NCIS fic: AD Keane, PG
Title: AD Keane
Series: Antoinette
Pairing: Gibbs/girl!DiNozzo
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Warnings: Genderbending, Death... kind of :/
Slight crossover with MiB.
A Tony-turns-into-a-woman story! XD Because I wanted one and couldn’t find it anywhere, so I decided to write it myself.
These will be a series of inter-connected stories featuring a girl!Tony that has managed to become the new Assistant Director of NCIS. I’m aiming for romance, humor and a lot of team in these fics… with a side helping of crack.
**
First Story: AD Keane
*
McGregor watched the burning ship as it slowly sank into the dark waters of the Potomac. It was raining hard but he barely noticed the cold seeping steadily inside his jacket. Beside him stood Lisa and Tibbs, probably feeling just as numb as him.
“Oh, Tommy…”
-Thom E. Gemcity, “Lincoln’s Fire, a Deep Six Novel”
*
McGee took the steaming cup from the barista, a cute blonde named Julie with thankfully no psychotic tendencies. “Here you go,” she said, her usually cheerful eyes looking suspiciously red this morning. “I was really tempted to secretly give you decaf, you know. It would totally serve you right!”
“Um,” McGee said, fumbling the coffee cup but thankfully not spilling anything. “What?”
“You killed off Tommy!” the barista hissed. McGee could actually see her brown eyes tear up. “I can’t believe you did that!”
“Oh.”
“I finished your new book yesterday and spent the whole night sobbing my eyes out. My boyfriend kept asking me who died.” She sniffled and grabbed a napkin to dab at her eyes. “Ugh, I’m still such a mess-and it’s your fault!”
“Oh.” Well, at least that answered whether she was single or not. He started edging away from the counter, smiling apologetically at the other customers blearily glaring at him.
“Please tell me you’re planning on bringing him back,” she said, “like, maybe it was all part of some secret undercover mission? Or, or he secretly escaped the Lincoln? Or-“
“Julie! We have a line here!” the manager hissed, grabbing the barista’s sleeve.
“Oh, right! Sorry,” she said and, after one last red-eyed glare at McGee, turned to the next customer. He took this chance to escape, stepping out into the bright Washington sunlight. He looked up at the clear, cloudless sky.
It was summer.
*
McGee almost turned right back around into the elevator when he saw Gibbs and Ziva across the squad room, Director Vance on the upstairs walkway with a pensive look on his face. Gibbs was gripping his coffee cup but not even the caffeine could take away the air of tense anger perpetually hanging over him like a storm cloud.
He’d been like this ever since-
“McGee!” Gibbs barked, making McGee jump. “Are you just going to stand there or would you care to join us? Last time I checked, we still had a killer running loose.”
“Right, Boss,” McGee said, jogging to his desk. He snuck a glance at Ziva; her eyes were closed off and flat. And when he looked up, the walkway was empty.
McGee took a long sip of his coffee. It was going to be one of those days, he could already tell.
*
Five stitches, one sprained ankle and a dead murderer later, McGee finally managed to limp into Abby’s lab. It was probably past 2200, but it was a Tony night; the team will be there.
Ziva and Ducky were already sitting around the lab table, Abby finishing off a Caf-Pow between them. A couple of plastic bags were on the Abby’s desk, the smell of Indian food wafting from them. “Sorry I’m late guys,” he said, pointing to his bandaged head. “Stitches took a while.”
“McGee!” Abby piped up, bouncing to him. “Are you okay? You should have gone straight home!”
“Five stitches. It was nothing.” Abby poked a bit, making him wince. “Really Abbs, I’m fine.”
Ducky gave a soft chuff of laughter. “How far you’ve gone, Timothy. Why, I remember when you’d turn green at the sight of a dead body… and now here you are, disregarding battle wounds like any seasoned soldier.”
“You should have seen him take down the Petty Officer Yates,” Ziva said with a smirk. “Agent McGee jumped from a moving vehicle, you know.”
“I heard!” Abby said, turning shining eyes at him. He fought down a blush. “That’s pretty impressive McGee.”
McGee grinned, feeling a bit of the same rush he got when Gibbs praised him for a good job for the arrest. “Thanks Abbs. I guess I won’t be hearing any more cracks about ‘McGeek’ now, huh?”
He knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon he said it. Everyone’s smiles kind of… froze in place before sliding off.
No one had called him ‘McGeek’ since Tony. “Crap,” McGee muttered.
“No,” Ducky said loudly, getting up and unpacking their late, late dinner. “I daresay not even Anthony would be calling you ‘McGeek’ nowadays, Timothy.”
