Dead marine, Gibbs… Bruised knees, New job (or, How Tony Thinks He Got His Job) 1/2
Title: Dead marine, Gibbs… Bruised knees, New job (or, How Tony Thinks He Got His Job)
Author: ingenius_inc
Written for: kelly_girl
Archive: ask please
Rating: AUS MA15+, US NC17(?)
Warnings/Spoilers: All seasons
Genre: Slash
Pairings: Gibbs/DiNozzo
Word Count: 8500
Disclaimer: Don’t own anything. And the world is a safer place for that.
Prompt: Tony and Gibbs. Slash or hints of it. G-NC17. Some angst would be great or someone finding out about them.
Author's Note: With thanks to periwinkle27 for being a kind beta.




Tony gets his job at NCIS because a marine has the bad taste to be murdered in a dirty hotel that’s already in the middle of a double homicide investigation being run by Baltimore PD. Just one look at the tired and ragged officers --

(“Detective DiNozzo,” he said, offering a hand that was curtly ignored. Tony smiled up at the man instead, and pointed at the body on the floor, “He’s one of yours, but we’re running an operation here. If you’re willing to share jurisdiction, I’m sure you’ll find we’re very flexible with arrangements,” he said and licked his lips for good measure.

The NCIS agent glared at him for a moment, all hard lined mouth and cold assessing eyes, before saying, “You have an office where we could work out the details, Detective DiNozzo?”)

-- is enough to convince Special Agent Gibbs to share jurisdiction with the locals on this one.

Well, actually, Tony likes to think he got the job because he smiled at Gibbs, invited him (discreetly) to the men’s room, got on his knees and gave him the dirtiest blowjob ever– and did it all again a few hours later. Tony’s always had a thing for blue eyes and the guy had been awfully nice about not messing up weeks of work.

There might have been a form and an interview somewhere, but for Tony it’s always going to be dead marine, Gibbs, men’s room, bruised knees, new job.

Gibbs says “You can’t do this again if you come and work for me,” the day they wrap up the investigation.

Tony licks his lips (he might as well be saying we’ll see) and says “Sure thing, boss.”

*

Tony sleeps with women because they’re beautiful and easy; all smooth skin, silky hair and soft bodies, mouths that smile and hips that push eagerly into his hands. He loves that he can make them laugh and blush, even if he doesn’t love them the way he should. And they don’t seem to expect it from him, most of the time, or love him back. Sometimes it hurts a little, though most of the time Tony doesn’t notice.

Tony sleeps with men because they’re beautiful and easy and because sometimes he likes to be held down, bent over and fucked hard and fast so he can still feel it the next day sitting in the office reading through files, sated and sore in the best ways.

But what Tony likes best, what he’s looking forward to even while he’s on his knees, someone’s fingers wrapped in his hair and forcing him to open up, to take more and more and more, is that Gibbs always seems to know, as if that famous gut is telling him exactly what Tony’s been up to (down to) in seedy out-of-the-way clubs and back alleys.

Gibbs’ growls will be a little more malicious, the glares more intent and no matter what Tony does or says, Gibbs won’t be smacking the back of his head.

It’s nice, like maybe Gibbs cares.

And really, Tony should know better than to try to delude himself.

*

Then one day Gibbs walks into Abby’s lab in the middle of a conversation just as Abby says “Tony, you slut, there’s no way you can swallow around something that big,” and really, how do you come back from something like that, especially if smiling is only going to emphasise how your mouth is still a little bruised and your jaw aches?

Gibbs barks at him to get the van and then drinks a lot of dark bitter coffee -- the stuff smells so strong Tony gets nauseous just making the runs to the coffee shop (wherever they are, there’s always a coffee shop around for Gibbs; The Universe’s Guide To Survival, Third Edition, chapter one, page four) and back-- and then there’s an hour spent looking for fingerprints on really obscure (but no doubt important) surfaces --like rocks-- in the mid-summer heat and Gibbs only calls it quits when Tony begins to worry about contaminating the crime scene with his own sweat.

Back at the office the other agents all give Gibbs a wide berth, obviously having seen this mood before. Some of them pause long enough to give Tony sympathetic glances before disappearing into the relative safety of their own cubicles.

Gibbs says “DiNozzo, go down to Abby and see what’s taking her so damn long.”

Tony licks his lips (his bruised and stretched lips) and says “Sure thing boss.”

