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When Kate arrived on the scene, she found Tony sitting on the bumper of an ambulance, shock blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He was pale as a sheet, staring what seemed like off into space. As she approached, Kate followed his gaze, seeing he was watching the EMTs work on Gibbs, who was sprawled across the car park concrete, unconscious and bleeding from his head. Some of the blood had soaked into the ground, the coppery tang almost tangible in the air.
Since Tony was conscious, she headed over to the EMT who had just pulled away from Gibbs.
“Agent Todd, NCIS,” she said, flashing her badge. “How is he?”
“We don’t know yet,” the woman said. It was then that Gibbs was being fitted with a cervical collar, and Kate was all but pushed out of the way as a gurney was rolled over.
She didn’t want to disrupt, so she quickly fished a business card out from her wallet. “Can you let me know when you do?” she asked, handing it over.
The EMT barely spared the card a glance as she shoved it into her pocket before returning to helping lift Gibbs onto a lowered gurney.
It was up and moving into a second ambulance almost by the time Kate had blinked.
She heard a shuffle behind her and turned to see Tony, roused from his stupor, trying to follow. His words were slurred, incomprehensible, but the tone of them she understood clearly.
“Mr. DiNozzo!” One of the other EMTs shouted, struggling to keep Tony seated.
“Agent,” Kate corrected out of rote, but it didn’t matter what the title was. Tony only had eyes for Gibbs.
“Gotta go with…” Tony was saying as Kate planted herself in front of her partner. His eyes looked through her, unseeing, and he would have shoved her out of the way, had she not caught his hand and pushed back as gently as possible.
“Tony,” she said in her sternest tone, but still, he struggled, almost taking Kate and the two other EMTs holding him with, in his haste to get to the other ambulance.
“DiNozzo!” she shouted then, channeling her inner Gibbs and holy crap, it worked.
Tony stilled instantly, eyes looking around, searching, pleading, landing on her.
“It was an accident,” he said quietly, slumping bonelessly back on the bumper. “The car was coming and I tackled him.” Tony swallowed hard before continuing. “He didn’t get back up. I hurried over and saw the blood. Tried to stop it. He didn’t wake up.” Tony’s brows furrowed, his Adam’s apple bouncing, looking as scared and vulnerable as Kate had ever seen him.
And she hated it. Tony, for all his faults, wore his confidence like a second skin. Kate had seen soldiers cower around Gibbs, but somehow, Tony went toe-to-toe with him without so much as a blink of an eye, never afraid to express his opinion.
This… uncertain… Tony unnerved her more than she cared to admit.
Slowly, she reached out and rested her hand on his arm, noticing how it shook even beneath the shock blanket. “You did good, Tony.”
Tony looked over at her. “Tell me he’s gonna make it?” he asked, voice crackling slightly, eyes still glassy and unfocused.
Kate glanced quickly at the EMTs who didn’t otherwise respond.
“He’s Gibbs,” Kate decided. “He’s gonna be just fine.”
She only hoped she wasn’t lying.
Tony nodded at her, absently, then went the most horrifying shade of white. He didn’t pass out exactly, but wasn’t far from it.
Immediately Kate was being pushed out of the way yet again. She didn’t bother trying to demand answers, not wanting to distract them from their job as they loaded Tony into the ambulance.
Which left her standing at the scene, not alone in actuality with the crews buzzing around her taking photos of the accident, their now dead suspect, but more alone than she’d felt in a long time.
A hand touched her shoulder.
Agent Balboa.
“Go,” he said. “We got this.”
He didn’t have to tell Kate twice.
The world was swimming when he came to. There was something over his head, something itchy. He tried to scratch it but his hand wouldn’t move.
He looked down.
He was in a white bed, white sheets.
Hospital, then.
For…
Well, he couldn’t remember that.
“Jethro.”
“Duck.” His voice was thin and gravelly, his mouth dry as the Sahara. He swallowed hard, got no relief.
Something was pushed into his mouth. Plastic. A straw. He sucked down some cool water. A spoon followed with an ice cube. He let melt on his tongue, numbing the back of his throat.
“What happened?”
“You don’t remember?”
Gibbs, eyes still closed, shook his head.
“You were in an accident. A car tried to run you down during your last case. You hit your head.” Ducky went into details then, most of which washed over Gibbs.
There was something niggling at the back of his brain, an idea which wouldn’t let itself be formed.
“Was someone else hurt?”
Ducky cleared his throat. “Let’s get you looked at first.”
