A/N: This came about because a request on NCIS Fic Finders over on LJ got me thinking (always dangerous...). Go there if there's a fic haunting you and you can't remember the name. They are amazing. Don't go there if you have actual things to do... It's kind of addictive because there are so many good recommendations.

This is dedicated to Detour, a lovely person who should stop deleting things! And who encouraged me that this was indeed post-able despite my reservations. If you're in the mood for a spot-on DiNozzo characterization—and a damned good mystery thrown in for good measure—go check out her "Obstructed Views."

It started out just like any other headslap.

Tony said something inappropriate, and Gibbs' hand came up without him having to actually think about it.

But that's when something went slightly sideways—literally.

Tony, his thoughts buried deep in the case, hadn't realized he had spoken his lewd thought out loud and for once was not expecting the affectionate slap to the back of the head. All he heard were Gibbs' keys giving a slight rattle in his pocket, and Tony turned to show him what he had found in the file that had sparked the brilliant, if slightly oddly phrased, comment.

The slight turn combined with Gibbs' autopilot response, and Gibbs ended up smacking Tony hard across the face.

Gibbs just stood there, hand frozen halfway down to his side because that was how long it took his body to register that his hand had connected with slightly stubbled skin instead of slightly gelled hair. The hand was on its way down to wipe across his pants to rid it of the annoying stickiness, and Gibbs' mouth was opening to ask when the younger agent had started using the crap again.

But then it all registered.

There was no gel because he had just slapped his subordinate in the face in the middle of the squad room. Gibbs was glad there were no witnesses for what he had done—or for what he was about to do.

Gibbs took advantage of his slightly open mouth and said, "Tony, I'm—"

The first flash of panic flashed across DiNozzo's face, which had been blank as a newborn's memory up to this point. But he flashed a grin and shook his head. "I zigged when I should have zagged. Sorry, Boss."

He handed over the file and began explaining his find. Gibbs barely registered the information, but he nodded when DiNozzo asked for permission to run down and ask Abby to confirm his theory.

Tony walked out of the squad room, a smile on his slightly reddened face, happy that he had finally made a break in the otherwise grueling case.

Gibbs just stood there and watched him go—watched him smile as he went—and could feel nothing but the slight stinging in his hand.

The case was wrapped up after Abby did some test thing with her machine thing and proved DiNozzo's theory correct.

Gibbs should have gone home. And he would have.

If Tony hadn't come back from Abby's lab to find Gibbs standing in the exact same spot as when he had left, if Tony hadn't been watching him so intently all afternoon. No, scratch that. If Tony hadn't been watching his hands so intently all afternoon. Gibbs didn't even try to lie to himself that he didn't know what that implied.

After all, it was more of a confirmation than anything.

So now Gibbs was walking down a hallway, stopping in front of a door and grimacing at the familiar voices drifting through it. Gibbs didn't know many movies, but he knew "It's a Wonderful Life" when he heard it.

And he knew the significance of his agent watching that particular movie—one he always turned to when he was upset—in the middle of July.

It occurred to Gibbs that that was a fact he should just know about his agent, not one that he should have come across through a third party. He comforted himself with the knowledge that it was scientist Abby who had made the connection between the movie and the moods before any of the rest of them.

Gibbs stood facing the door, listening to the movie and fighting an unfamiliar foe: the urge to turn tail and run.

So he did what any Marine would do. He lifted his hand and knocked.

Gibbs heard Tony turning back the locks—wholly unsurprised that there was more than one—and suddenly he was face to face with his agent.

"Goddammit," Gibbs said, his voice barely above a whisper.

The slight swelling in Tony's lower lip was barely noticeable, the bruise tucked into the corner of his mouth even less so.

But it was all Gibbs could see at that moment.

The damage he had caused was so slight that he knew Abby, Ziva and McGee hadn't noticed it. And he knew they really hadn't, as opposed to having noticed and not said anything. He wondered when he had come to know his team that well—and in a thought so Tony-like he would have laughed had he realized it, he wondered if that was a good thing or not. He knew for certain that it was a good thing Tony hadn't had cause to see Ducky that afternoon. There was no way the medical examiner would have missed the swelling and bruising.

The injury wasn't noticeable unless you knew it was there and were looking for it. That Gibbs was so shocked at having seen it now—really seen it—drove home what he already knew. He hadn't been able to really look at Tony all afternoon.

And that was why he was here now, at least partly why he was here. He knew Tony had sensed him keeping his distance, and he didn't want Tony to think he was mad at him.

