Straight Lines And Curve Balls, 8/15

Oct 15, 2011 23:20

Title: Straight Lines and Curve Balls - Chapter 8
Fandom: NCIS
Beta: Unbetaed.  But I proofread obsessively, if that helps?
Rating: R
Genre: Slash, humour, a little light angst
Pairing: Gibbs/DiNozzo
Disclaimer:  I don't own any of them, more's the pity.  If I did I'd share...
Description: In which there is a bear with a sore head.
Warnings: None

By the time Gibbs' resolve finally snapped it was late enough that there were only a handful of people left in the bullpen. Of those still present, not one had the nerve to risk catching his eye as he rose from his desk and stalked across to stab at the call button.

Best way for everyone. He'd spent so much of the evening growling and glowering that it felt like the scowl was carved into his skull. As far as he was concerned, the night had been a disaster from start to finish.

No. Not true.

To be honest, with one glaring exception, the op had gone like clockwork. The whole team, complete with their haul of data and dirtbags, were back at HQ less than three hours after his terse “Go” had snapped the silence. He suspected the level of efficiency was mainly an attempt to avoid making his own towering mood worse.

The exception? DiNozzo. Of course.

After that interminable, excruciating stakeout, where he kept his eyes forward and his mind on the job, right up until it became painfully clear that his life was being orchestrated as some sort of music hall farce, it had been a relief to get into action. It had been that or...

There was no or. Once it became clear that they were listening to an X rated soundtrack, Tony's face had gone though shock, horror and shuttered, and come out at acutely uncomfortable.

Tony. Free-and-easy Tony. Never short of something to say Tony. People's secrets and relationships are always my business Tony.

He'd have expected sharp observation, running commentary, or tasteless quips. At the very least a rolling monologue on porn movies.

Not sudden, appalled silence. Alongside the pained grimace and set jaw it had been a bucket of cold water to his libido, and he’d been shocked to find he even needed one. He'd thought he'd had a handle on this… thing, whatever it was. Thought he’d buried it successfully.

Apparently he'd been fooling himself. Things had been tense in the car right from the off. DiNozzo had seemed - over the top. Not his usual relaxed self. He'd wondered what had him off balance. Made a mental note to see if he could find out later.

Not any more. It was clear now that Tony’s sixth sense for people had been picking up on Gibbs' own vibes without really realising what was going on.

Vibes that Gibbs hadn't been aware he was giving off.

By the time their perps had got down to business - in the literal sense - he'd been furious with himself. He despised a lack of professionalism in himself just as much as he did in anyone else. He did not approve of his personal life moving into his work life, and the fact that it had gotten to that point without him even being aware of it was eating away at him.

He'd made his share of mistakes in life. No doubt had plenty more to make. No need to make any one of them more than once.

He was angry, he was irritable, he was frustrated, and he was taking it out on everyone around him. Which was unprofessional in itself, but you couldn’t win ‘em all.

The door had barely clung onto its hinges when he entered the house. 'Dale' had taken one look at his face, turned white, and given himself up in record time. Siddal had turned on a dime and fled out back, moving so fast that he caught McGee momentarily off balance, and DiNozzo had had to go tearing after him.

He hadn't known this at the time. He'd heard a thud, and swearing and running feet.

A crash, another thud, and a string of fluent Italian swearing, breathless and strained.

It took a surprising amount of effort for him to not go chasing out to see what had happened, instead barking for a report, twice as angry when it didn't arrive immediately.

Typical. Give McGee all the time in the world, and he could still manage to be unprepared at the critical moment where there was a runner to be stopped.

Give DiNozzo an entire yard and street to play with and he'd find the only hidden pothole and rusty barbed wire mix in a twenty mile radius.

He’d tasked McGee with getting the bleeding, (too quiet), white faced, (hurting) DiNozzo to medical help, and forced himself to stay where he was and supervise proceedings, against all his louder instincts.

And now they were all done. McGee and Ziva were taking care of all the paperwork, the former out of embarrassed apology, the latter because she figured herself to be the only one capable, and she was probably right.

Which left him, rapidly dawdling his way down to autopsy, because he needed to know what kind of shape DiNozzo was in, but had no idea what to say, or how to say it. Or if seeing him at all right now was a good idea, because no matter what the rest of the agency thought, he wasn't a robot, and that audio had been...incendiary.

It was punishment, he'd decided. The fates had finally decided to show him what they were made of, by capping a lousy night with the realisation that his number one priority right now was running inventory on his Senior Field Agent to be sure that everything was ok.

Not that he didn't trust Ducky. Of course he did. But...

But he was a proof kind of guy. He just needed to see for himself. Frankly, he was pretty sure that would be the only way to settle his restlessness for long enough to concentrate on wrapping up the op.

And if that was his list of priorities, then one thing was certain - this was no infatuation. This was something altogether different. Something that needed to be gotten a handle on now, before matters could get any worse.

A disaster from start to finish? Maybe.

But he had a nasty feeling that if he wasn't careful, this disaster might still be waiting to happen.

Chapter 9

ncis, straight lines, fiction

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