There Loomed An Ogre - 7/?
An uneasy peace settled around them in the wake of their latest exchange. Gibbs didn’t offer any follow up, seemingly content to just stand and watch and wait. After all, he had the upper hand - he was already there. To get his own preferred outcome, Tony had to find a way to make him leave. Better men than him had tried and failed.
He genuinely had no idea what to do next. Alright, so in an ideal world he’d bundle him out without ceremony, or failing that find a way to shut him up - but as he’d already established, the chances of him achieving either one made the odds on snowballs surviving hell look attractive. Still, he would really, really appreciate it if he could find a way to stop him following him around, poking holes in his equilibrium whenever he wasn’t looking.
Why did the man have to keep dropping those damn comments, anyway? What authority did he have to come in here and pass judgement? He had no idea what he was talking about - not that that made much difference to his ability to find a weak spot and home in on it, mind you. Happily, though, he was well wide of the mark with that effort. Too alone. Huh. Showed what he knew about it. He and alone were old friends - he couldn’t be too alone. Alone was his sanctuary, and his salvation, and had been for many, many years.
Unlike lonely. Now there was one of the most insidious foes you could ever meet. He knew, with that bone deep certainty reserved for eternal truths that were never learnt, had just always been there, that he would never find a way to vanquish lonely. But he could sure as hell outrun him for a while.
He’d been silent too long, and knew it would be taken as acquiescence; a battle lost, a point conceded. He wished he could deny it, or come up with some plan of words or action that would put him back in control of this conversation, but he could neither see nor feel the path that would get him there.
That didn’t mean he had to back down, though. He might not be winning, but he wasn’t losing either. He set his shoulders with a steadying breath, lifting his head to meet him eye to eye.
It was a mistake. He’d hoped to meet blank and inscrutable with challenge and determination, but instead found himself faltering in the face of that too familiar expression; the one which suggested that every thought that ran though your head was public property, just waiting to be held up on the altar of Gibbs utter self assurance and found wanting.
He did not want the man inside his head. He was having enough trouble with him just in the apartment.
Three long weeks ago, he would have cracked. He’d have figured he didn’t stand a chance and backed down, wanting to please him, to get it right, to earn a good word.
Three weeks ago, he’d been a misguided fool who’d forgotten some of the most basic lessons in life.
You can only rely on yourself.
Trust is no more than another weapon. Never let anybody get close enough to use it against you.
Nothing is permanent.
Now he remembered. He was grateful, in a perverse sort of way. There had been a time when he would have sworn those lessons were unforgettable, permanently etched on his soul. But somewhere along the way he’d lost his clarity, and allowed himself to get dragged off course. He’d started thinking that he could blur the edges - that he could pick and choose who, and how. That he could let his guard down. And where had that got him? Drugged into unconsciousness and trapped in a sewer.
Having meandered its way there, his mind shied abruptly away from the memory. Struggling to breathe once again in a kitchen that had become way too crowded, he pushed past and out, throwing himself back onto the couch, and wishing he didn’t work for a deliberately obtuse bastard who wouldn’t take no for an answer. Which, he thought irritably, was kinda what had led to this confrontation in the first place.
He knew his shadow had rejoined him when he smelt more coffee, but refused to open his eyes and acknowledge his presence.
It didn’t matter. Said presence took his attention for granted.
“What do I want?” The words may have been the same, but the second repetition bore none of the anger of its earlier incarnation. This was quieter, and held a note of something raw that he couldn’t quite identify, and wasn’t sure he wanted to. “I want to know what’s wrong. I want to know how to fix it. I want you to tell me what happened to make you believe that not one of us would listen or care if you came and asked for help.”
And finally he was presented with something he could deal with up front. Hallelujah.
“Well, why didn’t you say so sooner? In order: nothing that can’t be solved by a change of scenery; you can’t; I opened my eyes and ears and started taking notice.” He paused for a few seconds, but temptation was too great. “So you’ve got what you wanted. Now will you go?” They both knew it was an empty question, but he still felt it had to be said, for form’s sake if nothing else.
