FIC: Punk (NCIS), rated FRM
Title: Punk!
Author: hawk_soaring
Fandom: NCIS
Pairing: Gibbs/ DiNozzo
Rating: FRM (for language?)
Summary: First impressions or how Tony met Jethro.
A/N: Written for taylorgibbs for her birthday. My take on “Baltimore”… before it airs and spoils my fun. Happy birthday!!
A/N2: Beta’d by the wonderful AnnieB.
~*~*~
Punk!
It was the first word that popped into his head when he saw the kid. Shirt half untucked, driver’s cap pulled down, almost covering his eyes. The fact that he had his chin tucked to his chest and a pout on his face just added to the frustration. He snorted silently. With a cap like that he expected tweed and a pipe, not . . .
Jethro wouldn’t put it past a punk like that to roll a homeless guy just for sport, maybe even to prove his worth on the street.
Jethro fisted his hands that were shoved deep into the pockets of his ratty coat. He had a knife tucked into his right boot and his gun. Mustn’t forget the gun. Right now it was tucked into the back of his pants, snugged against the small of his back, a warm presence. Easily accessible weapons were a must in his line of work, but if this punk jumped him, he would still be in trouble.
He had been working under cover on the Baltimore docks for a month, trying to bust a drug ring that had left two young petty officers dead. He didn’t want to blow his cover over some punk who was looking for gang points or with some twisted sense of humor. Hell, the kid could get hurt if he found the weapons because there was no way Jethro was giving up his service weapon.
It was times like this that Jethro regretted the necessity of carrying the gun at all, but there was no way he was going to be just another statistic: some homeless bum who’d gone up against the wrong people. Jethro had seen at least three of those in his time on the docks and his level of frustration was sky-rocketing with each one. No, he’d go down fighting and it would be the punk kid who was surprised. After all, the homeless were picked on because they were usually too downtrodden to fight back. Not this time.
Jethro gave wide berth to the punk lounging against the wall, snorting softly as he noted the slouched posture. The kid had his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his dark jeans. His ankles were crossed - and the boots! Jethro bit back a chuckle. The punk kid had on a well worn pair of boots that were tied but unzipped on the sides, leaving them sloppily undone. Hell, the kid would never be able to roll him with his boots undone like that. He’d only have to run away. It would keep his cover safe and leave the kid with a red face, knocking him down a peg or two where he was obviously looking to elevate his street cred.
Jethro was careful to keep his walk to a limping shuffle, his head bowed, as he ambled past the punk. He watched out of the corner of his eye to see if the punk would go for him and was slightly surprised when the kid shifted a little and settled back against the wall again, almost as if he was waiting for Jethro to make a false move - a posture that totally belied Jethro’s first impression. It was at that moment that Jethro decided to watch the kid. His gut was screaming at him. Something was up - and maybe, just maybe, it had something to do with his case.
His ambling shuffle took him past the kid and around the far corner of the warehouse where he stopped and leaned back against the brick, barely resisting the urge to bang his head against the building. He was out of sight of the kid and he needed to keep an eye on him. Something told him to keep the kid in sight so that meant he had to go back out there - but how could he do that without screaming “cop”?
Taking a deep breath, Jethro decided to do what he had to do - and to do it while keeping in character. It would work, even if he killed himself trying to pull it off. One crazy homeless guy coming up.
Heaving a huge sigh, Jethro slapped his hands against the wall and pushed away. His knee twinged once as it took his full weight but he pushed the pain to the back of his mind as he tested the brace, bending his knee and straightening it a couple of times. He’d aggravated an old injury on his last case and the shuffling limp wasn’t all put on. The brace just meant his knee wouldn’t give out in a chase - didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like fuck sometimes.
Bending quickly, Jethro ran his hands through the dusty grime on the ground and then clapped his hands together once before lightly rubbing his face. Next he ran his hands through his hair, messing it thoroughly before pulling his navy blue watch cap out of his coat pocket. He gave it a once over before slapping it on the ground a couple of times and then banging it against his leg. Snorting in satisfaction at the dusty grimy look of the cap, he pulled it onto his head.
He nodded once, stuffed his hands into his pockets and shuffled toward the garbage pile on the far side of the alleyway between the two warehouses. He knew the punk would see him as soon as he rounded the corner of the building but he kept his head down, glancing toward the kid but not acknowledging him as he made his way across the open space. Okay - he was still there, but now with his arms crossed over his chest and a frown on that gorgeous face. And where the hell had that thought come from? Gorgeous? What was he - 25? 26, tops? Light stubble roughened his jaw line and Jethro found himself wondering what color his eyes were. With that sandy brown hair, Jethro was thinking hazel or green. Maybe brown but - Jethro mentally head-slapped himself. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by this kid. Not now. Besides, as of now, this kid was as good as a suspect. Hanging around here could only mean one thing: he was up to no good.
Moving stiffly, Jethro bent to sift through the trash at the base of the dumpster, risking another glance toward the kid on the other side of the alley. He was surprised to see that the kid was openly staring at him now but he didn’t dwell on it. Whether or not the kid was checking him out, he needed to maintain his cover. It was up to the kid to make the first move and Jethro had no doubts that he would. The kid was into something. Whether it was the drug ring he was investigating or other gang activity, the kid was making his gut sing and he always listened to his gut.
Muttering to himself, Jethro let the detritus at the base of the dumpster fall to the ground again as he straightened. Nothing there to salvage. Best to get on with the business of the day - digging for gold in the dumpster. He wiped his hands on the seat of his coat and then pushed up the lid of the dumpster, leaning back for a moment as the smell hit him full in the face. He snorted the smell away and leaned over the opening.
