A Real Home

Warning: Mature Audiences: Intense Medical Situation

Note: This is a father/son story written with limited medical knowledge on my part.

Disclaimer: I have no rights and do not own any NCIS characters in this story. The story line did come from my brain, though.

The explosion took them all by surprise. A simple search of a suspect's house. A simple neighborhood. A simple lock pick. Gibbs even had a warrant this time, for god's sake.

He'd sent Ziva to the left, McGee to the right, and DiNozzo toward the back of the house. Toward the back bedrooms. Toward the bomb.

It was deafening.

He was yelling before he even realized he was. Screaming for his agents to report. To just give him some sort of sign they were still alive. He got a firm "I am fine, Gibbs" from his left and a shaky "Yeah, Boss" from his right. Throwing caution to the wind, he thrust deeper into the house, throwing flaming boards and blowing ash out of his face. It was pointless to order the team out of the house. He knew, without a doubt, that he was being flanked by teammates as desperate to get to their fallen as he was.

He never stopped yelling his name. Not even thinking DiNozzo would need a pause to answer back, he just needed him to know he was here and he was coming for him. Because Gibbs knew. He knew if Tony hadn't answered him yet, he'd been too close to the bomb. Too damn close to walk out of this without damage. He needed to know he was coming for him.

Through the smoke he spotted him. No. He heard McGee losing his lunch and Ziva's whispered prayer as he Marine-d up and knelt next to his Senior Field Agent. His friend. Forcing himself not to look at what remained of Tony's leg, the stench of burnt flesh covering his torso, or the way his chest did not rise and fall easily with breath, Gibbs reached for his neck. His pulse. His lifeline.

Faint. It was enough for him. Enough of a burst of adrenaline to hastily scoop DiNozzo into his arms, struggle to his feet under the added weight, and yell at his team to go. Get out. Clear the way. Now.

Bursting from smoke into sunlight made Gibbs instantly angry. Why should the sun be shining now? It was a thunder and downpour setting. Regardless of misplaced anger, he knew he'd never set anything down as gently as his agent made contact with the pristine grass.

Ziva was yelling at whichever poor soul had been selected to receive 911 calls and McGee was throwing up again. He didn't blame him. He wanted to as well. But instead, he listened for breath sounds, pleased to find DiNozzo fighting valiantly. Cupping his face, he yelled Tony's name, right in his face, which earned him a startled look from McGee. He barely registered Ziva explaining that Tony's proximity to the bomb meant damaged hearing.

He didn't want to. He really didn't. But he knew he had to. Ziva knelt and took over trying to lead Tony to the land of consciousness as Gibbs stripped his jacket off and moved toward DiNozzo's legs. Leg. He had one leg left. He was vaguely aware that he was yelling curses to whoever was listening as he wrapped his jacket around Tony's right thigh. The end of Tony's right leg was the middle of his thigh. Jagged bone, blood, shredded muscle covered by Gibbs' jacket. A tourniquet from Gibbs' belt finished it off.

Sirens wailed in the background. Tony groaned in pain. "I'm sorry, Tony. I'm so sorry."

Nobody liked hospitals, so he wasn't about to waste his time throwing himself a pity party thinking he hated them the most. McGee was in shock, and being treated for it. Ziva was staring out the window. Probably counting the ways to kill the culprit. Gibbs should be feeling that way too, he supposed. He should be pacing and stomping around, demanding his team to search non-stop until they found the evil behind Tony's pain.

But he wasn't. He was sitting in a chair running pictures of Tony and his leg and his body and his face through his mind. This was different. They couldn't leave. They didn't know if he'd live. It was family-time now. Team-time could come later.

When Brad stepped somberly into the waiting area what had to have been hours later, Gibbs wasn't surprised to see him. He knew Tony's lungs would suffer in the smoke. He knew Brad was acknowledging that the team was in family-mode, and respecting it. Beckoning Gibbs forward, he led him into a semi-private hallway and pushed him into a chair, kneeling beside him. Never a good sign. Tell me. Just tell me.

"Breathe, Gibbs."

"Please, Brad."

"He's alive. He's on a vent. His lungs took in a lot of smoke. They just need a little help right now, he'll be off it soon. He's got burns on his side, back, and right arm. Some of them 3rd degree. Once he's more stable we can get the skin grafting taken care of. Moderate concussion…"

"And no leg."