Gibbs pushed himself upright with a groan, a task not-insubstantial since his arms felt like noodles. Black spots danced in his vision and waves of dizziness washed over him relentlessly.
“Jethro!”
Gibbs forced open his eyes, focusing on his friend’s glasses, tamping down on the urge to vomit. “Who else was hurt?”
“You need to calm down, Jethro, or they’re going to sedate you again,” Ducky warned.
“Duck—”
“Jethro, please.”
Fine. Gibbs took in a few deep breaths and leaned back against the head of the bed Ducky had raised, finally noticing as the alarms blaring over his head calmed down.
It wouldn’t be long before a nurse descended. He didn’t know how he knew, but he did.
“Who was it?”
Ducky pulled off his glasses and scrubbed at the lenses with the corner of his coat. The churning in Gibbs’ stomach kicked up another notch. “Give it to me straight, Duck. Who was it?”
“Anthony.”
Gibbs tried to sit up again, despite the glare Ducky leveled at him, but this time, found himself too weak to do.
The hell?
“How bad?” he asked, from his reclined position, deciding for the moment that the information was more important. “Where is he? Can I see him?”
Ducky looked up sadly, slid his glasses back on. “Jethro, you’ve been in a coma for weeks. Anthony—well, he—”
It was then Gibbs understood what Ducky was saying.
“No,” the word spilled out of his mouth, taking with it all the breath in his body.
Ducky nodded. “He pushed you out of the way. We thought he was fine, but the car must have clipped him. I don’t even suspect he knew.”
This couldn’t be happening. Tony was fine. Out in the hall, rounding up Gibbs’ discharge papers. Or wait, back at the office leading Kate and McGee through the rest of the case.
Not…
“No.”
A hand landed on his arm; Gibbs would have swatted it away had he had the strength.
“I wanted to be the one to tell you,” Ducky was saying. “I’m so sorry, Jethro.”
“No,” was all Gibbs could reply.
It was a dream—a nightmare. A horrible, horrible nightmare.
“—Internal bleeding,” Ducky continued, either oblivious to the fact Gibbs wasn’t totally listening, or… Gibbs didn’t know what came next. His head hurt too bad. His heart. His thoughts were no longer making sense, flitting around, mixing memories.
Tony grinning at the office. Gibbs had promised him cowboy steaks when the case was finished.
A phone call he would never forget.
Two graves, matching.
Tony holding a bag of ice to his head at his desk, not the first injury he’d received on the job, and unfortunately not the last.
Like this, daddy?
You can’t outrun me. I’m wearing tube socks.
You don’t waste good.
Everyone needs a code they can live by.
You’re irreplaceable.
Grab your gear.
I love you, daddy.
On your six, boss.
Don't go, daddy. Please don’t go.
Those stupid movie references.
Baltimore cop stories.
Strawberry Shortcake.
Polly Pocket.
The suits.
“—weren’t able to bring him back.”
Tears welled at the corners of Gibbs’ eyes as his heart felt like it had been ripped out of his chest. Tony had only been working for him for two years, but he’d made an indelible impression.
He was well and truly irreplaceable.
“Did we get them?” Gibbs forced out, hearing his own tone harden.
Ducky nodded.
“Alive?”
Ducky shook his head. “His car veered into the oncoming lane. He was killed instantly. You were lucky you weren’t run over.”
‘Lucky’ was the last word Gibbs would have used. It should have been him, not Tony. He was supposed to look after his agents, mentor them, teach them, so they could outlast him, survive him. Not the other way around.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
“Can I see him?” The words stuck in his throat, almost not making it out.
Again, Ducky shook his head. “It’s been two weeks since the accident, Jethro. Tony left express wishes to be buried. We had the funeral last weekend.”
Tears welled harder. Gibbs clamped his jaw closed to keep them back. His head was throbbing, his chest aching. Something was missing. Something that couldn’t be replaced.
“Jethro…”
“Go, please,” he choked out.
Ducky nodded, patted his hand, then did.
Time seemed to lose meaning then. Gibbs was visited by Kate, McGee and Abby. Fornell, Morrow. Even Diane.
All parroted some version of the same, the “so sorry for your loss”, “glad you’re awake”.
With each visit he learned more details: Tony had survived long enough to have a conversation with Kate on the ambulance bumper. He’d been rolled immediately into surgery. She was the last person to have spoken to him.
And it was weighing on her, despite Gibbs trying to assure her it wasn’t her fault. According to Ducky, there was nothing any of them could have done. But Kate believed it just about as much as Gibbs did.