What a fucking mess: rotting food, paper, plastic, bags and bags of trash all stuffed into the metal box. “And here I am picking through this shit just to -”
“Just to what, old man?”
Jethro stilled. How the hell had the punk kid snuck up on him like that? He hadn’t heard a sound and he had pretty damn good hearing. Time to go on the offensive unless he wanted to wind up like the other bums he’d seen down here that had been left bleeding and broken after being beaten.
Jethro pushed off from the dumpster, using both hands against the metal for leverage. Surprisingly, he came up against what felt like a brick wall. The kid didn’t give an inch, instead, pressing forward, pushing Jethro against the dumpster with his whole torso - and the kid had an inch on him. He had the leverage to keep an old man in place - if he were holding an old man, which he wasn’t.
He still didn’t want to blow his cover. He was just getting to be one of the regulars - mostly ignored by the locals down here. Giving that up would mean starting over. So did he fight? Or let the kid get in some punches and hope it wasn’t too bad? At least he could give the local PD this guy’s description and get the punk off the street. The other homeless people would be infinitely safer without him hanging around.
“Get off me, punk,” he growled as he pushed back against the kid. Not surprisingly, the kid pushed right back.
“I asked you a question, old man,” the kid hissed, his mouth only inches from Jethro’s ear.
“I don’t have to answer no questions from some punk-assed kid,” Jethro growled. He was running out of time. If the kid pressed any closer, he would feel Jethro’s gun at the small of his back and then things would get really ugly. As it was now, the kid was leaning into him with just his chest, pressing Jethro against the metal edge of the dumpster, probably thinking that a little intimidation would have him quaking in his boots - but he was dead wrong.
Jethro turned his head to the side, catching a glimpse of green eyes and full lips parted over straight white teeth. That “something’s hinky” feeling washed over him again and he shook his head to clear it. He tried again, pushing away from the dumpster quickly and turning to press his palms against the kid’s chest, making him stumble back a step. “I said, get off me,” he ground out from between clenched teeth.
The kid smiled. “Who the hell are you?” he asked, more to himself than to Jethro but it shook him up just the same. And then he stepped forward again. “You aren’t the usual fare we get down here. Something’s -”
For a second, Jethro was sure the kid was going to say hinky and he had to forcefully push that thought away. He still had time to salvage this if he could just think!
“Get outta here, you punk. This here’s my dumpster and I’m not sharing with you.” Jethro lifted his chin, asserting his ownership over the junk as only someone who’d been on the streets a while could do - and the kid didn’t even blink an eye. Well, fuck. This wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d thought. He stepped forward, bumping his chest against the kid’s. “Get outta my territory, kid - before something happens you weren’t plannin’ on today.”
That did it. Jethro bit back a grin as he watched the kid process what he’d said. He was going to turn tail and leave. He could see the questions in the kid’s eyes - the hesitation. Chances were, none of the other bums had talked back. It was easy to roll someone who was so down on his luck he expected trouble. Having someone stand up to him wasn’t something this kid expected.
The kid looked over his shoulder quickly, obviously checking to see if anyone would come to “the bum’s” rescue. There was no one around. As the kid turned his attention back to him, Jethro steeled himself for a fight. He’d already decided he wasn’t going to take a fall without giving this kid something to think about.
It shocked him when the kid reached around behind his back with his right hand as his left lifted the untucked edge of his shirt, revealing a badge clipped to his belt. And then, before Jethro could react, the kid took a half step backward as he brought his right hand back around his body, holding a weapon. Well fuck - the kid was a cop.
Jethro lifted his hands, palms out. “Hey - listen -”
“Shut up,” the kid - cop - snapped. “You have the right to remain silent.”
Well, fuck. The kid thought he was going to arrest him, huh. “Look, kid,” he started again. “You don’t want to do this.” All he got for his efforts was a raised eyebrow and he sighed, looking around once to make sure they were alone before admitting, “I’m a Fed.”
The kid looked at him, letting his gaze roam over his body almost insolently. “Really?” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You got ID?”
Jethro shook his head. “No - I’m undercover.”
“Right,” the kid drawled. “And I’m the Pillsbury Dough Man.” He nodded toward Jethro. “Turn around and put your hands on the dumpster.”
Jethro sighed. What were the chances the kid would actually shoot him? Getting arrested wasn’t on his list of things to do today. He figured that, if his knee didn’t give out on him, he might actually be able to get away - especially since the kid wouldn’t be expecting him to run. Keeping his hands raised, he turned - and then broke away to the right, heading off at a sprint.
He had to give the kid credit, he decided as he was tackled to the ground. He was fast. Heavier than he looked too. Damn near knocked the wind out of him when he’d tackled him. The way the kid was laying on top of him there was no way he was going to miss the gun and then he’d be screwed - at least until he could get them to call NCIS to verify his identity. Either way, he’d lost a day’s worth of work as he figured he’d spend at least that long in jail before the local yokels figured it all out.
“You packing heat, Mr. Fed?” the kid asked as he efficiently cuffed Jethro’s hands behind him.
His weight shifted and Jethro’s coat was lifted - and his weapon pulled from the waistband of his pants. Not for the first time today, Jethro cursed his decision to carry the piece. Things might have turned out differently if. . . Nah, he’d still be lying right where he was, face down in the dirt. The kid was good.
Jethro grunted as he was pulled to his feet and then strong hands spun him around and those green eyes were staring into his, seeming to search for something.