*

A year into his job at NCIS (dead marine, Gibbs, men’s room, bruised knees, new job) and Tony thinks he might be in trouble because he sort of, without meaning to, might have fallen in love with his boss, which probably has something to do with karma and all those women (and men) Tony’s left hanging through the years starting with Mandy in the fourth grade (or maybe he should go back to Peter Howard in the second grade-- they had a tree house and a pillow together, which, sadly, means they got a lot further than any of Tony’s relationships since).

The situation has the potential to be a hell of a mess and Tony really likes his job with NCIS and doesn’t want to have to leave (again). It’s Gibbs, who’s about as touchy-feely as a slab of concrete and likely to do terrible things to Tony’s misguided heart and not because Tony’s a boy; it’s been proven that Gibbs is very happy to play with other boys, but because Gibbs has had three nasty divorces and also happens to be Tony’s boss--which complicates things a lot. Like a big lot.

Finally, Tony decides that being in love with Gibbs is sort of like shooting yourself in the foot; it’s sudden, unexpected and really-- really-- embarrassingly stupid because you so should not have been playing with your damn gun without the safety on in the first place.

So it’s probably for the best that Tony puts the whole thing out of his mind.

And if sometimes he still thinks about getting on his knees (bending over, lying down, on his stomach, on his back) for Gibbs, Tony learns to ignore it.

*

Two years into dead marine, Gibbs, men’s room, bruised knees, new job, Gibbs says “It seemed like a good idea at the time” and Tony has to fight the sudden flood of bitterness that’s abruptly threatening to overwhelm him and his hastily swallowed breakfast.

The ignoring thing? It’s not working out so well.

*

Tony meets Anna in the coffee line (which is ironic for only too many reasons); tall, brunette, blue eyes and a smile that has Tony grinning back and charming her into a dinner date.

They end up making out on Anna’s Italian import designer couch and Tony’s got his hand down her shirt before he realises: this isn’t working.

Luckily Abby sends a picture of her newest tattoo on his phone and Tony gets out of the expensive apartment as fast as he can, pleading a new case at work. He’s halfway back to his apartment when he changes his mind, ends up in a club and gets picked up by a guy who’s got five inches and maybe fifty pounds on him.

He slaps Tony, twice, hard, calls him a slut and fucks him out in the alley behind the club, empty except for a couple of whores who don’t care (or notice), just a condom, lube and he’s pushing inside Tony, burning, stretching, hurting. Tony feels tears sting behind his lids but chews down on his lip, wraps a hand around his own cock and tries to get off.

When they’re done the man says “You’re good” and opens his wallet and tries to pay Tony, who laughs (it sounds a little brittle), says “And here I thought I should be paying you.”

It feels a lot like maybe he’s going to break.

*

All in all, it’s an appropriate way to mark two years of dead marine, Gibbs, men’s room, bruised knees, new job and if Tony looks miserable when he gets called into the office at three a.m., well then at least he isn’t drunk (which he really desperately wants to be).

But there’s a dead little girl and even Kate isn’t going to take the time to make jibs at Tony.

Which is good. Or maybe not.

*

They’re beautiful, all of them, and remind Tony of his cousins and of summers spent learning to waltz in a summer house (mansion) somewhere, soft frilly dresses and his own starch stiff shirt, when the air would have been heavy with the scent of flowers and dust, because the rooms hadn’t been aired properly for months--Tony imagines his cousins (Angela, Mary, Hanna, Sophie and Katherine) are all grown up now, married maybe, with children. Happy (maybe) (hopefully) (in fact, right after this case, Tony is going to find them and make sure that they’re happy)-- only these are corpses, dresses torn and muddied, bodies cut open with professional precision and laid out as a warning.

Tony tries not to think about Katherine and the bruises on her forearms that she would try to hide; how she was shy and wouldn’t want to play with them.

When they catch their man (Captain Anders), Tony doesn’t kill him, but it’s a very close thing and if the guy wasn’t so obviously a loony, he would have been able to press charges.

Tony doesn’t throw up until he’s back at his apartment, but it’s a close thing.

*

Kate pops something orange into a glass of water and lets it fizz and dissolve before putting it down on Tony’s desk without a word. Tony knows he should probably make non-specific and indignant noises, but he’s too incredibly grateful and the stuff actually settles his stomach and eases the saw-to-the-skull headache he’s been nursing.

