you can't hide
author's note: this takes place sometime after 'Impulse Control', in the Applied Psychology universe.
The night is clear, stars sprinkling the deep black sky. It's cold, and Tony's breath comes in small puffs as he sits on the porch, arms wrapped around his knees, his sweats not providing much of a barrier for the winter air. Through the socks and the thick slippers he shoved his feet into, the chill winds its way up his legs. His butt's already gone numb from the freezing porch and he can feel the goosebumps on his neck and his back.
It's probably around three in the morning. It was a little after two-thirty when he slid out of bed and dressed, padding down the stairs of Gibbs' house to come sit on the front porch, looking at the stars and listening to the very occasional car drive by. He knows he should go inside, get something hot to drink or just crawl back into bed, but he can't bring himself to do it just yet.
Tony lowers his forehead to his knees and wonders when life became about surrender and control and passion, about bone-deep honesty and pure emotion. He wonders when he started wanting to be taken care of, when he started wanting to be held and cuddled. He wonders what kind of a man it makes him, that he has to sleep with a man on one side of him and a woman on the other to feel safe, to feel wanted.
And he wonders when he'll fuck it up, because if Tony's learned anything in life it's that nothing good lasts forever, especially where he's concerned.
He looks up at the sky again. He barely knows enough to pick out the Big Dipper, but there's something comforting about the serene white light of the stars. Briefly, he thinks about making a wish, but he's got no idea what to wish for, and a generic wish for happiness is just asking for trouble.
Behind him, the door opens. A moment later, it closes and Gibbs sits down next to him, holding out a mug. Tony blinks in surprise, but takes the mug, drinking carefully as the contents are steaming in the night air. He's startled again to taste hot cocoa rather than coffee; he didn't even think Gibbs had cocoa.
Gibbs sips from his own mug, looking up. He's dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt and socks, there's stubble on his jaw, and he seems content to sit next to Tony and drink his cocoa and say nothing.
They drink in silence, Tony because he has no idea what to say and Gibbs because...Tony has no idea why. He looks into his mug, but the brown depths have no answers for him, any more than the sky above.
"Why me?" he asks finally. "You were happy with Abby. Why--why did you let her?"
Gibbs sets his mug down next to Tony's. "Because I couldn't not let her, Tony. Because the instant you walked into my house, looking like a drowned rat and so lost you needed a map to find your own ass, you became mine. You needed both of us, and we--" Gibbs shrugs. "I won't lie to you, Tony. I didn't think we did. But she wanted you to be happy, Tony. And if that meant adding you to our relationship, that's what it meant."
"So you did it out of pity?" The words sound sullen and bitter to his own ears.
"No." Gibbs' voice is even, with a hint of steel underneath. "I did it because you needed us. Because Abby wanted it. And because I wanted it." He smiles a little. "I only gave you one chance, Tony. If I'd given you more, you would have run. And I wasn't letting you go. You were mine then. You're mine now."
"Gibbs..." Tony shakes his head. "I don't know how to do this. I'm going to fuck it up."
Gibbs laughs. "I've been married three times, Tony. None of us know how to do this. If we fuck it up, we'll fuck it up together." He holds out an arm and Tony scoots over to him, leaning against him. Gibbs kisses the top of his head, hugging him close. "C'mon," Gibbs says after a moment. "Let's go back to bed."
Tony stands, a little stiffly due to the cold. It's not--quite--the answer he was looking for, but he doesn't know what would be. And he doesn't think this is the last time he'll come downstairs in the middle of the night, looking at the sky for explanations he can't find within himself.
On the other hand, Gibbs makes really good hot cocoa.
As he crawls back into bed and lets Gibbs hold him, breathing in the man's scent of sawdust and Ivory soap and cold winter air, Tony closes his eyes and makes a wish.
The night is clear, stars sprinkling the deep black sky. It's cold, and Tony's breath comes in small puffs as he sits on the porch, arms wrapped around his knees, his sweats not providing much of a barrier for the winter air. Through the socks and the thick slippers he shoved his feet into, the chill winds its way up his legs. His butt's already gone numb from the freezing porch and he can feel the goosebumps on his neck and his back.
It's probably around three in the morning. It was a little after two-thirty when he slid out of bed and dressed, padding down the stairs of Gibbs' house to come sit on the front porch, looking at the stars and listening to the very occasional car drive by. He knows he should go inside, get something hot to drink or just crawl back into bed, but he can't bring himself to do it just yet.
Tony lowers his forehead to his knees and wonders when life became about surrender and control and passion, about bone-deep honesty and pure emotion. He wonders when he started wanting to be taken care of, when he started wanting to be held and cuddled. He wonders what kind of a man it makes him, that he has to sleep with a man on one side of him and a woman on the other to feel safe, to feel wanted.
And he wonders when he'll fuck it up, because if Tony's learned anything in life it's that nothing good lasts forever, especially where he's concerned.
He looks up at the sky again. He barely knows enough to pick out the Big Dipper, but there's something comforting about the serene white light of the stars. Briefly, he thinks about making a wish, but he's got no idea what to wish for, and a generic wish for happiness is just asking for trouble.
Behind him, the door opens. A moment later, it closes and Gibbs sits down next to him, holding out a mug. Tony blinks in surprise, but takes the mug, drinking carefully as the contents are steaming in the night air. He's startled again to taste hot cocoa rather than coffee; he didn't even think Gibbs had cocoa.
Gibbs sips from his own mug, looking up. He's dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt and socks, there's stubble on his jaw, and he seems content to sit next to Tony and drink his cocoa and say nothing.
They drink in silence, Tony because he has no idea what to say and Gibbs because...Tony has no idea why. He looks into his mug, but the brown depths have no answers for him, any more than the sky above.
"Why me?" he asks finally. "You were happy with Abby. Why--why did you let her?"
Gibbs sets his mug down next to Tony's. "Because I couldn't not let her, Tony. Because the instant you walked into my house, looking like a drowned rat and so lost you needed a map to find your own ass, you became mine. You needed both of us, and we--" Gibbs shrugs. "I won't lie to you, Tony. I didn't think we did. But she wanted you to be happy, Tony. And if that meant adding you to our relationship, that's what it meant."
"So you did it out of pity?" The words sound sullen and bitter to his own ears.
"No." Gibbs' voice is even, with a hint of steel underneath. "I did it because you needed us. Because Abby wanted it. And because I wanted it." He smiles a little. "I only gave you one chance, Tony. If I'd given you more, you would have run. And I wasn't letting you go. You were mine then. You're mine now."
"Gibbs..." Tony shakes his head. "I don't know how to do this. I'm going to fuck it up."
Gibbs laughs. "I've been married three times, Tony. None of us know how to do this. If we fuck it up, we'll fuck it up together." He holds out an arm and Tony scoots over to him, leaning against him. Gibbs kisses the top of his head, hugging him close. "C'mon," Gibbs says after a moment. "Let's go back to bed."
Tony stands, a little stiffly due to the cold. It's not--quite--the answer he was looking for, but he doesn't know what would be. And he doesn't think this is the last time he'll come downstairs in the middle of the night, looking at the sky for explanations he can't find within himself.
On the other hand, Gibbs makes really good hot cocoa.
As he crawls back into bed and lets Gibbs hold him, breathing in the man's scent of sawdust and Ivory soap and cold winter air, Tony closes his eyes and makes a wish.