Fic: Strangers (Tony, Gibbs, PG-13)
I was planning on the first post in this journal being a picspam for spae's Picspam Fest, but I totally got sidetracked by this weird idea for a fic. I haven't written anything in ages, but this demanded so much of my attention that I can't in good faith just leave it sitting on my hard drive. I have no beta, and I am a Brit so my spelling is full of u's and s's rather than z's. Apologies in advance for that, and all critical errors.
Title: Strangers
Author: little_ozzo (Jules)
Word Count: 4101
Rating: PG-13, but it’s Tony-centric and therefore there is flirting. Most of it inappropriate.
Category: AU, Angst
Genre: Gen
Pairing: Gibbs/DiNozzo, mostly gen interaction.
Summary: Without Gibbs, there is no team. Gibbs is only at NCIS because Shannon and Kelly died. So, in this, they live, but Gibbs and DiNozzo’s paths still cross. Set about a year before the JAG episodes in the canon timeline.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to DPB, CBS, Paramount, et al. No copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: My first fic in a long time, and I was really, really not expecting to say hello to NCIS fandom with this. I don’t know what weird area of my brain this came from. Also, a quick note on the Gibbs/DiNozzo interaction: yeah, it’s mostly platonic as I say above, but there’s a touch of weirdness about it just like I think there is in the show. Blame it on daddy issues and the pair of them being so deliciously screwed up. Unbeta-ed, I’m afraid.
Strangers
It’s not his usual bar, but it suits his mood: dark and vaguely dangerous, with various shady characters lurking in the corners. He downs the rest of the dirty glass of bourbon in front of him with a gulp, and signals to the grimy bartender for another, sliding his cell phone out of his pocket smoothly as he does so.
One of the first things Kelly had taught him when she gave him the phone - “Welcome to the twenty-first century, dad. I’m pretty sure you’ll survive skipping the twentieth.” - had been how to turn the ringer off, at his insistence. There are three missed calls from Shannon, and a text message, which he opens and squints at awkwardly.
Hey, I know you’re hurting, but this
isn’t your fault. You’ve got to let
Proust go. Take what time you need,
but come back to us. We love you.
Shannon xxx
His lip twitches in the nearest imitation of a smile he’s come close to all day. “I don’t know what I did right to deserve you guys,” he mumbles fondly, feeling some of the tension leave his shoulders and back, and he exits the text message to run a thumb lovingly over his home screen and the image of his wife and daughter.
“Time you start talkin’ to yourself is time to think about callin’ a cab,” the bartender informs him, refilling his glass with a pointed, strangely paternal stare.
Gibbs raises his eyebrow, and downs the shot in one, smacking his lips. “I’m done. Don’t need a cab, though.” He throws a twenty onto the bar, pushing himself to his feet, and heads out the door with a wave.
The bartender’s yell follows him out onto the street. “Hey, you wanna walk these streets alone at night, three sheets to the wind, it’s your funeral, pal!”
“My second today,” Gibbs calls back glibly, though the door has already clicked shut behind him.
It doesn’t take him long to realise that the warning is not the only thing to have followed him out of the bar, and he waits until he gets to the next corner before ducking silently behind a stack of crates and waiting as the footsteps get louder.
He grabs his follower when he rounds the crates, taking his shoulders and throwing him against the wall. To his surprise, he faces no resistance, just a shock of perfect white teeth, gleaming in the dim alleyway, and a pair of shining green eyes. “Hey, if you like it rough, I’m cool with that,” his stalker says, and flashes him a grin that manages to be both shit-eating and seductive all at the same time.
Gibbs backs off, sensing no danger and trusting his gut. He eyes the kid in front of him, and after a second recognises him from the bar - he’d been over at the pool table, keeping up an endless stream of chatter which had faded into a barely-there buzz in Gibbs’ ear as the drinks kept coming. He’d caught him looking over a couple of times, but hadn’t thought anything more of it, his mind still on Proust and the tears falling down his mother‘s face as she stood at his grave this afternoon.
He’s a good-looking kid, his pretty eyes and pouting lips balanced out by a strong jaw line, and Gibbs has always been and will always be loyal to Shannon but, as he’s said to her, there’s nothing wrong with looking. “You’re not my type, kid,” he says after allowing himself one last moment of appreciative scrutiny.
“Oh yeah? Funny, that’s not the vibe I’m getting,” the kid says, stepping forward and pressing one hand to Gibbs’ hip, the other exploring further south. It’s an expert move, throwing Gibbs just enough off balance that he’s forced to reach out and brace himself, hands closing around the kid’s waist. The feel of the warm flesh makes him reassess a little - the sharp angles of the kid’s face make him look young and slender, but his torso is well-muscled and starting to fill out, suggesting he’s older than Gibbs first suspected. “Usually I charge thirty for a blow job, but for you I’ll go down for twenty.” This is accompanied by a hand cupping his balls, and Gibbs jerks and lets out a bark of laughter.
“You know what you’re doing, all right, but I’m really not interested,” Gibbs reiterates, holding up his left hand in front of the kid’s face and wiggling his ring finger wryly.
“Doesn’t mean it’s a happy marriage,” the kid says, shrugging, but his hand is less insistent already. “Would explain why you’re out here swigging Jim Beam and not snuggled up at home.”
