When Tony awoke the next morning, it was to the appetizing aroma of pancakes, bacon, eggs, toast, and fresh coffee. He groaned as he sat up, the healing lashes on his back pulling with the motion and the bullet wound on his left side sending a short, sharp shard of agony through him.

Note to self: getting perforated by high-velocity projectiles is harmful to your health. Also, it hurts.

He gingerly pulled himself out of bed and made his way to the bathroom across the hall, relieving himself and brushing his teeth. He eyed the shower longingly, but the thought of a hot, homemade breakfast won out. He made his slow way downstairs, holding onto the railing to help keep his still-precarious balance on the steps. He walked into the kitchen and made a beeline for the coffeepot, hands knowing by force of long habit exactly where to find a mug and a spoon.

"Tony, what are you doing? I was gonna bring everything up to you!"

Tony steadfastly ignored Gibbs' questioning exclamation and made his coffee, maneuvering around his Boss to get the creamer and sugar before chugging back half of it in one go. He sighed happily and finally turned his focus onto the older man, smiling slightly.

"You say something, Boss?"

Gibbs just shook his head with a half-smile and motioned for him to sit at the dining room table. Tony refilled his coffee and doctored it up again before complying, parking himself in his usual spot - I have a usual spot, huh - and sipping at his brew while he waited for Gibbs to put the finishing touches on their breakfast.

Soon enough, Gibbs served up two plates heaping with food, and the two men dug in with gusto. As Tony ate, he watched his Boss with curious eyes. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something seemed different. It wasn’t anything overt, but there was a definite change in the other man. Puzzled, Tony decided to keep silent and see if he could figure it out on his own.

They lingered over their breakfast, making small talk and sharing the paper again. Tony found himself smiling at nothing, content in the strange domesticity that was accompanying his convalescence at Gibbs’ house. It was a rare commodity in Tony’s life, and he savored it every time it appeared, storing away those moments in the recesses of his memory like precious jewels.

Lord knows I never had this growing up, and I’ve never had a relationship last long enough to produce something like this, except for Jeanne, and that doesn’t count. Not that I want that kind of relationship with Gibbs, but this weird friendship/family thing we have going is really nice.

It hit Tony then just how desperately lonely he was, and his sudden change in mood was almost enough to send him scurrying from the table to hide in the spare bedroom. All the one-night stands he’d had (and there were far fewer of them than most people thought, all things considered) were just a hopeless attempt to fill the huge, sucking void in his chest that ate at him, especially in the deepest parts of the night when there was nobody around to quiet the dark voices in his head.

He’d been alone for a long time, even before he’d been disowned at twelve and sent away… since his mother had died. And how sad is it that the highlight of my childhood was an increasingly alcoholic, manic-depressive woman with a penchant for sailor suits and mint juleps? No wonder I’m so screwed up.

Tony was under no illusions about the cause of his mother’s death; the self-induced combination of prescription drugs and alcohol had shut her body down with just enough time to get her admitted to a hospital before she gladly succumbed. Though the staff had done their best to shield him from the truth, even at a young age Tony’s innate curiosity and intelligence had driven him to discover that his mother had indeed killed herself. That realization had hurt him deeply; whatever precarious love she had felt for her only child hadn’t been enough to keep her tethered to the mortal coil. She’d left him, left all of them, and Tony had never recovered. His father’s callous and cruel treatment of him had only reinforced the lesson that he was worthless, unlovable, and a burden to those around him.

That old litany began playing through his mind, the same song that surrounded him in the worst moments of the night when he couldn’t sleep. She left us because of you! - he heard his father’s voice, his palpable anger striking as hard as his fists as he poured the blame for his wife’s death solely at his son’s feet. You’re worthless! You’ll end up in the gutter, mark my words! Why would anyone ever love you?... It went on and on, the words morphing from his father’s voice to the voices of the bullies he faced at boarding school, of the few failed relationships he’d had in college and beyond, of disappointed coaches and teammates, superiors and coworkers, of every mistake and heartache he’d ever faced.

A sudden headslap brought him out of his downward spiral with a start, and he looked into the concerned gaze of Gibbs as the other man studied him intently.

“You with me, Tony? I called your name a few times, but you didn’t answer me.” Gibbs’ voice was gentle, but his eyes were serious and penetrating.

Tony blinked and rubbed the back of his head, unsure of what to do next. He couldn’t even begin to explain what had been running through his mind. His yabba yabba skills were beyond compare, but real, meaningful conversation was another matter entirely.

