiled a little. Then it clicked and he yanked himself out of Gibbs' arms, rolling off the bed and coming up on his knees next to the side, looking at the man. "What the hell?" he demanded. "How'd you get here--and what the hell was that?" Gibbs sat up. He'd taken off his shoes, but was otherwise fully dressed. "Emergency key, Tony," he said by way of explanation. Shit. Of course. They all had them. "You could have knocked," he said defensively. "I did. You didn't answer, and I wasn't going to let you run away from me." Okay. Fine. But--"What the hell was that?" he demanded again. Gibbs lookd at him thoughtfully. "You have nightmares often?" he asked. Oh, God. Tony dropped his head to the comforter. "What did you see?" "Enough. You quieted down when I touched you." "I'm amazed I didn't wake up," Tony muttered. "I'm considering it a good thing," Gibbs said thoughtfully. "If you woke up every time I touched you, sleeping together would be a pain in the ass." "Gibbs, we're not sleeping together." "With you there and me here, no. Doesn't mean it's not going to happen." "I don't believe you!" Tony got to his feet. "Gibbs, I told you it was over." Gibbs slid off the bed, standing on the opposite side. "And I told you it wasn't." He raised an eyebrow. "What did you think, Tony? That you'd be able to start something with me and hide that much of your past? What did you think would happen when I found out? If you were so certain I'd walk out once I knew about Philly, once I knew about your childhood--why even bother?" "I don't--" Tony shook his head. "I never meant for you to know about Philly," he said quietly. "There's a lot I don't know about your background--why should you know everything about mine?" "You wanted me to know. You invited me over to tell me. Are you going to deny that, too?" "I--" Tony shut his mouth. "Maybe I did, but...that doesn't change things." "Why not?" "It doesn't, okay? It--" Tony shook his head again. "It--damnit, Gibbs, I'm sorry. I thought maybe this time--but it's not different, it's never going to be different. I'm a screwup and I'm sorry that I let you think--" He pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "Tony." Gibbs' voice sounded closer now; Tony dropped his hands to see Gibbs standing in front of him. "Shut up." Any thoughts Tony had of arguing, of questioning--hell, any thoughts he'd had at all vanished when Gibbs kissed him, hands cupping his face. Gibbs' mouth was warm and tasted of coffee and mint and his hands were gentle and strong on Tony's face, holding him close. "You did what you had to do," Gibbs murmured against his lips when the kiss ended. "I don't blame you for that." "You don't understand," Tony whispered. He tried to pull away but Gibbs drew him in closer. "I left, Gibbs. I ran." "You got yourself out of an untenable situation and did the best you could to deal with it. You got her out of there, Tony." Gibbs sighed. "I've been in situations like that myself. You did what you had to do." "You ever going to tell me about some of those situations?" Tony asked, raising an eyebrow. "Someday." Gibbs kissed him lightly and stepped back enough to meet his eyes. "When I can." He just nodded. "So. Um." "It's not over unless you really want it to be," Gibbs said quietly. "I'm not walking out over this." "Do we even have something to be over?" Tony retorted, trying to recover some of his composure. "I don't know about you, but when I have sex with someone I generally consider it more than a blip on my radar," Gibbs pointed out. "Oh. Right." Tony looked down at his feet sheepishly. "I don't--yeah. Not with you." He sighed. "But--Gibbs, I'm just going to screw this up." "You don't know that. Hell, Tony, I'm the one who's been divorcedthree times," Gibbs said dryly. "I'd say the odds are about even." "I don't even know anything about--" Tony shook his head, gesturing at the bed wordlessly. "That." Warm fingers tipped his chin up a little. "I do," Gibbs said, voice quiet and full of promise. "And I'll show you." Tony's mouth went dry and his dick got hard so fast it nearly hurt. "Gibbs--I--" He swallowed, gathering the shreds of his courage. "Show me," he whispered. "Please." Gibbs' fingers slid into his hair, cupping the back of his scalp. "It's not that different," Gibbs told him. "Yeah, it is," Tony said, swallowing. "It's--" He laughed suddenly. "Not to sound like one of those romance novels Kate thinks I don't know about, but it is different." He looked down sheepishly. "It's you." "Do I want to know how you know about the novels Kate keeps in the bottom of her desk?" "Do I want to know how *you* know?" Tony countered. "I know everything. It's my job." Gibbs smiled and ran his fingers down the back of Tony's neck; Tony couldn't help but shiver. "You like that?" Gibbs