Gibbs’ mood sours once more, and he shoves the kid away. “You don’t know squat,” he warns, in the voice he saves for the lowliest recruits he puts through their paces. “You’d better get on now, because I am not the trick you want.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Pity,” the kid says without malice, and he flashes Gibbs a strange smile, different to the grin of earlier, as he moves to slide past him back towards the bar. Gibbs frowns, but doesn’t have any time to ponder the faintly apologetic look on the kid’s face because the next second, a sharp crack echoes through the alley.
Gibbs hates being caught unawares, and in the space of a few seconds, he’s zero for two because not only does the unexpected sound make him flinch, heart rate spiking, but he then finds the air knocked out of his lungs as the kid’s arm whacks him across the chest, pushing him down and back behind the crates while he steps in front of him in a classically protective stance, his hand reaching down to the hip right in front of Gibbs’ eye line.
There’s no gun there when he pushes back the light jacket, but it isn’t necessary. “Backfire,” Gibbs informs him, standing and ignoring the cracking of his knees. The kid turns, only with that serious look on his face, he looks nothing like a kid at all. “So, cop? Fed?”
“Detective Anthony DiNozzo, Metro PD. Marine?” the cop asks, flicking his eyes up to Gibbs’ haircut.
“No points for guessing that, Detective,” Gibbs says. “You going to arrest me?”
DiNozzo snorts. “Not what I’m here for tonight.”
“You moonlighting?” Gibbs asks, and that gets a reappearance of the kid’s grin.
“Nope. You watch the news - sorry, I don’t know what to call you. Sir? Gunny?”
“Gibbs. And yeah, I watch the news. This about the supposedly unrelated muggings that have been going on around here recently?”
“The press are a few steps behind on this one, Gibbs. They aren’t really muggings, and they’re not unrelated. The guy we’re looking for targets - well, seeing as I’m playing bait, you can probably guess what kind of people he targets. Profiler says our perp has a military background, and doesn’t play well with others. Witnesses say he’s tall, silver-haired, and has pale eyes. You fit the description better than the other guy.”
“Should you be telling me this?”
“You don’t seem like that kind of guy who’s going to go to the press. Or really, the kind of guy who talks much at all,” DiNozzo says, teeth glinting once more in the moonlight.
Gibbs rolls his eyes. “You’re not wearing a wire, DiNozzo. Where’s your backup?”
“I knew you couldn’t resist copping a feel,” DiNozzo replies, licking his lips lasciviously. “I know I did - those muscles say I don’t need to tell you to be careful walking home tonight. Apologise to your wife for staying out so late, Gibbs.”
He’s already out of reach when Gibbs’ hand twitches, anticipating the head slap, and Gibbs shakes his head as he disappears around the corner with a purposeful sashay.
He takes DiNozzo’s advice, hitting speed dial #1 on his phone as he heads towards home. It’ll take him about forty minutes to walk, but it’ll take him just as long to hail a cab in this area and the roads are still just unsteady enough under his feet that he’s not going to risk driving his car.
Shannon answers on the first ring, and gently but firmly cuts off his awkward apologies. “Shut up, Jethro. I heard about what you did at the funeral today. And I understand, I really do. But you’ve got to stop beating yourself up over this, because it was not your fault. He wasn’t yours to protect. He took the skills you gave him-”
“And got himself killed on a simple training exercise,” Gibbs finishes for her bleakly. “Who told you what happened?”
“Lee. He’s a good guy, so don’t make him think he’s fired tomorrow. And no self-pitying survivor’s guilt crap, okay? It’s a rule.”
A smile creeps over Gibbs’ face despite the memory of Proust as he’d seen him lying in the coffin, the heavy death make-up doing nothing to disguise the pallor of his cold skin or to erase the memory Gibbs had of his unseeing eyes, lashes gummed together with blood. “What number?”
“I’ve lost count. You take a lot of keeping in line. You on your way home, Marine?”
“Yeah. I would have been halfway, but this cop decided to … question me.” He chuckled a little at the way he’d put that, remembering the way DiNozzo had fluttered his eyelashes and let his hands run over his body, copping his own feel -
He froze, suddenly, and he must have exhaled sharply because Shannon stopped halfway through asking if he wanted her to come pick him up. “What’s wrong?”
“The kid, Shannon, the cop,” he growls, and her confusion is evident.
“What about him? Jethro, where are you exactly?”
“He said I was a better fit than the other guy. Of all the stupid things - Shannon, listen, I will be home later, okay? There’s just something I gotta do first.”
He snaps the phone shut and breaks into a dead run, heading back towards the bar. It seems further than he remembers, but he can’t tell if it’s adrenaline or exertion that has his chest so tight when he bursts through the door, eyes wildly scanning the place.
“Hey, what-” the bartender asks, wiping a glass out with a towel. Gibbs crosses to the bar in two steps, and grabs his stained shirt, pulling him close.
“Did the kid come back in here?”
The bartender, to his credit, keeps up with him. “Smart mouth, spiky hair, followed you out? He came back here, bought another drink, then headed out after the weird guy in the corner.”
“Which way?” Gibbs demands.
“Left,” the bartender says, and his yells follow Gibbs out of the bar for the second time that night. “I told that kid to be careful, but you folks don’t seem to think my word’s good for anything!”