Abby brightened up. “Not McGeek. Maybe… McRambo?”
“McRocky?” Everyone turned in surprise at Ziva. “My father likes boxing movies,” she explained with a shrug.
“McBond?” McGee said, grinning at Ducky.
Ducky raised his eyebrows: “McGibbs.”
There was a moment of absurd silence before all of them cracked up. “McGibbs!” Abby squealed, laughing. “That’s perfect!”
They divvied up their dinners and once everyone had their drinks they said their standard toast:
“To Anthony,” Ducky said.
They raised their glasses. “To Tony.”
*
The team… struggled, after Tommy died. McGregor never realized it, but without the brash and outspoken man, the stresses of their day to day work, the difficulties they dealt with emotionally, kept piling higher and higher until he felt as thin and taut as a piano wire just waiting to snap.
Both Lisa and McGregor were, by their own dispositions, solitary and naturally withdrawn. They didn’t have the ability to joke around and casually engage in funny witty banter-at least not without Tommy there.
And if they were tense and awkward, Gibbs was-
-excerpt from freewrite for “Embers and Ash” (working title)
*
“You wanted to see me, Director?”
Leon looked up. “You look like hell, Gibbs.” He motioned to the conference table. “Sit down.”
Leon ignored the agent’s raised eyebrows and, after putting his signature on Nolan’s team’s report, got up to join Gibbs at the table.
“You and your people did good work on the Yates case.”
Gibbs smiled, an ironic twist of his lips. Leon noted that it’s gotten a lot more bitter lately. “Somehow I don’t think you called me up here to give me a pat on the head,” Gibbs inclined his head, “Director.”
“I wasn’t finished.” Gibbs wasn’t the only one who could play this game, but damn him if he wasn’t getting very sick of it. Leon leaned back on his seat. “Your team did a good job--barely.”
“’Barely.’” Gibbs repeated, the sarcastic son of a bitch.
“You threw a chair yesterday, Gibbs. Right there in the middle of the squad room. That is not the kind of behavior I expect to see from my senior agents!” Leon felt justified raising his voice. “And definitely not from you.”
Gibbs met his eyes, unrepentant, face like a goddamned stone. “Duly noted, Director.”
“I think what you meant to say, Agent Gibbs, was ‘it won’t happen again, Director.’”
Gibbs remained pointedly silent. Maybe Jackie was right and it was time to start thinking about a career change. Maybe he could teach boys how to box instead of going ten rounds with stubborn, hard-headed SOBs every day.
Leon blew out a breath. “In any case, I didn’t call you here to talk about your… anger management issues that will, I’m sure, not be an issue from now on.” Gibbs’ eyes met his, dipping fractionally for a second. Good. “I didn’t even call you up here about DiNozzo’s replacement.”
“Really.”
“I’m going on a two-week conference in Prague, then another two weeks in Japan.” His phone buzzed; 1530 on the dot. He got up and pressed the intercom. “Yes, Camille, let her in.” He turned to Gibbs. “While I’m away, the new AD will be acting Director in my stead. She came highly recommended by the Secretary of State and the Director of the CIA.” The door opened and the two men turned towards it. “Agent Gibbs, I’d like you to meet…” his voice trailed off. Vaguely he noted that Gibbs slowly got to his feet.
Leon had seen more than his fair share of beautiful women. Hell, Jackie was a damn fine woman in her own right. But this one… was a knockout. And somehow he’d managed to sign her hiring papers and never managed to see a single picture.
“Antoinette Keane,” she said, smiling cheerily. “A pleasure to finally meet you, Director Vance,” she turned to Gibbs, and Leon was sure it wasn’t just his imagination that curled her smile just a little bit more or gave her voice a slight purr, “and you must be Special Agent Gibbs.”
*
“Did you see that?” McGee asked Ziva, his eyes still riveted to the stairway leading up to the Director’s office.
“Oh, I think you and every single man in this room saw that, McGee,” Ziva said, not looking up from her report. Men. They were the same everywhere.
“That was not a that, Ziva,” McGee said, leaning on her desk. “That was all woman.”
Ziva sighed and looked at him. “You are streaming Tony again, McGee. Please stop it.”
“It’s ‘channeling,’” he said, “and yeah, okay. Just doesn’t feel right without someone here saying something completely tactless and chauvinistic when a beautiful woman walks by. You know?”
Ziva nodded and their eyes went to Tony’s empty desk. “Yes, McGee, I know.” She turned back to her report.
“She does remind me of someone,” McGee said as he sat behind his desk again.
