title: Pigtails

fandom: NCIS

pairing: Gibbs/DiNozzo (technically, I suppose it's pre-slash)

rating: R

series: none

sequel to: none

spoilers: Split Decision

author: nancy

website: http://www.madbrilliant.com/thetenthmuse1/index.html

email: the_tenth_muse1@yahoo.com

feedback: yes, please!

archive: sure, just let me know!

summary: Tony wasn't really clued in to the events of Split Decision

warnings: angst and bad language

disclaimers: not mine, never will be, not making aaaany money

notes: I hardly ever write series ep-related fics and yet with NCIS, I just can't seem to help myself! go Juli for the original plotbunny! I'd tell her to stop, but I'm having too much fun. *grin*



Pigtails
by nancy

Tony watched from the bushes as the paramilitary group arrived and searched Gibbs and Stone, being very thorough. Too thorough, Tony realized as Gibbs took off his watch and it was put in a bag only to be dropped on the ground and left behind. Horror lit through him at the thought that there was now no way to track the other man. He bolted back to his own truck and jammed the key in the ignition, starting it and peeling out of the concealed spot in a hail of gravel and dirt.

It took far too long to get down the rough hill to the now-empty warehouse driveway and without the headlights, it was treacherous as well. Thankful for his extra sharp vision, Tony kept his foot on the pedal, trying to catch up to the caravan of militants holding Gibbs and Stone. It was a nightmare ride, not just because of the barely suppressed panic running through him for Gibbs, but because the dirt road was a menace at 10mph and deadly at his present 60mph speed.

Finally, finally he saw taillights and breathed the faintest sigh of relief. Not that Gibbs couldn't have ticked them off or provoked them into killing him in those hideously long five minutes that they'd been out of sight, but he didn't pass any bodies, so that was a good sign. Keeping to a long distance, Tony trailed them to another set of empty warehouses, parking until all the men were inside with Gibbs and Stone. He drove slow, approaching from the east side, which had the most cover, angling to get as close as possible.

Climbing out of the truck, Tony pulled his gun clear, taking the safety off as he crept towards the building. The fact that there were no guards posted said that these guys were either really confident or really stupid, maybe both, and that was not a good sign. After a few minutes of searching around for a bolt-hole to watch from, he heard automatic weapons fire and tensed, even knowing it was part of the sting to test the weapons.

It took another minute or two to find a small opening of the wooden building that gave him a clear view of the interior. He breathed a long, shaky sigh of relief on seeing that Gibbs was unharmed. He was clearly bullshitting a pissed-off looking guy in cammos, and Tony knew that all was not right. Gibbs made extravagant gestures with his arms, obviously trying to placate the pissed-off man, and then the unthinkable happened.

Gibbs was shot. Point blank. In the chest.

Time slowed to nothing in a heartbeat. Tony saw Gibbs stagger back and then collapse to the floor. He saw the stain of blood across Gibbs' white shirt. He saw the trickle of blood coming from the corner of Gibbs' mouth declaring that serious internal injury had been dealt, with death imminent.

Tony felt...nothing...no panic, no horror, no fury, just...nothing.

There was nothing without Gibbs, after all, so he wasn't even vaguely surprised at the numbness that enveloped him. The only thing left to do was go in, deal as much death as possible in retribution, and then, if he wasn't cut down by the military guys in the process, to eat his own gun.

"Jesus Christ! Who the hell are you?"

Tony whipped around at the quiet, furious hiss, gun out and at the ready. Not sure what stayed his hand, it only took a few seconds for him to understand that this man aiming a gun at him wasn't with the ones inside. Cautious, Tony countered, "Who're you?"

"ATF Special Agent Halstedt," the man snapped. "And you are?"

*ATF?* he thought in confusion. It took a few seconds for his numb brain to start working on something more than instinct again, but when it did he sagged to the ground in reaction. "Gibbs is alive. This is the real sting."

Frowning now, Halstedt nodded and said, "Yeah. Are you DiNozzo? Gibbs told us you'd be at the site, but we didn't find you."

Because, naturally, he'd gone tearing off after Gibbs. Standing, he confirmed, "Yeah, I'm DiNozzo. So. What's going on?"