Gibbs hears the sirens over the top of his voice, and sprints in their direction, only slowing when the red and blue flashing lights are close enough that they’re half-blinding him and giving him a headache.
He grabs the first uniform that crosses his path, twisting a hand in his jacket and backing him up against a car. “Did you get the guy? Where’s DiNozzo?”
“Hey, Gibbs, go easy on the rookie,” a cocky, tired voice interrupts him, and he lets go of the uniform, who is doing an admirable impression of an oxygen-starved goldfish, to turn and face DiNozzo. “Aren’t you supposed to be home by now?”
“What is wrong with you?” Gibbs demands, taking in DiNozzo’s grazed cheek and swelling jaw. “You go off without backup and take on - jeez, is that him?” He stares as three more uniforms go past, pushing and shoving a giant, grey-haired man sporting a goose-egg on his temple.
“Hey, I handled it,” DiNozzo says, but the stiff way he moves as Gibbs presses in on him betrays his breezy grin. “How’d you know I didn’t have backup?”
“You’re a hell of a deflector, DiNozzo. If I’d had just one less drink tonight, I would have cottoned on to you straight away.”
“I called in the nearest patrol as soon as he was down, Gibbs, chill,” DiNozzo says, and he looks genuinely surprised at the heat of Gibbs’ anger. “I’m not one of your soldiers; what’s your problem?”
“So sue me, kid, I got a problem with cocky upstarts like you thinking they know everything and heading off to get themselves killed,” Gibbs snaps, and growls at the way DiNozzo’s eyes seem to soften, telling him he’s given a little bit too much away. “Creates too much damn paperwork,” he adds, with not nearly as much bite as he intended.
“Well, you got that part right,” a tired, gruff voice says from over his shoulder, and Gibbs moves aside, annoyed at having been sneaked up on a few too many times tonight.
“Hey, Chief,” DiNozzo says with a cheery wave, and it’s so very obviously disrespectful and devil-may-care that it makes the Marine in Gibbs flinch and scowl.
“Shut up, DiNozzo,” the Chief warns. “I haven’t decided whether all that paperwork I’d get isn’t worth the risk of shutting you up permanently. Still, it seems I’ve been beaten to the preliminary chewing out. Who are you?”
This is aimed at Gibbs, who catches the defeated slump to DiNozzo’s shoulders out of the corner of his eye, and replies insouciantly, “An innocent bystander.”
The Chief looks at him with what Gibbs thinks is supposed to be a withering glare, but compares pitifully against the ones he knows he is capable of with his men. “Well, telling him off won’t make a blind bit of difference - hasn’t for going on a year now - so you just wasted your breath. DiNozzo, when are you going to learn to follow orders?“ He doesn’t wait for an answer. “You go home and think about writing a report that’s going to cause everyone the least amount of hassle. I want it on my desk by lunchtime tomorrow, you hear me?”
“I hear you, Chief,” DiNozzo answers obediently, and Gibbs watches him watch the Chief head out to his car. “This is going to be my shortest gig so far, I think,” he comments absently, looking suddenly exhausted in the lights of the patrol car.
“What do you mean? You caught the guy,” Gibbs points out, confused.
“Hey, I get the results, don’t get me wrong,” DiNozzo says. “But my methods - they aren’t quite so popular. And I’m unreliable, it’s written all over my record. Tony DiNozzo: ex-Peoria, ex-Philadelphia, ex-Baltimore, and soon to be ex-Metro cop.”
Gibbs stares at him. “They can’t fire you for solving a case.”
“No, but I’ll quit soon enough. I’ve always quit before, too.” He cracks his neck before meeting Gibbs’ gaze, and then morphs his mouth into a smile. “Hey, did you come back to collect on that offer?”
“No, but I’ll give you a ride home. My car’s round the back.”
“You were walking earlier,” DiNozzo says, looking wary but following Gibbs nonetheless.
“Nothing like being propositioned by a kamikaze detective to sober you up. Get in.”
DiNozzo obeys him readily enough, he notices, though he’s never had an issue with getting people to follow his orders. He drops into the passenger seat with a muffled hiss, hand going to his side.
“You need to see a doc?”
“Bruises, that’s all. Nothing I haven’t had before.”
“You got someone to keep an eye on you tonight?” Gibbs is careful to keep his eyes on the road when he asks, without inflection, “Family?”
The soft huff of laughter at that tells him what he already suspected, and he follows it up with, “Girlfriend?”
“None that could be classified as the caring type,” DiNozzo tells him.
“Boyfriend?” Gibbs asks slyly - he’s still not sure just how much of DiNozzo’s performance earlier was just that, a performance.
The grin DiNozzo throws his way isn’t entirely enlightening, but it is admittedly pretty damn charming, and Gibbs sighs - he’s walked right into this and knew he was doing so when he hung up on Shannon and started running. “You going to put up any arguments if I take you back to mine?”
DiNozzo’s grin gets impossibly wider, and he settles back in the passenger seat comfortably. “To meet the woman you turned me down for? No arguments, Gibbs.”
Gibbs drives home in silence, but DiNozzo talks nearly the entire way - Gibbs doesn’t have a clue what he’s on about half the time, a ton of garbled movie references and some dodgy accents, but the chatter is less irritating than he would have expected it to be. He frowns when it slows, DiNozzo’s words starting to stumble together and trail off before starting up again, quieter than before until by the time Gibbs pulls in the driveway, he hasn’t spoken for going on three minutes.