She was Senior Agent now, holding her and McGee together back at the office, yet barely made eye contact with Gibbs when she reported on the day. At least the team was off rotation and just working cold cases until… well, Gibbs wasn’t sure when.
When she walked in one day, looking as unkempt as Gibbs had ever seen her, he suggested she and McGee take leave until they could figure more things out. That’s when her expression hardened, her spine straightened, and she began spewing about how she was capable of this, how she needed the structure.
It was the most alive he’d seen her in days.
Second B for bastard around her, then.
Not unlike… Tony.
The same couldn’t be said for McGee, who seemed like a soft breeze could blow him over. Barely daring to step into Gibbs’ room, McGee was more reserved than usual, only answering questions about work, never about himself. Gibbs immediately noticed the black band around his shield, but Tim didn’t bring it up, and Gibbs didn’t question. Their silence was made even more obvious in a space usually filled with movie references and quips.
Abby visited daily, and very quickly, Gibbs noticed the amount of make-up she was wearing diminish. When she was curled up next to him, his arm slung over her shoulder, she admitted it was because she kept crying it off. With the guilty party dead, there was no revenge for her to get, no way for her to make sense of this senseless situation. It was eating at her as much as it was Gibbs.
He’d lost people over the years, sure, but the ability to right the wrong had always been a driving force for him picking himself up and getting back to work. That closure had been stolen from him here, especially once Kate and McGee had proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that the driver had been responsible for the original theft.
It was just over. Tony had been buried. The team was expected to move on.
How could they, though?
So Gibbs languished. He did his PT, his OT, his scans, but didn’t push to get out. What was the point? He’d only known Tony two years, but he was probably the best young agent Gibbs had ever worked with. He’d had so much life left in him. And he’d, what, given it up for Gibbs, a Marine turned agent in an improbable turn of events, who would have been willing to walk away from it all to give Tony another chance?
“They’re worried, Jethro,” Ducky said one night, who knew how long after Gibbs had learned the news.
“They shouldn’t be. I’m still here.”
“You should be fighting to be released like you usually do. Not just… giving up.”
“I’m not giving up. I’m retiring.”
“You’re what?”
Gibbs nodded. “Had the nurse fax my resignation to Morrow this morning.”
“And what did he say?”
“He hasn’t yet.”
Ducky let out a long breath before speaking up. “Forgive me if this sounds callous, Jethro, but the team still needs you. Anthony’s death in the line of duty is a horrific tragedy, but it can’t stop you from doing what you’re good at, what you’re needed to do. There are still murders to solve, killers to put away, thieves to apprehend.”
“Then someone else can lead. Do all those things.”
“Who? Timothy? Caitlin? She’s doing as best she can in your absence, but both barely have their sea legs, no pun intended.”
Gibbs shrugged, disinterested. “They’ll hire someone new.”
“Jethro.” Ducky reached out and took Gibbs’ hand. Gibbs didn’t pull away. “I know you’re hurting. We all are. And we could all use a bit of stability right now—”
Gibbs shook his head to ward off the feelings threatening to overwhelm him. “I can’t, Duck,” he admitted, barely a whisper. “I don’t have it in me.”
“I know it feels that way, Jethro, but Tony wouldn’t want this. He wouldn’t want his sacrifice to be for nothing.”
Ducky was right, as always, but still. The thought of the office, the empty desk, the Mighty Mouse stapler staring at him as he walked past— “I don’t know if I can go back.”
Not sure how much more he could take.
Ducky’s hand moved up to his forearm, stroking gently. “Then do something else. Help in another way. But you can’t just lay here for the rest of your life.”
It was a much harder decision than it should have been, but in the end, Gibbs decided knew Ducky was right. For Tony, he could get up, get out, find some way to make what had happened, as horrible as it was, worth it.
And he did. He was released two days later, retired back to his home and took all six weeks of sick leave. He grew out his hair, mostly to cover the scar, but also symbolically, it felt right, a way to signify his new direction.
He sat a couple hours each week tending Tony’s grave. “I’m sorry,” and “Thank you,” didn’t even begin to cover it. But he did it anyway.
He created a scholarship to FLETC in Tony’s name. Accepted the medal they gave Tony posthumously for his valor and hung it in his basement. Tucked Tony’s picture into “The Fallen”. Toasted him with the bourbon he knew Tony only drank in his basement.
