Never pretend to love which you don't actually feel, for love is not ours to command - Alan Watts


***


Sometimes he swears he can see the beautiful, once dead and buried women he adored and loved in his own twisted way; his mother, Kate, Paula… each so pale and lifeless, staring at him, reminding of him all the mistakes he has ever made and will continue making. Together they laugh at him, speaking evil of him, never giving him the very much needed assurance of his importance in life. He thinks he deserves it- after all, he is suffering, meant to suffer…at least he did when he felt something. Now it’s all gray.


Dear Mommy, looking exactly as she did when he last saw her, wearing her bruised and blood spattered face and her alcohol poisoned skin and of course the most important thing- the missing leg. He wonders how she can walk - or rather float - so perfectly whenever she appears to him and thinks maybe he should be worried when she calls him by his name adds 'baby' after it even though he is all grown up and a long way from the scared skinny boy he used to be.


He doesn’t wonder why he sees her.


Kate looks strikingly beautiful -and dead- with a gaping hole on her forehead, never smiling, never talking, just staring him with bloodshot eyes and shaking her head once in a while in disappointment. Disappointment with him. Disappointment at him. He likes seeing Kate. He admits he misses her and that's about as far as he will ever go to admitting anything.


Paula, sneering at him, despising him with every fiber of her shredded corpse. Her clothes are molded on her, melted to her skin and he can smell the burnt flesh and polyester. He is reminded of a weekend with his father, before drinking whiskey like water and beating your kids was an issue. She keeps shouting something, but he hears nothing. She looks furious, her eyes blackened and her ear torn and she can’t hide her hatred of him. He wishes he could hear her, he thinks he deserves to hear her.


He believes it's all because of his mistakes, the ones he can never fix.


He wonders who else will have to die for him to learn from them.



* * * * *



He sits by his desk and stares at the scene in front of him, not really seeing anything except Kate looking at Ziva murderously, tapping her fingers impatiently against her thigh like a tigress ready to pounce on her prey.

He realizes this must be the first time Kate is seeing her replacement. He still keeps thinking she's alive. She looks alright from where he’s sitting because he can’t see the hole in in her forehead or the blood and brain matter splattering her cute, girlish freckles. He squints his eyes trying to find any blood in her hair but after a moment he gives up.


If you don't count the whole being dead thing she always manages to look perfect, as if she never dropped to the roof tiles like a sack of potatoes with sickening thud, so vibrant and full of life just seconds ago; like he never felt the pain and desperation and hate burning behind his eyes, but not crying, no, never. When he looks at her it is as if he never saw McGee throwing up in the toilet, dry heaving painfully; like he never offered him a paper towel which he gratefully took, sealing unspoken deal of quiet and mutual, yet awkward friendship between them; like Abby and Ducky never sought comfort from each other, crying softy before tea was served only for the two, making them stronger together; like he never witnessed Gibbs going frantic and sleepless after his unusual act of kindness, unable to repress any feelings later on; like he never wished he could have taken the pain away from all of them.


Like he never wished he would have been the one, not Kate, their beloved Kate. His beloved Kate.



*



He turns his head to answer something Gibbs asks him then suddenly stops; Kate and Ziva he can understand, but this is a bit too much, his mother sitting on Gibbs’ table in her Chanel suit, probably a Jacqueline Kennedy, trying her best to seduce him with an awful imitation of Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct.


He thinks it's funny. When he was a kid she was never there and all the time he spent wishing she would show some kind of interest in him was wasted. Now, nearly thirty years later, here she is with him, never missing a beat; watching him, advising him, making fun of him, telling him what a disappointment he really is to her. He doesn't really care for her that much, after all she's only his mother by blood; if he’d had a choice she wouldn’t have been it. Nor would his father.


Gibbs doesn't seem to mind her sitting right on top of his important papers. Anger, frustration and jealousy rise in his chest and he realizes he is jealous of his dead mother. He feels his lips shaking and he tries to hold it in but fails. He laughs, really laughs and it's not beautiful but mad; the sound of a man who cannot escape his nightmares.