"And a mid-thigh amputation. For as horrible as it looked, and I'm sorry you had to see that, Gibbs, it will heal clean. He's not leaving here for a long time. And he's going to hurt for even longer. He'll need you, Gibbs. All he is going to see is a ruined body and a ruined life. It's your job to make sure he can eventually see beyond that. I know this Buckeye and with a prosthetic, I think he can re-qualify."

"Brad…" Gibbs sighed heavily.

"Don't you dare do that, Gibbs. That's exactly what he can't see. He needs to see the hope. He needs the motivation. I believe he can do this. Do you?"

Clenching his fists to ward off the slight tremor in his hands, Gibbs took the deepest, most calming breath he'd ever managed and looked Brad dead in the eye. Determined to get his agent, his friend through this, he knew Brad would see it in his eyes more than in the firm, "Yes" his mouth produced.

Gracing Gibbs with a grim smile, Brad patted his shoulder and stood.

"Let's go see your boy, Gibbs."

To say his paternal instincts died with his baby girl would have been a lie. Watching the artificial rise and fall of Tony's burnt and bruised body had them back full force. Brad had been nice enough to not intrude on what was an embarrassingly sensitive moment for him. He didn't fall heavily into the chair by Tony's bedside. He didn't hold his good hand through the railings.

He needed to be closer.

He had Tony barricaded, a hand pressed to either side of his pillow, Gibbs' face within inches of Tony's own pale one. Alternating between softly uttering the standard, "Everything will be okay, Tony", and gently running his fingers in what he hoped to be a soothing motion through Tony's fever-soaked hair, Gibbs longed to take the younger man's pain away.

That was paternal, wasn't it?

Tony needed a dad, anyway. Maybe he'd let Gibbs step in for a little while. He sure hoped so. Once again reaching to gently rub the faint lines of pain from Tony's forehead, Gibbs hitched his hip up on the bed. He was careful to not bump or jar the healing body; he just needed to be close.

"Come on, kid. Fight. I need my right hand man back. It can't be McGee, he blows chunks at the sight of blood," cupping his face gently, Gibbs ran a thumb along Tony's cheekbone, "And Ziva, she doesn't know the definition of the word charisma. What you do is a whole talent in itself."

A light rapping on the door reluctantly drew his gaze from Tony. It was Brad.

"Hey, Gibbs. This is Julie. She'll be Tony's nurse for the long run. Be nice to her," Brad tried for a joke that fell flat. Gibbs forgave him with a small smile and a greeting to Julie. She seemed nice enough. DiNozzo's type. Brad did that on purpose, that devious man.

As Julie began recording vitals, Gibbs stage-whispered to Tony, "Brad just set you up with a beautiful lady, Tony. Don't be rude. Say 'Hi'."

The hiss of the ventilator met his demand.

He tried not to worry about the emotions outside of the quiet room that was Tony's. Abby's worried, streaking tears. Ducky's flustered rambling. Ziva's silent promise of revenge. Even McGee's shuffling was more than he could handle. All he wanted was for Tony to open his eyes. Was that too much to ask for?

They kept telling him he was doing better.

Off the vent, burns healing nicely, no leg infection. But there were the unknowns as well. How close was Tony to the bomb? Was there hearing damage? Sight damage? Brain damage? Nobody knew.

He'd reluctantly given up the bombed house to another team, knowing he and his team were not fit to investigate. That's not to say he wasn't breathing down Balboa's neck to induce intimidation, to make sure he wasn't missing anything, and to be kept informed. Gibbs was impressed with the man's patience. He was being a real bastard.

He'd asked the director for leave. He had a ridiculous amount saved up and planned on spending it making sure DiNozzo had his head on straight. With everyone else on cold cases, he only had one focus.

The night Tony woke up was fairly anti-climactic from the outside, but to Gibbs, it made his top ten. He'd been pretending to listen to Ducky regale a trip from somewhere when he noticed Tony's face scrunched in a grimace. Nothing new here. He stood and rubbed his forehead, hoping to ease the pain like every time before. But this time Tony rolled his head into Gibbs' hand, the grimace now accompanied by a small grunt of pain.