Gibbs reaches over and shakes his shoulder, and DiNozzo’s head rolls to the side, sleepy eyes focusing on him. Gibbs runs his fingers up DiNozzo’s jaw, skating over the abrasions on his cheekbone, and pulls up his eyelid to get a better look. DiNozzo co-operates and leans into Gibbs’ palm, but he’s wanting, not wanton. His pupils are fine, and Gibbs decides he’s just tired. He can feel exhaustion creeping up on him too, making the short walk to the door look ten times longer than usual, but he’s a Marine, so he straightens his shoulders and flicks DiNozzo on the chin. “Get your ass moving, DiNozzo.”
DiNozzo follows him meekly, but he can’t resist a whisper-soft wolf whistle when Shannon opens the door. She immediately envelopes Gibbs in a hug, her soft fingers rubbing over the fuzz of shorn hair at his nape. She pulls back and sniffs delicately at the alcohol on his breath, but she’s as smart as she was the day Gibbs walked her down the aisle, and she just says, “Welcome home, Jethro.”
DiNozzo’s snort isn’t quite so soft, nor is the incredulously muttered, “Jethro?”
Shannon peers over Gibbs’ shoulder, eyes running up and down DiNozzo’s lanky form. “Leroy Jethro,” she says after a minute, earning an eye-roll from Gibbs. “This the cop you ran off to rescue?”
“That’s him.”
“You didn’t do too good a job,” Shannon chastises him, pushing him aside gently and tugging at DiNozzo’s sleeve, checking out the bruising on his face with her other hand. “Let’s get you cleaned up -”
“Tony,” DiNozzo supplies, wincing exaggeratedly as he slips past Gibbs and follows Shannon into the kitchen.
Gibbs leaves him to Shannon’s ministrations and fetches a couple of blankets and pillows, and throws them onto the sofa in the den along with a pair of boxers and a spare t-shirt. He occasionally catches a glimpse into the kitchen when he passes by the dividing door, and spies DiNozzo simultaneously pressing into Shannon’s touch even as he whimpers and cringes pathetically. Shannon’s smiling down at him, gentle and soft, and when Gibbs is done he stands in the doorway for a few seconds, admiring the way she twists her long hair and tucks it out of the way over her shoulder to lean down and examine the damage to DiNozzo’s torso.
“That’s going to be awful pretty tomorrow morning,” she says. “I can put some arnica cream on it for you, but that’s about all.”
“That’d be great,” DiNozzo says, turning the seduction of his smile up another notch while Shannon hunts around in the cabinet. “Hey, you have really pretty hair. Has Gibbs always had a thing for redheads, or was it just you?”
Shannon smiles indulgently. “Lift up your shirt a little more.”
Gibbs chooses that time to interrupt, snagging the jar of cream just as Shannon is about to dip her fingers in. “He can do that himself,” he says, handing the jar to DiNozzo, and pretending not to see when his wife sends an amused, knowing look DiNozzo’s way. “In there, DiNozzo. Don’t get any of it on the couch, or I will shoot you.”
DiNozzo walks off obediently, and Gibbs turns to find Shannon holding out a cold slice of homemade pizza. He bites into it gratefully, knowing the carbs will help allay the minor hangover he’s going to have tomorrow. “Thanks, Shannon,” he says, still chewing.
“You’re a real charmer,” she says, dodging crumbs. “So is he. You haven’t brought home any strays since Proust.”
“He’s nothing like Proust. I’m not taking responsibility for this one. I only brought him home because -” He trails off, realising he’s not entirely sure why he’s brought DiNozzo back for the night.
“I didn’t ask for justification, Jethro,” Shannon says, slipping her hands around his waist. “You always do like having a project to work on.”
“Maybe I’ll just build another boat,” Gibbs retorts, but he rests his head against Shannon’s collarbone, breathing in the remains of today’s perfume. “Kid’s a wildcard, Shan. He’s on his fourth city since college, or so he says. I don’t think he’ll be in Washington much longer.”
Shannon leans away to meet his eyes, and Gibbs keeps her on her feet with the pizza-free hand locked on her lower back. “Maybe no one’s ever asked him to stay.” She extricates herself from his hold, moving with dancer-like elegance as she picks up the plate with the rest of the pizza on it and places it on the counter next to him, moving past him with a spin to lean against the door into the den. “Nice to meet you, Tony. Sleep well.” She turns back to Gibbs once more as she heads for the stairs. “Kelly rang earlier. She sends her love, and she’s sorry about Proust. I told her you’d ring tomorrow.”
“I’ll be up in a few,” Gibbs acknowledges, and he grabs another slice of pizza before taking the rest to DiNozzo, who sniffs the air and lifts his eyebrows hopefully.
“Is that pizza?” He rubs his hands together in glee when Gibbs reveals the plate, and is already stuffing a second slice down his throat before Gibbs has even had time to perch himself on the coffee table. “Who’s Kelly?”
“My daughter,” Gibbs replies, watching with open amusement as DiNozzo inhales the food enthusiastically. “She’s at college.”
“Your daughter is college age?” DiNozzo asks, stopping chewing for a moment. “Did she inherit your eyes?”
