Turn Off the Music that Muffled Your Tears
Title: Turn Off the Music that Muffled Your Tears
Fandom: NCIS
Rating: PG
Characters/pairings: Tony/Gibbs
Warnings (including spoilers): For 8x23 Swan Song
Wordcount: 1,163 words
Summary: Tony can’t watch anymore.
[*]
Tony stands at the top of the basement stairs for a long time, listening to the scraping and scratching of metal on metal coming from below. He's thinking about whether he should descend- whether he has the right. Because while Gibbs' door is always open, Tony knows that if he walks down those steps he's going to say things that they both know, but have never acknowledged, and he's not sure what will happen if the truth is finally spoken aloud.
“You gonna come in?” Gibbs says without looking up.
Anger flares for a moment- Tony considers remaining silent, or saying nothing, or even leaving, just to be stubborn- but shakes his head and walks down the steps. When he reaches the bottom he eyes the bottle of brandy on Gibbs' workbench, open and nearly full, two mugs set beside it.
He scowls. Of course Gibbs knew he was coming.
Gibbs wheels himself out from under the car he's been working on. After Mike Franks' death, Gibbs was willed the classic in mediocre condition and he’s been working on restoring it. Tony's fingers twitch with the urge to touch the gorgeous machine, but the clink of the tools Gibbs sets down when he approaches draws his attention away.
“How was your date?” Tony asks, and wants to scowl at his own passive-aggressive tone.
Gibbs just watches him with that stupid all-knowing blank expression. He pours himself a measure of brandy and sips it, pulling a face and smacking his lips. After a moment, he drawls, “I don't think she likes me.”
“That's not what it looked like today at the office,” Tony challenges. The memory of the blonde LEO coquettishly flirting with his boss and drawing out those 'aw shucks' grins that take ten years off the man makes Tony's stomach hurt and his fists clench unintentionally. “It looked like you two were getting along really well. Well enough for you to ask her to dinner and drinks and for her to offer to pick you up.”
Gibbs opens his mouth and gives him the 'I'm-being-railroaded' look before replying: “What do you want me to say, Tony? Yeah, I like her. No, we're not gonna see each other again.”
“And why is that?” Tony fires back.
Now Gibbs glares. “Why do I have to explain myself to you?”
“Cut the crap, Gibbs.” Tony returns the glare with interest. “You know why.”
Gibbs puts down his mug and turns away, picking up his tools again. He goes to work under the hood of the car, though, instead of sliding down to work on the undercarriage. It's not often Tony gets Gibbs on the run, and he feels a fierce pride even as painful emotions swirl around him.
The silence runs on for a while. Tony pours himself some of the brandy and tries it; it's really not his drink, but he forces himself to sip the whole measure, slowly. When he finishes, the worst of the anger has burnt itself away and the pain in his chest has settled.
He is calm enough to keep his voice level when he says, "I'm in love with you. Do you honestly think that's going to go away just because you refuse to acknowledge it?"
Gibbs rests on one hand against the car, twists his neck to stretch it. "I was kind of hoping it would, yeah,” he says.
Tony starts when he hears that- not because of the words, but because of the tone: Gibbs sounded like he does when he's talking to Ducky- joking, just a hint gentle and knowing that he's wrong and he's going to get a scolding for it. It makes the tense muscles in Tony's back relax, gives him the courage to give that lecture.
“Well let me tell you, boss, it doesn’t work that way.” Tony chuckles fakely, and he hopes the burning in his eyes is anger, because he honestly can’t tell. “Believe me, I’ve tried. I’ve tried for years. And you knew the whole time, didn’t you?”
Gibbs just watches him. Tony steps closer, feeling like the tie he hasn’t taken off from work is trying to strangle him.
“You probably knew before I did, didn’t you? And you did nothing!”
His speech ends in a whisper that is barely a step above cracking. He’s so close to Gibbs now that when Gibbs reaches up and holds both sides of his neck, he gasps in surprise, but can’t evade. Gibbs’s shining blue eyes make him stay still, throat hurting, every breath dependant on what the next words would be.