“Nice gun, Mr. Fed. Makes me wonder just what you need a gun for - and how you could afford one when you’re out here dumpster diving.” He took hold of one of Jethro’s arms and tugged him forward, leading him out of the alley. “So - care to enlighten me, Mr. I’m a Fed?”
Jethro snorted. “The name’s Jethro.”
The kid grinned. “Jethro, huh? Like in The Beverly Hillbillies?”
Jethro rolled his eyes.
“Well, Jethro,” the kid continued. “You can call me Detective DiNozzo. It’s Tony to my friends - but I don’t think we’re friends, do you, Jethro?”
Jethro didn’t grace him with an answer.
“Any other weapons I should be aware of, Jethro?”
Jethro raised an eyebrow and stayed silent.
“I think you do have something else,” Tony said, his green eyes seeming to see too much. “Should I order a strip search when we get to the station, Jethro?”
The way the kid kept saying his name was grating on Jethro, but he wasn’t going to let him goad him into saying something stupid. “Think I have a knife shoved up my ass, Detective?” he sneered.
Tony smiled. “You got a knife, Jethro?” he asked sweetly.
Jethro mentally slapped himself. Giving up his gun was one thing . . . “You already know what I’m packing,” he growled. “Hell, you could probably draw it all since you’ve had your hands all over it.”
“Just checking you for weapons, Jethro - which you would know if you were really a Fed.”
Jethro snorted.
“So, where’s the knife?”
Well, fuck. The kid was nothing if not tenacious. “Right boot.”
Before he could even take a breath, he was spun around again and pressed up against the building, his legs kicked apart. A strong hand pressed him forward, the rough brick scratching against his cheek. Tony was quick, he’d give him that. It took him seconds to get the knife from his boot and another few to spin him back around.
“What else?”
Jethro shook his head. “Nothing else. I’m clean.”
Tony stared at him for a moment longer before nodding once.
~*~*~
Jethro had plenty of time to think as he sat, cuffed to a chair in the squad room of the Baltimore PD. Which station it was eluded him - he really hadn’t been paying attention as Tony had stuffed him in the back seat of his plain sedan and driven him downtown. Getting back to his case had been his only concern at the time. Now though, he had plenty of time to think and he had no clue where he was. The squad room was busy and pretty disorganized if he had to put a name to it. The reason for that was pretty obvious: the captain was a harsh man who had no respect for the men and women serving under him. In Jethro’s experience, respect went a long way toward people giving their all to a job. If Jethro had to guess, this guy wouldn’t last much longer. Someone further up the food chain was bound to notice the lack sooner or later.
Tony, however, seemed to know what he was doing. He certainly expedited his paperwork, pushing it through on charm and good looks, bantering with the desk sergeant as well as the booking officer and just about every other cop in the place as he processed Jethro into the system.
“Leroy, huh?” Tony had growled as Jethro gave the booking clerk his full legal name and Jethro had shrugged.
“Not everyone uses their first name, Anthony,” he had replied with a smirk.
“Tony is short for Anthony. What’s your excuse?” Tony propelled him to the chair next to his desk, undoing his handcuffs only long enough to refasten the cuffs around the metal chair so he couldn’t get up and leave - especially since the chair appeared to be bolted to the floor. Efficient.
Detective DiNozzo asked the usual questions and, for a moment Jethro considered fucking with the kid just for the fun of it, but he had a job to get back to, damn it, and being here was costing him time - so he complied with the cop, albeit grudgingly.
He’d been cooling his heels for about an hour when Tony had been called into the captain’s office. Jethro could hear the shouting, even through the closed door and when Tony came out his face was thunderous. “Bad day at the office, dear?” Jethro asked sarcastically as Tony huffed out a sigh and sat at his desk.
“Shut the fuck up, Jethro,” Tony said as he bent his head to his paperwork again.
Jethro grinned and looked around the squad room again. He was getting bored but baiting the cops probably wasn’t a great idea - especially if he wanted to get back out on the street today.
He’d been sitting there a couple of hours when he cleared his throat. Tony looked up at him, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I know I’m going to regret this, but what do you want?”
“I need to use the can,” he said, biting back the grin that threatened at Tony’s put-upon sigh.
“Hold it.”
Jethro shook his head. “Been holding it too long now, Detective.”
Tony growled and pushed himself to his feet. “You’ve got two choices. The holding pens or full shackles.”
Jethro raised an eyebrow and Tony smiled. “Well, three choices,” he said conversationally. “Because I can get someone to go in there with you and hold your dick.”
“You?” Jethro asked, mentally slapping himself almost as soon as the word passed his lips.
Tony chuckled and looked him up and down insolently. “No, not me, Jethro. I’ll get a couple of uniforms. They get off on fondling the prisoners - especially the ones who are somewhat less than cooperative.”
“Shackles,” Jethro ground out, pissed off that he was letting the kid goad him.
Jethro was still steaming when Tony returned with the shackles, letting the kid manhandle him into them with little grace. He had to pee, but he didn’t have to like having this kid in control.
“You gonna watch, Detective?” Jethro asked as he stepped up to the urinal.
Tony was leaning against the door, arms folded across his chest. “Bladder shy, Jethro?” he asked.
Jethro met his eyes in the mirror. “Just wondering if you had a good view,” he quipped.
“Don’t need a better view,” Tony drawled. “I’ve already held your junk in my hands - Jethro.”
Jethro bit back a growl of pure frustration. This kid was getting the better of him at every turn. He was either going to kill him - or hire him. He hadn’t decided yet.