"Come on in and see for yourself, we just moved in," Halstedt replied. Tony followed the ATF agent inside the warehouse where Gibbs was up
and breathing and talking to Stone. Even though his brain was still a little slow on the uptake, Tony automatically took his cues from Gibbs and bluffed his way through the explanation to Stone. Once she was taken into custody, he mixed in with the ATF agents, staying as far away from Gibbs as he possibly could.

There was a very, very real possibility that if he was alone with Gibbs for more than two seconds, he'd completely lose it. He wasn't sure if he'd wind up knocking Gibbs out for scaring the shit out of him, or kissing him soundly for being alive. Either scenario wasn't too promising for his career development, so he figured discretion was indeed the better part of valor and steered clear of the other man altogether.

It took a couple of hours to get things set up and cleared to go, promised joint-paperwork cobbled together with more thorough work to follow. Tony slipped out just as it looked like Gibbs was ready to go, not wanting to drive him back to NCIS. He wasn't sure what he was going to do, really, since he still had paperwork to take care of. What he really wanted to do was go home and get drunk and then collapse in his bed to sleep for a week.

* * * *

One thing Tony should know better about, after having worked with Kate for several months, was not to mention his attraction to other women to her. And forget trying to explain himself by going into detail, that was just suicide. He did know better, he really did, but sometimes, he just couldn't stop his tongue from running away with his mouth.

Face still hot with embarrassment from Kate's most recent put down, he rushed towards the door, not even seeing Gibbs until he'd knocked into the other man. He mumbled something, not sure what, and kept going as if the hounds of hell were on his heels. Which, in the form of Kate, they very well might be.

Tony made it all the way to his car without incident, climbed in the front seat and turned on the engine, but then didn't know what to do. His mind kept flashing back to the sight of Gibbs on the ground, the blood soaked shirt, the thin trail of red across the corner of his mouth and chin.

He barely got the door opened in time to fall outside before he threw up. Shuddering through the horrific taste in his mouth, Tony rocked back and forth, clutching himself on the cool pavement and willing his stomach to subside to its normal position.

"Anthony, my boy! Dear Lord, are you all right!?"

Tony shook his head just before another round of retching. Reassuring hands supported him, gripping his back and soothing him through the vomiting. He was briefly reminded of comfort from his grandfather, minus the smell of pipe tobacco. Finally assured that his stomach was staying put, he spit the nasty taste from his mouth and sat back, panting.

"Here, I have some bottled water. Swish it around in your mouth and spit again," Ducky ordered.

Taking the bottle from him without question, Tony obeyed, feeling a little better, now that his mouth didn't taste like unwashed socks. He sipped from it and rasped, "Thanks, Ducky."

"My pleasure. Now, what on earth happened?"

Grimacing, not sure how to explain his behavior, Tony vaguely waved his hand and replied, "It was just a, a reaction."

Worry clouded Ducky's face and he exclaimed, "Oh dear, should I call an ambulance? What's the allergy?"

Tony shook his head. "No, no, not a food reaction just..."

"Just...?" Ducky prompted.

Heaving a sigh, Tony admitted, "I thought Gibbs was dead. I saw him get shot and I just...I thought he was dead. When the ATF guy finally clued me in, I just, you know, forced it down to deal with later. Well, it's later."

Ducky was clearly aghast as he questioned, "You didn't know?"

That sick feeling returned at the obvious implication that Ducky had known, and Tony clutched his once-more rebellious stomach and replied, "You did?"

Ducky's jaw tightened and he nodded. "I did. And you can rest assured that I will have a word or three with Jethro about this!"

"No, Ducky, come on," Tony interrupted hastily. He knew that look in Ducky's eyes and feared it, because there really wasn't anything the older man was afraid of; certainly not one Jethro Gibbs. And if he went storming off to Gibbs, Tony's ass was grass. "It was a miscommunication, I'm sure of it. I mean, the ATF did try to catch me, but I was already gone. Honest."

Lips thin with disapproval, Ducky nonetheless agreed, "I'll let it alone, Anthony, but I strongly suggest that you call Jethro on his behavior at the earliest possible moment!"

Tony nodded and accepted the hand up, swaying a little, but landing against the side of the car.

"Are you all right to drive?"

Smiling at Ducky's concern, Tony nodded again and said, "I'm fine. I'm just going to go home and get some shut eye."

"Yes, that's an excellent idea, my boy. I will see you bright and early tomorrow," Ducky agreed, echoing Tony's smile. "Good night."

"Night, Ducky."