“Yeah, Boss, I’m good.” Try as he might, Tony’s smile didn’t reach his eyes, and he knew that the other man saw right through him. Just leave it be, Boss.

Tony braced himself internally as he rode out Gibbs’ stare, willing the other man to move the conversation on. He almost sighed with relief when Gibbs nodded once, letting him know that he would not press him, at least not yet.

“I was wondering what you wanted to do today. I know you’re not really up to going anywhere yet, but since it’s Sunday I was thinking maybe we could invite the team over for dinner, maybe a movie or two. What do you think?”

Tony could do nothing but stare at Gibbs, a bite of food half-chewed in his mouth as he froze in shock. It's gotta be a pod person. The real Gibbs is buried under the basement floor somewhere, trapped in stasis.

Gibbs wasn’t a very social person, and he didn’t like having droves of people at his house. The few times the team had gathered there had usually been prompted by some type of emergency or work-related incident. Even Abby, with all her charm and innate status as the favorite, could rarely convince Gibbs to allow the team over for a cookout or movie night.

The thought of having company was certainly an appealing one, but Tony was unsure whether or not to say yes. I don’t know what Gibbs has told them about our wonderful camping experience or whether they’ll press us for details. Not sure I’m up for that yet.

Gibbs must have seen something in the micro-expressions that flashed across his face as swiftly as lightning.

“I’ve not told them much about what happened in the park beyond what happened with Chip, nor do I intend to. I’ll leave that up to you to decide when and how much to share. It’s your business, Tony, and I respect that. They’ve already been warned not to push you.”

Tony sighed internally, relieved that Gibbs had anticipated his concerns and addressed them. Not that he expected there to be no pressure - it was Gibbs’ team, after all, and they wouldn’t be doing their jobs if they didn’t push - but he was certain they would at least rein it in, especially with Gibbs present.

“Yeah, Boss, I think I’d like that. You know, there’s this really funny movie we can watch called Oscar about a gangster who tries to go straight…”

~***N*C*I*S***~

Tony sagged in relief on the couch as Gibbs closed the door behind Abby, the last guest to reluctantly leave their impromptu dinner and a movie. He was tired, in more pain than he was comfortable admitting, and wanted nothing more than to curl up in the guest room bed and sleep for a week.

He’d had a good time, all things considered. They’d ordered a mixture of Chinese take-out and pizza from Gibbs’ favorite pizzeria. Ducky had arrived early and given Tony a thorough checkup, proclaiming that he was healing nicely but warning him that it would still be weeks before he could go back to work, and then only on desk duty. Tony had accepted his prognosis without comment, mentally promising himself that he would be back to work as soon as possible.

The team had made their way over in bits and pieces. Abby was first, of course, bearing a delectable chocolate cake from a specialty bakery not far from her apartment. Tim hadn’t been far behind, arms full of various junk foods, and had quickly made his way to the guestroom where he made short work of relocating Tony’s TV and DVD player to the living room. Ziva was next, making her way into the house with her arms full of grocery bags containing various beverages. Palmer was last, giving Tony a quiet but sincere smile and a pat on the shoulder as he made his way past him and into the kitchen to deposit his armload of paper plates, plastic flatware, napkins, and disposable cups.

They had piled their plates high, Gibbs silently preparing Tony’s with his favorites and handing it off to him with a glass of cola and a handful of meds. Tony would have preferred a beer, but even he knew better than to mix alcohol with his painkillers. At least he was off the heavier stuff that made him completely loopy. Everyone had found a place to sit as Tim popped in the movie; Tony had asked the younger man to swing by his apartment and pick up his copy of Oscar.

To Tony’s surprise, Gibbs had chuckled more than once as they watched the movie. When the police detective opened the black bag at the end and dumped it in front of the reporters, Gibbs had actually laughed a deep belly laugh that had caught everybody off-guard. Tony had thought back to breakfast when he had first realized that something was up with Gibbs. Ducky had glanced between the two of them and smiled, amusement and delight glittering in his eyes. Tony had felt distinctly uncomfortable in that moment, though he couldn’t articulate why, even to himself.

After the movie wrapped up, Tim had taken the TV and DVD player back upstairs. Ziva had sidled over to him with well-practiced nonchalance and sat down in the seat next to him that had been recently vacated by Abby as she went to help Gibbs in the kitchen. She had looked him over, her expression a practiced neutral, and quietly asked how he was feeling. I’m fineflew out of his mouth by reflex, and he had winced internally even as the words hung awkwardly between them.