When they got back to Tony’s desk, the phone was ringing. Tony pushed him down into the chair, pointing a finger at him as if to say, “Stay!” Jethro bit back the urge to bark and if the growl of annoyance was misinterpreted it wasn’t his fault.
Tony’s end of the conversation consisted of short answers - one or two words at most. And then he leaned back in his chair and smiled, looking over at Jethro as he did so. “Is that so?” he drawled. And Jethro knew he was fucked. When Tony chuckled, a low rough sound that centered right in Jethro’s groin, Jethro groaned. Abby. Somehow, some way, Tony had gotten a hold of Abby - or, rather, she had gotten a hold of him. “Well, I thank you, Miss Sciuto,” Tony said sincerely and Jethro had the sudden urge to bang his head against the desk until he knocked himself unconscious - just so he wouldn’t have to listen to Tony gloat. It had been tolerable while Tony was convinced Jethro was a crazy old coot, but now Tony would be insufferable. He could see it building already and the kid had just hung up the phone.
Deciding to take the bull by the horns, Jethro sighed loudly. “So - just how much trouble do you think you’re going to be in for detaining a federal agent?”
Tony leaned back in his chair, folded his hands behind his head, and shrugged. “None, actually,” he said easily. At Jethro’s snort, Tony grinned. “I figure I just had the best job interview ever.”
“How do you figure that, DiNozzo?” Jethro growled.
“I took down an armed federal agent - all without blowing my street cred. I can go back out there tomorrow and no one’s the wiser.”
Jethro had to give him that. He was damned good - but it wouldn’t do to let him know that. “Yeah, kid. You took down a Fed - not a crook. Way to go.”
Tony laughed and leaned forward, the front legs of his chair meeting the ground with a thud. “I knew something was off about you. Oh, you’re good - no doubt about it. But you didn’t fool me. I knew you weren’t some homeless guy.” He sniffed the air pointedly. “Even if you were determined to fit in with the crowd. How the hell long have you been living down there anyway?”
Jethro shrugged as much as the shackles would allow. “A month - give or take a few days. And I showered periodically at the shelter.”
“And put those same grungy clothes back on,” Tony replied easily. “You stink, Jethro.”
“I need a shower. Something to eat wouldn’t go amiss either.”
Tony grinned. “Really?”
Jethro shrugged again. “If you want to continue this job interview, DiNozzo,” he answered, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the captain’s shouting.
Tony grimaced. “I think I’ve got it covered: one hot shower, clean clothes, pizza and beer coming right up.” Tony removed Jethro’s shackles as he talked. “And, you’re very lucky, because I can be charming as all hell at the same time.”
“Charming? Who needs charming for a job interview?” Jethro groused as he made a show of rubbing his wrists. He followed Tony down to booking and signed for his belongings before following him from the building.
The short walk to the garage was silent, but not uncomfortably so. Tony seemed deep in thought and Jethro took the time to watch him; the way he moved with a light grace and an awareness of his body that Jethro found fascinating. He wondered at Tony’s background. He had a self-awareness that was not common in young men.
“A Mustang, DiNozzo?”
Tony grinned and opened the door. “Nothing better, Jethro,” he quipped as he slid into the car, pulling the door closed behind him. The top was already down. “Get in, old man.”
Jethro grinned and he climbed into the car. “Old man, huh? Punk.”
Tony laughed as they pulled out into traffic. “If you’re calling me punk, I did my job right. Fit right in down there, didn’t I?”
Jethro nodded. “Yeah - except for the fact that I knew something was hinky. That’s why I came back out into that alley.”
“Hinky?”
Jethro smiled. “Abby,” he said by way of explanation.
“I gotta meet that girl,” Tony mused.
~*~*~
The shower was hot and the water plentiful and Jethro was thoroughly scrubbed and lethargic by the time he shut the water off and stepped out into the steamy bathroom. Tony’s towels were thick and fluffy - and warmed. It was positively hedonistic - and made Jethro wonder again about Tony’s background.
“Well, at least I know where he went to school,” Jethro mused as he pulled on the OSU T-shirt and sweatpants. Thick white socks completed the outfit and then he wandered back out into the living room.
Tony was lounging on the sofa, a bottle of beer nestled between his outstretched legs. The television was on, the sound low. “College football,” Tony said, gesturing with his bottle of beer. His eyes raked over Jethro and Jethro had to stifle the urge to fidget. “You clean up nice, Jethro.”
“Thanks, DiNozzo,” he growled.
“Tony.”
“What?” Jethro asked. He’d been caught off guard by the innocuous comment.
“You were naked in my bathroom. You’re wearing my clothes. I think you can call me by my first name.”
Jethro took a bottle of beer from Tony and took a long drink. Was the kid actually flirting with him?
“Yes.” Tony winked and Jethro choked on the mouthful of beer he’d just taken.
“What?” he coughed.
Tony stood, stepping right into Jethro’s personal space. Their clothes brushed, and Jethro’s skin tingled at their proximity.
“I’m flirting with you, Jethro,” Tony said as he leaned forward, just a fraction of an inch - enough to brush his lips over Jethro’s.
Jethro’s eyes closed seemingly of their own accord and he moaned softly at the gentle assault on his lips. His arms wrapped around Tony, pulling him closer. Their bodies pressed together, touching from knees to chest, heat building between them.
After a minute, Tony pulled back, his eyes twinkling. “This is some job interview, Boss,” he breathed.
Jethro chuckled. “Boss, huh? You that sure of yourself, Tony?”
Tony nodded, pulling Jethro close again. “Admit it, Boss. I had you when I first smiled.”