“You’re mine, Tony,” Gibbs tells him, quiet voice rasping like the fine sandpaper he loves. “You’re my senior agent. There’s nobody in the world I trust more than you.” Tony’s jaw clenches and Gibbs reads his mind. “No one. I trust you, I rely on you.”
Tony scoffs, but he’ll be damned if he drops his gaze, even as his face twitches with the effort of staying together and Gibbs’s hands burn his skin. “But you don’t love me, right?”
It’s so painful to say it out loud after thinking it for so long. But something flashes in Gibbs’s face as he sighs and looks away, and the realization shakes through Tony like thunder. “You do love me.”
Gibbs lets go of him and turns, but Tony grabs his shoulder. “Gibbs, I-” He steps closer, heart racing. “Why-”
“You’re my agent, Tony,” Gibbs repeats, and this time his voice is rough.
“Rule 12? That’s what this is about?”
“Dating someone you work with, the person you count on around the clock, in our business, puts everyone’s life in danger.” Tony is shaking his head, but Gibbs’s honestly despairing gaze stops him. “I wish it were different, Tony, I really do. But that’s the way it is.”
“Screw the rules, Gibbs.” Tony steps into his boss’ personal space, sticking his face in Gibbs’ when the older man looks away. “You and me, we can do it. We can do this, and do our jobs. I know we can,” he murmurs.
He touches Gibbs’s cheek with his fingertips. They’re so close, barely inches apart, and he could kiss him, but that’s not how it works between them. If Gibbs says no, then it won’t happen.
That’s why he has to say yes.
“Please, Gibbs,” Tony whispers, and their lips meet.
After years of longing, the simple, chaste kiss feels like heaven. Tony doesn’t know how long they stand there, trading soft kisses, but it feels like an eternity. He’d feel perfectly fine if it did last that long.
Eventually, Gibbs pulls back and looks into his eyes. He tries to speak, but just shakes his head. Then he takes Tony’s hand and steps toward the stairs.
Tony hesitates.
“Come on,” Gibbs prompts him. He smiles, then nods at the basement door when he says, “It’s late. We should get some sleep.”
Tony follows him up and knows that he’s come home at last.
Fandom: NCIS
Rating: PG
Characters/pairings: Tony/Gibbs
Warnings (including spoilers): For 8x23 Swan Song
Wordcount: 1,163 words
Summary: Tony can’t watch anymore.
[*]
Tony stands at the top of the basement stairs for a long time, listening to the scraping and scratching of metal on metal coming from below. He's thinking about whether he should descend- whether he has the right. Because while Gibbs' door is always open, Tony knows that if he walks down those steps he's going to say things that they both know, but have never acknowledged, and he's not sure what will happen if the truth is finally spoken aloud.
“You gonna come in?” Gibbs says without looking up.
Anger flares for a moment- Tony considers remaining silent, or saying nothing, or even leaving, just to be stubborn- but shakes his head and walks down the steps. When he reaches the bottom he eyes the bottle of brandy on Gibbs' workbench, open and nearly full, two mugs set beside it.
He scowls. Of course Gibbs knew he was coming.
Gibbs wheels himself out from under the car he's been working on. After Mike Franks' death, Gibbs was willed the classic in mediocre condition and he’s been working on restoring it. Tony's fingers twitch with the urge to touch the gorgeous machine, but the clink of the tools Gibbs sets down when he approaches draws his attention away.
“How was your date?” Tony asks, and wants to scowl at his own passive-aggressive tone.
Gibbs just watches him with that stupid all-knowing blank expression. He pours himself a measure of brandy and sips it, pulling a face and smacking his lips. After a moment, he drawls, “I don't think she likes me.”
“That's not what it looked like today at the office,” Tony challenges. The memory of the blonde LEO coquettishly flirting with his boss and drawing out those 'aw shucks' grins that take ten years off the man makes Tony's stomach hurt and his fists clench unintentionally. “It looked like you two were getting along really well. Well enough for you to ask her to dinner and drinks and for her to offer to pick you up.”
Gibbs opens his mouth and gives him the 'I'm-being-railroaded' look before replying: “What do you want me to say, Tony? Yeah, I like her. No, we're not gonna see each other again.”