murmured, doing it again. "Hm?" "Yeah." And Tony had to close his eyes because Gibbs was petting him, stroking his hair and his neck like he was some kind of cat and it felt so good he wanted to melt into it and never move again. "Shoulda known you'd be a sensualist," Gibbs said teasingly. "We're not all made to be creatures of intellect," Tony managed, dropping his head forward. "I didn't say it was a bad thing." Tony felt the air shift as Gibbs moved around behind him; his hands ran down Tony's arms and a kiss ghosted over the nape of his neck. Tony shuddered and let Gibbs peel his T-shirt off, Gibbs' hands sliding over his skin as he did. "I promised myself that the next time we did this I'd get you out of the clothes," Gibbs admitted, kissing Tony's shoulder. "Do I get to return the favor?" "In a bit." Gibbs nipped his earlobe. "But I've wanted to do this for a while now, Tony. Let me." "You--" Tony turned around in surprise. "I thought you--" "I didn't let myself think about you like that, no. Or I tried not to." Gibbs smiled wryly. "Even my self-control isn't perfect." "Don't tell Kate." "Let's leave Kate out of this, okay?" Gibbs ran his fingers down Tony's throat and over his chest. "Just you and me right now. Just this." "I can work with that," Tony said softly. "Good." Gibbs kissed him again, long and deep and God, so good Tony didn't even realize Gibbs had moved them until his legs hit the bed and he fell backwards, pulling Gibbs down with him. Gibbs landed on him and Tony's breath whooshed out of his lungs in an involuntary grunt. He couldn't help it; he laughed, leaning up to kiss Gibbs again. "You think this is funny?" Gibbs all-but-growled, and if Tony hadn't seen the glint of humor in his eyes he wasn't sure what his reaction would have been. As it was, he grinned. "I think this is insane," he corrected, pulling Gibbs back on the bed with him until they were sprawled out on top of the covers. "C'mon, Gibbs. You can't tell me it isn't." "Guess I can't, at that," Gibbs admitted with a smile. "But sometimes sanity isn't all it's cracked up to be." "Isn't that supposed to be--" Tony groaned, forgetting what he'd been about to say as Gibbs nipped his throat, his mouth warm and his tongue dragging over the skin and God, how the hell did Gibbs know all his hot spots like this? "It's those turtlenecks," Gibbs said against his skin, tugging Tony's earlobe between his teeth. "You always wear them the night after you've had a good date." "How do you know when I've had a good date?" Tony demanded breathlessly. "You whistle." Tony could feel Gibbs' smile against his skin. "You always walk in whistling." Tony pushed himself back, propping himself up on his elbows. "You gonna make me whistle on Monday?" he asked. "No." Gibbs crawled up his body, skin sliding over skin and Tony wanted the rest of their clothes gone so badly he could taste it. "I'm going to make you scream this weekend instead." "Oh." It was all he could manage. He fell back against the pillows, swallowing hard as Gibbs' hands skimmed over his ribs, thumbs brushing his nipples. "You--um--gonna let me touch you at any point?" "Eventually." Gibbs bent his head and pressed a kiss to Tony's stomach. "But not just yet." "Always have to be in control, don't you?" Tony asked lightly. Gibbs looked up at him, a smile playing around his lips. "We can discuss kinks later." Oh. God. Tony shuddered all over at the images caused by that simple statement. He barely even noticed that Gibbs' hands were at his waistband, unbuttoning the worn fabric of his jeans and pulling the zipper down, sliding them off his legs. The soft boxer briefs were next and then he lay naked on the bed. He shivered a little, but it was more from the look in Gibbs' eyes than anything else. "I could eat you alive," Gibbs said softly, crawling back up Tony's body. He braced himself on his hands, leaning down to kiss him, slow and long and deep. "God, Tony." "Gibbs--" Tony groaned and ran his hands up Gibbs' arms. The muscles were taut, restrained strength and power under the skin, and Tony couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to feel that strength wrapped around him, that power holding him tight. "I won't do anything you're not ready for," Gibbs said quietly. "But you have to tell me." "Anything," Tony whispered. "I don't--anything, Gibbs." He heard the sharp intake of breath, saw Gibbs' eyes darken, but the man shook his head. "No. Not--I don't want to hurt you." "You won't." "Not this time, Tony." Gibbs shook his head again. "Anything else." Tony rested his hands on Gibbs' shoulders and pushed slightly, rolling him onto his back. "Let me touch you, then," he said. Gibbs closed his eyes; his hands relaxed against the bed, palms up. "I'm all yours." God. He'd