Tony bit back a smile as he watched his building slide by and felt Gibbs ease the car into the underground parking lot.

Although they had agreed to have dinner together, nothing had been said about whether or not Gibbs would be going home. Now it seemed that Gibbs had made the decision for them, even if he had done it unconsciously. Well, Tony was okay with that. Hell, hadn't he been hoping for just that as he sat in the office, watching Gibbs clear Pacci's desk?

'Be careful what you wish for, DiNozzo,' he mused.

Heaving his aching body out of the car a second time was worse than the first, his abused muscles beginning to cramp and the bruises from the fight in the bar starting to make themselves known. By morning he would be black and blue. Again.

He grunted his discomfort as he reached back in to pick up their meal. Gibbs was still sitting behind the wheel, staring blankly at the metal plate screwed to the wall of the parking bay, designating the space as 'guest parking'. Not that Tony could blame him for his lack of concentration. After their odd discussion at the restaurant he was feeling more than a little confused himself. The whole evening so far was turning out to be beyond hinky, as Abs would term it. He and Gibbs might have been on the same page, but they were definitely not reading the same language. One thing was certain: they needed to talk and the sooner the better.

'Maybe I should bring the wine down here,' he commented lightly, grinning when Gibbs turned a blank expression his way and grunted a noticeably inarticulate 'Huh?'

'Food, Boss.' He raised the bag into Gibbs' line of vision. 'Don't know if I ever told you, but I hate cold pasta.' The 'Oh... Yeah... Coming....' with which Gibbs replied was slightly more lucid than his previous comment, but not by much.

Tony waited until Gibbs was out of the car and about to lock it before suggesting mildly: 'By the way, Boss, you might want to save time and bring your bag up with you, since you're obviously planning on staying the night...'

As he turned away and began heading for the elevator, he could not help thinking that the deep rose blush suddenly staining his cheeks was a good look on the Bossman.

Two minutes later he let them into his apartment and carried the food into the kitchen, while Gibbs hung up his overcoat next to Tony's in the hall closet and toed off his shoes, leaving them on the shelf. Tony was not, by nature, a neat freak, but three years of working alongside Gibbs had imbued him with a certain level of 'Marineness', overriding his chaos with a measure of order.

'Plates are warming,' he announced, selecting a bottle of wine from the rack in the corner. 'I need to take a shower, so go ahead and make yourself comfortable. Be back in a few.'

'Anything I can do?' Gibbs called after him.

Tony paused, looking him slowly down and up again. 'Yeah – lose the jacket and tie, and open the wine. It needs to breathe.'

In the bathroom he stripped quickly, stuffing each item of clothing into the laundry hamper, to be dealt with in the morning. He knew he would probably throw most of it out, or maybe donate it to goodwill, unable to bear the thought of wearing it again after his encounter with 'Amanda Reed'. It was the same reasoning that caused him to up the temperature on the shower and scrub his skin with a washcloth, the same reason he brushed his teeth until his gums bled: he needed to rid himself of every physical trace of Voss.

If only he could cleanse the images from his mind that easily.

Dressed in clean jeans and an old Ohio State t-shirt, he returned to the living room, to find Gibbs standing at the window, looking down into the street. As Tony had suggested, he had stripped down to his shirt sleeves and rid himself of the tie. The top two buttons of his shirt had been opened, giving Tony a tantalising glimpse of the tanned skin beneath. How the man was able to get a tan when all his spare time was spent in the basement, building his boat, Tony couldn't begin to guess.

The ex-Marine favoured him with a similarly assessing look, lips curling in a small grin. 'I feel overdressed,' he stated.

Tony hooked a thumb over his shoulder, pointing towards the bathroom. 'Change of clothes on the bed – they're yours, by the way, from the last time you stopped over. Left you some clean towels, too. Help yourself to a shower if you want one, there's plenty of hot water.'

Watching him leave, Tony couldn't help thinking that even without the jacket and tie, Gibbs still looked sexy as hell. It was a pity he didn't wear a suit to work more often, because it certainly added a whole other dimension to his persona.