He tried calling Tony’s dad exactly once before nearly impaling his cell in the basement wall. Ducky had said they’d tried earlier, when they’d first gotten the news. Despite all Tony’s stories, Gibbs couldn’t believe a man could be so indifferent about the loss of his son. He hadn’t tried to reach out again, just cleaned out Tony’s apartment on his own and put the boxes in his basement. The DVDs sat in his living room, Tony’s prized possessions. Gibbs wasn’t sure quite what he was going to do with them yet.
He resigned from NCIS officially, once he’d passed all the psych eval and firearms requal. Guess Morrow had wanted to be sure he was serious before removing him from his post. And that was fine. But it didn’t change Gibbs’ mind. He didn’t see a future at NCIS. But he wanted to be able to find another one. He had after Shannon, after Kelly. He’d find a way to find one after Tony.
An old friend, Dwayne Pride, from New Orleans had been brought up to lead the team until Morrow could find a more permanent replacement.
Kate and McGee seemed to like him. They visited less frequently now that they were back on active duty.
Make Tony’s sacrifice worth it.
Gibbs began giving back, volunteering at schools, aftercare programs. Teaching woodworking, reading books, basically just being there. Tony had all but said his father, when not drunk, was never around. Gibbs wanted to try to change that for someone else.
He paid to fix up the lights at the rec center where he knew Tony used to play ball.
But mostly, he stayed in touch. Old him would have cut and run to avoid the ache. But he didn’t want to forget Tony, and the brief light the young agent had brought to his life.
He dined with Ducky, spent time with Kate down at the range honing her skills. Consulted when Morrow reached out.
Joined up with McGee on the outdoor Scout excursions. Taught group after group how to survive in the woods (and how to avoid poison ivy, something their troop leader learned on these trips as well).
Volunteered with Abby at Habitat for Humanity, raising walls and screwing in drywall.
He declined mentoring new agents, when Morrow offered, but he was living again, for some definition of the word.
Honoring Tony’s memory.
Until one day, around three months after the accident, when everything changed.
Gibbs was at the corner store, grabbing a few canned goods that would serve as dinner for the week, when a man walked in waving a gun around and demanding the cashier empty the drawer.
Gibbs instinctively reached for his own weapon, which he had carried for many years, swearing under his breath when he came up empty, only then remembering it had been returned with his badge when he’d officially retired.
Tony would have had some snappy movie quote for it. Gibbs just began working on a secondary plan.
The gunman must have not known anyone else was in the store, since he kept his back to Gibbs as he threatened the cashier, a young woman, who was sobbing as she opened the register and began to empty it.
Gibbs crept closer, not noticing until he was inches behind the gunman that there was a mirror above the register.
He tried to duck as the pistol whipped around, but still healing from his head injury after all these months, he wasn’t fast enough.
The butt of the gun slammed into his temple and his world went black.
Gibbs could tell from the smell that he wasn’t at the corner store. It was too clean, too chemical, too quiet. No roasting hot dogs, no spilled milk, no game on overhead.
Something was wrapped around his head, something that itched. He reached up to scratch it, but his hand was batted away.
“Leave it alone,” a voice said softly.
“D’k?”
“Welcome back, Jethro. We’ve been worried.”
Gibbs tried to open his eyes, failed. “Long was I out?”
“Four days. Four very long days. Anthony has barely left your side, at great detriment to his own healing.”
Anthony?
Tony?
“He’s gone, Duck.” The emotions surged back with that single sentence, and Gibbs bit down hard on his tongue to keep himself in check. It had been weeks—months. He needed to show Ducky he was in control, not still deluding himself with fantasies that Tony was still alive.
“No, Jethro, he’s been by your bedside almost around the clock. Open your eyes and I’ll show you.”
It was a dream—no way this was real.
Tony was dead. Ducky had told him so.
And yet… a hope so small glimmered.
What if it was true?
Gibbs very slowly pried open one eye to find a mop of dark hair at the foot of his bed, head resting on one arm. And if Gibbs was hearing right over his heart rate monitor, the mop was snoring softly, chest rising and falling rhythmically.
He looked up at Ducky, finding not a hint of malice in the ME’s expression.
“He’s really okay?”
Ducky nodded, then frowned. “Has someone led you to believe otherwise, Jethro?”
“I thought…” Gibbs had no idea how to finish that sentence in a way that didn’t get him sent to the psych ward. “I guess it was a dream,” he decided. “A horrible, horrible dream. The accident—”
“Anthony tackled you out of the way then—”
“—passed out talking to Kate on the ambulance bumper.”
