'Just the ones who matter...'

The words bounced back and forth inside Gibbs' head as he tried to decide what Tony meant. Was he only referring to the women in his life, or was it anyone he considered to be important? And if the latter, where did Gibbs fit into the scene?

He spooned a few more berries into his mouth, popping them between his tongue and palate and letting the sharp, syrupy juices fill his mouth. Tony had discovered his love of blueberries by accident a year ago, in a roadside diner on the long drive home from a case in Norfolk. It had never been mentioned since, but Tony had obviously stored the information away in that encyclopaedic memory of his because now and then a blueberry muffin or slice of blueberry cheesecake would appear unannounced on his desk.

He glanced across at his host, who was busy concentrating on his own dessert, and found himself wondering exactly when he had been added to Tony's personal 'A' list.

If you can't see how much he cares about you, Gibbs, you're either blind or stupid.

The spoon he had been holding clattered against the plate at the remembered sound of Pacci's words inside his head. It was a memory long-buried because at the time Pacci had said them, Gibbs had found himself unable to even consider that there might be a grain of truth to the statement. At the time he had been dodging the attentions of a third ex-wife, while Chris was dealing with the anniversary of his lover's death. They had stumbled into each other in a bar, then migrated to Gibbs' place where they had proceeded to drown their sorrows in one hundred and twenty five proof bourbon, and somewhere in the dark hours, amid the drunken reminiscences, Chris had baldly asked why Gibbs had never done anything about his feelings for Tony. Gibbs, of course, had denied vehemently that there was anything to act upon, had sworn up and down that his feelings for DiNozzo were nothing more than professional, to which Pacci had replied that he may see it that way, but Tony had a whole other point of view. By next day Pacci had forgotten all about it, the memories seemingly erased by the pain of a monumental hangover, but Gibbs had remembered. He had hardly been able to look at Tony all that day and on into the next. He had wondered if he should say anything to Tony, wondered what he could say, how he could find out for sure and what the consequences might be; but the choice had been made for him that lunchtime, when he went for coffee and caught sight of Tony in a restaurant with a beautiful – and clearly high-maintenance – blond. Compared with that, what could a middle-aged, world-weary ex-Marine with arthritic knees possibly hope to offer? There and then, he had filed Pacci's comments away in the storeroom of his memory, never to be referred to again.

Until now.

He finished his dessert and set down his spoon, wiping his mouth on a napkin. Across the table, Tony was chasing the last remaining blueberry around the dish, a look of intense concentration creasing his brow. Gibbs watched him, fascinated by his antics and wishing crazily that he could be the focus of so much of DiNozzo's attention. Finally, an irritated growl slipping from his lips, Tony dropped the spoon and scooped up the recalcitrant fruit with his finger, sucking it into his mouth.

Gibbs groaned, feeling his groin begin to tighten. The sight of Tony sucking blueberry juice from his fingers was almost too erotic to endure.

'You okay, Gibbs?'

The quietly voiced question broke into his thoughts and he looked up to find Tony watching him, his eyes full of concern but clearly oblivious to the effect he was having.

'Any reason I wouldn't be?' he snapped, immediately regretting his abruptness.

Tony shrugged 'No. Just sounded like you said something.'

Gibbs expected him to start clearing away the debris of their meal and was about to get up from the table to help, but apparently housekeeping was the last thing on Tony's mind at that moment. As Gibbs continued to watch, Tony returned his attention to the plate and, grinning like a five year old, again ran his finger through the remains of panna cotta and blueberry juice, and then proceeded to lick it clean again. The procedure was repeated once... twice... three times until the plate was clean, and each time Gibbs' flesh twitched in reaction to the erotic play.

Replete, Tony sat back and grinned, eyes bright, and Gibbs could have sworn he saw more there than just the simple enjoyment of a good meal. Had he known what his teasing antics were doing to Gibbs? It was difficult to tell, but having witnessed such sensuality from the man first-hand, Gibbs decided it was an experiment he would be happy to continue.