True to his expectations, it got no answer. Instead the room lapsed into silence again, and he chose to remain hidden behind his eyelids. Of course, there was no hope of him out-waiting Gibbs, and he knew it. Instead, he blanked his mind of everything, headed back to those woods, and only when he could feel the sun on his face and the solidity of his old resolutions sitting deep within his chest did he decide to rejoin the rest of the room.
Gibbs was sitting at the other end of the couch, no doubt biding his time. Tony eyed him warily, wondering what he was going to do next.
“Better?” He didn’t respond to that, chiefly because the question was neither as simple nor as innocuous as it sounded. “I brought you water - unless you’d prefer coffee?” This time he shook his head silently, and by the time he sat forward Gibbs was handing him the bottle.
After drinking, he reverted to watching the older man, waiting for him to make the next move.
“Let’s get one thing straight for a start. This is not a fuss over nothing, Tony. I don’t want you to leave. No-one wants you to leave. I’ve just about got this team to what I want it to be. You go and I’ll have to start from scratch.”
“No, you won’t. You’ll just have one agent to replace.”
“Senior Agent. They’re not as easy to come by as you’d think. Irreplaceable, remember?”
Over the years, he’d learnt a lot about human nature, both from desire and necessity. It was a universal fact that people liked to label those around them. Once they had you pegged - as an easy going lightweight, or a playboy only interested in the good times, or an eternal joker who couldn’t be relied on, they were happy. It was rare that someone would go seeking anything new once you were slotted into your box, unless you give them sound reason to. Or unless you were Tony DiNozzo, who looked, and noticed, and learnt; and never, ever took anybody at face value, no matter how long he’d known them.
So people missed parts of him. He did have a temper, and he did have a serious side - he just liked to keep both to himself. No one went looking for those other sides to him, and that was exactly how he wanted it. They were parts of himself for himself, and only to be released when the time was right for them.
‘Irreplaceable’, however, cut straight across every shred of common sense and restraint he possessed with a visceral stab of pain that shot though him like a lightning bolt, sending him to his feet once again.
“Oh for… You really are just like him, aren’t you? Neither of you ever quit!” He took a moment for vengeful satisfaction at the expression of pure shock looking back up at him, before ploughing on. “You already used that hook, Special Agent Gibbs, and I know the punch line. No doubt McGeek is polishing his desk already, blissfully unaware of what he’s getting into! So you can take your bullying, and your loaded, practically non-existent praise, and your impatient fucking temper, and inflict it on someone who’s still willing to jump through your hoops! Now get out of my home!”
There was a stunned pause, before the other man spoke again. “That’s what this is about? You thought I was serious? Jesus Christ, Tony…”
“I said get out.”
Gibbs stopped short at the tone, eyeing him speculatively, and he smiled to himself internally. He didn’t throw his weight about very often, but he’d learnt (and, come to that, was still learning, at least for another week or two) how to do it from the very best.
“No.”
He could feel the adrenaline flowing through him now, arms and legs and fingers and toes all itching and twitching and wanting to do something. Three weeks worth of suppressed misery, fear and self-hate all twisting and zinging around and looking for an outlet.
“I’m not going anywhere. We’re not done here.”
He balled his hands up into fists, and let the fizzing emotions flow. They were feral, and primal, and looking for blood.
“We can sort this out. Now I know what the problem is, we can fix it.”
He could feel the liquid turning to white hot lava in his veins, bubbling and boiling. He didn’t want to listen any more, not to a lying face and a gentle voice. Not to words and tones he was desperate to hear and dreaded in equal measure. He wanted to vent. He wanted to get his own back. And if he wouldn’t leave after he’d been asked, then it was his own fault, wasn’t it?
“Hit me, if it makes you feel better. I won’t hit you back.”
You won’t get a chance, you lying, vicious, bullying bastard. Not this time.
“But I don’t think you will. Because I’m not your father. And neither are you.”
For a long time, he just stared, horror-struck, at Gibbs. Only when he caught movement from the corner of his eye did the trance break, and before the other man could take a second step in his direction, he’d gathered his wits, side-stepped down the blind side and was heading out of the room.
“Tony-“
He heard the single word, half plea, half demand, floating after him as if from a thousand miles away, but he spared it neither a thought nor a backward glance as he wrenched the door open and fled into the night.