Ducky squinted at him over the tops of his glasses. “Why, yes. But I’m not sure how you could have known that. Anthony broke his collarbone. He has to wear a sling for at least six weeks if he wants it to heal without surgery. He’ll be on desk duty for at least that long, once he returns from his leave.”
Gibbs blinked. “He took leave?”
“Why, Jethro, I believe I just told you he hasn’t left your side. He feels incredibly guilty you were hurt by his hand. He’s barely eating, barely drinking—”
Gibbs wasn’t sure of a lot of things right now, but he knew how to fix that. He summoned all his strength and said as loudly as he could manage, “Hey, DiNozzo!”
Tony shot straight up, glancing blearily around the room. Even in Gibbs’ addled state, he could tell Ducky’s description had barely done Tony justice. His hair, usually so perfectly coifed, stuck up in every direction; dark, bruise-like bags hung under his eyes; and in two years, Gibbs had yet to see Tony with facial hair, unless it was for an undercover op, but here, the stubble lined his jaw and upper lip in a way his normally much more put-together self would never have allowed.
And still, Gibbs pulled in the first full breath he felt like he’d taken in the last three mon—four days.
Tony was alive!
Unless it was another nightmare…
Gibbs pushed himself upright as much as he could manage, trying to grab Tony’s hand to feel for warmth and a pulse, but Tony yanked it out of reach.
The hell?
“I’ll go, if you want me to,” Tony said, his voice soft and almost timid.
Gibbs glanced over at Ducky, who appeared to be as confused as he was.
“Why would I want that?”
“Because I’m the reason you’re here.” Tony flinched as the words left his mouth. “You were in a coma, Gibbs, and it was looking bad—like, ‘call your emergency contact’ bad. I just wanted to get us away from the car in case it swerved, but all those years of college ball must have kicked in—if you hit ‘em, make sure he stays down!” Tony quoted in a drawl that must have been an imitation. Gibbs had never been so happy to hear an impression he definitely did not understand.
Tony looked up quickly, panicked. “I didn’t mean to, though. I tried to protect your head, but I just wasn’t fast enough.”
“Anthony…”
“It’s true, Ducky! He wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me. So, Gibbs, if you want me to resign, I will. I don’t know how you’d want to wo—”
It was testament to the aforementioned head injury that it took Gibbs that long to process Tony’s words.
“DiNozzo!”
“Yeah, boss—er, Gibbs?”
Gibbs raised himself to one elbow then crooked his index finger at Tony, who exchanged a quick glance with Ducky before very slowly standing. He trudged over to Gibbs’ waist, head bent slightly, clearly expecting a head slap.
He was not, however, expecting Gibbs to sit up as tall as he could and pull Tony into a hug, mindful of the sling resting between them.
It wasn’t how they normally operated. Their physical interactions consisted mainly of head slaps, the occasional shoulder clap, pat on the back, and ‘atta boy’. But today, after all that had happened, Gibbs would be lying if he said he didn’t need this just as much as Tony did—well, as much as he knew Tony would once he got his head back on straight.
This close, Gibbs could feel Tony’s breath against his ear, the warmth of his skin, the tension that had snapped into his back at the unexpected contact. He wouldn’t hold it for long, not wanting to make his agent even more uncomfortable, but the hug had done double-duty and served to prove that Tony. Was. Alive.
This wasn’t another horrible nightmare.
This was reality.
A much happier reality than the one he’d been living in the past three months.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” Gibbs said, reaching up to quickly ruffle Tony’s hair before letting his agent pull away.
Tony was visibly shocked, his training probably all that was keeping his jaw from hitting the floor. He recovered quickly though, and exchanged another, more pointed look with Ducky.
“I told you, Anthony,” Ducky said, a miles-wide grin on his face.
Tony’s gaze bounced between the two of them before he shook his head much like a wet dog drying off. “Gibbs, I don’t think you understand. I thought I’d killed you. If the ambulance had been much later, you would have bled out.”
“Are you calling Ducky a liar?”
“No!” Tony looked at Ducky, the panic from before back in a split second. “Ducky, I would never. But I don’t see—”
“He said you saved my life. You disagree?”
Tony flushed, looked down slightly. The thumb of his good hand rolled around his index finger, a nervous tell Gibbs had yet to be able to cure him of. “If I did, boss, I didn’t do a very good job of it. Like I said, you still almost died.”
“But I didn’t. And I have you to thank for that.”