To most people, that would sound strange: the injuring party being mad at the injured.

But Gibbs was not most people.

And neither was Tony, for that matter.

So Gibbs pulled his eyes up from the minimal damage that was all he could see to Tony's patient green gaze.

"Tony, I'm—"

Slight panic rose up again in those slate green eyes before it was roughly evicted by a smile so fierce Gibbs wondered if it hurt. "Probably roasting," Tony said, pulling the door open wider. "These hallways are always hot as hell. No air conditioning. Or if there is, it doesn't work. Old building and all, so I'm not surprised. But it is annoying. Come in, Gibbs."

Gibbs tossed a glance over his shoulder at the door Tony had closed during his ramble. "I'm already in."

Tony blushed slightly, the color rising in his cheeks reminding Gibbs of the one-sided redness he had caused earlier and making him want to throw up.

"Right," Tony said, his nodding so vigorous Gibbs wondered if it made him dizzy. "Coffee? Of course you'll have some. You're Gibbs."

Tony turned and headed into the galley kitchen, and Gibbs wondered if Tony would let him speak at all tonight. The lead agent knew Tony was evading an apology from him like most people avoid their in-laws, but Gibbs knew he wasn't leaving until he said the actual words.

And he figured Tony knew that, too. Hence the nervous prattle. Standard DiNozzo delaying tactic.

"Sit," Tony said, gesturing to the table at the opening of the U-shaped counters and then grimacing at the businesslike tone to his order. "Uh, if you want to."

"Sure, Tony," Gibbs said, watching the agent wince at the sound of his first name. Gibbs almost sighed, wondering if this was going to be more painful than the actual slap.

Gibbs studied the small kitchen to avoid watching Tony practically vibrate as he fiddled with the coffeemaker. Gibbs was reminded of a bumblebee and figured Tony could do without the caffeine. And so could he, frankly.

"It's late," Gibbs said, watching his words stop DiNozzo in his tracks. "I'd rather have a beer, if you have it."

Tony nodded mutely, turned off the coffeemaker by pulling its plug straight out of the wall and plucked two bottles of his favorite dark beer from the refrigerator. Gibbs smiled as Tony used a brightly colored, flip-flop-shaped bottle opener with Panama City written on it in neon green and returned the magnet to the side of the fridge.

Tony handed him the bottle and then retreated back across the kitchen, leaning against the counter with the beer in one hand and the other twisting restlessly in a towel hanging over the handle of the oven.

"Thanks," Gibbs said, taking a pull from the beer and eyeing the chili-pepper-patterned dish towel with curiosity. There were matching pot holders hanging from hooks over the stove. "Nice towel."

Tony blushed a deeper shade of red than even the slap had produced. "Uh, Abby got the set for me after I burned myself for the twentieth time because I couldn't find a pot holder. She even hung the little hook thingies and threatened me with physical violence if she ever came over and they weren't in their place."

Tony was rambling again and Gibbs let him. They drank in silence for the short time it took Tony to drain his bottle. He put his hand on the handle of the fridge again but stopped and turned back to his boss. If Gibbs didn't need any more liquid courage, then neither did he.

"I know you came here to apologize for hitting me," Tony said, forcing his eyes to stay steadily on Gibbs' laserlike gaze. "But you don't have to. You don't apologize, and especially not for accidents. And that's all it was. An accident. I'm already over it."

Gibbs noted the sincerity—that bordered on pleading—in his tone, but he simply cocked his head slightly and knew Tony knew he was listening to the movie still playing in the other room.

Tony flinched outright and Gibbs realized he hadn't even pulled a face after getting slapped earlier.

"So I like the movie," Tony grumbled, picking at the label on the empty bottle.

"Tony, it's July."

Tony gave a little shrug. "Christmas is the season of cheer," he said, knowing he sounded somewhat petulant and hating the hell out of it. "So I wanted to extend the season a bit."

Gibbs rolled his eyes. "Six months in either direction would make it Christmas all year round," he pointed out with that infuriating logic of his. "If I had to listen to 'Grandma got run over by a reindeer' for that long, I'd shoot myself."

Tony smiled slightly. "Or the carolers."

Gibbs smiled back and stood, watching Tony's smile disappear like Abby's Christmas cookies when she brought them into the office. Gibbs put the bottle down and took a step toward his agent, wondering if DiNozzo was actually going to scramble backward over the breakfast bar countertop to get away from him.