He had sighed, breaking the silence, and told her about how the healing wounds on his back itched and that it was difficult to move without pain. His cracked (and, in one case, broken) ribs hurt mercilessly, and he had to go through painful breathing exercises he hadn’t used since his dip in the river to rescue Gibbs to keep himself from developing pneumonia. His other various contusions and lacerations from the beating Chip had given him added their voices of complaint; all in all he felt pretty wretched.

She had studied him with dark, serious eyes before nodding in acceptance of his answer. She had opened her mouth to say something, but Tony never found out what as Abby flopped on the other side of him on the couch, interrupting their little bubble of solitude. The conversation moved on, and the moment passed.

They had sat around talking for a while after the movie, munching on the junk food Tim had brought and keeping the conversation light and inconsequential. Nobody had mentioned what had happened in Shenandoah or asked any questions, though Tony could see that Abby especially was practically bursting with curiosity. One pointed glare from Gibbs, though, had her keeping her questions to herself. Tony was grateful that Gibbs kept the team from interrogating him on the subject, still not ready to share.

Tony had felt himself fading out, struggling to hold his ground in the conversation flowing around him. Gibbs, of course, had noticed, and, after exchanging a meaningful glance with Ducky, began herding the team out the door. They had been reluctant to leave, but the combined force that was a Gibbs-Ducky assault had them moving to their cars in short order. Abby had held out the longest, but even she was no match for the two older men when they shared a goal. With one last gentle hug and a big kiss on his cheek, she was gone, Ducky genially escorting her to her car.

Now he gazed at the stairs like they were Mount Everest, dreading the climb ahead of him. His ribs hurt like a son of a gun, and the healing bullet wound seemed to radiate pain even when he held still, let alone when he tried to walk. He was certainly missing the stronger painkillers, but he knew he wouldn’t ask for them.

“You ready for bed?”

Tony started slightly; he hadn’t noticed Gibbs standing beside the couch watching him. The sudden motion jostled his ribs, and he groaned low in his throat, hands instinctively moving to cradle his torso. He was certainly regretting his morning stroll down the steps and back up again to shower after breakfast sans assistance; he had unthinkingly pushed himself harder than he should have. Man, I hate being injured. Simple things become monumental tasks, and now I have to ask Gibbs - Gibbs! - for help. There’s no way I can make it back upstairs by myself.

He felt warm, strong hands touch his chest and slide to rest under his armpits in a supportive hold and looked up into Gibbs’ concerned, contrite gaze.

“C’mon, Tony, lean on me. Between the two of us we’ll make it upstairs.”

That strange sense that something was different with Gibbs was back, and Tony still couldn’t quite figure it out. He had the feeling that Gibbs was saying a lot more than his simple offer of help would imply, but he was too tired to figure it out. It was still early, but he was totally drained.

He smiled weakly at the older man, pride momentarily usurped by exhaustion and pain, and nodded. He felt Gibbs begin to lift him off the couch and followed the motion, gaining his feet with another groan as his ribs shifted and protested. Gibbs carefully swung around him, never letting go, until he was beside him, one arm around his waist and the other pulling Tony’s own arm over his shoulder in support as he walked them both to the stairs.

The steps loomed ahead of them, and Tony swallowed as he gazed up them to the top step, feeling like an ant trying to climb the Rockies. Gibbs didn’t hesitate, though, and gently but firmly began to walk him up the stairs, one step at a time. Tony was sweating and shaking by the time they reached the top, but he made it without falling. The few steps to the guest room were only marginally less strenuous, and when Gibbs helped him sit on the edge of the bed it took everything he had not to collapse.

Gibbs went over to the dresser and pulled out sweats and an old Ohio State shirt while Tony could do no more than watch and breathe. With practical, clinical motions, Gibbs stripped him out of his sweat-soaked tee and jeans, ignoring Tony’s flush of embarrassment, and into the clean clothes.

Pills suddenly appeared in his hand like magic, and Gibbs handed them off to Tony along with a glass of water from the nightstand. Tony tossed them back and swallowed them with a sip of water, not even bothering with a token protest. No sooner were his meds down than Gibbs was helping him under the covers, smoothing and tucking them around him as his eyes fluttered closed. A hand carded through his hair, and he leaned into the touch with a sigh.

As he gave in to the exhaustion pulling at his eyelids, he heard the rumble of Gibbs’ voice close to his ear murmuring a fond goodnight, Tony , but he was asleep before his lips could form a reply.