His boss looks at him closely, still not getting the answer to his question. His brows are furrowed and he searches for signs of the problem, while his mother licks her lips and lifts the hem of her dress higher, exposing the bloody stump of her missing leg. She rubs her breasts like she's hot and opens one fat button, showing more old skin.


He laughs harder.



*



Ziva flips her head up in record time, something warm swimming behind her brown eyes and Kate is almost ready to punch her. He thinks about warning Ziva about it but decides not to; he should have some fun too. She is asking him if he’s alright but he's too busy trying to breathe while he watches the desk next to him.


McGee stares at him in horror, the sandwich he was munching on forgotten on his desk. Paula looks at her mother, winks her smashed eye and gives her rueful, soundless smile. She lifts her broken thumb and crouches on the floor; kneels in front of McGee, crawls around for a bit and he cranes his neck, trying to see what she is up to.


Ziva is fiddling with some papers and she stops abruptly, walking next to his desk, reaching for some sort of eye contact. Kate is fuming and she sits in the unoccupied chair, casting a mean look at his way for intercepting her attack against Ziva.


Gibbs keeps staring at him with open concern and unbelievable patience. Maybe his boss is about to call Ducky because â€"and here is the worrisome part- he isn't even irritated. He doesn't have to think twice, he's in so much trouble right now.


He hears McGee's yelp and looks at Paula. She's on her knees, wearing a triumphant expression and giggling for a moment. Obviously McGee's computer went down and he's trying to fix it with confusion.


Gibbs' gaze on him doesn’t falter and he thinks his boss must know he’s responsible for it somehow. That's really how it goes; whatever happens is always his fault, and even if it isn't, he's the one who gets the fallout from it. It has always been like that, as if Gibbs has some kind of obsession over him, always mocking, slapping, glaring. Always him… none of his teammates ever get that sort of treatment...


After all these years he's grown to like it because, as sad as it is, it's the closest thing to tough love he can find.



* * * * *



Gibbs tells him to leave but few hours later he still finds himself sitting by his desk. It's quiet around him but he isn't alone, not really. Mother hasn't moved from her spot on Gibbs' desk; in fact, she has made herself even more comfortable if possible.


He watches her in awe; the way she powders her broken nose and cheeks as if trying to cover the bruised and red skin, practicing seductive expressions with the little mirror attached to the powder cover. He is astonished by the charisma oozing out of her when she applies the ruby red lipstick and smooches it evenly across her ragged lips. He thinks it's a color that only blond models should use, it's dramatic, vivid and sexy as hell and in his fleeting thoughts he remembers all the blond models he has ever fucked.


And then there's mother.


He sighs again and stares at the ceiling. He counts the roof panels one by one while his mother starts talking. To his big surprise she acts almost civilized, saying how she thought it was horrible when he got the plague and he does feel touched, that weird feeling of heart skipping a beat and face flushing with surprise.


That must have been the first nice thing his mother has ever said to him.


He smiles with embarrassment and is about to say something equally nice to her, maybe thank her for her concern as she casually asks him does he really think Gibbs cares for him. His smile falters and turns into a frown as she continues shooting more (rhetorical) questions; does he think Gibbs told him to live because he's invaluable? Does he really believe he’s needed? He cringes at the last, most cutting question of all- does he really believe Gibbs could love him?



* * * * *



He wishes himself somewhere else. Some place, any place without the ever continuing nightmare. He thinks that special place should be warm, no more cold winters making his scarred lungs scream in protest as he pushes himself over his limits to prove to Gibbs he's worthy of being kept. Some place where he doesn't need to think about over achieving and proving himself all the time. Some place where he could be who he is, not pretending to be someone else for fear of being brutally discarded and totally forgotten. Some place with peace and serenity, where he’ll feel at home; safe, loved, wanted and appreciated. Some place where he can start all over.


He looks around in desperation and sighs.



* * * * *



He's driving aimlessly, killing some never-ending time.


The car is eerily quiet, which he finds absurd. After all, there are four of them. He and his women; mother sitting next to him, watching the dull scenery from the passenger side window, tapping her red painted nail against the lock, Kate and Paula sharing the back seat, not making any noise at all. He can feel them staring at him. As weird as it is, he wishes they would say something; tease him, yell at him, undermine him.