“Oh? Who?”
“A movie actress I think, an old one. The movie, not the actress. Like, Frank Sinatra old. I don’t know much about old movies though. Bette Davis? No, she was blonde.”
Ziva stilled as she saw Gibbs and the mysterious woman approach behind McGee’s desk. McGee continued on, unsuspecting.
“Faye Dunaway? Lauren Bacall-“
“Natalie Wood.” McGee jumped in his seat and stumbled to his feet, stuttering. “Oh don’t worry about it,” the woman--the admittedly quite lovely woman--said, “I get it a lot actually. I’d always wondered why my high school friends’ fathers loved it when I visited…” she shivered delicately, the motion somehow so familiar that it brought a sharp pang in Ziva’s stomach. For a moment nostalgia rose up so strongly that she thought she would actually choke on it.
Odd.
“Um, hi Boss,” McGee managed. “And, uh…”
“McGee, Ziva,” Gibbs said, keeping his eyes sharp on the woman. “I’d like you to meet Assistant Director Antoinette Keane.”
Ziva filed this information with surprise that she hid as she rose to shake the woman’s hand. She had never even heard of an Antoinette Keane; the next person in line for Assistant Director was Jack Irving. Her contacts will most assuredly hear from her.
Antoinette Keane was Caucasian, 5 feet 10 inches, a slim brunette with hazel--no, green--eyes; she looked to be in her early thirties but is likely around thirty-seven. Long straight hair in a low chignon. Make-up is subtle and flattering. Expensive suit in a very flattering cut, with shoes that looked even more expensive. Her top was just a bit low, her hemline just a slice high. She was beautiful, and knew she was beautiful.
Ziva would like to dismiss Antoinette Keane as an opportunistic gold shoveler who had napped her way to the position of Assistant Director of the NCIS, if not for three things:
AD Keane, for all her fashionista ways, did not wear any scent, her heels were low… and the hand that Ziva had shaken had gun calluses.
Antoinette Keane was, or has been, an agent.
Ziva smiled as AD Keane flounced to Agent Peterson’s team to ‘say hi.’ She needed to find out more about this Antoinette Keane.
*
I am also looking for a beta! If anyone is interested, please let me know: starryeyedfool at gmail dot com
And if anyone's interested in what Tony looks like as a girl (at least in this fic):
Series: Antoinette
Pairing: Gibbs/girl!DiNozzo
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Warnings: Genderbending, Death... kind of :/
Slight crossover with MiB.
A Tony-turns-into-a-woman story! XD Because I wanted one and couldn’t find it anywhere, so I decided to write it myself.
These will be a series of inter-connected stories featuring a girl!Tony that has managed to become the new Assistant Director of NCIS. I’m aiming for romance, humor and a lot of team in these fics… with a side helping of crack.
**
First Story: AD Keane
*
McGregor watched the burning ship as it slowly sank into the dark waters of the Potomac. It was raining hard but he barely noticed the cold seeping steadily inside his jacket. Beside him stood Lisa and Tibbs, probably feeling just as numb as him.
“Oh, Tommy…”
-Thom E. Gemcity, “Lincoln’s Fire, a Deep Six Novel”
*
McGee took the steaming cup from the barista, a cute blonde named Julie with thankfully no psychotic tendencies. “Here you go,” she said, her usually cheerful eyes looking suspiciously red this morning. “I was really tempted to secretly give you decaf, you know. It would totally serve you right!”
“Um,” McGee said, fumbling the coffee cup but thankfully not spilling anything. “What?”
“You killed off Tommy!” the barista hissed. McGee could actually see her brown eyes tear up. “I can’t believe you did that!”
“Oh.”
“I finished your new book yesterday and spent the whole night sobbing my eyes out. My boyfriend kept asking me who died.” She sniffled and grabbed a napkin to dab at her eyes. “Ugh, I’m still such a mess-and it’s your fault!”
“Oh.” Well, at least that answered whether she was single or not. He started edging away from the counter, smiling apologetically at the other customers blearily glaring at him.
“Please tell me you’re planning on bringing him back,” she said, “like, maybe it was all part of some secret undercover mission? Or, or he secretly escaped the Lincoln? Or-“
“Julie! We have a line here!” the manager hissed, grabbing the barista’s sleeve.
“Oh, right! Sorry,” she said and, after one last red-eyed glare at McGee, turned to the next customer. He took this chance to escape, stepping out into the bright Washington sunlight. He looked up at the clear, cloudless sky.
It was summer.