"Listen, Tony," Gibbs said, taking another step and closing the distance in the small kitchen by half.

"Do I have to?" Tony half-joked, his eyes on Gibbs' hands again as he steadily approached.

"Yes, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, his tone work-like but his eyes soft, with no hint of the usual glare. It was his way of letting Tony know he had no choice in what was about to happen, but that he was here as a friend as well as a boss.

Tony, to his credit, didn't cringe as Gibbs stepped into his space, trapping him between the countertop digging into his back and roughly two hundred pounds of ex-Marine.

"Tony, I'm—"

"Please don't," Tony whispered, his eyes flicking around the kitchen like a housefly, landing on the table, the counters, the floor—anywhere but on the patient blue eyes searching his instead of trying to bore holes through him as usual.

Gibbs tried not to growl in frustration. "Why won't you let me just say it?"

Tony's gaze finally landed on Gibbs'. "Because you don't apologize to me."

To me.

Those two little words hit Gibbs harder than Tony's wholly uncharacteristic skittishness. But he filed them away for later.

Gibbs stepped in closer, so close he could practically feel Tony's shaking.

"I hit you."

Panic flashed again through green eyes, and Gibbs looked away for a second only to see Tony gripping the countertop with milk-white knuckles. Gibbs reached up, knowing and hating that Tony's eyes were warily following the path of his hand. He laid a gentle hand on Tony's cheek, his thumb resting lightly on the bruising at the corner of his mouth.

"I hurt you."

Tony looked ready to bolt so Gibbs let his hand fall softly to grip Tony's shoulder and he stepped back slightly, almost shaking his head at the thought that Tony had the power to keep him literally at arm's length.

"I'm sorry, Tony."

Tony nodded and Gibbs stepped fully out of his space, practically feeling the sharp exhalation of the breath his agent had been holding.

"It's okay, Gibbs," Tony said, meaning it. "You didn't mean to."

Gibbs gave him a wry smile. "That's my line."

Tony smiled back.

Gibbs eyed him, watching him continue to fidget with the towel, and he decided to get this over with. He wasn't sure how soon either of them would be up to a conversation like this again.

"It's not just you, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, seating himself at the table again. He looked up and met Tony's eyes. "I don't apologize to anyone."

Tony frowned, not even remotely surprised Gibbs had picked up on that qualification in his statement. He knew he could simply agree and Gibbs would leave, and everything would be back to normal tomorrow. Or as normal as any of their lives were.

He wasn't sure what made him disagree, but as soon as he said it, he was glad he did. "You've apologized to most of the team."

Gibbs stayed silent, knowing DiNozzo was right but not knowing how he knew about the various apologies. He shouldn't have been surprised: DiNozzo was many things, a sharp investigator above almost all else.

Tony mistook his silence for denial and said, "You apologized to McGee after he was arrested by Metro for killing that cop."

DiNozzo read the silent question this time. "He told me about it."

Gibbs tried not to be angry at McGee for that and realized he was annoyed not that McGee had shared a confidential conversation but that he doubted McGee had even thought about how Tony would feel hearing about that. It made him wonder how much of Tony's act the probie still bought into all these years later.

"And I know you apologized to Ducky when you came back from Mexico," Tony said, trying his damnedest not to show how much that had hurt. "He didn't tell me, but things changed between you two and it wasn't hard to figure out why."

Gibbs heard sudden echoes of his harsh "You'll do" and almost winced remembering Tony's face when the team had walked in to their stuff piled on their respective desks. Their old desks, considering DiNozzo had wisely rearranged during Gibbs' absence.

"I never apologized to Kate," Gibbs said, knowing it sounded like a lame excuse even to his own ears. He was mostly just feeling guilty. And he hadn't thought it possible to feel any guiltier than he had just after his hand had connected with Tony's face.

Tony smiled even as pain filled his eyes. "Yeah, you did. You said you were sorry for being late to her funeral."

Gibbs nearly sighed. "You heard that?" he asked, then continued without waiting for a response. "Of course you heard that," he muttered. He thought about the other apologies he had forced out—to Franks for his amnesia, to Joann for not being able to protect his girls, to Abby during the Hernandez cold case disaster—and wondered if DiNozzo even knew about any of those.

"It doesn't matter, Gibbs," Tony said, almost as if he had heard the thoughts. "I know apologizing is a big thing to you, and you've never done anything to me to warrant it."

"I hit you."