END
Author: hawk_soaring
Fandom: NCIS
Pairing: Gibbs/ DiNozzo
Rating: FRM (for language?)
Summary: First impressions or how Tony met Jethro.
A/N: Written for taylorgibbs for her birthday. My take on “Baltimore”… before it airs and spoils my fun. Happy birthday!!
A/N2: Beta’d by the wonderful AnnieB.
~*~*~
Punk!
It was the first word that popped into his head when he saw the kid. Shirt half untucked, driver’s cap pulled down, almost covering his eyes. The fact that he had his chin tucked to his chest and a pout on his face just added to the frustration. He snorted silently. With a cap like that he expected tweed and a pipe, not . . .
Jethro wouldn’t put it past a punk like that to roll a homeless guy just for sport, maybe even to prove his worth on the street.
Jethro fisted his hands that were shoved deep into the pockets of his ratty coat. He had a knife tucked into his right boot and his gun. Mustn’t forget the gun. Right now it was tucked into the back of his pants, snugged against the small of his back, a warm presence. Easily accessible weapons were a must in his line of work, but if this punk jumped him, he would still be in trouble.
He had been working under cover on the Baltimore docks for a month, trying to bust a drug ring that had left two young petty officers dead. He didn’t want to blow his cover over some punk who was looking for gang points or with some twisted sense of humor. Hell, the kid could get hurt if he found the weapons because there was no way Jethro was giving up his service weapon.
It was times like this that Jethro regretted the necessity of carrying the gun at all, but there was no way he was going to be just another statistic: some homeless bum who’d gone up against the wrong people. Jethro had seen at least three of those in his time on the docks and his level of frustration was sky-rocketing with each one. No, he’d go down fighting and it would be the punk kid who was surprised. After all, the homeless were picked on because they were usually too downtrodden to fight back. Not this time.
Jethro gave wide berth to the punk lounging against the wall, snorting softly as he noted the slouched posture. The kid had his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his dark jeans. His ankles were crossed - and the boots! Jethro bit back a chuckle. The punk kid had on a well worn pair of boots that were tied but unzipped on the sides, leaving them sloppily undone. Hell, the kid would never be able to roll him with his boots undone like that. He’d only have to run away. It would keep his cover safe and leave the kid with a red face, knocking him down a peg or two where he was obviously looking to elevate his street cred.
Jethro was careful to keep his walk to a limping shuffle, his head bowed, as he ambled past the punk. He watched out of the corner of his eye to see if the punk would go for him and was slightly surprised when the kid shifted a little and settled back against the wall again, almost as if he was waiting for Jethro to make a false move - a posture that totally belied Jethro’s first impression. It was at that moment that Jethro decided to watch the kid. His gut was screaming at him. Something was up - and maybe, just maybe, it had something to do with his case.
His ambling shuffle took him past the kid and around the far corner of the warehouse where he stopped and leaned back against the brick, barely resisting the urge to bang his head against the building. He was out of sight of the kid and he needed to keep an eye on him. Something told him to keep the kid in sight so that meant he had to go back out there - but how could he do that without screaming “cop”?
Taking a deep breath, Jethro decided to do what he had to do - and to do it while keeping in character. It would work, even if he killed himself trying to pull it off. One crazy homeless guy coming up.
Heaving a huge sigh, Jethro slapped his hands against the wall and pushed away. His knee twinged once as it took his full weight but he pushed the pain to the back of his mind as he tested the brace, bending his knee and straightening it a couple of times. He’d aggravated an old injury on his last case and the shuffling limp wasn’t all put on. The brace just meant his knee wouldn’t give out in a chase - didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like fuck sometimes.
Bending quickly, Jethro ran his hands through the dusty grime on the ground and then clapped his hands together once before lightly rubbing his face. Next he ran his hands through his hair, messing it thoroughly before pulling his navy blue watch cap out of his coat pocket. He gave it a once over before slapping it on the ground a couple of times and then banging it against his leg. Snorting in satisfaction at the dusty grimy look of the cap, he pulled it onto his head.
He nodded once, stuffed his hands into his pockets and shuffled toward the garbage pile on the far side of the alleyway between the two warehouses. He knew the punk would see him as soon as he rounded the corner of the building but he kept his head down, glancing toward the kid but not acknowledging him as he made his way across the open space. Okay - he was still there, but now with his arms crossed over his chest and a frown on that gorgeous face. And where the hell had that thought come from? Gorgeous? What was he - 25? 26, tops? Light stubble roughened his jaw line and Jethro found himself wondering what color his eyes were. With that sandy brown hair, Jethro was thinking hazel or green. Maybe brown but - Jethro mentally head-slapped himself. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by this kid. Not now. Besides, as of now, this kid was as good as a suspect. Hanging around here could only mean one thing: he was up to no good.
Moving stiffly, Jethro bent to sift through the trash at the base of the dumpster, risking another glance toward the kid on the other side of the alley. He was surprised to see that the kid was openly staring at him now but he didn’t dwell on it. Whether or not the kid was checking him out, he needed to maintain his cover. It was up to the kid to make the first move and Jethro had no doubts that he would. The kid was into something. Whether it was the drug ring he was investigating or other gang activity, the kid was making his gut sing and he always listened to his gut.
Muttering to himself, Jethro let the detritus at the base of the dumpster fall to the ground again as he straightened. Nothing there to salvage. Best to get on with the business of the day - digging for gold in the dumpster. He wiped his hands on the seat of his coat and then pushed up the lid of the dumpster, leaning back for a moment as the smell hit him full in the face. He snorted the smell away and leaned over the opening.