*
McGee almost turned right back around into the elevator when he saw Gibbs and Ziva across the squad room, Director Vance on the upstairs walkway with a pensive look on his face. Gibbs was gripping his coffee cup but not even the caffeine could take away the air of tense anger perpetually hanging over him like a storm cloud.
He’d been like this ever since-
“McGee!” Gibbs barked, making McGee jump. “Are you just going to stand there or would you care to join us? Last time I checked, we still had a killer running loose.”
“Right, Boss,” McGee said, jogging to his desk. He snuck a glance at Ziva; her eyes were closed off and flat. And when he looked up, the walkway was empty.
McGee took a long sip of his coffee. It was going to be one of those days, he could already tell.
*
Five stitches, one sprained ankle and a dead murderer later, McGee finally managed to limp into Abby’s lab. It was probably past 2200, but it was a Tony night; the team will be there.
Ziva and Ducky were already sitting around the lab table, Abby finishing off a Caf-Pow between them. A couple of plastic bags were on the Abby’s desk, the smell of Indian food wafting from them. “Sorry I’m late guys,” he said, pointing to his bandaged head. “Stitches took a while.”
“McGee!” Abby piped up, bouncing to him. “Are you okay? You should have gone straight home!”
“Five stitches. It was nothing.” Abby poked a bit, making him wince. “Really Abbs, I’m fine.”
Ducky gave a soft chuff of laughter. “How far you’ve gone, Timothy. Why, I remember when you’d turn green at the sight of a dead body… and now here you are, disregarding battle wounds like any seasoned soldier.”
“You should have seen him take down the Petty Officer Yates,” Ziva said with a smirk. “Agent McGee jumped from a moving vehicle, you know.”
“I heard!” Abby said, turning shining eyes at him. He fought down a blush. “That’s pretty impressive McGee.”
McGee grinned, feeling a bit of the same rush he got when Gibbs praised him for a good job for the arrest. “Thanks Abbs. I guess I won’t be hearing any more cracks about ‘McGeek’ now, huh?”
He knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon he said it. Everyone’s smiles kind of… froze in place before sliding off.
No one had called him ‘McGeek’ since Tony. “Crap,” McGee muttered.
“No,” Ducky said loudly, getting up and unpacking their late, late dinner. “I daresay not even Anthony would be calling you ‘McGeek’ nowadays, Timothy.”
Abby brightened up. “Not McGeek. Maybe… McRambo?”
“McRocky?” Everyone turned in surprise at Ziva. “My father likes boxing movies,” she explained with a shrug.
“McBond?” McGee said, grinning at Ducky.
Ducky raised his eyebrows: “McGibbs.”
There was a moment of absurd silence before all of them cracked up. “McGibbs!” Abby squealed, laughing. “That’s perfect!”
They divvied up their dinners and once everyone had their drinks they said their standard toast:
“To Anthony,” Ducky said.
They raised their glasses. “To Tony.”
*
The team… struggled, after Tommy died. McGregor never realized it, but without the brash and outspoken man, the stresses of their day to day work, the difficulties they dealt with emotionally, kept piling higher and higher until he felt as thin and taut as a piano wire just waiting to snap.
Both Lisa and McGregor were, by their own dispositions, solitary and naturally withdrawn. They didn’t have the ability to joke around and casually engage in funny witty banter-at least not without Tommy there.
And if they were tense and awkward, Gibbs was-
-excerpt from freewrite for “Embers and Ash” (working title)
*
“You wanted to see me, Director?”
Leon looked up. “You look like hell, Gibbs.” He motioned to the conference table. “Sit down.”
Leon ignored the agent’s raised eyebrows and, after putting his signature on Nolan’s team’s report, got up to join Gibbs at the table.
“You and your people did good work on the Yates case.”
Gibbs smiled, an ironic twist of his lips. Leon noted that it’s gotten a lot more bitter lately. “Somehow I don’t think you called me up here to give me a pat on the head,” Gibbs inclined his head, “Director.”
“I wasn’t finished.” Gibbs wasn’t the only one who could play this game, but damn him if he wasn’t getting very sick of it. Leon leaned back on his seat. “Your team did a good job--barely.”
“’Barely.’” Gibbs repeated, the sarcastic son of a bitch.
“You threw a chair yesterday, Gibbs. Right there in the middle of the squad room. That is not the kind of behavior I expect to see from my senior agents!” Leon felt justified raising his voice. “And definitely not from you.”
Gibbs met his eyes, unrepentant, face like a goddamned stone. “Duly noted, Director.”
“I think what you meant to say, Agent Gibbs, was ‘it won’t happen again, Director.’”