“Gibbs, I don’t think—”
“Tony, look at me.”
His agent very reluctantly did.
“You did good.”
“But Gibbs…”
Gibbs shook his head, silencing the retort. “You. Did. Good,” he repeated. “Thank you.”
Tony stared at him like he’d lost his mind. Gibbs could see his wheels turning, trying to understand, and it just made him want to hunt down whoever had skewed this kid’s self-worth so early in life and teach them a lesson.
Maybe when the act of sitting up didn’t have him feel like a second straight hour of PT.
“Just as we’ve all been saying,” Ducky chimed in. “Your quick thinking gave him a chance.”
“But I—” Tony trailed off, shaking his head again. He let out a long breath, scrubbed at his forehead with his good hand. “I had this conversation going totally different in my head.”
“Yeah, Tony, I can see that.”
Tony continued as if Gibbs hadn’t spoken. “I mean, I still don’t quite believe it, cos I don’t know if I’d want me on my team, after that, you know? But you’re Gibbs and you’re never wrong about these kinds of things. And honestly, I’m just so glad you’re awake, boss, that—”
“That maybe you’ll come to a clearer resolution after you’ve had a shower, a good meal and a proper night’s sleep? That collarbone isn’t going to heal itself,” Ducky cut in.
Speaking of… “How bad is it, Duck?” Gibbs asked.
“Fi—” Tony began, but the ME cut him off, going into great detail about the break and how it didn’t currently need a plate or screws but how quickly it could worsen if Tony didn’t take his entire leave.
Tony frowned over his shoulder at Ducky and rubbed self-consciously at his ear with his good hand. Apparently, he’d heard this spiel already—multiple times if Gibbs had to guess.
“—but he’ll make a full recovery if he follows his home care plan.”
“Which he will,” Gibbs said with a pointed look at Tony.
“Only if you do,” Tony countered, then blinked like he wasn’t sure if that was the appropriate thing to say at that very second.
Gibbs let a smile tug on the side of his mouth, having sorely missed this banter the past three months.
“You sure he’s okay, Ducky?” he heard Tony ask softly. “I think he just smiled at me.”
“I think he’s allowed, Anthony, considering he thought you were dead.”
Tony looked up in surprise. “Me? I wasn’t the one in surgery for hours on end, Gibbs. You have a hole in your head, you know. To relieve the swelling. I just have the smallest crack in one little bone.”
“Which, according to Ducky, you haven’t been taking care of.”
Tony scowled at Ducky, deeply betrayed. “I’ve been taking my meds.”
“But not without prompting.”
“Ouch, Duck.” Tony rubbed now at the space over his heart with his uninjured arm. “Way to kick a man when he’s down.”
Gibbs grinned, then sobered when he saw Tony wince as he let his arm fall back to his side.
“Go home, Tony.”
Gibbs meant it for his agent to get some much-needed rest, but by the way Tony’s face fell, that had been the exact wrong thing to say.
“Gibbs, I—”
“You gotta take care of yourself,” Gibbs continued. “Need you back on the team when your sick leave is up.”
Some of the frown disappeared from Tony’s face. Some.
“You sure you want me back, boss? Cos if you’re just saying that so I can ride a desk as some sort of unspoken punishment, I’ll resign right now.”
It was said partially in jest, but Gibbs could hear the underlying seriousness behind it, see it in the steel set to Tony’s eyes.
“DiNozzo, if and when I decide a punishment is necessary, you won’t have to wonder if it is one or not.” Then, for this one very unique situation, he let his tone soften. “But it's not needed here.”
Tony smiled, brief but genuine. “Copy that, boss.”
He took a step toward the door then hesitated, conflict unusually visible across his face.
“What is it, DiNozzo?”
Tony leaned forward then, hugging Gibbs for just about as long as they had earlier. “I’m really happy you’re okay, boss.”
By the time Gibbs had realized what had happened, Tony was already almost at the door.
“Mr. Palmer has said he will drive you home,” Ducky was saying. “Since you’re not supposed to be driving until you regain the use of your other hand and are off the painkillers.”
Tony frowned and was about to argue before Gibbs cleared his throat.
Tony sighed loudly, looking up at the ceiling for strength. “Yes, Ducky. Phone Jeeves then please. I’d like to go home.”
As Ducky stepped into the hallway on the phone, Gibbs spoke up again.
“Hey, Tony.”
Tony poked his head back into the room.
“I’m really glad you’re alright too.”
The strength of Tony’s smile could have powered the city for years to come.