Archive of Our Own ^beta

Jethro looked at the glass of bourbon in his hand and realized that he had no idea just how many he had already had. Hell, he didn't even know how in the world Abby had even persuaded him to join them — that was his entire team plus Palmer — for a night out.

He looked around the booth that they were sitting in and realized that he did know why he came out tonight after all. It hadn’t been Abby's begging or Ziva's insisting that the team needed an outlet for their feelings about the gruesome murder of Lt. Pearson that they had thankfully solved earlier that day. No, it had been DiNozzo and the lost look in his eyes.

Gibbs didn't know what exactly was up with Tony lately. They had spent more and more time together over the last year. Tony's visits to his basement had become so frequent that Gibbs had actually built him a bench with cushions to sit on — no more cold stairs. He had insisted on teaching Tony woodworking 101, and while the younger man had whined in the beginning that his hands were not made for handiwork, he had actually shown real talent. Even though he still complained about splinters from time to time, Gibbs knew that he secretly loved it.

They weren't just hanging out in the basement either. Gibbs had been over in Tony's apartment a lot, watching one movie or another. They sometimes even cooked together, and they had been out for dinner at a couple of steakhouses, too.

He would never say it aloud, but he had grown so used to having DiNozzo there by his side all the time that it felt unnatural not seeing him two to three evenings a week. But Tony's visits had suddenly stopped about three weeks ago, and Jethro had no clue why. Nothing had changed between them. They hadn’t fought; nobody had said a bad word to the other. And yet Tony had stopped coming. Gibbs had wanted to ask him over a lot of times, but Tony had left the office so quickly that he never had the chance. He couldn't just ask him either, because they had never exactly talked about their outings in the first place. It would have been weird if he asked now.

Gibbs took another sip from his bourbon and felt Tony's eyes on him.

"You're not driving tonight, are you?" the younger man asked, the lost look vanishing from his face for the moment.

"You offering a ride?" he called back over the loud music.

"No such luck, Boss. This is my… uh… McGee! How many beers have I had?"

"Not exactly keeping track, DiNozzo," the younger agent answered, clearly not entirely sober anymore either. "But I've had about six. And you're much faster than me."

"Only when I'm drinking," Tony shot back, wiggling his eyebrows in obvious innuendo, which caused McGee to roll his eyes and turn around to talk to Ziva, Abby, and Jimmy again.

Gibbs, though, let out a snort that was unheard over the rock song that had just started up. Tony, however, still grinned at him and then downed his beer in one swig.

"You want another one?" he asked, pointing at the empty glass in Gibbs' hand as he stood up.

Gibbs just nodded and watched him move over to the bar. Tony had just ordered their drinks when a beautiful redhead approached him, engaging him in conversation. Tony smiled at her politely, and even from a distance Gibbs could see that he wasn't interested in her at all. Weird.

It was no surprise, then, when Tony quickly made his way back over to Gibbs, this time sitting down right next to him.

"What was wrong with her?" Gibbs asked, a slight smile on his lips.

"Nothing," Tony answered, sliding the brand-new glass of bourbon over to him. "She was… nice. Plus, redheads are more your thing than mine."

"DiNozzo, that's not an answer."

Tony huffed out a quiet laugh and leaned back against the booth, staring up at the ceiling for a moment as if it held the answers to all the world's questions.

They remained silent for a long moment, and just when Gibbs was starting to get antsy and tried to think of a slightly lighter thing to talk about, Tony let out a sigh and averted his glance from the ceiling to sip from his beer.

"You ever get tired, Boss?" he asked, finally looking at him again.

"Of what?"

"Of pretending you're interested," Tony said, his expression suddenly unguarded, which in turn made Gibbs' heart beat faster, and he didn't even know why. Would he actually get to know the reason why Tony had stopped coming over now? Before he could dwell on it any longer, Tony continued.

"Of playing the role everyone expects you to play?"

Gibbs drank from his bourbon to buy himself some time. He felt something twist in his chest.

"You still talking about the redhead?"

