You scared me, boss

 

When Gibbs wakes up, his body aches. Not a sharp, piercing ache, but a dull, throbbing one, which tells him he’s on pain killers. He tries to remember what happened and he’s pretty sure there was a warehouse and gunshots.

There are always gunshots.

He opens his eyes and smiles slightly at the sight of his Senior Field Agent sleeping in a chair beside the bed. It looks uncomfortable, but then Tony has always managed to be able to sleep in the strangest positions. It’s a part of the job, because in the middle of a case, you never know when you’ll be allowed a moment of shut-eye again.

Tony’s mouth is open and he snores lightly. He doesn’t usually snore, at least not when he’s in a bed. Gibbs knows; he’s watched Tony sleep beside him often enough.

Tony suddenly stirs, as though aware of Gibbs’ gaze even while sleeping. Perhaps he is – another ability developed after years of working with a bastard for a boss.

“Gibbs!” Tony nearly falls off his chair when he realizes that Gibbs is looking at him. “You’re awake!”

Gibbs raises an eyebrow at him, silently mocking Tony’s observational skills. Tony ignores it, as he usually does.

“How’re you feeling?”

Gibbs mouth is dry, so when he tries to speak, it comes out more like a wheezing hacking than words. He hates it; he hates feeling like he’s had cotton for dinner and he hates waking up in the hospital at all.

His anger washes away as Tony holds an ice chip to his lips, eyebrows knitted with worry.

“You scared me, boss.”

Gibbs bites back a comment about it being part of the job. It is part of the job, but Tony already knows that and it’s not what he needs to hear right now.

“Did ya get the bastard?” he asks instead, voice still rough and rusty although the ice made it better.

Tony smiled slightly. “Yeah. Didn’t even kill him. He’s got a bullet in his leg and he’ll be charged with murder of Sergeant Philips. Abby got all the evidence she needed.”

Gibbs is proud of Tony’s restraint. If the situation had been reversed, Gibbs isn’t sure he could have – or would have – stopped himself from killing the asshole. The penalty for hurting Tony should always be death.

Tony looks around, checking that no one’s nearby, then presses his lips briefly to Gibbs’ lips. “Get some rest, boss. Need you back on my six.”

Gibbs has some witty retort, but it gets lost somewhere between the kiss and realizing that he is tired. He hates getting shot, he hates the smell of hospitals and he hates being vulnerable like this.

Still, it’s a little better these days, when Tony takes Gibbs’ hand in his and squeezes, assuring him that he won’t wake up alone.

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Author’s notes: This was written in response to this prompt.