"Ducky…" But Ducky was already out searching for Tony's doctor.

Attention back on Tony, he spoke softly at first, gently running his thumb over the pale cheek.

"Tony, can you open your eyes? You're okay. It's Gibbs. Open your eyes, Tony."

This time, his demand was met with a restless shift, another grunt, and the faintest sliver of green eyes.

He ignored the doctors and nurses around him. Focused completely on his agent, grinning like an idiot at the puff of air that sounded a lot like, "Boss?".

Going for comforting, Gibbs kept his voice soft and gentle, "Yeah, Tony it's me, just relax. You're going to be fine."

Tony's eyes were screwed shut and his chest hitching with breath, it was clear Gibbs was going to have to cause a scene if pain relief wasn't administered soon. Knowing, without looking, that Brad would be nearby, Gibbs growled out his name in warning.

"Easy, Gibbs. We need to check his neurological status before we give him the good stuff. Why don't you go ahead and stick close by in case Tony needs any direct orders from his boss," Brad leaned further over the bed and called Tony's name. Encouraging him to open his eyes and repeat his name back to him, followed by name of the man currently clutching Tony's left hand and leaning both elbows on the bedside railing, Brad gave a curt nod to Julie. With the pain meds dripping steadily into willing veins, Tony's lined forehead began to smooth.

"That's a good job, Buckeye. We'll save your birthday and the president for another time," Brad gave his friend's shoulder a gentle pat and made his exit. A calm silence filled the room and Gibbs unabashedly reveled in the fact that his agent was getting relief.

"'oss."

"Yeah, Tony. You feeling better?"

"'appened?"

Gibbs dropped his chin to his chest, breathing deeply. He wasn't ready for this. He wasn't ready to break Tony's heart. So he didn't. Call him a coward; he took the easy way out. He wanted a doctor or nurse to give the news. He didn't want to be associated with introducing a new pain to Tony, he wanted to be associated with comforting and healing. He guessed it must be terrible to be a doctor. To deliver such grave news. If he had to tell a man his wife and child had died, or a man with a physical education degree he didn't have a leg anymore, he'd probably quit. Gibbs made a mental note to take Brad out for dinner in the future. He didn't want him to quit.

Focusing his attention back on his agent, he tried for calm, "You don't need to worry about that right now, son. Just get some rest and we'll talk later."

Tony had his eyes closed, but his restless shifts made it clear he had more to say.

"'oss. Don't feel g-good."

"I know you don't, Tony. That's why you need to sleep."

A pause.

"'appened?"

Gibbs sighed and brushed his thumb over the pale cheek.

"Tony, when you can speak a complete and non-slurred sentence, then we'll talk. Now hush," giving the last word a tone reserved for only a select few.

Pushing himself up off of the railing, there was a slight tightening of the hand in his. Tony was certainly giving a valiant effort of manliness in a situation where it was clearly not necessary. Leaning back down, Gibbs gave Tony what he couldn't ask for.

"I'm not going anywhere, Tony. I'm right here. Relax."

He was met with the light, easy, sleeping breaths of a man just beginning his journey of healing.

Confident his friend was resting comfortably, Gibbs made his way out to the waiting room to see who was on rotation today. Apparently, Abby had created an elaborate schedule that each team member was to follow so as not to leave Gibbs by himself at the hospital. If she really knew him, she'd know that he really would just like to be left by himself. But she really, really, really knew him, so she'd created this schedule and he found he didn't mind. Interesting.

Growling at the sight of nearly the entire team crowded in the chairs, he glared his way to an answer.

"Gibbs! How's Tony? We heard he was awake! Can we see him?"

He decided to go with avoidance, "Abby, why are you not at work?"

"Are you kidding me? Tony is way more important than anything I could be doing there. Please, Gibbs? We just want to know if he's okay."

Heart and eyes softening, he opened his arms for the collision of goth. Sighing into her hair, he addressed them all.

"He woke up for a little bit. Knew his name. Knew my name. Knew he was getting pain killers. I made sure he didn't know anything else. He'll sleep for a while. No visitors for a while. Get back to work."