Gibbs remained pointedly silent. Maybe Jackie was right and it was time to start thinking about a career change. Maybe he could teach boys how to box instead of going ten rounds with stubborn, hard-headed SOBs every day.
Leon blew out a breath. “In any case, I didn’t call you here to talk about your… anger management issues that will, I’m sure, not be an issue from now on.” Gibbs’ eyes met his, dipping fractionally for a second. Good. “I didn’t even call you up here about DiNozzo’s replacement.”
“Really.”
“I’m going on a two-week conference in Prague, then another two weeks in Japan.” His phone buzzed; 1530 on the dot. He got up and pressed the intercom. “Yes, Camille, let her in.” He turned to Gibbs. “While I’m away, the new AD will be acting Director in my stead. She came highly recommended by the Secretary of State and the Director of the CIA.” The door opened and the two men turned towards it. “Agent Gibbs, I’d like you to meet…” his voice trailed off. Vaguely he noted that Gibbs slowly got to his feet.
Leon had seen more than his fair share of beautiful women. Hell, Jackie was a damn fine woman in her own right. But this one… was a knockout. And somehow he’d managed to sign her hiring papers and never managed to see a single picture.
“Antoinette Keane,” she said, smiling cheerily. “A pleasure to finally meet you, Director Vance,” she turned to Gibbs, and Leon was sure it wasn’t just his imagination that curled her smile just a little bit more or gave her voice a slight purr, “and you must be Special Agent Gibbs.”
*
“Did you see that?” McGee asked Ziva, his eyes still riveted to the stairway leading up to the Director’s office.
“Oh, I think you and every single man in this room saw that, McGee,” Ziva said, not looking up from her report. Men. They were the same everywhere.
“That was not a that, Ziva,” McGee said, leaning on her desk. “That was all woman.”
Ziva sighed and looked at him. “You are streaming Tony again, McGee. Please stop it.”
“It’s ‘channeling,’” he said, “and yeah, okay. Just doesn’t feel right without someone here saying something completely tactless and chauvinistic when a beautiful woman walks by. You know?”
Ziva nodded and their eyes went to Tony’s empty desk. “Yes, McGee, I know.” She turned back to her report.
“She does remind me of someone,” McGee said as he sat behind his desk again.
“Oh? Who?”
“A movie actress I think, an old one. The movie, not the actress. Like, Frank Sinatra old. I don’t know much about old movies though. Bette Davis? No, she was blonde.”
Ziva stilled as she saw Gibbs and the mysterious woman approach behind McGee’s desk. McGee continued on, unsuspecting.
“Faye Dunaway? Lauren Bacall-“
“Natalie Wood.” McGee jumped in his seat and stumbled to his feet, stuttering. “Oh don’t worry about it,” the woman--the admittedly quite lovely woman--said, “I get it a lot actually. I’d always wondered why my high school friends’ fathers loved it when I visited…” she shivered delicately, the motion somehow so familiar that it brought a sharp pang in Ziva’s stomach. For a moment nostalgia rose up so strongly that she thought she would actually choke on it.
Odd.
“Um, hi Boss,” McGee managed. “And, uh…”
“McGee, Ziva,” Gibbs said, keeping his eyes sharp on the woman. “I’d like you to meet Assistant Director Antoinette Keane.”
Ziva filed this information with surprise that she hid as she rose to shake the woman’s hand. She had never even heard of an Antoinette Keane; the next person in line for Assistant Director was Jack Irving. Her contacts will most assuredly hear from her.
Antoinette Keane was Caucasian, 5 feet 10 inches, a slim brunette with hazel--no, green--eyes; she looked to be in her early thirties but is likely around thirty-seven. Long straight hair in a low chignon. Make-up is subtle and flattering. Expensive suit in a very flattering cut, with shoes that looked even more expensive. Her top was just a bit low, her hemline just a slice high. She was beautiful, and knew she was beautiful.
Ziva would like to dismiss Antoinette Keane as an opportunistic gold shoveler who had napped her way to the position of Assistant Director of the NCIS, if not for three things:
AD Keane, for all her fashionista ways, did not wear any scent, her heels were low… and the hand that Ziva had shaken had gun calluses.
Antoinette Keane was, or has been, an agent.
Ziva smiled as AD Keane flounced to Agent Peterson’s team to ‘say hi.’ She needed to find out more about this Antoinette Keane.
*
I am also looking for a beta! If anyone is interested, please let me know: starryeyedfool at gmail dot com
And if anyone's interested in what Tony looks like as a girl (at least in this fic):