Gibbs doesn’t hold back on the clip to DiNozzo’s ear, though he does make sure he hits the uninjured side of his head. “Not in a million years, DiNozzo.”
Gibbs watches him demolish the rest of the pizza, the only sound in the room DiNozzo’s loud swallows. When he’s done, he looks up, and squirms a little under Gibbs’ intense gaze.
“Which college does she go to?” he asks, and it takes a moment for Gibbs to remember where they broke off their conversation.
“Why are you so interested?”
DiNozzo shrugs. “Hey, I might factor it into the decision of where I’m gonna go next,” he says nonchalantly, leaning across to put the plate back on the table. “I hope it’s somewhere hot, like Miami, or maybe LA. I think I’d look good with an all-year tan. DC gets real cold in winter.”
“Maybe it’s not the city you need to change,” Gibbs says casually. “Maybe it’s the organisation.”
“What, go Fed?” DiNozzo asks with a laugh. “Can you see me with the FBI? CIA?”
“Maybe not,” Gibbs allows. “Maybe something like NCIS.”
DiNozzo blinks, confused. “The National Coalition of Independent Scholars? I majored in Phys. Ed.”
Gibbs doles out another smack. “Naval Criminal Investigative Service, genius.”
DiNozzo looks at him, rolling his tongue over his teeth. “My knowledge of all things naval comes in at a consistent zip and nada, Gibbs. My areas of expertise are basketball, football, and the Civil War era. Don’t ask.”
“I’m pretty sure you’d find someone to help you out with that,” Gibbs says.
There’s a short silence, as DiNozzo looks at Gibbs warily, weighing up the veiled offer. “Someone, huh?” he says eventually, and Gibbs doesn’t blink, just keeps his gaze on him, until a smile breaks over DiNozzo’s face that’s totally unlike any of the others he’s shown him tonight: less teeth, but more heart.
“It’s late. You want something to drink, you know where the kitchen is. You touch my beer, you’re walking to the precinct tomorrow.” Gibbs gets up, shaking out his stiff knees, and heads for the stairs without looking back. “I’ll see you in the morning, Tony.”
End.
Title: Strangers
Author: little_ozzo (Jules)
Word Count: 4101
Rating: PG-13, but it’s Tony-centric and therefore there is flirting. Most of it inappropriate.
Category: AU, Angst
Genre: Gen
Pairing: Gibbs/DiNozzo, mostly gen interaction.
Summary: Without Gibbs, there is no team. Gibbs is only at NCIS because Shannon and Kelly died. So, in this, they live, but Gibbs and DiNozzo’s paths still cross. Set about a year before the JAG episodes in the canon timeline.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to DPB, CBS, Paramount, et al. No copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: My first fic in a long time, and I was really, really not expecting to say hello to NCIS fandom with this. I don’t know what weird area of my brain this came from. Also, a quick note on the Gibbs/DiNozzo interaction: yeah, it’s mostly platonic as I say above, but there’s a touch of weirdness about it just like I think there is in the show. Blame it on daddy issues and the pair of them being so deliciously screwed up. Unbeta-ed, I’m afraid.
Strangers
It’s not his usual bar, but it suits his mood: dark and vaguely dangerous, with various shady characters lurking in the corners. He downs the rest of the dirty glass of bourbon in front of him with a gulp, and signals to the grimy bartender for another, sliding his cell phone out of his pocket smoothly as he does so.
One of the first things Kelly had taught him when she gave him the phone - “Welcome to the twenty-first century, dad. I’m pretty sure you’ll survive skipping the twentieth.” - had been how to turn the ringer off, at his insistence. There are three missed calls from Shannon, and a text message, which he opens and squints at awkwardly.
Hey, I know you’re hurting, but this
isn’t your fault. You’ve got to let
Proust go. Take what time you need,
but come back to us. We love you.
Shannon xxx
His lip twitches in the nearest imitation of a smile he’s come close to all day. “I don’t know what I did right to deserve you guys,” he mumbles fondly, feeling some of the tension leave his shoulders and back, and he exits the text message to run a thumb lovingly over his home screen and the image of his wife and daughter.
“Time you start talkin’ to yourself is time to think about callin’ a cab,” the bartender informs him, refilling his glass with a pointed, strangely paternal stare.
Gibbs raises his eyebrow, and downs the shot in one, smacking his lips. “I’m done. Don’t need a cab, though.” He throws a twenty onto the bar, pushing himself to his feet, and heads out the door with a wave.
The bartender’s yell follows him out onto the street. “Hey, you wanna walk these streets alone at night, three sheets to the wind, it’s your funeral, pal!”
“My second today,” Gibbs calls back glibly, though the door has already clicked shut behind him.
It doesn’t take him long to realise that the warning is not the only thing to have followed him out of the bar, and he waits until he gets to the next corner before ducking silently behind a stack of crates and waiting as the footsteps get louder.
He grabs his follower when he rounds the crates, taking his shoulders and throwing him against the wall. To his surprise, he faces no resistance, just a shock of perfect white teeth, gleaming in the dim alleyway, and a pair of shining green eyes. “Hey, if you like it rough, I’m cool with that,” his stalker says, and flashes him a grin that manages to be both shit-eating and seductive all at the same time.