never thought he'd hear those words coming from Gibbs; then again, he'd never even dreamed he'd end up like this. He moved to straddle Gibbs, bending down to kiss him. On impulse, he bit Gibbs' lower lip, tugging gently, and was delighted to feel him shiver. In some ways, it wasn't so different from being with a woman. There was still the fun of exploration, of learning where the hot spots were and using them to his advantage. As he slid his hands over Gibbs' body, getting rid of the jeans and briefs, he made note of spots that made Gibbs shiver or twist a little, including one by his hipbone that actually made him gasp. He lowered his head and bit there; a little on the rough side but he didn't think Gibbs would mind. And from the strangled sound above him...Gibbs didn't. "You like it rough?" Tony asked, kneeling up over him. "Do you?" "I asked first." Tony grinned. "You did." Gibbs smiled slowly and Tony had a split second to realize he was in trouble before Gibbs flipped him onto his back, pinning his wrists. "But you seem to be at a disadvantage here." For a moment, he couldn't speak. It hit him, then. Gibbs was as strong as he was--probably stronger, if Tony was going to be honest. He was in amazing shape. Nothing Tony could do would hurt him, not if Gibbs didn't want it. He'd never been with someone who could hold him down before; he'd never even come close. Gibbs could literally pin him and keep him that way and God, when had that started turning him on so much? "Tony?" Gibbs' voice was quiet and Tony realized he'd spaced out a little, thinking about that. "I--" He shook his head. "Some of it's different, Gibbs. You have to let me get used to that." The grip on his wrists eased and Gibbs moved off him, lying down next to him. "I won't hurt you," he said, stroking Tony's hair. "I know." Tony closed his eyes and leaned into the caress. "It's just..." "Yeah." Gibbs leaned over and kissed him again. This time it was slow and gentle, Gibbs' tongue flicking into his mouth until he groaned from it. "That's it," Gibbs murmured, kissing the corner of Tony's mouth. "You gonna let me touch you?" "Anywhere you want," Tony whispered, opening his eyes. He saw Gibbs' eyes darken again, right before his mouth covered Tony's, hot and deep and demanding and so good Tony shuddered all over. Gibbs took his wrists, kissing the inside of each before pressing them against the bed. "Don't move," he said softly. "I don't want--" "I want this, Tony. Let me, this time. Okay?" He closed his eyes. "Okay," he said as evenly as he could. Gibbs nipped his throat, sucking gently right over his pulse. "I said I'd show you," he murmured as he stretched out on top of Tony, his weight pressing Tony down, solid and real. "Tell me what you like, Tony. Tell me what you want." "Touch me," he managed, his head falling back to expose his throat. "Just--God, I don't know, just touch me..." It seemed that was all Gibbs needed to hear. He bit down over Tony's collarbone, hard enough to make him gasp. His hands ran down Tony's chest, pushed his legs apart before skimming back up the insides of his thighs so lightly Tony nearly whimpered. "You ever let someone do this before?" Gibbs asked, leaving a trail of soft sucking bites down Tony's chest, tongue swirling over his nipples. Tony shook his head wordlessly. He was the seducer, the aggressor; he wasn't the type to just lie back and let someone else take control like this. It felt--strange. Weird. He kept wanting to move, to reach out and touch Gibbs or kiss him or *something* other than lie there on the bed and tremble. "Didn't think so." Gibbs nuzzled the happy trail on his stomach; it was just shy of tickling and Tony had to repress a laugh. And then Gibbs sucked the head of Tony's cock into his mouth and Tony gasped. He whimpered as Gibbs took more of him in, his mouth hot and wet and sucking him so hard Tony nearly saw stars. Gibbs' hands slid under his body, squeezing his ass, lifting him a little and if he lasted longer than two minutes it would be a miracle. One of Gibbs' hands slid up to his lower back, fingers spread wide and palm pressed against his tailbone. The other--oh, God, there was a finger rubbing against that strip of skin behind his balls and it felt so good, so fucking good he moaned helplessly. That finger slid back a little more, pressing between his cheeks; if he'd had the capacity to think he might have been wary but Gibbs was sucking all the working brain cells he had out the end of his dick and he couldn't care about anything else, not even when Gibbs' finger circled his hole, just barely pressing in. "Gibbs--too close, stop--" Tony's head tossed on the pillow; he bit his lip, fighting for control. "Too close--" Gibbs raised his head, kissing Tony's thigh. "Not done with