Tony didn't reply right away. The music pounded around them, Abby squealed at something Palmer had just said, and Ziva watched, amused, as McGee clumsily tried to balance four shot glasses. The whole bar felt far away and yet very loud, making it hard for Gibbs to concentrate.

"Three weeks ago," Tony quietly answered, "I was about to come over when I realized that I wanted to come over too much."

Gibbs stared at him, feeling his heartbeat speed up even more. What was Tony zeroing in on? Was he actually talking about their weird arrangement this last year? And did that mean that he had simply had too much to drink? Or had Gibbs?

"Tony—" he started, but was cut off immediately.

"I know," Tony shook his head. "Boss, Rule 12, team, disaster, yada yada. Believe me, I've rehearsed this speech in my head a thousand times. But it was starting to hurt, Gibbs. Sitting in your basement, watching bad movies, cooking dinners that were basically dates in everything but name… and then going home alone pretending it didn't mean anything."

Gibbs stared at him, suddenly at a loss for words. Was Tony, in fact, telling him that these stolen evenings of camaraderie and trust had meant more to Tony than friendship, too?

Had meant more to the man he'd built a damn padded bench for without even realizing why?

"So I stopped coming," Tony said softly. "Figured it was safer."

"Safer for who?" Gibbs asked breathlessly.

Tony shrugged. "Both of us."

For a long moment, Gibbs said nothing. Then he gulped down the rest of his bourbon and threw all caution to the wind. It didn't matter anymore. He wanted this.

"You done?" Gibbs finally asked.

"With the beer or the emotional oversharing?" Tony shot back, looking confused.

"With running."

Tony's eyes widened slightly.

"I missed you too much these last couple of weeks," Gibbs continued haltingly. "But whenever I wanted to ask you over, you practically ran away from me. And I didn't want to call because I was afraid you'd say no. Or worse — say yes and then realize it was a mistake. Turns out," Gibbs smiled ruefully, "we're both idiots."

A slow, disbelieving smile spread over Tony's face. "You… you mean—"

"Yeah," Gibbs interrupted. "I mean."

The smile Tony gave him then was brighter than anything in the bar and so genuine that Gibbs' heart missed an actual beat.

Tony laughed softly, shaking his head. "So… the redhead?"

Gibbs smirked. "What was wrong with her?"

Tony leaned closer, just enough that their knees touched. "She wasn't you."

Tony moved even closer after the words left his mouth, like he was surprised by his own honesty. The space between them was suddenly too small, charged with something neither of them had named for far too long.

Gibbs didn’t move away.

Instead, he lifted a hand, rough thumb brushing over Tony’s knuckles where they rested on the edge of the table. It was such a small touch, almost nothing — but Tony inhaled sharply like it was everything.

"Jethro," he murmured, no teasing in his voice now, just quiet wonder.

Gibbs’ eyes flicked to Tony’s mouth, then back to his eyes, giving him one last chance to pull away. Tony didn’t. He stayed right there, gaze steady, hopeful, and maybe a little bit scared.

So Gibbs closed the distance.

The kiss was gentle at first, more a question than an answer — lips brushing, barely pressing together. Tony froze for half a heartbeat, then melted into it, one hand coming up to curl into the front of Gibbs’ jacket like he was afraid Gibbs might disappear if he didn’t hold on.

The noise of the bar faded into nothing. There was only Tony’s soft exhale against his cheek, the surprising tenderness of it all.

Tony tilted his head, deepening the kiss just a little, slow and careful, like he was savoring something he’d been waiting for far too long. Gibbs’ hand slid up to Tony’s jaw, steadying him, grounding them both.

Then they finally pulled back, their foreheads resting together, breaths mingling.

Across the table, Abby let out an excited gasp, Ziva narrowed her eyes in sudden suspicion, and McGee squinted at them like he was trying to solve a very confusing equation. Jimmy just nodded thoughtfully.

But Gibbs didn’t care.

For the first time in three weeks, Tony didn’t look lost anymore.