Gibbs backs off, sensing no danger and trusting his gut. He eyes the kid in front of him, and after a second recognises him from the bar - he’d been over at the pool table, keeping up an endless stream of chatter which had faded into a barely-there buzz in Gibbs’ ear as the drinks kept coming. He’d caught him looking over a couple of times, but hadn’t thought anything more of it, his mind still on Proust and the tears falling down his mother‘s face as she stood at his grave this afternoon.
He’s a good-looking kid, his pretty eyes and pouting lips balanced out by a strong jaw line, and Gibbs has always been and will always be loyal to Shannon but, as he’s said to her, there’s nothing wrong with looking. “You’re not my type, kid,” he says after allowing himself one last moment of appreciative scrutiny.
“Oh yeah? Funny, that’s not the vibe I’m getting,” the kid says, stepping forward and pressing one hand to Gibbs’ hip, the other exploring further south. It’s an expert move, throwing Gibbs just enough off balance that he’s forced to reach out and brace himself, hands closing around the kid’s waist. The feel of the warm flesh makes him reassess a little - the sharp angles of the kid’s face make him look young and slender, but his torso is well-muscled and starting to fill out, suggesting he’s older than Gibbs first suspected. “Usually I charge thirty for a blow job, but for you I’ll go down for twenty.” This is accompanied by a hand cupping his balls, and Gibbs jerks and lets out a bark of laughter.
“You know what you’re doing, all right, but I’m really not interested,” Gibbs reiterates, holding up his left hand in front of the kid’s face and wiggling his ring finger wryly.
“Doesn’t mean it’s a happy marriage,” the kid says, shrugging, but his hand is less insistent already. “Would explain why you’re out here swigging Jim Beam and not snuggled up at home.”
Gibbs’ mood sours once more, and he shoves the kid away. “You don’t know squat,” he warns, in the voice he saves for the lowliest recruits he puts through their paces. “You’d better get on now, because I am not the trick you want.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Pity,” the kid says without malice, and he flashes Gibbs a strange smile, different to the grin of earlier, as he moves to slide past him back towards the bar. Gibbs frowns, but doesn’t have any time to ponder the faintly apologetic look on the kid’s face because the next second, a sharp crack echoes through the alley.
Gibbs hates being caught unawares, and in the space of a few seconds, he’s zero for two because not only does the unexpected sound make him flinch, heart rate spiking, but he then finds the air knocked out of his lungs as the kid’s arm whacks him across the chest, pushing him down and back behind the crates while he steps in front of him in a classically protective stance, his hand reaching down to the hip right in front of Gibbs’ eye line.
There’s no gun there when he pushes back the light jacket, but it isn’t necessary. “Backfire,” Gibbs informs him, standing and ignoring the cracking of his knees. The kid turns, only with that serious look on his face, he looks nothing like a kid at all. “So, cop? Fed?”
“Detective Anthony DiNozzo, Metro PD. Marine?” the cop asks, flicking his eyes up to Gibbs’ haircut.
“No points for guessing that, Detective,” Gibbs says. “You going to arrest me?”
DiNozzo snorts. “Not what I’m here for tonight.”
“You moonlighting?” Gibbs asks, and that gets a reappearance of the kid’s grin.
“Nope. You watch the news - sorry, I don’t know what to call you. Sir? Gunny?”
“Gibbs. And yeah, I watch the news. This about the supposedly unrelated muggings that have been going on around here recently?”
“The press are a few steps behind on this one, Gibbs. They aren’t really muggings, and they’re not unrelated. The guy we’re looking for targets - well, seeing as I’m playing bait, you can probably guess what kind of people he targets. Profiler says our perp has a military background, and doesn’t play well with others. Witnesses say he’s tall, silver-haired, and has pale eyes. You fit the description better than the other guy.”
“Should you be telling me this?”
“You don’t seem like that kind of guy who’s going to go to the press. Or really, the kind of guy who talks much at all,” DiNozzo says, teeth glinting once more in the moonlight.
Gibbs rolls his eyes. “You’re not wearing a wire, DiNozzo. Where’s your backup?”
“I knew you couldn’t resist copping a feel,” DiNozzo replies, licking his lips lasciviously. “I know I did - those muscles say I don’t need to tell you to be careful walking home tonight. Apologise to your wife for staying out so late, Gibbs.”
He’s already out of reach when Gibbs’ hand twitches, anticipating the head slap, and Gibbs shakes his head as he disappears around the corner with a purposeful sashay.
He takes DiNozzo’s advice, hitting speed dial #1 on his phone as he heads towards home. It’ll take him about forty minutes to walk, but it’ll take him just as long to hail a cab in this area and the roads are still just unsteady enough under his feet that he’s not going to risk driving his car.
Shannon answers on the first ring, and gently but firmly cuts off his awkward apologies. “Shut up, Jethro. I heard about what you did at the funeral today. And I understand, I really do. But you’ve got to stop beating yourself up over this, because it was not your fault. He wasn’t yours to protect. He took the skills you gave him-”
“And got himself killed on a simple training exercise,” Gibbs finishes for her bleakly. “Who told you what happened?”
“Lee. He’s a good guy, so don’t make him think he’s fired tomorrow. And no self-pitying survivor’s guilt crap, okay? It’s a rule.”