What a fucking mess: rotting food, paper, plastic, bags and bags of trash all stuffed into the metal box. “And here I am picking through this shit just to -”
“Just to what, old man?”
Jethro stilled. How the hell had the punk kid snuck up on him like that? He hadn’t heard a sound and he had pretty damn good hearing. Time to go on the offensive unless he wanted to wind up like the other bums he’d seen down here that had been left bleeding and broken after being beaten.
Jethro pushed off from the dumpster, using both hands against the metal for leverage. Surprisingly, he came up against what felt like a brick wall. The kid didn’t give an inch, instead, pressing forward, pushing Jethro against the dumpster with his whole torso - and the kid had an inch on him. He had the leverage to keep an old man in place - if he were holding an old man, which he wasn’t.
He still didn’t want to blow his cover. He was just getting to be one of the regulars - mostly ignored by the locals down here. Giving that up would mean starting over. So did he fight? Or let the kid get in some punches and hope it wasn’t too bad? At least he could give the local PD this guy’s description and get the punk off the street. The other homeless people would be infinitely safer without him hanging around.
“Get off me, punk,” he growled as he pushed back against the kid. Not surprisingly, the kid pushed right back.
“I asked you a question, old man,” the kid hissed, his mouth only inches from Jethro’s ear.
“I don’t have to answer no questions from some punk-assed kid,” Jethro growled. He was running out of time. If the kid pressed any closer, he would feel Jethro’s gun at the small of his back and then things would get really ugly. As it was now, the kid was leaning into him with just his chest, pressing Jethro against the metal edge of the dumpster, probably thinking that a little intimidation would have him quaking in his boots - but he was dead wrong.
Jethro turned his head to the side, catching a glimpse of green eyes and full lips parted over straight white teeth. That “something’s hinky” feeling washed over him again and he shook his head to clear it. He tried again, pushing away from the dumpster quickly and turning to press his palms against the kid’s chest, making him stumble back a step. “I said, get off me,” he ground out from between clenched teeth.
The kid smiled. “Who the hell are you?” he asked, more to himself than to Jethro but it shook him up just the same. And then he stepped forward again. “You aren’t the usual fare we get down here. Something’s -”
For a second, Jethro was sure the kid was going to say hinky and he had to forcefully push that thought away. He still had time to salvage this if he could just think!
“Get outta here, you punk. This here’s my dumpster and I’m not sharing with you.” Jethro lifted his chin, asserting his ownership over the junk as only someone who’d been on the streets a while could do - and the kid didn’t even blink an eye. Well, fuck. This wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d thought. He stepped forward, bumping his chest against the kid’s. “Get outta my territory, kid - before something happens you weren’t plannin’ on today.”
That did it. Jethro bit back a grin as he watched the kid process what he’d said. He was going to turn tail and leave. He could see the questions in the kid’s eyes - the hesitation. Chances were, none of the other bums had talked back. It was easy to roll someone who was so down on his luck he expected trouble. Having someone stand up to him wasn’t something this kid expected.
The kid looked over his shoulder quickly, obviously checking to see if anyone would come to “the bum’s” rescue. There was no one around. As the kid turned his attention back to him, Jethro steeled himself for a fight. He’d already decided he wasn’t going to take a fall without giving this kid something to think about.
It shocked him when the kid reached around behind his back with his right hand as his left lifted the untucked edge of his shirt, revealing a badge clipped to his belt. And then, before Jethro could react, the kid took a half step backward as he brought his right hand back around his body, holding a weapon. Well fuck - the kid was a cop.
Jethro lifted his hands, palms out. “Hey - listen -”
“Shut up,” the kid - cop - snapped. “You have the right to remain silent.”
Well, fuck. The kid thought he was going to arrest him, huh. “Look, kid,” he started again. “You don’t want to do this.” All he got for his efforts was a raised eyebrow and he sighed, looking around once to make sure they were alone before admitting, “I’m a Fed.”
The kid looked at him, letting his gaze roam over his body almost insolently. “Really?” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You got ID?”
Jethro shook his head. “No - I’m undercover.”
“Right,” the kid drawled. “And I’m the Pillsbury Dough Man.” He nodded toward Jethro. “Turn around and put your hands on the dumpster.”
Jethro sighed. What were the chances the kid would actually shoot him? Getting arrested wasn’t on his list of things to do today. He figured that, if his knee didn’t give out on him, he might actually be able to get away - especially since the kid wouldn’t be expecting him to run. Keeping his hands raised, he turned - and then broke away to the right, heading off at a sprint.
He had to give the kid credit, he decided as he was tackled to the ground. He was fast. Heavier than he looked too. Damn near knocked the wind out of him when he’d tackled him. The way the kid was laying on top of him there was no way he was going to miss the gun and then he’d be screwed - at least until he could get them to call NCIS to verify his identity. Either way, he’d lost a day’s worth of work as he figured he’d spend at least that long in jail before the local yokels figured it all out.
“You packing heat, Mr. Fed?” the kid asked as he efficiently cuffed Jethro’s hands behind him.
His weight shifted and Jethro’s coat was lifted - and his weapon pulled from the waistband of his pants. Not for the first time today, Jethro cursed his decision to carry the piece. Things might have turned out differently if. . . Nah, he’d still be lying right where he was, face down in the dirt. The kid was good.
Jethro grunted as he was pulled to his feet and then strong hands spun him around and those green eyes were staring into his, seeming to search for something.