you yet," he said, his voice husky. "Not even close." He knelt up, leaning down to kiss Tony hungrily. "Gibbs--" Tony flung out a hand, reaching for the nightstand drawer, but Gibbs beat him to it. "Tony--I said no," he said, even as he took out the bottle. "I know. But that stuff comes in handy for other stuff, too," Tony said, managing--barely--to repress a blush. "I don't know--I mean--" Gibbs nodded. "Turn over," he said quietly. He did, pillowing his head on his arms. Gibbs ran a hand down his back, again and again, until he arched into it with a soft sigh of pleasure. It had been so long since someone had just touched him like this... He heard a quiet, thoughtful sound, right before the bed shifted and Gibbs straddled his waist. "Close your eyes," Gibbs told him. Once he did, he felt Gibbs' hands on his shoulders, thumbs probing at his muscles for a moment before digging in. A long, low groan escaped Tony; he relaxed against the bed as much as he could, giving himself over to the agony/ecstasy of Gibbs' hands working his back. "Christ, Tony, you're tight as steel," Gibbs muttered. "I don't think even *I'm* this bad." "You'll have to--" Tony grunted as Gibbs pressed on a particularly bad knot. "--let me return the favor someday so I can judge." "And someday, I will." The smile in Gibbs' voice was almost a tangible thing. "Just not right now." "Okay," Tony managed, a little breathlessly. "That's fair." Frankly, he didn't think he could *move*, let alone dig the knots out of Gibbs' back. Slowly, methodically, Gibbs worked his way down Tony's back, easing away knots and tension Tony hadn't even realized was there until it was gone and he was nearly shaking from the sudden absence. "God," Gibbs murmured. His hands slid to Tony's ass, squeezing and kneading. Tony groaned; he'd have arched into Gibbs' hands if he could have moved. "Oh--Gibbs, what--" Tony groaned as Gibbs spread him open, thumbs dipping into his cleft. He gasped a little in surprise as one finger pressed right over his hole, not quite pushing inside. "Just a taste," Gibbs said huskily. "Just an idea." It felt...different. Strange. Not necessarily in a bad way, but...Tony shivered. Gibbs kissed the small of his back; his hands left Tony's ass for a moment and Tony heard the flip of the bottle cap. When that finger pressed against his hole again, it was cool and slick and he gasped even before it pushed into him. Gibbs kissed the small of his back again, his finger twisting a little, stroking in and out of him. It didn't *quite* hurt but even one finger felt weird. "Just a taste," Gibbs said again, breath warm against his skin. "Okay?" Tony nodded against the covers. "Feels.." He gasped, losing his breath, when Gibbs hit something inside him that made him see white. "Fuck, Gibbs, what the hell was that?" "C'mon, Tony," Gibbs said wryly. "You mean to tell me you've never heard of your prostate?" "Sorry, Gibbs, but my doctor never did *that*." Tony groaned when Gibbs did it again, shuddering all over. "I sure as hell hope not. Otherwise I'd have to wonder." Gibbs' finger pulled almost all the way out of him, only to return with a second. "Can you take this?" he asked, his fingers pressing at his hole but not sliding in. "I--I think so." He wanted to try, at least--the initial weird factor was going away and it actually felt pretty good. Two fingers hurt just a little but that faded quickly; he groaned, instinctively trying to push back, wanting more. "God--" "Fuck, Tony," Gibbs swore under his breath. "Don't do that to me." "Gibbs--you're the one with your fingers in my ass. What am I not supposed to do?" Tony asked, somewhat strangled. "Make me want to fuck you through the mattress. God." Gibbs sounded like he was barely hanging on to his self-control and Tony felt a little thrill run through him when he realized *he'd* done that. "Then--" "No." Gibbs' voice was tight. "No. Not now, not when I could hurt you." His fingers pulled out of Tony, making Tony shiver a little with the sudden strange empty feeling. He turned over, propping himself up on his elbows. "What do you want?" he asked simply. A split second later, his head hit the pillow and he was fighting for breath. Gibbs' hands were on his hips, holding him down; his mouth was wrapped around Tony's cock, hot and hungry and God so good Tony was ready to fly apart at the seams. The grip on his hips was just shy of pain, so tight Tony was half-afraid of bruises, but it was just as well--he didn't think he'd be able to keep from arching up otherwise and he ddin't want to hurt Gibbs. "God--oh--Gibbs, please--" He reached over his head with one hand, grabbing for the headboard to hold on to *something*. "I--" Gibbs let go of him for a split second before one arm pressed against his lower belly, a