A smile creeps over Gibbs’ face despite the memory of Proust as he’d seen him lying in the coffin, the heavy death make-up doing nothing to disguise the pallor of his cold skin or to erase the memory Gibbs had of his unseeing eyes, lashes gummed together with blood. “What number?”
“I’ve lost count. You take a lot of keeping in line. You on your way home, Marine?”
“Yeah. I would have been halfway, but this cop decided to … question me.” He chuckled a little at the way he’d put that, remembering the way DiNozzo had fluttered his eyelashes and let his hands run over his body, copping his own feel -
He froze, suddenly, and he must have exhaled sharply because Shannon stopped halfway through asking if he wanted her to come pick him up. “What’s wrong?”
“The kid, Shannon, the cop,” he growls, and her confusion is evident.
“What about him? Jethro, where are you exactly?”
“He said I was a better fit than the other guy. Of all the stupid things - Shannon, listen, I will be home later, okay? There’s just something I gotta do first.”
He snaps the phone shut and breaks into a dead run, heading back towards the bar. It seems further than he remembers, but he can’t tell if it’s adrenaline or exertion that has his chest so tight when he bursts through the door, eyes wildly scanning the place.
“Hey, what-” the bartender asks, wiping a glass out with a towel. Gibbs crosses to the bar in two steps, and grabs his stained shirt, pulling him close.
“Did the kid come back in here?”
The bartender, to his credit, keeps up with him. “Smart mouth, spiky hair, followed you out? He came back here, bought another drink, then headed out after the weird guy in the corner.”
“Which way?” Gibbs demands.
“Left,” the bartender says, and his yells follow Gibbs out of the bar for the second time that night. “I told that kid to be careful, but you folks don’t seem to think my word’s good for anything!”
Gibbs hears the sirens over the top of his voice, and sprints in their direction, only slowing when the red and blue flashing lights are close enough that they’re half-blinding him and giving him a headache.
He grabs the first uniform that crosses his path, twisting a hand in his jacket and backing him up against a car. “Did you get the guy? Where’s DiNozzo?”
“Hey, Gibbs, go easy on the rookie,” a cocky, tired voice interrupts him, and he lets go of the uniform, who is doing an admirable impression of an oxygen-starved goldfish, to turn and face DiNozzo. “Aren’t you supposed to be home by now?”
“What is wrong with you?” Gibbs demands, taking in DiNozzo’s grazed cheek and swelling jaw. “You go off without backup and take on - jeez, is that him?” He stares as three more uniforms go past, pushing and shoving a giant, grey-haired man sporting a goose-egg on his temple.
“Hey, I handled it,” DiNozzo says, but the stiff way he moves as Gibbs presses in on him betrays his breezy grin. “How’d you know I didn’t have backup?”
“You’re a hell of a deflector, DiNozzo. If I’d had just one less drink tonight, I would have cottoned on to you straight away.”
“I called in the nearest patrol as soon as he was down, Gibbs, chill,” DiNozzo says, and he looks genuinely surprised at the heat of Gibbs’ anger. “I’m not one of your soldiers; what’s your problem?”
“So sue me, kid, I got a problem with cocky upstarts like you thinking they know everything and heading off to get themselves killed,” Gibbs snaps, and growls at the way DiNozzo’s eyes seem to soften, telling him he’s given a little bit too much away. “Creates too much damn paperwork,” he adds, with not nearly as much bite as he intended.
“Well, you got that part right,” a tired, gruff voice says from over his shoulder, and Gibbs moves aside, annoyed at having been sneaked up on a few too many times tonight.
“Hey, Chief,” DiNozzo says with a cheery wave, and it’s so very obviously disrespectful and devil-may-care that it makes the Marine in Gibbs flinch and scowl.
“Shut up, DiNozzo,” the Chief warns. “I haven’t decided whether all that paperwork I’d get isn’t worth the risk of shutting you up permanently. Still, it seems I’ve been beaten to the preliminary chewing out. Who are you?”
This is aimed at Gibbs, who catches the defeated slump to DiNozzo’s shoulders out of the corner of his eye, and replies insouciantly, “An innocent bystander.”
The Chief looks at him with what Gibbs thinks is supposed to be a withering glare, but compares pitifully against the ones he knows he is capable of with his men. “Well, telling him off won’t make a blind bit of difference - hasn’t for going on a year now - so you just wasted your breath. DiNozzo, when are you going to learn to follow orders?“ He doesn’t wait for an answer. “You go home and think about writing a report that’s going to cause everyone the least amount of hassle. I want it on my desk by lunchtime tomorrow, you hear me?”
“I hear you, Chief,” DiNozzo answers obediently, and Gibbs watches him watch the Chief head out to his car. “This is going to be my shortest gig so far, I think,” he comments absently, looking suddenly exhausted in the lights of the patrol car.
“What do you mean? You caught the guy,” Gibbs points out, confused.
“Hey, I get the results, don’t get me wrong,” DiNozzo says. “But my methods - they aren’t quite so popular. And I’m unreliable, it’s written all over my record. Tony DiNozzo: ex-Peoria, ex-Philadelphia, ex-Baltimore, and soon to be ex-Metro cop.”
Gibbs stares at him. “They can’t fire you for solving a case.”
“No, but I’ll quit soon enough. I’ve always quit before, too.” He cracks his neck before meeting Gibbs’ gaze, and then morphs his mouth into a smile. “Hey, did you come back to collect on that offer?”