At last Tony began stacking the dishes, rising to his feet to carry them through to the kitchen. Gibbs watched him for a moment but the sight of the lean body traversing the compact space with such unconscious grace and economy of movement, so unlike the brash, ungainly image he often presented around the office – was doing little to alleviate his embarrassing state of arousal and so he forced himself to look away, concentrate on something less provocative; more mundane.

'You redecorated since the last time I was here,' he observed.

Tony shot him an odd look along with the shrug. 'It was part of the deal we all struck with the landlord after the boilers blew. When it came down to it, seemed he wasn't too keen on having his rental facility licence revoked.'

'Deal?'

'Yeah. He pays for the makeover to our specification and we don't sue.' He finished stacking the dishes in the washer and took down two cups from the cupboard, filling them from the pot that had been brewing throughout the meal. Gibbs bit back a smile as he saw him dilute his own with boiling water from the kettle, noting also that he had not been asked if he wanted coffee. The knowledge of just how well Tony knew him was reassuring.

'So, what do you think?' Tony enquired.

'About?'

'The new image...' A sweep of his hand encompassed both the living room and the dining area.

Neutral colours, soft greys and almost-blues, with buttermilk accents here and there. Very understated; very chic. 'It reminds me of the sea,' Gibbs told him. 'I like it.'

'Good,' said Tony and there was something in his voice that hinted it was the response he had hoped for.

He set the cups on a glass table that sat in the middle of the living room, then opened a small cabinet beneath the window and took out two glasses and two very expensive looking bottles, one of cognac and the other a top shelf bourbon that was one of Gibbs' favourite brands. Sitting down on the sofa he indicated the deep, well-padded armchair.

'Come and get comfortable,' he invited.

Gibbs hesitated, feeling the mood shift between them, the casual shared meal becoming something else; something infinitely more – serious. Common sense told him that he should thank Tony for the food, change back into his suit and go home, before everything got out of control: but the truth was he didn't want to go home to his lonely basement and his half-finished boat. The truth was, maybe it was time they both let go and allowed the evening to follow its own path.

The discussion about the new decor had gone some way to calming Gibbs' raging libido and he was able to stand up now, without embarrassment, and walk casually across to the chair although – did he imagine it, or did Tony's gaze really drop for an infinitesimal moment, homing in on the front of his pants?

He almost laughed. 'Checking me out, DiNozzo?' he mused, then 'Hell, why not! It certainly wasn't the first time he had caught Tony at it and, if forced to admit it, he had done the same himself a fair few times. And why not? Even guys who weren't into guys took the opportunity to check out the competition.

The chair was unbelievably comfortable, accepting Gibbs' weight without protest, the wide arms and deep cushions seeming to reach out and wrap around him. He settled back, fighting the urge to just curl up in it and let the worries of the world slip away. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so at ease.

Tony, watching him, smiled and shook his head indulgently as he picked up the bourbon and poured a generous measure into one of the glasses, holding it out to Gibbs who, realising how obvious he was being, sat up straight again and accepted the drink with a nod.

A splash of cognac went into the second glass, which was lifted and tipped in Gibbs' direction.

'To Chris,' Tony said quietly – and waited.

'To Chris,' Gibbs responded, adding softly 'May he always find fair winds and following seas...'

'Amen to that.' Tony took a small sip of the amber liquor before setting the tumbler down again. 'At least he's where he's wanted to be for a long time.'

Understanding, Gibbs nodded. 'With Matt.'

'Yeah.' Another sip of cognac and this time he held onto the glass, rolling it between his palms, his gaze falling away to drown in the spirit. 'I know this will probably come out all wrong but – a part of me envies him.'

'He's dead –'Gibbs' words were superfluous; cold and flat in the silence.

'I know but... He's not alone anymore.' He looked up then, and Gibbs was shocked by the depth of pain and loneliness in the green eyes.

'You're not alone, Tony.'

A bitter laugh greeted the statement. 'No. I'm surrounded by so many people who love me... not.' He tossed back the last of his drink and reached for a refill. After his earlier comments about the wine, Gibbs felt a certain sense of foreboding prickling down his spine.