“Nice gun, Mr. Fed. Makes me wonder just what you need a gun for - and how you could afford one when you’re out here dumpster diving.” He took hold of one of Jethro’s arms and tugged him forward, leading him out of the alley. “So - care to enlighten me, Mr. I’m a Fed?”
Jethro snorted. “The name’s Jethro.”
The kid grinned. “Jethro, huh? Like in The Beverly Hillbillies?”
Jethro rolled his eyes.
“Well, Jethro,” the kid continued. “You can call me Detective DiNozzo. It’s Tony to my friends - but I don’t think we’re friends, do you, Jethro?”
Jethro didn’t grace him with an answer.
“Any other weapons I should be aware of, Jethro?”
Jethro raised an eyebrow and stayed silent.
“I think you do have something else,” Tony said, his green eyes seeming to see too much. “Should I order a strip search when we get to the station, Jethro?”
The way the kid kept saying his name was grating on Jethro, but he wasn’t going to let him goad him into saying something stupid. “Think I have a knife shoved up my ass, Detective?” he sneered.
Tony smiled. “You got a knife, Jethro?” he asked sweetly.
Jethro mentally slapped himself. Giving up his gun was one thing . . . “You already know what I’m packing,” he growled. “Hell, you could probably draw it all since you’ve had your hands all over it.”
“Just checking you for weapons, Jethro - which you would know if you were really a Fed.”
Jethro snorted.
“So, where’s the knife?”
Well, fuck. The kid was nothing if not tenacious. “Right boot.”
Before he could even take a breath, he was spun around again and pressed up against the building, his legs kicked apart. A strong hand pressed him forward, the rough brick scratching against his cheek. Tony was quick, he’d give him that. It took him seconds to get the knife from his boot and another few to spin him back around.
“What else?”
Jethro shook his head. “Nothing else. I’m clean.”
Tony stared at him for a moment longer before nodding once.
~*~*~
Jethro had plenty of time to think as he sat, cuffed to a chair in the squad room of the Baltimore PD. Which station it was eluded him - he really hadn’t been paying attention as Tony had stuffed him in the back seat of his plain sedan and driven him downtown. Getting back to his case had been his only concern at the time. Now though, he had plenty of time to think and he had no clue where he was. The squad room was busy and pretty disorganized if he had to put a name to it. The reason for that was pretty obvious: the captain was a harsh man who had no respect for the men and women serving under him. In Jethro’s experience, respect went a long way toward people giving their all to a job. If Jethro had to guess, this guy wouldn’t last much longer. Someone further up the food chain was bound to notice the lack sooner or later.
Tony, however, seemed to know what he was doing. He certainly expedited his paperwork, pushing it through on charm and good looks, bantering with the desk sergeant as well as the booking officer and just about every other cop in the place as he processed Jethro into the system.
“Leroy, huh?” Tony had growled as Jethro gave the booking clerk his full legal name and Jethro had shrugged.
“Not everyone uses their first name, Anthony,” he had replied with a smirk.
“Tony is short for Anthony. What’s your excuse?” Tony propelled him to the chair next to his desk, undoing his handcuffs only long enough to refasten the cuffs around the metal chair so he couldn’t get up and leave - especially since the chair appeared to be bolted to the floor. Efficient.
Detective DiNozzo asked the usual questions and, for a moment Jethro considered fucking with the kid just for the fun of it, but he had a job to get back to, damn it, and being here was costing him time - so he complied with the cop, albeit grudgingly.
He’d been cooling his heels for about an hour when Tony had been called into the captain’s office. Jethro could hear the shouting, even through the closed door and when Tony came out his face was thunderous. “Bad day at the office, dear?” Jethro asked sarcastically as Tony huffed out a sigh and sat at his desk.
“Shut the fuck up, Jethro,” Tony said as he bent his head to his paperwork again.
Jethro grinned and looked around the squad room again. He was getting bored but baiting the cops probably wasn’t a great idea - especially if he wanted to get back out on the street today.
He’d been sitting there a couple of hours when he cleared his throat. Tony looked up at him, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I know I’m going to regret this, but what do you want?”
“I need to use the can,” he said, biting back the grin that threatened at Tony’s put-upon sigh.
“Hold it.”
Jethro shook his head. “Been holding it too long now, Detective.”
Tony growled and pushed himself to his feet. “You’ve got two choices. The holding pens or full shackles.”
Jethro raised an eyebrow and Tony smiled. “Well, three choices,” he said conversationally. “Because I can get someone to go in there with you and hold your dick.”
“You?” Jethro asked, mentally slapping himself almost as soon as the word passed his lips.
Tony chuckled and looked him up and down insolently. “No, not me, Jethro. I’ll get a couple of uniforms. They get off on fondling the prisoners - especially the ones who are somewhat less than cooperative.”
“Shackles,” Jethro ground out, pissed off that he was letting the kid goad him.
Jethro was still steaming when Tony returned with the shackles, letting the kid manhandle him into them with little grace. He had to pee, but he didn’t have to like having this kid in control.
“You gonna watch, Detective?” Jethro asked as he stepped up to the urinal.
Tony was leaning against the door, arms folded across his chest. “Bladder shy, Jethro?” he asked.
Jethro met his eyes in the mirror. “Just wondering if you had a good view,” he quipped.
“Don’t need a better view,” Tony drawled. “I’ve already held your junk in my hands - Jethro.”
Jethro bit back a growl of pure frustration. This kid was getting the better of him at every turn. He was either going to kill him - or hire him. He hadn’t decided yet.