Relieved that he'd gotten off so lightly, Tony climbed back in his car and waved to Ducky as he pulled out and headed for home.

* * * *

"Leroy Jethro Gibbs!"

Jethro instinctively ducked at the quietly furious exclamation and saved himself a slap to the back of the head, literally by a hair. With flashbacks to his mother and her hand of steel, generally applied to his backside directly after the use of his full name, Jethro rolled his chair out of range. Warily regarding the older man, he asked, "Something wrong, Ducky?"

"We need to speak in private."

"Am I going to get beat up?"

"Now, Jethro."

Standing at the command, feeling a little too much like a guilty schoolboy when he didn't even know what the transgression was, Jethro preceded Ducky into a conference room. Once there, he said, "Okay. Hit me. Ah, not literally."

Scowling, Ducky stated tartly, "I just left young Anthony."

"Okay," Jethro replied cautiously. "And...?"

"And he was throwing up in the parking lot."

A trace of uneasiness ran through him at the accusing glance firmly directed his way. "I assume that he's okay or you wouldn't have left him, so what's the problem?"

"The problem, Jethro, is that he was traumatized tonight and it's your fault!" Ducky snapped.

Blinking in surprise, rapidly running through the night's events in his head, Jethro just could not reconcile Ducky's words with what he'd seen of Tony. Finally, he demanded, "My fault? What are you talking about?"

Ducky leaned forward, wagging a finger at him, and demanded tartly, "Why did you not inform young Anthony about this evening's true operation?"

*Damn,* Jethro thought. He returned his attention to Ducky and bluffed, "I didn't have a chance. ATF was going to tell him."

Lips thinning further, Ducky stated, "They did not and don't lie to me. If you had time to tell me, then you had more than enough time to tell him. He saw you get shot and thought you were dead, Jethro. The boy honestly believed that you were lying there on the ground, bleeding out, and there wasn't a single thing that he could do about it. I know that you understand, truly understand, what that's like and I find it difficult to believe that you would deliberately put him through that. For any reason."

Guilt flared through him, rooting out the satisfaction he'd had when DiNozzo had kept calling and checking up on him. He did know, all too well, what it was like to watch a friend die. The fact that he'd caused that pain to Tony pretty much on purpose, bit at him sharply. Sighing, he asked, "He threw up?"

"I doubt there's anything left in his stomach," Ducky confirmed. "I wasn't all that certain that he was fit to drive, but he insisted."

Jethro snorted. "He would."

"What do you intend to do about this?"

Startled, Jethro replied, "What can I do except apologize?"

"You are the most..." Ducky's voice trailed off. For a moment, he just pinched the bridge of his nose under his glasses, then continued, "Jethro, did it never occur to you to wonder at the strength of his reaction? The reason behind it?"

Stymied, Jethro didn't answer, his mind automatically, and unwillingly, going where Ducky had led it.

"The boy's in love with you, it's as plain as the nose on your face," Ducky stated definitively.

Jethro sighed and sat on the conference table. He knew Tony pretty well, after working with him for the last couple of years. He knew how deep the younger man could be, masking it with jokes and light-hearted banter. He also knew that Tony had problems with authority figures, both in needing them, and rebelling against them, and was happy to play Father-substitute when needed.

Shaking those thoughts away, he admitted, "I'll grant you that he was upset about not being told, but you're wrong about the reason behind it. He does care for me, sure, but like a friend, or an older brother, or, as much as it pains me to admit this, a Father-figure."

Ducky snorted, a surprisingly inelegant sound, as he retorted, "Myself, he might see as a Father-figure, though I suspect more of a Grandfather, but not you, Jethro. And I do realize that it's been a number of years since you've walked that side of the street, but all you have to do is take one real look at the boy to know that the feelings he has for you are in no way familial."

Ducky was no mean judge of character or circumstance. Jethro relied on him pretty heavily in that department, trusting the older man's experience and instinct without question. If he said that there was more to Tony's feelings for him than friendship, that love was involved, then there probably was. Which led right to a whole host of other problems, not to mention exacerbating his already substantial guilt for putting Tony through the wringer. "Thanks for clearing things up, Ducky."

A kind smile surfaced on Ducky's face at the ironic tone and he replied, "Once you explain why you kept him out of the loop, I'm sure all will be forgiven."

Jethro wished he could be as certain.