Silence is always the worst.


He thinks maybe he should get smaller car, one without backseat. Maybe a motorcycle, or just a bike.



* * * * *



Gibbs opens his door wordlessly, the way he always does. Looking at the wet man in front of him, he takes a step forward, exposing himself to the rapidly falling rain and reaches his warm hand out to touch the colder one. Gibbs grabs his fingers tightly in his big hands and for a second he feels good, even loved, despite the death around him. He studies his boss' features, the way the water makes his silver hair look almost black, the way the drops cling to his lashes and drip from his lower lip as he purses his lips tighter together, squinting to be able to see him in the heavy rain and darkness surrounding them. The dim light coming from his half open door creates a halo around him, and he almost laughs because Gibbs is nowhere near a saint and he simply closes his eyes to cherish the beautiful feeling but before he realizes it’s gone, like it was never even there.


Suddenly he’s cold again and starts to look for a way to escape; before he can pull away Gibbs is tugging him inside.


The house is warm and cozy, the faint mix of scents creating a calm atmosphere but he doesn't feel welcome.



*



Gibbs asks if he wants a glass of something and he's not capable of answering. Mother has limped her way next to the fireplace; she looks at the photo above it, a picture of Gibbs' long lost family, the happy faces and joy of something he never himself got to experience.


Gibbs is gone, nowhere to be seen and he's glad about that. His mother stares at the photo with her mouth half open before she starts laughing. Holding an ugly hand against her shockingly red lips she shakes and even giggles hysterically while Kate barges next to her, whispers something and his mother stops. Then they both turn to look at him, eyes blazing with hatred. He really isn't that eager to find out what just happened and is relieved when Gibbs comes back with two tumblers of golden liquid.


Silence fills the room as Gibbs sits down on the sofa and stares at him not so discreetly. He's not bothered by it, his boss staring at him is usual. He wants to tell him, wants it so badly but isn't sure where to start. How to start. So he settles himself next to Gibbs and gulps the drink down at once. Not really feeling the burn he puts down the glass and says quietly: “I'm seeing things.�


Gibbs asks calmly what kind of things and he doesn't want to elaborate at all. Instead he turns to look at his boss with an expression that screams for compassion and understanding of what he can’t bring himself to say. He isn't all that surprised when Gibbs leaves it at that but he is overwhelmed by the way his boss takes his hand again and pulls him closer. One hand touches his cold cheek gently, wiping away the drops of water from his hair and lands on his back to caress his skin, his piercing blue eyes silently asking if he needs help. He doesn't know how to answer because he doesn't know.


He wonders when it all turned so lifeless and gray, so ugly and numb.


Gibbs pulls him closer and kisses him lightly on his forehead and he sighs deeply. Lifting his head he kisses his boss and tangles his fingers in Gibbs' damp hair.


Their lips are making a beautiful dance, one he has never experienced before. It's almost soundless but frantic and he starts to feel something, sparkles of something painful looming inside him and he's enjoying the stinging and burning. Gibbs drags him almost into his lap, gets a better grip on him and keeps kissing him like there is no tomorrow. He has wanted to kiss his boss since forever but it was one of those things he was fairly certain would never happen, like all the broken promises his parents made. Like all the promises anyone has ever made.


Maybe there's still hope for him after all.



*



Mother stares at him again. She was gone for a moment but now she's back, sitting on Gibbs' coffee table, horror written on her face. He can hardly enjoy the wonders that Gibbs is visiting upon him, licking and sucking eagerly. Never in his wildest dreams did he expect to be on the receiving end. He always carried the image of him being the one to do all the work with Gibbs.


As he sits on the comfortable sofa and tingles all over with pleasure, he cannot concentrate on the action. His mother yells at him for taking her man, saying all kinds of ridiculous and mean things to him; how he has disappointed her again, how he is a dirty little fag, how his father would hate him for what Gibbs is doing to him and most of all, most hurtful of all, how she wish he'd never been born. He's used to it all but it is worse than usual- the women are marring his dream come true.