He felt her tears through his shirt and decided to soften the gruff in his voice along with his heart and eyes, "He's gonna be fine, Abs. I just need to make sure he has his head in the right place before he has company. But when he does have company, you guys are going to have to be the best company he's ever had," he paused and looked each of them in the eye, "Brad thinks he can requalify."

As expected, he watched the doubt cross Ziva's eyes. Eventually, he even watched McGee doubt his secret role model would be able to beat this one. From his arms, he heard Abby's muffled question.

"Do you think he can do it, Boss?"

That question was easy. He smiled, throwing his team off kilter once more, and spoke with as much sincerity as he could muster, "I wouldn't have hired him if I didn't, Abs."

That earned him a pleased sigh and what he was sure was another surprise party or three for Tony's future passed benchmarks from his scientist. Throwing warning glances at the other two, he addressed what he'd witnessed earlier.

"That blatant doubt damn well better be off your faces and out of your heads before you even think about stepping foot in his room or I'll have your badges so fast your heads will spin."

And with a peck to Abby's cheek, he made his exit.

Tony's next venture to consciousness was more successful. His eyes were open longer, his voice only slightly slurred, yet still drugged to the gills. Grinning droopily, flat on his back, Tony addressed Gibbs with a slight crease in his brow, "Come on, Boss. Tell me. Please?"

"Are you going to fall asleep while I'm talking, Tony?" Gibbs smiled at his agent, silently hoping he would. Though he had to admit, Tony's eyes held a clarity that wasn't present last time.

"No, see? I'm awake. Please?"

"Are you in pain, Tony?" Stalling.

Tony gave a huff of frustration, "I feel nothing but drugs. Am I dying? Is that it?"

Gibbs took a deep breath and sat gently on the bed. Looks like Brad was going to owe him dinner instead.

"Tony, look at me," waiting until his agent was meeting his eyes, he continued, "You aren't dying. You're not dying for a very long time if I can help it. Do you remember the house we were at?"

At Tony's slight nod, he continued, "Do you remember how we split up and you went to the back of the house alone?"

A furrowed brow and a slight shake of Tony's head led him forward, "You went to the back and there was a bomb. You were very close to it, too close to it. When we got to you," Gibbs paused and bowed his head, cursing the whole situation, "it wasn't good. Look at me, Tony. You will get better and you will come back to work. You need to know this is going to be hard. Probably the hardest thing you've ever done. But I'm here, Tony, we all are. And we're not leaving. No matter how hard you push us away, we're going to be here because we believe in you and we love you. Do you understand?"

Tony's face showed a mix of shock and horror, "B-boss. What is it? I-I don't understand."

"Tony, the bomb blew your right leg off." No matter how gently he said it, he knew it wouldn't be enough and he braced himself for the aftermath.

"What? N-no. No, Boss. No. I-it's right there. It's…" Tony was shaking as he thrust himself up on the bed and looked toward the end of the bed. Gibbs managed to grab him and push the call button while simultaneously reaching to place the kidney bean shaped dish under his second's mouth as he lost his battle with his stomach. Deep sobs erupted from the young man's soul and tears raced each other down his cheeks. Sad, desperate moans of "NO" left his lips intermittently.

Gibbs gut was clenched solid as a rock as he held Tony close. Letting him ride out the storm, he whispered soothing words in his ear and ran his fingers through Tony's hair. He shook his head at Tony's nurse as she entered the room, indicating Tony was okay, they just needed a couple minutes alone. Julie nodded and sat the oxygen mask on the bed within reach.

"G-gibbs I can't-I can't. Gibbs-" Tony broke with a fresh wave of devastation and Gibbs gently pulled away and tilted Tony's face up until their foreheads were touching.

"Tony, you're okay. You're alive and we're here and you're going to be fine. Did you hear me say you're going to come back to work? That means you're going to get better. You need to fight, Tony. Promise me you'll fight. Promise me right now."

Staring into his boss's eyes, feeling his full support, tears still flowing freely, all he could do was give a shaky nod. Gibbs slipped the oxygen mask over his mouth and nose and pulled him back into his chest. Rocking slightly he resumed his soothing words and waited for Tony to fall asleep, knowing rest was what the exhausted man needed right now.

Within moments, Gibbs was wiping damp tears off of his sleeping agent's face.