Sighing, he abandoned his 'Gibbs-watching' and turned to the more mundane task of setting two places at the dining table. Most of the time, when alone, he ate his meals on a stool at the kitchen counter, but once in a while it was good to go a little more formal. Gave him the chance to show off the good china and linen he had collected over the years, the stuff his mother would have approved while his father stood in the background and sneered about him trying to ape his betters. As he set out the silverware he debated about lighting the candles that stood in the centre of the table. He always kept candles where he could find them easily, if for no other reason than the lousy wiring in the building that shorted out every time there was a storm. Candlelight would elevate the evening from a simple meal to a Dinner, but would it be too – obvious?

'You didn't need to go to all that trouble...'

The unexpectedly soft voice from behind him announced Gibbs' return just five minutes after he had left the room. 'Must be a Marine thing', Tony mused as he turned around – and promptly forgot how to breathe.

Gibbs was leaning in the doorway, watching him intently. He was wearing the pale grey sweatpants that Tony had left out for him, but the navy NIS t-shirt trailed from his hand, and his feet were bare. His upper body, more toned than would have been expected for a man his age, was flushed from the heat of the shower, the dusting of silver hair across his pecs still damp and clinging to his skin in ways that made Tony's fingers itch to stroke it.

'No trouble, Boss,' he responded, trying to keep his tone light, even as Gibbs began to walk towards him and he found himself wondering if there was actually anything but Marine under those sweats. It certainly didn't look like it from where he was standing, and that prospect alone left Tony with a whole new set of problems.

'Y'okay, Tony?' The question carried the same depth of concern, the same caring note, that he had heard back in the office and he found himself unable to stop the spontaneous grin that lifted his lips.

'You worried about me, Boss?' answering a question with a question.

The anticipated rebuff, the 'Why would I do that, DiNozzo?' never came. Instead Gibbs came to a halt, infuriatingly just beyond arms' reach, and said simply: 'Always.'

The sincerity of it hit Tony like a body blow, and as hard as he tried to find some flippant comeback to lighten the mood, words failed him. They were back to the caring thing again and the difference – if there was any – between Gibbs' relationship with him and with the rest of the team. Gibbs was loyal to his team, and his team was loyal to him, and if anyone wanted to push it further, point out a little hero-worship in the air, then that was okay because in Tony's eyes Gibbs was a hero. Nothing wrong in that. This was different. The intensity of that one word went way beyond the simplicity of a boss/co-worker relationship, and suddenly he found he could not let the idea go. If Gibbs wanted to flirt – and that was exactly what it felt like to Tony – then, well, two could play at that game.

'You said that like you mean it.' He stepped another pace off the distance between them.

Gibbs shrugged. 'Any reason I wouldn't?'

'Depends if you worry about me as one of your team or...'

'As a friend?' That drew a harsh laugh from Gibbs' lips, but the smile that went with it was – dazzling.

The possibility that Gibbs might think of them as friends surprised DiNozzo. He wanted it to be true – of course he did – but Gibbs was first and foremost a Marine and the Corps was bound up in so much protocol, rules for everything, limitations and hierarchy's, and Tony had to wonder how he might ever fit into such a world.

He knew the exact moment when Gibbs decided he had waited long enough for an answer because the smile dropped from his face and his eyes became haunted. His next words confirmed it, the disappointment clear in the question.

'What? You don't think we can be friends, Tony?'

Tony wanted to say an immediate 'Yes!' that of course they could be – that from his point of view they already were – friends, but self-doubt made him wonder if that was what Gibbs really wanted to hear. What might be the price of his honesty? They were good the way things were – did they need to analyse it? Friendship: less than what he truly wanted, but more than he had ever had before.

'Honest answer?' He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans to still their restless movements. 'I don't know. One minute I think we are – like you coming to my defence with Kate tonight – the next, I'm pushed aside while you make nice with McGee.' Now, where had that little spark of jealousy come from?

'Make nice?' Gibbs shook his head. 'Kids in kindergarten 'make nice', DiNozzo, not grown men.'

'You know what I mean.'

'I know what you sound like!' Exasperation had caused the volume of Gibbs' voice to rise to just on the comfortable side of a roar. 'Dammit, Tony! How old are you?'