“I didn’t notice Anders land a punch,” Gibbs says, all casual like he hadn’t noticed the swelling on Tony’s face while they were working the case.

Tony lies easily, “He got lucky once or twice,” and tries not to reach up to touch his face where it must have bruised lightly by now.

Later, when Gibbs snaps, “Can’t you sit down DiNozzo?” Tony gives him a filthy smile (the sort that leaves nothing to the imagination) and says “I like standing, boss,” because dealing with an angry Gibbs is easier than thinking about dead bodies and bright summer dresses.

Morrow tells them to take two days and the weekend.

Tony loses count of the number of times he lets someone fuck him or push him down to his knees, but by Monday morning he’s bruised and sore and hurting and maybe just brave enough to face the world again.

He discreetly ignores the fact that Gibbs avoids looking at him when he can.

Just like shooting yourself in the foot, Tony thinks, because falling in love with Gibbs is just about the stupidest thing he’s ever done (and Tony has a hell of a misspent youth to draw on for comparison).

*

Then, Tony goes and does something that’s really (almost as bad as being in love with Gibbs) stupid.

He knows he’s the only one infected, even while Kate yells at him about making her sick when he can scarcely get enough air to speak. He knows it’s a lie because he’s on his back, barely able to move and Kate just looks like she’s finally gotten over her cold.

And then Tony thinks that he really is dying because everyone’s gone and there’s Gibbs telling him he’s not going to die.

Damn Gibbs, Tony thinks, always asking for the impossible, but he still can’t help the way he curls weak fingers desperately around the cell phone Gibbs puts into his hand, trying to find any residue of heat.

*

It’s hours after the funeral when the pain hits him, sharp and bright and almost too much to bear and it leaves Tony curled up on his bed, crying and remembering the warmth of blood on his face, her smile, and the way he’d loved her-- because he had.

Just like that, Kate’s gone.

Tony drives by Gibbs’s house before midnight and lets himself in, stepping on every creaking floorboard he knows of and holding out a bottle of impressively aged bourbon in front him like a shield.

Gibbs doesn’t look away from his boat. “There’s a clean cup somewhere.”

Tony snorts, “No, there isn’t. Just your coffee cup down here boss, and I seriously don’t want to think about how long it’s been since you washed it out.”

It gets him a raised eyebrow, but Gibbs decides not to take offence on behalf of his coffee cup and they end up drinking bourbon from the bottle. Tony doesn’t remember the last time he got shit-faced so quickly or cried in front of anyone but he spends a good ten minutes sobbing oh god, she’s gone, she’s really gone, into Gibbs’s old faded USMC shirt, too blessedly drunk to be embarrassed or worry about the eventual embarrassment when it’s morning and he’s sober (hung-over) again.

At some point Tony remembers pressing his face into Gibbs’s neck and maybe Gibbs kissing his temple a few times to calm him down. Tony says “Hey boss, you know I --” and Gibbs stops him by saying “Yeah, I know, I know,” with a hand resting against Tony’s back and then Tony wakes up on Gibbs’s couch, sober and embarrassed and more than happy to sneak out and pretend none of it ever happened.

Only, it did, and Gibbs knows -- but things don’t change.

Unless you count how Tony thinks about Gibbs’s voice whispering I know, yeah I know, in his ear over and over again while he’s jerking off now-- which Tony really doesn’t.

*

Tony begins to hate Gibbs the morning after the bastard quits and hands over all his responsibilities to Tony like a gift. He’s beginning to appreciate the need for strong coffee -- either that or something that’s capable of rotting his liver down to a shredded mess.

It’s not even nine o’clock and Tony has already had to fight off the vultures with their minds on McGee, trying to seduce him away with coffee and Danish rolls because apparently having worked under Gibbs makes you hot property.

Of course, Tony can’t remember anyone ever trying to take him away from Gibbs and offering him Danish rolls which leads to a few minutes of self-conscious-induced what if I’m not really good enough and nobody ever wanted me? anxiety and jitters which turn out to be from the coffee he hates and has apparently been pumping into himself all morning.

He eventually figures out that no one offered him Danish rolls because no one was stupid enough to try and steal him away from Gibbs when the FBI men show up and start flirting and Tony can’t even protect McGee because he’s too busy trying to defend his own professional virtue.

Ziva’s terribly pragmatic about the whole thing, which Tony should be able to appreciate -- only he can’t really.