“And why is that?” Tony fires back.
Now Gibbs glares. “Why do I have to explain myself to you?”
“Cut the crap, Gibbs.” Tony returns the glare with interest. “You know why.”
Gibbs puts down his mug and turns away, picking up his tools again. He goes to work under the hood of the car, though, instead of sliding down to work on the undercarriage. It's not often Tony gets Gibbs on the run, and he feels a fierce pride even as painful emotions swirl around him.
The silence runs on for a while. Tony pours himself some of the brandy and tries it; it's really not his drink, but he forces himself to sip the whole measure, slowly. When he finishes, the worst of the anger has burnt itself away and the pain in his chest has settled.
He is calm enough to keep his voice level when he says, "I'm in love with you. Do you honestly think that's going to go away just because you refuse to acknowledge it?"
Gibbs rests on one hand against the car, twists his neck to stretch it. "I was kind of hoping it would, yeah,” he says.
Tony starts when he hears that- not because of the words, but because of the tone: Gibbs sounded like he does when he's talking to Ducky- joking, just a hint gentle and knowing that he's wrong and he's going to get a scolding for it. It makes the tense muscles in Tony's back relax, gives him the courage to give that lecture.
“Well let me tell you, boss, it doesn’t work that way.” Tony chuckles fakely, and he hopes the burning in his eyes is anger, because he honestly can’t tell. “Believe me, I’ve tried. I’ve tried for years. And you knew the whole time, didn’t you?”
Gibbs just watches him. Tony steps closer, feeling like the tie he hasn’t taken off from work is trying to strangle him.
“You probably knew before I did, didn’t you? And you did nothing!”
His speech ends in a whisper that is barely a step above cracking. He’s so close to Gibbs now that when Gibbs reaches up and holds both sides of his neck, he gasps in surprise, but can’t evade. Gibbs’s shining blue eyes make him stay still, throat hurting, every breath dependant on what the next words would be.
“You’re mine, Tony,” Gibbs tells him, quiet voice rasping like the fine sandpaper he loves. “You’re my senior agent. There’s nobody in the world I trust more than you.” Tony’s jaw clenches and Gibbs reads his mind. “No one. I trust you, I rely on you.”
Tony scoffs, but he’ll be damned if he drops his gaze, even as his face twitches with the effort of staying together and Gibbs’s hands burn his skin. “But you don’t love me, right?”
It’s so painful to say it out loud after thinking it for so long. But something flashes in Gibbs’s face as he sighs and looks away, and the realization shakes through Tony like thunder. “You do love me.”
Gibbs lets go of him and turns, but Tony grabs his shoulder. “Gibbs, I-” He steps closer, heart racing. “Why-”
“You’re my agent, Tony,” Gibbs repeats, and this time his voice is rough.
“Rule 12? That’s what this is about?”
“Dating someone you work with, the person you count on around the clock, in our business, puts everyone’s life in danger.” Tony is shaking his head, but Gibbs’s honestly despairing gaze stops him. “I wish it were different, Tony, I really do. But that’s the way it is.”
“Screw the rules, Gibbs.” Tony steps into his boss’ personal space, sticking his face in Gibbs’ when the older man looks away. “You and me, we can do it. We can do this, and do our jobs. I know we can,” he murmurs.
He touches Gibbs’s cheek with his fingertips. They’re so close, barely inches apart, and he could kiss him, but that’s not how it works between them. If Gibbs says no, then it won’t happen.
That’s why he has to say yes.
“Please, Gibbs,” Tony whispers, and their lips meet.
After years of longing, the simple, chaste kiss feels like heaven. Tony doesn’t know how long they stand there, trading soft kisses, but it feels like an eternity. He’d feel perfectly fine if it did last that long.
Eventually, Gibbs pulls back and looks into his eyes. He tries to speak, but just shakes his head. Then he takes Tony’s hand and steps toward the stairs.
Tony hesitates.
“Come on,” Gibbs prompts him. He smiles, then nods at the basement door when he says, “It’s late. We should get some sleep.”
Tony follows him up and knows that he’s come home at last.