Tony felt his face flame as he realised how stupid he sounded. It was true, he often did feel jealous at the attention his boss showed towards McGee, even for the slightest word of praise, but the last thing he had wanted to do was make Gibbs angry. In fact, when it came to the things he wanted to do tonight, pissing off Gibbs had not even made it to the list, so why in hell were they standing in the middle of his living room, yelling at each other over whether or not they could call themselves friends.

He drew a deep breath, blew it out in a rush and, offering Gibbs a meek smile of apology, answered '...Maybe....Four?'

'I can believe that,' Gibbs growled, 'because you're sure as hell acting like it.'

The harsh words touched some childhood hurt deep inside Tony that had never fully healed, a distant memory of his father's disappointment and his own humiliation. DiNozzo Senior had always anticipated that Anthony would follow him into the family business and had made his young life hell when he had first chosen sports and then moved on into law enforcement, and it had all been Antony's fault. Antony was weak, Antony was shallow; he had no backbone, no fire. He would amount to nothing. If only he could have understood the emotional pain that Tony had suffered down through the years because of those cold, cruel comments and the insecurities they had spawned.

Now he had done it again. He had let Gibbs down, disappointed him. He opened his mouth to apologise, needing to say the words even though he knew Gibbs would probably remind him – forcibly – that to do so was a sign of weakness, but before he could speak, Gibbs took a step closer and murmured softly: 'Don't –'

'I –'

'You were about to apologise, but it's –'

'– a sign of weakness,' Tony interrupted. 'I know, Boss.'

Gibbs held up a hand, forestalling further comment. 'I was going to say – it's not you, Tony. It's me. I'm the one should be apologising.'

Mesmerised, Tony struggled to get his own emotions under control. Gibbs never apologised to anyone, not even to the Director, and certainly never with such obvious regret, yet there it was. And then he was saying it again, like he needed to repeat it so that they both might believe it.

'I'm sorry, Tony.'

Tony waved a hand, trying to dismiss it and take away the awkwardness that twisted the older man's features into a grimace. 'Forget it.'

'I can't. You didn't deserve –'

'Yes I did... Look, it's been a tough week for both of us, Gibbs. Losing Chris the way we did, then the whole Voss thing, and Kate... No surprise we both feel a bit –'

'Bruised?' Gibbs offered, and at last there was a glint of humour in his eyes as he gestured to Tony's head, and just like that the world shifted again, righting itself.

Tony nodded - 'Yeah...' – gingerly probing the lump on his skull and wincing when he discovered that yes, it did still hurt. At that moment his stomach growled loudly, making them both laugh. 'I'll take that as a hint,' he said. 'Feel like eating?'

Nodding, Gibbs shouldered into his t-shirt and Tony turned quickly away to hide his disappointment. For a guy his age, Gibbs had a good body, lean and fit and full of energy. Long hours of physical labour on his boat, planning and sanding the wood, had allowed his muscles to retain their definition without the need to spend hours in the gym. It would have been no hardship at all for Tony to spend the entire dinner looking at that body and daydreaming about what it might be like to have the freedom to touch whenever he wanted to. Not that that was ever going to happen.

While Gibbs brought the pasta and salad to the table, Tony took the bread from the oven and sliced it, wrapping it in a thick linen napkin and placing it in a basket.

Gibbs inhaled deeply, sighing as the aromas of sauce, hot bread and olives ticked his senses. 'Smells good,' he said, helping himself to bread while Tony poured the wine.

'Mama Lucia's finest. Reminds me of when I was a kid.'

'Trips to Italy?'

'Never been there,' Tony confessed. He had always wanted to go there, had more than enough money stashed away for the purpose, but there had never been much appeal in going alone and there had never been anyone he cared about enough to invite along. 'But we did have an honest-to-god Italian cook when I was – oh, around ten or so, I guess. She made the best pasta...'

He suddenly became aware of Gibbs watching him over the rim of his glass, just as he had earlier in the evening, when Tony had brought him coffee at the office.

'What happened to her?'

'My father fired her when my mom died. He was never big on the traditional stuff, preferred food that looked good but came with a price tag he could boast about.'

'Ten bucks for a lettuce leaf,' Gibbs remarked. Tony nodded.