“Shouldn’t you be moving your things?” Ziva nods at Gibbs’s empty desk and Tony feels something twist itself into knots in his stomach. He tries very very hard not to be sick, and manages a smile instead. “I like the view from here better,” he says and leers and Ziva rolls her eyes but lets it go.

Totally by accident, Tony spills hot coffee on the next agent who leans over McGee’s desk like a John about to proposition McGee with something filthy and perverse. Apparently news gets around fast, because no one else tries to hit on his team after that.

By ten they’re working a case, Ziva driving the van and McGee on his cell giving instructions for securing the area. Funny thing is, it’s all over in a flash, the suspect tracked down and confessing by five and Tony really wishes it was harder than this to move on.

He gets a call from Gibbs a few nights later and Gibbs sounds drunk, which is fine because Tony’s groggy with sleep and wearing Mr. Fantastic boxers (he has vindictive ex-girlfriends who know his birthday. He’s also bad at remembering to do laundry) and that puts them on a level playing field.

“How are things Tony?” Gibbs asks, his tone suspiciously warm and affectionate. Tony wonders just how far down into the bottle Gibbs must be.

“Things are fine. Good. Fornell calls everyday and offers me a job.”

All the warmth drains out of Gibbs’s voice, “Don’t accept it, DiNozzo. He’s a bastard.”

“Gee, that’s rich coming from you, boss.” Tony snaps deprecatingly .

“I’m not your boss anymore, DiNozzo.”

“Then fuck you, what are you doing calling me at two in the morning? Some of us don’t get to spend our days on the beach.”

“You know where I am?” Gibbs asks after a few moments and Tony begins to feel a little insulted.

“Traced you down in less than a day,” Tony says smugly, “I haven’t told the director, but I suspect she has her own sources. Now, hang up, I need to sleep before I go into the office in the morning.”

“As if you don’t usually spend half the night fucking anyway.”

Tony’s mouth moves wordlessly for a few moments. “Fuck you Gibbs; it’s none of your damn business,” he snaps eventually.

“It is when you come into the office looking like it” Gibbs insists dryly.

Tony has to pause, his mind running circles around itself and pretty much coming up with Gibbs knows, oh God, Gibbs knows and PANIC. He takes a deep breath and says, “Didn’t know you were looking, boss. Didn’t know you cared.”

“Not your boss anymore, DiNozzo. Stop calling me that.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony bit out, “Is it Jethro now? Or Leroy? Or is that reserved for people you’ve actually fucked, because we never got that far and I don’t know the rules you have set up for that--”

“DiNozzo,” Gibbs warns.

“Well what do you want? You want to know how things are? Fine, they’re fine, just great. McGee is Super Geek and Abby is still weird, Ziva is under control and no one is willing to sit at your desk. Fornell doesn’t seem to have a problem actually, but some poor Probie had to use it for half a day and nearly pissed his pants. Your desk is still here, still yours, and we’re all waiting for you to pull your head out of your ass, stop sulking and come back, alright? Is that what you want to hear?”

“Tony,” Gibbs says, sounding choked.

“No, shut up,” Tony snaps, he’s on a roll here and damned if he’ll let Gibbs try and stop him. “Abby misses you and Ducky has no one to humour him. He’s sad; he’s missing his friend and comes up here just to stand in front of your desk. You abandoned McGee, who actually looked up to you for some reason, you bastard. Even Ziva misses you, which is twisted. She was showing Abby her new set of knives; they’re getting along just great, they all are. Only they miss you.”

Gibbs sounds frighteningly sober when he says, “And you.”

Tony laughs. He can’t help how it comes out sounding exhausted and bitter. “No Gibbs. I don’t miss you,” Tony says dryly.

“I know, Tony,” Gibbs says, full of understanding. “I know.”

“No, you don’t. You don’t know a damn thing. I was in love with you for years. And don’t tell me you know because that line’s getting old real fast.”

“What do you want me to say then, Tony?”

Tony sighs, kicks the covers off the bed, agitated, frustrated and desperate. “Say you’ll come home. Say you’re done with your vacation and you’re ready to come back, just, I promise not to bring any of it up, ever again, just--”

Suddenly Gibbs says, “You have no idea, the number of times I’d wanted to push you down and fuck you.”