'Tony –.'

'Chris was the only one who understood. The only one I could talk to. I'm gonna miss him.'

'I didn't realise the two of you were that close.'

'Yeah well, we made a point of playing it down. Government agency and all that – you know how gossip spreads.'

A sudden thought occurred to Gibbs and even though he was sure he knew the answer, he still felt compelled to ask the question. 'The two of you weren't...'

'Me and Chris?' Tony chuckled softly. 'Now there's a thought. But, no: he was still hurting over Matt.'

'And – you?' Gibbs persisted, the interrogator taking over where he felt out of his depth. He was aware that while Tony had denied a relationship he had not denied an interest. Another time, another place and maybe...

Tony seemed to be looking everywhere except at Gibbs and there was a ghost of unease about him, as if the questions were striking too close to home. At least he shrugged and said levelly: 'I was – already committed. Chris was just a good friend I could connect with when I was going through – a bad patch. He was a good listener.'

'I know.' Gibbs took a sip of his own drink, allowing the strong liquor to slide over his tongue, burning a trail down his throat to warm the sudden chill from his belly. He wanted to ask who Tony had already been committed to because he could not recall mention of any serious involvement, male or female. The longest relationship Gibbs was aware of had been just over a month – hardly a 'commitment' and certainly not one to intrude on his friendship with Pacci. But the hows and whos were of secondary consequence at that moment. More important was that he could understand everything Tony was saying, had been there himself more times than he cared to remember. Hell, he had enough 'bad patches' in his life to make a pretty sizeable quilt! It seemed ironic now that both he and Tony had sought out Pacci for help when all the time they could have been turning to each other.

He did so love the consequences of hindsight.

'You?' Tony's surprise echoed his own.

'Given the choice between Pacci, Morrow or Fornell – who would you share your monsters with?

Tony nodded. 'I see your point – not that I can imagine you having any 'monsters' stalking you. Don't think they'd dare.'

'Oh, they're there, believe me. Maybe one day I'll tell you about them. Some 'a them anyhow.'

'When you know you can trust me?'

Gibbs shook his head. 'When I know I can trust myself. I've never doubted you, Tony.' It was true. Almost from their first meeting he had sensed that he could trust this man and the repercussions of that were sometimes frightening. He knew instinctively that Tony would follow wherever he was to lead, would obey without question any order that was given. That Tony would kill for him – or die for him without a second thought. It was a hell of a responsibility between friends.

How much greater would the responsibility be if ever they became lovers?

'Sorry,' he said, noting the spark of surprise in Tony's eyes at the apology. 'Didn't mean for this to get so – heavy.'

'It's one of those nights,' Tony dismissed. 'Chris would probably tell us to 'chill'.'

'Yeah. He was kind of a laid back guy – most of the time.'

'Except when we were playing softball.' Tony laughed softly, and Gibbs found himself smiling along with him. 'I remember the first time I met him. About a month after I joined the team. I'd hooked up with some of the guys for a game after work and this geeky looking guy showed up. Looked like a stiff breeze would knock him down...'

'I remember.'

'Anyhow, he pitches in and within about five minutes he's wiping the floor with the rest of us. Took me for twenty bucks that night!'

'You're lucky. He took Burley for fifty.'

'Yeah?' A teasing light came into Tony's eyes. 'What he take you for, Boss?'

Gibbs snorted, avoiding the question, remembering how mad Stephanie had been when she found out. Instead he said: 'He was a good man and a good friend. And, like you said, he understood and – I don't just mean about being lonely.' He emptied his glass, nodding when Tony proffered the bottle.

It was time. There was something he needed to do and he was pretty damn sure that it would be easier to accomplish with a drink or three inside him. Good thing they had already agreed he would be spending the night on Tony's sofa.

Leaning forward with a sigh, he slid his hand beneath one of the sofa pillows and pulled out the envelope he had removed from Pacci's desk earlier that evening.

Part 5