Gibbs sighed and picked up his phone. Time to call in the cavalry. Tony had been bitter and angry, understandably. He wouldn't eat, he barely slept, and he was drilling a serious hole in the wall with his glare. But who to call? He didn't need Abby's mother-henning. McGee's straightforward logic would only further piss him off. Ziva wouldn't be sensitive enough. Ducky would bore him into a coma. That left…Palmer? Gibbs knew Tony and Jimmy had grown close while he was sipping cervezas in Mexico. Worth a shot.

Stepping into the hallway, he dialed Palmer's number.

"This is Jimmy Palmer."

"Palmer. It's Gibbs."

"Oh, Agent Gibbs! What can I do for you? Is everything okay with Tony?" Palmer's concern leaked through the line.

"He's…fine. He's just not taking things too well."

"Well, it is very traumatic for him, I'm sure. I know he's happy to have you there with him." Gibbs rolled his eyes heavenward and prayed for patience.

"Coulda fooled me. Listen, you guys are…friends, right?"

Sounding proud, Jimmy replied enthusiastically, "I'd like to consider myself Tony's friend, yes! Why?"

"I need your help. He won't talk to me, he's bottling everything up. Maybe you can get him to loosen up?"

"Oh. Uh, I don't really-I mean he probably doesn't want to see me."

"You have 30 minutes to get here. That's an order."

Gibbs snapped his phone shut with a grin. Oh yes, that felt good.

When Jimmy arrived, Gibbs decided not to forewarn Tony. He'd be forced into politeness by surprise. Just in case, he thought he should probably stay in the room with them. A soft knock drew Tony's permanent glare to the door. Gibbs answered, "Come in".

Palmer's head peaked around the corner and he smiled nervously as he laid eyes on Tony.

"Hey, Tony. Can I come in?"

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. Didn't he just tell him to come in? If this was some kind of tactic, then he'd wait it out. Tony gave a slight nod.

"What are you doing here, Gremlin?"

"Just wanted to come see you, I guess. Figured you'd probably be pretty bored by now. I stopped by your apartment and picked up your portable DVD player and like, seventeen movies. I wasn't sure what you'd want to watch. And I brought some magazines and some cards and a checkers board and-"

Tony interrupted him with a soft, "Thanks".

"Uh, no problem, Tony. So how's it going?"

Gibbs wasn't sure if Palmer was ignoring him on purpose, but the fact that he thought to bring Tony's things earned him a few points.

"Oh, ya know. Just chillin here. With one leg." Tony's glare was back, but once again, Jimmy surprised Gibbs by brushing it off with a shrug of the shoulder.

"Yeah. That sucks. Good thing science has advanced to the point where you'll get the chance to wear a prosthetic and requalify. I mean, it could be worse. It could be both legs," Jimmy stated logically.

Tony stared at him incredibly and raised both eyebrows, "Geez, Palmer. Can't you just let me have a pity party for a second?!"

"Well I guess, but that doesn't seem like it will do you much good. I can't wait to see how your team of doctors decides to go about your recovery. It will be so fascinating!"

Tony rolled his eyes, "Well I'm glad I can be a science experiment for you."

"Come on, Tony. That's not what I meant. I know it will be hard for you, but I think it's important to remember that it could be worse. We could be mourning for you right now. You could have died. But you didn't. And for that, I'll always be grateful," Palmer was looking Tony straight in his glare as he spoke, "Now it's up to you to decide if you want to get on board with the gratefulness, or continue your pity party. But I can assure you, none of us want to be invited to a pity party. We'd rather be invited to celebrate the fact that you're alive. Just…so you know."

Tony gazed into his friend's eyes, and saw nothing but sincerity. A blush was creeping up Jimmy's neck and Tony could only imagine him kicking himself mentally for being so blunt with an injured man. But he was right. Jimmy Palmer was right.

Tony took a deep breath and spoke, still looking at Jimmy, "That was…eloquent, Gremlin. Did you put him up to this, Boss? You must have. He looks terrified," a small smile began tugging at Tony's mouth, "I guess…I guess if you really want to watch the science experiment of Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, mechanical wonder, then I guess I can't stop you. But I can't promise I won't throw my fake leg at you if you piss me off."