When they got back to Tony’s desk, the phone was ringing. Tony pushed him down into the chair, pointing a finger at him as if to say, “Stay!” Jethro bit back the urge to bark and if the growl of annoyance was misinterpreted it wasn’t his fault.
Tony’s end of the conversation consisted of short answers - one or two words at most. And then he leaned back in his chair and smiled, looking over at Jethro as he did so. “Is that so?” he drawled. And Jethro knew he was fucked. When Tony chuckled, a low rough sound that centered right in Jethro’s groin, Jethro groaned. Abby. Somehow, some way, Tony had gotten a hold of Abby - or, rather, she had gotten a hold of him. “Well, I thank you, Miss Sciuto,” Tony said sincerely and Jethro had the sudden urge to bang his head against the desk until he knocked himself unconscious - just so he wouldn’t have to listen to Tony gloat. It had been tolerable while Tony was convinced Jethro was a crazy old coot, but now Tony would be insufferable. He could see it building already and the kid had just hung up the phone.
Deciding to take the bull by the horns, Jethro sighed loudly. “So - just how much trouble do you think you’re going to be in for detaining a federal agent?”
Tony leaned back in his chair, folded his hands behind his head, and shrugged. “None, actually,” he said easily. At Jethro’s snort, Tony grinned. “I figure I just had the best job interview ever.”
“How do you figure that, DiNozzo?” Jethro growled.
“I took down an armed federal agent - all without blowing my street cred. I can go back out there tomorrow and no one’s the wiser.”
Jethro had to give him that. He was damned good - but it wouldn’t do to let him know that. “Yeah, kid. You took down a Fed - not a crook. Way to go.”
Tony laughed and leaned forward, the front legs of his chair meeting the ground with a thud. “I knew something was off about you. Oh, you’re good - no doubt about it. But you didn’t fool me. I knew you weren’t some homeless guy.” He sniffed the air pointedly. “Even if you were determined to fit in with the crowd. How the hell long have you been living down there anyway?”
Jethro shrugged as much as the shackles would allow. “A month - give or take a few days. And I showered periodically at the shelter.”
“And put those same grungy clothes back on,” Tony replied easily. “You stink, Jethro.”
“I need a shower. Something to eat wouldn’t go amiss either.”
Tony grinned. “Really?”
Jethro shrugged again. “If you want to continue this job interview, DiNozzo,” he answered, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the captain’s shouting.
Tony grimaced. “I think I’ve got it covered: one hot shower, clean clothes, pizza and beer coming right up.” Tony removed Jethro’s shackles as he talked. “And, you’re very lucky, because I can be charming as all hell at the same time.”
“Charming? Who needs charming for a job interview?” Jethro groused as he made a show of rubbing his wrists. He followed Tony down to booking and signed for his belongings before following him from the building.
The short walk to the garage was silent, but not uncomfortably so. Tony seemed deep in thought and Jethro took the time to watch him; the way he moved with a light grace and an awareness of his body that Jethro found fascinating. He wondered at Tony’s background. He had a self-awareness that was not common in young men.
“A Mustang, DiNozzo?”
Tony grinned and opened the door. “Nothing better, Jethro,” he quipped as he slid into the car, pulling the door closed behind him. The top was already down. “Get in, old man.”
Jethro grinned and he climbed into the car. “Old man, huh? Punk.”
Tony laughed as they pulled out into traffic. “If you’re calling me punk, I did my job right. Fit right in down there, didn’t I?”
Jethro nodded. “Yeah - except for the fact that I knew something was hinky. That’s why I came back out into that alley.”
“Hinky?”
Jethro smiled. “Abby,” he said by way of explanation.
“I gotta meet that girl,” Tony mused.
~*~*~
The shower was hot and the water plentiful and Jethro was thoroughly scrubbed and lethargic by the time he shut the water off and stepped out into the steamy bathroom. Tony’s towels were thick and fluffy - and warmed. It was positively hedonistic - and made Jethro wonder again about Tony’s background.
“Well, at least I know where he went to school,” Jethro mused as he pulled on the OSU T-shirt and sweatpants. Thick white socks completed the outfit and then he wandered back out into the living room.
Tony was lounging on the sofa, a bottle of beer nestled between his outstretched legs. The television was on, the sound low. “College football,” Tony said, gesturing with his bottle of beer. His eyes raked over Jethro and Jethro had to stifle the urge to fidget. “You clean up nice, Jethro.”
“Thanks, DiNozzo,” he growled.
“Tony.”
“What?” Jethro asked. He’d been caught off guard by the innocuous comment.
“You were naked in my bathroom. You’re wearing my clothes. I think you can call me by my first name.”
Jethro took a bottle of beer from Tony and took a long drink. Was the kid actually flirting with him?
“Yes.” Tony winked and Jethro choked on the mouthful of beer he’d just taken.
“What?” he coughed.
Tony stood, stepping right into Jethro’s personal space. Their clothes brushed, and Jethro’s skin tingled at their proximity.
“I’m flirting with you, Jethro,” Tony said as he leaned forward, just a fraction of an inch - enough to brush his lips over Jethro’s.
Jethro’s eyes closed seemingly of their own accord and he moaned softly at the gentle assault on his lips. His arms wrapped around Tony, pulling him closer. Their bodies pressed together, touching from knees to chest, heat building between them.
After a minute, Tony pulled back, his eyes twinkling. “This is some job interview, Boss,” he breathed.
Jethro chuckled. “Boss, huh? You that sure of yourself, Tony?”
Tony nodded, pulling Jethro close again. “Admit it, Boss. I had you when I first smiled.”
END