You, Tony, and Gibbs were on a case in Gitmo. Stationed in a house on base for the duration of the case. The apartment was small, a kitchen, dining room, bathroom and three beds. Gibbs had claimed the main bedroom, leaving you and Tony in the bedrooms next to each other.

In the night, you heard a noise from next door. In your pyjamas you stepped out of your room into the hall, leaning against Tony’s door to listen in.

At first, you thought it was a nightmare, quiet noises, shifting in his sheets. When you cracked the door open, you saw you were mistaken.

His head tipped back, his skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat, his lips parted.

Then he said your name. And you slipped, shoving the door open.

“Shit, shit. Fuck.” He muttered, yanking the sheets over his body.