"And you said you were sorry and it's done now," Tony said, smiling slightly and cocking his head to the side as Gibbs had done earlier.

Gibbs realized the movie in the other room was over, but more importantly, he knew from the look in Tony's eyes that the accident was forgiven. Gibbs realized he had probably scared Tony more with his intense apology than anything so he decided to let it go.

That part of it, anyway.

"You honestly believe I've never done anything to you that rates an apology?" Gibbs asked, genuinely wanting to know.

Tony lifted a shoulder. "I can't think of anything."

They let the lie hang between them for a moment before Gibbs decided to call him on it. This was about so much more than apologies and accidental injuries.

This was about trust.

"Bull, DiNozzo," Gibbs said. "You dove into a freezing river with plague-scarred lungs and saved Maddie's life—and mine."

Tony wasn't sure why he was surprised by Gibbs' directness. Because Gibbs was always direct.

"I don't see why that warrants an apology," Tony said evenly. He made his tone carefully blank before adding, "A thank you, maybe, but not an I'm sorry."

Gibbs blinked in surprise at that. He thought back to that night in the hospital after making sure Maddie was okay—and grudgingly getting checked out himself after several threats from Jenny involving suspensions and forced extended medical leaves. He had gone to DiNozzo's room and listened while Tony had grumbled about being kept overnight for observation because one of the EMTs at the scene had heard something she didn't like in DiNozzo's breathing after overhearing McGee say the word "plague."

"I mean, she didn't have a problem with my breathing at all until the probie opened his big mouth," Tony had complained, swallowing hard in what Gibbs knew was an attempt to not cough. Tony's fingers were twisted in the blanket, and all Gibbs could think about were blue lights and blue lips and bright red blood.

Tony continued after drawing what seemed to Gibbs a slightly shaky deep breath. "And I told them I was fine, and the next thing I know, Ziva and McGee have their hands on their guns and are threatening to shoot me if I don't do what the doctors say. And Abby—dear, sweet, kind Abby—is threatening to steal a gun so she can shoot me, too."

"Dear sweet Abby sleeps in a coffin," Gibbs had pointed out, wincing when Tony's laugh had turned into a wet hacking cough.

Gibbs had stayed longer than he had planned that night, alternately listening to Tony whine and to his slightly labored breathing. It had been late and Tony had been quiet for a while when Gibbs had worked up the courage to lay his hand gently on the back of Tony's, carefully avoiding the IV needle taped there.

"Thank you, Tony."

Tony hadn't said anything, but Gibbs had chalked it up to his being as uncomfortable with the sentiment as Gibbs was.

Looking back, Gibbs saw his mistake clearly. Tony would have known how hard it was for Gibbs to say those words. Tony would have acknowledged them.

"You were sleeping," Gibbs said out loud, drawing an odd look from Tony. "I thought…"

Tony just nodded. "Thank you for telling me," he said stiffly.

They stared at each other.

"I should have apologized then, too," Gibbs said, never one to back down. "I went off on my own without telling you anything, and you still had my back. I should have thanked you—and made sure you were awake to hear it—and said I was sorry for that."

Tony, impressively, managed not to look as stunned as he felt.

Gibbs was about to continue when he realized reopening all of the old wounds between them was probably a very bad idea. It was late, for one thing, and for another, he knew he didn't have to apologize for his every transgression. He knew DiNozzo had his six no matter what.

But he felt he needed to add one thing. "That I never said it to you before," he said, holding Tony's eyes, "it was never meant to be a slight against you."

"I know," Tony said simply.

And Gibbs knew he did.

Gibbs got up and walked to the door, stopping there to glance at the darkened living room, lit only by the glow of the menu screen on the television.

"You gonna rewind it and finish that movie?" Gibbs asked, his gaze sliding sideways to the tiny bruise at the corner of Tony's mouth.

"It's a DVD, Gibbs," Tony said, his grin erasing the slight swelling. "You don't have to rewind anymore."

Gibbs rolled his eyes, reached up and smacked the back of Tony's head. "Didn't answer my question."

Tony's smile stayed in place as he smoothed a hand over his hair. "Nah. It's July. I'd hate to have Christmas carols stuck in my head 'til December."

A/N: The astute among you will have noticed this is not marked complete. That's because there might be another chapter forthcoming, either a retelling of these events from Tony's point of view, or a continuation from this point forward that would most likely be an angsty trip through the complicated maze that is DiNozzo's headspace. We'll see. Don't hold your breath; you'll die.

Cheers,
AT