He loves his women still, no doubt about that but he loves Gibbs more.


He feels his heart starting to beat faster and knows he's almost there and by the way Gibbs slows down, he knows it too. He turns his head to look at the silver hair blobbing between his legs and is really amazed. He isn't really sure how they got there, from being subordinate and boss to sharing this, what ever it turns out to be. He's about to smile but doesn't have a chance as Kate kneels right next to Gibbs. She's ogling Gibbs with glassy eyes, hearing too the little noises her previous boss is making. She seems disgusted, watches the action for a while longer before running into the corner of Gibbs' living room and throwing up heavily. His mother laughs at him.


Then Kate is back and she's not approving what Gibbs is doing. She pulls the cross from underneath her blouse and speaks quietly of how she had no clue of him being sick, how he could recover from his sickness by praying to God for forgiveness and to never repeat the unnatural act. He finds it far scarier when she speaks quietly rather than screaming as she keeps going on about penance and reconciliation and pulls out a medal from her pocket. She asks him to identify the tiny silver medallion as she swings it in front of his face but Gibbs is speeding up again and he has some trouble understanding anything. She says it's Saint Jude, the patron saint of desperate cases and lost causes and that is what he is.


Kate is brutally pushed away when Paula comes in the room. She glances at Gibbs and snarls coldly that she was so much better than Gibbs will ever be.


At that point he feels it all coming apart. Gibbs holds him tight as his world is bright for a moment and he feels joy because it's Gibbs who's sharing it with him.



* * * * *



Later, when they are in Gibbs' bed he's glad Gibbs isn't trying to fix him. He's so far gone in his little world that there's almost nothing left to fix.


He lies still and tries to listen to Gibbs breathing. It appears to be one of those calming and relaxing sounds and he finds himself in the verge of sleep. He doesn't really know how to act, it is Gibbs' house â€" Gibbs' bed - after all; the sheets smell like they are full of opportunities like partnership, friendship, respect and even love is looming somewhere in the mix. The lumpy mattress feels like his world; used, rough, painful and so alone.


And then there's Gibbs. His beautiful Gibbs. He hopes they'll be able to maintain their odd relationship, maybe even take it further but if they don’t…he squelches the thought and tells himself that he wouldn’t be too disappointed.

Gibbs opens his blue eyes and scrutinizes him, as if he's trying to get inside his head. He can't really blame Gibbs because he doesn't feel alright and hasn’t for a long time.


He briefly wonders where his women are.


Gibbs says nothing, letting his expressive eyes do the talking, silently asking if he feels comfortable. He's not trying to hide anything, he's too tired for that. Besides he's fairly certain that if there is someone who is somehow able to help him, it'd be Gibbs. So he looks at him, eye to eye and gives Gibbs a small smile. A smile of appreciation. It doesn't take too long for Gibbs to return it, the lopsided little grin he loves. It makes Gibbs look mischievous and younger than he really is. The corners of his eyes crinkle a bit and his eyes are shining. Gibbs is truly wonderful and the small mutual gesture gives him some sort of hope.



* * * * *



Some time later he's still listening to Gibbs’ long, deep breaths. He notices Kate and Paula sitting by the wardrobe, snickering and glancing at him frequently, laughing manically and throwing mean looks at him. He really doesn’t care since for once he feels better, not neglected and so damn alone.


He sees his mother standing next to the bed, looking down at Gibbs, her lip crooked in unpleasant sneer, finger formed gun made of her hand, pointing at Gibbs' head. She turns to look at him and as that sickening smile deepens on her battered face, she pulls the fake trigger.


He stares at her in disbelief and he thinks that if he could cry he’d be doing it now.


"You're home." Gibbs whispers in the middle of his sleep and tightens his hold of him.


As the first rays of sunshine push their way into the bedroom, his beautiful women fade away, like they never existed. He knows it's only temporarily: when the darkness arrives once again, his women will be there, driving him slowly but surely insane. He gives a sigh and snuggles closer to Gibbs. For the first time in months, he closes his eyes.




Fin