Sink or Swim

Anthony Dinozzo closed the door quietly behind him and stood a second in the cozy foyer, poised and straining to hear sounds of anyone awake in the house.

He heard no one, and relaxed.

Placing his car keys on the foyer table besides those of Abby and Jethro, he shrugged out of his jacket and hung it inside the coat closet before stretching tiredly.

It had been a long day. No, it had been a long day and an even longer night.

Squaring his shoulders, he tiptoed quietly towards the stairs, doing his best to not wake the other occupants of the house. All of the bedrooms were upstairs, for Abby, Jethro, and him, plus the guest room occupied by Jackson Gibbs, who currently visited them from Pennsylvania.

Tony sighed and put his hand on the banister, but stopped when he heard a chair scraping across the floor. He pivoted to find his boss and mentor, Jethro Gibbs, taking a seat at the battered kitchen table.

The kitchen table was a genuine Gibbs holdout. Since Abby and he had pretty much moved in with Jethro they had managed to- through cajoling and dramatic emotional displays- refurbish the living room and some of the other living areas. That table, however, proved impossible to replace. Jethro refused to entertain the idea of a new one.

Gibbs raised his eyebrows at Tony, then motioned him over with a crook of his finger.

Obeying immediately, Tony loosened his tie and closed the gap. Sitting down across from Jethro, he regarded him in confusion and hurried to defend himself. "Boss, it's not one yet. I got home in time tonight. See? Just look at the kitchen clock."

"Did I say you did not?" Jethro watched him impassively.

"No, but…" Tony stammered to a stop. Licking his lips, he resumed. "Am I in trouble about anything?" Mentally rewinding his day at the agency he tried to determine any incident where his Boss would be annoyed with him.

Gibbs failed to reply, but swallowed a large gulp of his ever present coffee. He pointed towards the kitchen. "Go get something to drink and then come sit back down right here."

Tony did as instructed, but as he reached out a hand for the coffee pot Jethro barked firmly, "Not coffee- I have no intention of having you caffeinated at midnight. I plan to witness your heading to bed and sleep in a few minutes, not up all night chattering and watching movies."

Tony grinned at the rationale before pouring himself a tall glass of pineapple juice. He resumed his seat.

Thanks to their healthy fear of Dr. Mallard, fruit juice and a selection of fresh fruit were overtly present in the House of Gibbs these days. Still, carefully hidden from the good doctor in the pantry and cabinets were chips, junk food and colas, a menu of which he most certainly would display no tolerance.

Settling back in his chair, Tony stretched out his long legs and gave his mentor a questioningly look. "You wanted to talk to me?"

Nodding that he did, Jethro rested his forearms on the table and leaned towards the younger man. "That I do, Tony, that I do."

At that pronouncement, Tony jumped into defensive mode out of years of habit with the man. He sputtered, "What did I do? Boss, I haven't done anything. I wasn't even here this evening! Did Baby Girl blame something on me?"

As usual, Tony affectionately referred to Abby as the Baby Girl once inside the House of Gibbs.

Jethro privately thought it suited her and was fond of the nickname, as well.

"What did I do?" the senior field agent repeated, his shimmery green eyes meeting the intense blue ones of his boss.

That both men turned heads because of their physical attractiveness was understandable. They were incredibly handsome, and found no lack of female attention.

Jethro rolled his eyes in annoyance at the question. "I did not say that you did anything, now did I?"

"No, no I guess not," his protégé conceded, then offered a small grin before sipping another swallow of his juice.

He focused upon a spot a foot above Jethro's head and waited nearly a minute before speaking again.

"Are Baby Girl and Jackson okay then?" He turned to look worriedly towards the upper floor where the two slept.

Jackson Gibbs, father to Jethro, had come to visit a few days before. Abby and Tony welcomed him with glee, having forged a strong relationship with the elder Gibbs.

"Fine," Jethro reassured him, then leaned back in his chair. "Where have you been?"

Surprised, Tony pushed his chair closer to the battered table and answered quickly, "Shooting hoops, Boss-"

Gibbs interrupted, "All this time you were playing basketball?"

Tony shook his head ruefully. "No, just the last hour or so. Before that I was just driving, I guess."

"Is that so?" Gibbs raised his eyebrows and gazed steadily at the younger man.

Tony regarded him with a hurt expression. "I am not lying to you. I'm telling you the truth."

"I know you are being honest. I didn't say that you were not. I simply wanted to know where you have been from the time you left the agency this afternoon. That was several hours ago."

Tony relaxed and grinned, "Thinking about paying me overtime, were you, Boss?"

"Hmmm…" Gibbs settled against the chair's backrest and crossed his arms. He raised his eyebrows expectantly again.

In response, Tony scowled and tried to ignore the blatant gesture. He knew what that look meant. It meant he was expected to answer both thoroughly and immediately.

Gibbs utilized this maneuver at times while interrogating a suspect, and usually he just sat passively and maintained eye contact. Opponents tended to crumble within a few minutes, thrown by the awkward silence. At the most it took a quarter hour, which was the record time set by a Klingon impersonator suspected of kidnapping a little girl at Halloween a few years back.

Tony focused on the tabletop, tracing his initials with his fingertip on the shiny surface. When he glanced up again Gibbs still regarded him steadily.

He yawned loudly and pushed back his chair, dramatically making his way to his feet. Pushing the chair against the table he regarded Jethro. "Ok, ok, I'm tired and think I'll hit the rack."

"Sit down," his boss ordered, his gaze never wavering. He did not expect any real opposition, and he did not get any.