* * * *

Tony stirred sluggishly at the shrill ringing of his cell phone, climbing across his bed to grab it off the nightstand table. One of these days he would figure out how he managed to wind wrong-end up when he always fell asleep with his head on the pillow. Wiping the crud from his eyes, he groaned on seeing, `Gibbs! Take it!' lit up on his cell display.

Rolling onto his back, he answered it with, "DiNozzo's dead right now. Call back later."

"Very funny. Open your door, would you?"

Tony bolted upright, demanding, "You're here?"

"No, I'm telling you to open your door because I left you a present. Yes, I'm here, now open up!"

A pounding confirmed the truth of the statement and Tony hung up, grabbed a pair of sweats off the floor, and hopped into them on his way through the living room to the door. Pulling them up into place as he reached the door, he took a second to compose himself, scrubbing fingers through unruly hair, and then opened.

Gibbs gave him a brief once-over, then grinned. "Did I disturb you?"

"Only because it's..." Tony glanced at the wall clock. "...one forty-three a.m. What's up, Boss?"

"Can I come in?"

"Oh! Sure, sorry," Tony exclaimed, stepping back.

Gibbs walked into the living room and Tony shut the door, taking another steadying breath before facing the older man. Thank God he'd taken to actually attempting to keep order in his apartment, though he hadn't really anticipated a Gibbs house-call. Expect the unexpected, and all that.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the sting on Stone."

The flat, abrupt apology threw Tony for a second, then he groaned. "Ducky talked to you, didn't he?"

Lips twisting in dark amusement, Gibbs answered, "Talked? No. Ducky definitely didn't talk to me. Harangued. Yelled at. Scolded. All very good synonyms for our conversation and much more accurate than `talk.'"

"I told him not to," Tony said with a sigh. "I'm a big boy, I don't need him to, well, defend me, I guess."

The look Gibbs threw at him could only be called `piercing,' and Tony grew wary. Something else was going on here, but he didn't know what. He hated being out of the loop, especially when the loop could so easily turn into a noose.

The expression faded, though, and Gibbs only replied, "You shouldn't need anyone to defend you, but you do. Especially against bastards like me, who put you through shit like that."

Tony swallowed uneasily at the hard tone, looking away as he tried not to think about the image of Gibbs flat on the floor and supposedly bleeding to death. His hand absently rubbed his stomach, soothing the automatic churning response to the mental image, and he asked quietly, "Why did you? I know you trust me."

"Something you should know about me, Tony, is that I really am a bastard sometimes," Gibbs answered heavily. He held up a hand when Tony tried to protest, and overrode him with, "I put you through that because…because I like to make you worry. I like to...provoke...that part of you to satisfy some kind of, of…insecurity in me, I guess."

Of all the explanations that Tony had vaguely hoped, but certainly never expected, to hear one day, that was definitely nowhere on the list. Keeping his voice steady, he questioned, "So...you made me think that you were dead, because you wanted to see how I reacted?"

"You only pull the pigtails of the girl you love," Gibbs quipped, very much not joking.

Gibbs' blue eyes pleaded for the forgiveness for which Tony knew that he'd never ask. Caught between fury and love at the reasoning behind what Gibbs had done, Tony couldn't move. All he could do was stare at the older man standing so gingerly across the room from him.

"You want to punch me out or something? I know it would make me feel better."

The quasi-plaintive question brought Tony's paralysis. He strode over to Gibbs, who didn't flinch at his sudden approach, though his gaze turned distinctly wary, and glared at the older man. Arms crossed over his chest, Tony snapped, "If you *ever* do anything like that to me again, I will be so gone that you won't even *hear* the sonic boom."

"Got it," Gibbs agreed readily, relief skittering across his face.

Tony's natural sense of humor restored itself abruptly and he announced, "I hope you don't expect me to grow pigtails."

A short laugh escaped Gibbs, who hesitantly put his hand on Tony's shoulder to bring him in closer. "It's against regs, so no. No pigtails."

"Good. Because I look awful in long hair," Tony informed him, a smile teasing at his lips.

Gibbs smiled and slid his arms around Tony, holding him tight. Tony sighed deeply and rested his cheek against Gibbs' shoulder, relishing the feel of the strong arms around him and even more, the fact that those strong arms belonged to Gibbs.

He couldn't resist.

"So, Boss. Just how afraid of Ducky are you?"

Gibbs smacked him upside the back of the head.



END