"Deal. Thanks, Tony. You'll be fine. So what are we watching?"

And just like that, Gibbs watched the awkward, intelligent, autopsy assistant ground his senior field agent. Gibbs owed him a few dinners, he supposed.

The days were long, the nights longer. Surgeries, stitches, and therapy. Fevers, vomiting, and nightmares. Never-ending pain, it seemed.

Somehow, Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo made it. He made it through the reconstruction, through the lines and lines of scars, through the excruciating rehab. He made it through the hot and cold sweats, through the painful heaving, through the terrors conjured up by his own mind.

If you asked him during it all how he was making it through, he'd say he didn't think he was making it. And then he'd get a swift hit to the back of the head.

If you asked him after the fact how he made it through, he'd say something along the lines of "Mechanical Wonder…remember?" And then he'd get a swift hit to the back of the head…and a tiny grin.

And if he asked himself how he made it through, very silently, contained safely in his mind, he'd say it was his family. His family who cuddled in bed with him and stuck skull stickers on his leg. His family who dropped by with the newest releases to have movie marathons with him. His family who whispered Hebrew prayers over him when they thought he was in a deep sleep. His family who created a secure internet line in the hospital and snuck him in a brand new laptop to stay up-to-date with cases. His family who ticked away the long hours telling stories of long ago, of which he was suspicious of their truth.

But most of all, his family who was with him when he woke from every procedure, who gently rubbed cream on his burning wounds, who helped stretch his stiff muscles each morning. Who wiped a cool towel over his fevered brow, who held a basin while he emptied his meager stomach contents, who…who held him for hours in the dark of night as he sobbed the fears and hurt from his damaged body. Who didn't know more than a few of the tears were for wishing he had a father like him.

If Special Agent DiNozzo asked himself how he made it, that's what his mind would whisper. Maybe someday he'd be able to thank them. To thank him.

He didn't think he'd get a headslap for that.

Now, facing discharge, he stood timidly on his legs. One new, one old. Crutch grasped tightly in one hand, coat clutched in the other, he awaited his departure.

"Hey, Tony. Ready to go?" Gibbs had sounded suspiciously upbeat lately. It made Tony's gut churn.

"Yeah, I'm ready…but not for that," Tony pointed accusingly at his wheelchair that Nurse Julie had rolled toward him, "Come on! I don't need that now!"

"Calm down, bonehead. It's for all the crap you've accumulated. You'd think you moved in or something," Gibbs spoke to Tony, but shot glances and raised an eyebrow at Julie, happy when she caught on and began piling Tony's bags in the chair. Tony needed to be able to walk out of here on his own.

"Oh. Okay. And I really did move in if you think about it, Boss. When you're not living at one place and you are living at another place, that's kind of moving in," Tony paused for a breath, "But man, am I glad to be going home!"

Gibbs shifted his weight and looked Tony in the eye, "Tony, you can't go back to your apartment."

A dangerous pause, "Excuse me?"

"There's never hot water, it's on the third floor, and the elevator is beyond repair."

"Well gee, Gibbs, thanks for knocking my home. That's where all my stuff is, so that's where I'm going."

"Actually…"

"What did you do?"

Gibbs sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, "Sit down, Tony."

Tony looked at him incredulously and remained standing, awaiting an answer.

Giving a huff, Gibbs continued, "You know we care about you, right? Putting all of your current anger and confusion aside, you know we care about you?"

Tony rolled his eyes, "Yes, boss."

"Come on, I'm serious. You know we care about you, right? You know I care about you?" Gibbs was pleading with his eyes for Tony to understand him, to just be serious for one minute.

Looking into Gibbs' eyes, Tony could sense the sincerity that gave a small tug to the corners of his mouth, "Yeah, yeah I do, Boss. I know you guys care, I know you care. If I can't see that over the past months, then I'm an idiot."

"Damn right you are, especially if you think I'd let you go back to living in that hell hole. You're coming with me, to a real home. All your stuff is already there and I'm building you an apartment on the back of the house. Now get your head out of your ass and get in gear," finishing his speech with a perfectly timed whack to the back of the young man's head, Gibbs nearly stomped out of the room. Of course, only Nurse Julie witnessed the calming smile and watering eyes that graced the older man's features. He was coming home. His son was finally coming home. Whether he liked it or not.