'Twenty for a tomato. God, I hated that crap!'

'That why you eat so much junk food?'

Tony grinned. 'Nah. That's more a money thing – or lack of it. When you're paying your own way through college you eat what you can afford.'

They lapsed into silence as they turned their attention back to the food in front of them, the only sound in the room the clink of silverware against china and the random murmurs of appreciation that rose spontaneously to their lips. It was a comfortable silence founded on a solid working relationship; the sort of thing Kate would never understand. He recalled one occasion when she and Abby had chosen to have lunch in the same diner he liked to frequent, and how grateful he had been when they had not tried to join him. Instead, he had watched from a distance, wondering what they could find to talk about, since they barely had time to wolf down the sandwiches they had ordered. But talk they had, non-stop, for almost an hour. Given the choice, Tony would settle for a silent meal with Gibbs anytime.

Only when he had finished eating did Gibbs sit back with a sigh and murmur 'That was good.'

'You gotta admit, Lucia never lets us down,' Tony agreed.

He picked up the bottle and tipped the remainder of the wine into Gibb's glass, which drew a look of surprise from his guest.

'What about you?' Gibbs asked.

He shrugged. Gathering the empty dishes, he carried them into the kitchen. 'Love wine, just never been able to drink a lot of it.'

'That why you go for quality over quantity?'

He pulled a bottle of water from the refrigerator and waved it towards Gibbs in a wordless enquiry, getting a shake of the silver head in response. 'Old habits die hard. I grew up surrounded by the best of everything – clothes, food, wine... When my father kicked me out, I had to start over pretty damn quick. Soon learned that if I lived on pasta and canned tomatoes all week, I could afford lasagne on Sunday, that kind of stuff. After the first couple of years it became habit: by the time I got my first job in Philly it was like I'd never lived any other way.'

'So an occasional bottle of fine wine –'

'- Instead of a case of the cheap stuff. That, and seeing first-hand what too much booze can do.'

'I'm sorry,' Gibbs whispered, and Tony did not need to see his face to know the sentiment was heartfelt.

'For what? Not your fault my family cared more about their money than they did about me.'

'No, but I didn't mean to rake over painful memories.'

Tony sighed. 'Believe me, Boss; memories like that never go away.' For a moment he gazed deep into the blue eyes, surprised at how much anger he found there; even more surprised when he realised where that anger was directed. He suddenly found himself hoping that Leroy Jethro Gibbs never came into contact with another member of the DiNozzo family, because he had a pretty good idea of what the ex-Marine's reaction would be and, a dollar to a dime, it would be anything but pleasant.

Pushing away from the counter, against which he had been leaning, Tony slapped his hands together briskly, determined to push the shadows away and recapture their previous good mood. 'Dessert!' he announced, reaching into the refrigerator for the last of the take-out containers.

While Gibbs sipped his wine, Tony served the dessert that he had secretly added to the order: a light, sweet panna cotta with a side order of blueberries. As he returned to the table and set the dish in front of Gibbs a look of childlike delight spread over the other man's face.

'You remembered,' Gibbs smiled, the soft, shy smile that Tony had not seen in a long time.

'That you prefer blueberries with your dessert?' Tony shrugged, on the surface brushing the gratitude aside while inwardly feeling a glow of satisfaction.

Gibbs took a small spoonful of the creamy pudding into his mouth and made a tiny, almost sensual sound of appreciation deep in his throat. It was the same sound he made when presented with a really good cup of coffee.

'This how you win over your women...' Gibbs asked, holding another spoonful close to his mouth. '...by remembering what they like.'

He could reply with a non-committal 'Yes', and leave it at that, but Tony knew there would be no advantage in that. He could go to the other extreme and confess the truth – that he remembered everything Gibbs liked or hated, however insignificant, but that was too sappy and anyway, Gibbs would never believe him. Better to play it down and let his guest make what he would of it.

'Just the ones who matter,' he said vaguely, gaze sliding away to his own plate. He could feel Gibbs watching him, could almost hear the wheels turning inside his head, analysing the response. He expected Gibbs to comment, but all he heard was a grunt of acknowledgement as the man went back to eating.

He sighed, chalking up another failure, and picked up his spoon.