solid band of strength he couldn't break and didn't want to. His other hand--oh, God, there was a slick, slippery finger working its way into him again and combined with Gibbs' mouth he felt on the edge of exploding. The noise he heard himself make could only be described as a wail. "Please--" He was begging now, shamelessly, desperate for more, for anything. Gibbs' finger twisted hard inside him, hitting that spot and making his world go white. He couldn't even make a sound as he came; his whole body froze taut, holding his breath for one long moment before he fell back against the bed. Slowly, Gibbs raised his head, licking his lips. His finger slid out of Tony and he grabbed a couple of tissues, wiping off his hand before tossing them in the wastebasket. "God," Gibbs said softly. "You look..." He shook his head. It took almost all the strength he had to push himself up and lean forward to kiss Gibbs. He still tasted coffee and mint, but now there was a musky, salty hint from his own come. Gibbs' hand slid into his hair, holding his head in place as he deepened the kiss. "What do you want?" Tony asked again, breaking free of Gibbs' mouth to kiss his jaw, his neck, biting down just under his ear. "Tell me. What do you want?" He moved to his knees to get better access to Gibbs' throat and was secretly pleased when Gibbs shuddered and dropped his head back. "Your hands," Gibbs said huskily. "I want you to touch me." "Like this?" Tony ran his hands down Gibbs' chest, scraping his short nails over Gibbs' nipples. "Or this?" He slid his hands over Gibbs' thighs and back up, over his back. "You're right, you know," he murmured. "Some of it isn't so different after all. But..." He wrapped his hand around Gibbs' cock, feeling the hard thick length of it, the heat and the silky skin. "Some of it is." He bent down, licking a drop of pre-come away from the head. Gibbs shuddered when he did; Tony felt the muscles in his legs tense. Tony smiled a little inwardly; he'd been afraid he'd hate the taste. But it wasn't bad. Salt, a little bitter...and Gibbs' reaction made it more than worth it. Tony twisted his hand up around Gibbs' cock, jacking him slow and steady. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the look on Gibbs' face--eyes half-closed, cheeks flushed just a little, and an expression of sheer focused desire that made Tony swallow. He rubbed his thumb over the head and heard Gibbs stifle a gasp. "Don't," he whispered, beginning to move his hand faster, a little rougher. "I want--let me hear you." Gibbs inhaled sharply; Tony saw his hands clench at his sides. He shook his head blindly, as if searching for something. "Tony," he managed, barely more than a rasp. "Tony..." Tony moved, scrambling to Gibbs' side to kiss him, hard, one arm around his shoulders and the other working his cock a little harder, rougher, making Gibbs groan into the kiss. "More," he whispered against Tony's lips. Apparently Gibbs liked it a little on the rough side. Tony noted that for future reference and gave him what he wanted--hard and fast, jerking him off with the skill of years of self-practice. He kissed Gibbs again, wanting to swallow the sounds, taste the need in Gibbs' mouth. Gibbs was trembling against him; his hand came up to cup Tony's face and pull him deeper into the kiss. Tony pulled away, biting at Gibbs' lips, his throat, licking the salt off his skin, desperate for more. "Do it," he half-begged. "C'mon, Gibbs, want to see it, want you to lose it, do it, c'mon, for me..." He saw it before he felt it. Gibbs' head fell back and he groaned low in his throat and his cock pulsed in Tony's hand, warmth spilling over his fingers. He looked...Tony shook his head, unable to find the words. Instead, he kissed Gibbs again, tongue playing over Gibbs' lips, teasing his mouth and making Gibbs murmur with pleasure. When he pulled his hand away, he licked his fingers experimentally before reaching for the tissues. It wasn't bad, actually, and he had the distinct feeling he could get used to it. Given the look in Gibbs' eyes, that wasn't a bad thing at all. "So," he said, sitting cross-legged on the bed. "Now what?" Gibbs smiled a little. "Don't know. What do you want?" Tony sighed. "Can we save the deep conversation until the afterglow's faded a bit?" "Not all that deep, Tony. Do you want this? Do you want to try?" It took him a moment to be able to nod. "Yeah," he said hoarsely. "Do you?" "Yeah." Gibbs smiled again, that soft easy smile that made Tony's stomach clench. "Okay." Tony blinked. "Is that it?" "Not by a long shot," Gibbs said wryly. "But for now..." "It'll do." Gibbs grinned and took Tony's hand, thumb stroking over the back. "Yeah," he said simply. "It'll do."
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