Tony feels his stomach drop. Gibbs’s voice is all hot and raucous, no drunken slur there any more, and it’s totally unfair that Gibbs seems to have sobered up in ten minutes. Tony’s beginning to suspect foul play, like maybe Gibbs was only pretending to be drunk so he could get away with saying shit on the phone where Tony can’t actually see him. Still, the words burn down Tony’s spine and curl white hot somewhere low in his belly and make him shiver.

“You think you’re the only one who’s been wanting, Tony? Because you’re not,” Gibbs goes on, and Tony feels his mind blank. “I had to watch you flirt and brag and come into the office looking thoroughly fucked, by someone else, and not say a damn thing because I was your boss and the last thing I needed was for Morrow to send you off to another state.”

“You never said anything. We could have kept it quiet,” Tony insists dryly.

“Maybe,” Gibbs allows, but doesn’t sound convinced.

“Hey, Gibbs,” Tony says, suddenly desperate to keep Gibbs on the line, “Did I ever tell you about learning to waltz with my cousins when I was a kid?”

He can hear the smile in Gibbs’s voice when he says “Nope.”

Tony smiles and thinks of the piece of paper sitting in his desk’s top drawer at work; a list of names and current numbers that he’s going to call as soon as he’s stopped feeling so raw from Gibbs fucking him over. He doesn’t want to think about why he couldn’t find a current number for Katherine, but he does want to share something with Gibbs, something precious, like a happy childhood memory, because Tony doesn’t have very many of those.

“Every summer we’d go to the summer house my parents kept,” he says. “Sometimes my aunts and uncles would be there too. My cousins and I had to spend an hour every afternoon practicing. We’d use the music room and I was always sneezing and miserable the first few days because the room was dusty and played havoc on my allergies. The girls were all taller than me too; that made things a little awkward. Afterwards we’d all rush out and go play by the stream, chase frogs, roll in the dirt and grass until we were called in for dinner. We’d get good and dirty and our parents would tell us all off and send us to bed without dessert, but I tell you, it was the best feeling ever. The dessert didn’t even matter to us.”


What he doesn’t tell Gibbs about is the piano lessons in the mornings and how his knuckles would always be sore and bruised from too-sharp taps from a heavy ruler or how his hands sometimes ache with the ghost of past hurts when it’s cold.

“DiNozzo.”

“Yeah?”

“Go to sleep.”

“Okay,” Tony says, and later he can’t remember hanging up.

*

The next day Tony gives himself the morning off, one of the perks of being the boss and all, and drives to the cemetery to stand by Kate’s grave for ten minutes, feeling a little like an idiot because he has no idea what to do.

He manages a dry “Hey Kate,” and then there are walls coming down, breaking, and tears and grief pouring out. It leaves Tony feeling empty and cleansed and red eyed (okay, so he had red eyes to begin with, but now he has an excuse) with a small smile. He arranges the flowers he’s brought (from her favourite florist), says a prayer that he can barely remember but knows Kate would have appreciated, and thinks that it’s been a good morning.

*

It goes on being a good morning and a good afternoon and a good evening.

Until the next morning.

*

Gibbs is back sitting behind his desk, extra-large and extra-strong coffee next to him, flipping through reports.

“Morning, boss,” Tony says casually, because he’s either gone insane from two months of stress or because Gibbs is actually back, and either situation calls for a little extra caution. He sets his smaller and hazelnut-smothered coffee down on his desk but doesn’t bother to lock up his gun just yet.

He’s just not willing to face Gibbs unarmed, for all the good a gun will actually do him.

“You’re a little early, DiNozzo.”

Gibbs is right, of course. It’s barely past six a.m. and there’s no one else in the office and outside the sky is still more dark than light. He could lie, but the truth is beginning to look terribly appealing.

So, reminding himself that he is armed and perfectly capable of defending himself, Tony says, “This asshole marine went AWOL on me, left me shorthanded with a hell of a lot of paperwork.”

Tony can hear the amusement in Gibbs’s dry “Did he now?”

“Yeah,” Tony tries for cool but the sound that comes out is choked.

“Think I might be able to find your marine for you.” Gibbs puts the file he’s been reading down and Tony can see the faint traces of a tan and sunburn. Apparently spending all day at the beach does absolutely nothing for Gibbs’s complexion. Tony tries not to feel too good about that.

Then Gibbs looks up and smiles, a real smile, not just a half twist of his mouth, and Tony feels his heart do a disconcerting little flutter in his chest.

Oh, Tony thinks wretchedly, I am in *so* much shit.

*


Part two