Tony seethed the whole ride to Gibbs'. The nerve! The old man had pulled one on him and he couldn't do a single thing about it because he still needed help. As much as he hated to admit it…he still needed help. And so what if he didn't really want to be alone? No one else was going to know that.

"Oh, come on! Boss?" Tony whined upon seeing the line of cars in Gibbs' driveway. He looked over and saw the clench of the older man's jaw.

"Didn't know," came the terse reply.

Muttering under his breath, Tony spoke close to brokenheartedly, "I just want to sleep."

Feeling the car jolt to a stop, a gentle hand rested on his shoulder.

"They're here because they care."

Care. Care, care, care. It's all he was hearing these days. Of course he knew they cared. Otherwise he would have jumped ship ages ago. His thoughts were interrupted by an enthusiastic pounding on his window. The door swung open and Abby threw herself at Tony.

"Uh, hi Abby," Tony nearly squeaked.

"TONY! I'm so glad you're home! Ziva tried making lasagna for you…it's not very good, but let's pretend to like it, okay? And everyone else is here too! We missed you so much!"

"I just saw you yesterday."

Gibbs cut in, "And what was it about my actions that said 'let's have a party'?"

"Oh, well, you know, umm…your door was unlocked?" Abby intertwined her fingers in a pleading manner.

"Well, might as well get out of the cold. Since this is our house and all," Gibbs grumbled.

Abby smiled brightly at the use of a plural for the home. Tony rolled his eyes and reminded Gibbs, "Still not happy about this, Boss."

Allowing Abby to help steady him as he rose from the car, he eyed the driveway that was partly covered with a dusting of snow. Feeling an arm wrap around his on his right side, in place of his crutch, a gruff voice called out, "Let's get moving."

Abby bounded up the stairs to hold the door open and a soft voice reached Tony's ear, "I won't let you fall, I promise."

Tony gave a slight nod and focused his energy on walking. Something he never thought would be such a difficult task. Finally stepping into the house, forehead moist with sweat, he listened to the sounds coming from the house. He could hear McGee trying to explain to Ziva why lasagna wasn't pronounced "las-ag-na" and Jimmy and Ducky having a heated discussion over something he couldn't pronounce. It was all very loud. It was all very annoying. It was all so very normal. He almost cried.

Abby took his coat and he made his way over to the couch, sighing as he dropped into the lack of cushion. Gibbs started a fire and the gang made their way into the living room, greeting him awkwardly. Great, this is just what he didn't want. Awkwardness. This was going to have to change.

So, when Ziva handed him a plate of lasagna, he sniffed it suspiciously and looked at her questioningly, "What is it?"

Her eyes widened in surprise, as did Abby's, who answered, "It's lasagna, Tony. Remember we already discussed this outside? I'm sure you'll love it."

Tony looked at Abby incredulously. Her teeth were literally clenched shut through her entire spiel, a fake smile on her face. Smooth, Abs, real smooth.

Putting on his best innocent face, he stepped it up a few notches, "Abby I have no idea what you're talking about. And Ziva, this looks like something McQueasy vomited after a light, 2-mile jog."

Pleased to see Ziva's gaze harden into a glare and McGee tighten his hands into fists, Tony made sure to keep his innocent puppy eyes in place.

"It's the drugs! Ducky, he's still on some heavy pain killers, right? Ziva he can't even see past his nose to the plate," Abby was busy pleading, "and-and we all know you only puke after three miles, Timmy."

"Hey!" came a billow from beside the fireplace, "Cut the crap, DiNozzo or I'll have you riding a desk for the rest of your life."

A few sharp intakes of breath could be heard throughout the room, but Tony couldn't hear them over his mind screaming its thankfulness to Gibbs for catching on. Pushing it a bit further wouldn't hurt, he decided.

"Way to kick a guy when he's down, Boss. I'll be riding a desk for the rest of my life regardless of your authority."

"Get your head out of your ass, DiNozzo," Gibbs let him see a knowing grin tug at the corner of his mouth before he dropped his head to keep up pretenses and stood up, moving away from the fireplace to sit next to him on the couch.

"Sir, yes, sir!"

The slap to the back of his head was quite welcome.

END