Tony had tried to press McGee and Abby—and even Ducky and Palmer—about Gibbs’ team, but outside of the love fest for Alexander Remington Gibbs, the team had nothing for him. And nothing wasn’t gonna help the mess of Tony’s life.
It wasn’t as if Gibbs said a word to him. Most nights, the men lived separate lives, with Gibbs spending the evening with his boat. Many nights, he’d crawl into bed way past midnight—and those were the good nights. More often than not, he’d sleep under the boat. Or come to bed and not even touch Tony, no matter how hard Tony’s body strained for any contact. They were drifting further and further apart every day, and Tony didn’t know how to save it any more. Or if he even wanted to try. He was tired and he was raw. And he was sick and tired of the secrets and silence.
Tony grabbed a beer and flopped down on the couch, staring out into nothingness. The dark and cool room suited his mood. He knew he should probably go upstairs and change his clothes, get comfortable and maybe see if there was a game on. But Tony wasn’t interested tonight. He picked at the label, eyeing his watch, trying not to think of anything. Thinking was overrated and after the week he’d had, he was done. He needed to decompress.
Even though he was aware of it, Tony didn’t try to stop the feeling of crawling inside himself, the mental movies he played when times got bad. Tonight it wasn’t scenes from one of his favorites, but a jumble of memories and hopes, wishes and dreams.
“DiNozzo.”
The voice started Tony and he dropped the bottle. It clattered onto the table where it rolled in a small circle as Tony stood.
“Hey. How was your day?”
Gibbs shrugged, looking away, one shoulder hitching up. “Closed the case.”
“That’s good.” Tony’s vision narrowed and he looked at Gibbs’ sportcoat and a rusty stain at the collar.
“Yours?” he asked, trying to sound casual.
“What?” Gibbs asked, trying to twist around and look.
“Blood, Gibbs. Yours?”
“No. Hatori’s. Got winged.”
Tony felt like an ass for being thankful that someone else had gotten hurt.”He gonna be okay?”
“Flesh wound.”
“You should have called, Gibbs.”
“Not your responsibility any more,” Gibbs shot back. Jethro wasn’t a warm and fuzzy guy, but the malice and fury in his voice was unexpected and took Tony aback. He watched his lover, wanting like hell to reach him, though he knew he couldn’t. There was a part of Jethro that was so locked down, so inaccessible that there was just no point in trying.
“Still worry,” Tony said, feeling his shoulders droop. There was a huge part of him that had already given up and they both knew it.
“Yeah, I know.” Jethro sighed, stowing his gun and tossing his keys, wallet, and spare change onto the side table.
“You eat?” Tony asked, studying the features he knew so well.
“Not hungry.” Tony could only watch as Jethro strode to the basement door and pulled it open. Only when it was open did Tony rush to the door, but Gibbs closed it firmly in his face. Tony blinked a few times in shock, turning the knob before sagging against the familiar wood. Gibbs had locked him out! Gibbs never locked him out!
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Hurt Ch 1 part 3
Date: 2012-01-08 05:24 pm (UTC)It wasn’t as if Gibbs said a word to him. Most nights, the men lived separate lives, with Gibbs spending the evening with his boat. Many nights, he’d crawl into bed way past midnight—and those were the good nights. More often than not, he’d sleep under the boat. Or come to bed and not even touch Tony, no matter how hard Tony’s body strained for any contact. They were drifting further and further apart every day, and Tony didn’t know how to save it any more. Or if he even wanted to try. He was tired and he was raw. And he was sick and tired of the secrets and silence.
Tony grabbed a beer and flopped down on the couch, staring out into nothingness. The dark and cool room suited his mood. He knew he should probably go upstairs and change his clothes, get comfortable and maybe see if there was a game on. But Tony wasn’t interested tonight. He picked at the label, eyeing his watch, trying not to think of anything. Thinking was overrated and after the week he’d had, he was done. He needed to decompress.
Even though he was aware of it, Tony didn’t try to stop the feeling of crawling inside himself, the mental movies he played when times got bad. Tonight it wasn’t scenes from one of his favorites, but a jumble of memories and hopes, wishes and dreams.
“DiNozzo.”
The voice started Tony and he dropped the bottle. It clattered onto the table where it rolled in a small circle as Tony stood.
“Hey. How was your day?”
Gibbs shrugged, looking away, one shoulder hitching up. “Closed the case.”
“That’s good.” Tony’s vision narrowed and he looked at Gibbs’ sportcoat and a rusty stain at the collar.
“Yours?” he asked, trying to sound casual.
“What?” Gibbs asked, trying to twist around and look.
“Blood, Gibbs. Yours?”
“No. Hatori’s. Got winged.”
Tony felt like an ass for being thankful that someone else had gotten hurt.”He gonna be okay?”
“Flesh wound.”
“You should have called, Gibbs.”
“Not your responsibility any more,” Gibbs shot back. Jethro wasn’t a warm and fuzzy guy, but the malice and fury in his voice was unexpected and took Tony aback. He watched his lover, wanting like hell to reach him, though he knew he couldn’t. There was a part of Jethro that was so locked down, so inaccessible that there was just no point in trying.
“Still worry,” Tony said, feeling his shoulders droop. There was a huge part of him that had already given up and they both knew it.
“Yeah, I know.” Jethro sighed, stowing his gun and tossing his keys, wallet, and spare change onto the side table.
“You eat?” Tony asked, studying the features he knew so well.
“Not hungry.” Tony could only watch as Jethro strode to the basement door and pulled it open. Only when it was open did Tony rush to the door, but Gibbs closed it firmly in his face. Tony blinked a few times in shock, turning the knob before sagging against the familiar wood. Gibbs had locked him out! Gibbs never locked him out!
The wall between them was growing.