“No, but I’ll give you a ride home. My car’s round the back.”
“You were walking earlier,” DiNozzo says, looking wary but following Gibbs nonetheless.
“Nothing like being propositioned by a kamikaze detective to sober you up. Get in.”
DiNozzo obeys him readily enough, he notices, though he’s never had an issue with getting people to follow his orders. He drops into the passenger seat with a muffled hiss, hand going to his side.
“You need to see a doc?”
“Bruises, that’s all. Nothing I haven’t had before.”
“You got someone to keep an eye on you tonight?” Gibbs is careful to keep his eyes on the road when he asks, without inflection, “Family?”
The soft huff of laughter at that tells him what he already suspected, and he follows it up with, “Girlfriend?”
“None that could be classified as the caring type,” DiNozzo tells him.
“Boyfriend?” Gibbs asks slyly - he’s still not sure just how much of DiNozzo’s performance earlier was just that, a performance.
The grin DiNozzo throws his way isn’t entirely enlightening, but it is admittedly pretty damn charming, and Gibbs sighs - he’s walked right into this and knew he was doing so when he hung up on Shannon and started running. “You going to put up any arguments if I take you back to mine?”
DiNozzo’s grin gets impossibly wider, and he settles back in the passenger seat comfortably. “To meet the woman you turned me down for? No arguments, Gibbs.”
Gibbs drives home in silence, but DiNozzo talks nearly the entire way - Gibbs doesn’t have a clue what he’s on about half the time, a ton of garbled movie references and some dodgy accents, but the chatter is less irritating than he would have expected it to be. He frowns when it slows, DiNozzo’s words starting to stumble together and trail off before starting up again, quieter than before until by the time Gibbs pulls in the driveway, he hasn’t spoken for going on three minutes.
Gibbs reaches over and shakes his shoulder, and DiNozzo’s head rolls to the side, sleepy eyes focusing on him. Gibbs runs his fingers up DiNozzo’s jaw, skating over the abrasions on his cheekbone, and pulls up his eyelid to get a better look. DiNozzo co-operates and leans into Gibbs’ palm, but he’s wanting, not wanton. His pupils are fine, and Gibbs decides he’s just tired. He can feel exhaustion creeping up on him too, making the short walk to the door look ten times longer than usual, but he’s a Marine, so he straightens his shoulders and flicks DiNozzo on the chin. “Get your ass moving, DiNozzo.”
DiNozzo follows him meekly, but he can’t resist a whisper-soft wolf whistle when Shannon opens the door. She immediately envelopes Gibbs in a hug, her soft fingers rubbing over the fuzz of shorn hair at his nape. She pulls back and sniffs delicately at the alcohol on his breath, but she’s as smart as she was the day Gibbs walked her down the aisle, and she just says, “Welcome home, Jethro.”
DiNozzo’s snort isn’t quite so soft, nor is the incredulously muttered, “Jethro?”
Shannon peers over Gibbs’ shoulder, eyes running up and down DiNozzo’s lanky form. “Leroy Jethro,” she says after a minute, earning an eye-roll from Gibbs. “This the cop you ran off to rescue?”
“That’s him.”
“You didn’t do too good a job,” Shannon chastises him, pushing him aside gently and tugging at DiNozzo’s sleeve, checking out the bruising on his face with her other hand. “Let’s get you cleaned up -”
“Tony,” DiNozzo supplies, wincing exaggeratedly as he slips past Gibbs and follows Shannon into the kitchen.
Gibbs leaves him to Shannon’s ministrations and fetches a couple of blankets and pillows, and throws them onto the sofa in the den along with a pair of boxers and a spare t-shirt. He occasionally catches a glimpse into the kitchen when he passes by the dividing door, and spies DiNozzo simultaneously pressing into Shannon’s touch even as he whimpers and cringes pathetically. Shannon’s smiling down at him, gentle and soft, and when Gibbs is done he stands in the doorway for a few seconds, admiring the way she twists her long hair and tucks it out of the way over her shoulder to lean down and examine the damage to DiNozzo’s torso.
“That’s going to be awful pretty tomorrow morning,” she says. “I can put some arnica cream on it for you, but that’s about all.”
“That’d be great,” DiNozzo says, turning the seduction of his smile up another notch while Shannon hunts around in the cabinet. “Hey, you have really pretty hair. Has Gibbs always had a thing for redheads, or was it just you?”
Shannon smiles indulgently. “Lift up your shirt a little more.”
Gibbs chooses that time to interrupt, snagging the jar of cream just as Shannon is about to dip her fingers in. “He can do that himself,” he says, handing the jar to DiNozzo, and pretending not to see when his wife sends an amused, knowing look DiNozzo’s way. “In there, DiNozzo. Don’t get any of it on the couch, or I will shoot you.”
DiNozzo walks off obediently, and Gibbs turns to find Shannon holding out a cold slice of homemade pizza. He bites into it gratefully, knowing the carbs will help allay the minor hangover he’s going to have tomorrow. “Thanks, Shannon,” he says, still chewing.
“You’re a real charmer,” she says, dodging crumbs. “So is he. You haven’t brought home any strays since Proust.”
“He’s nothing like Proust. I’m not taking responsibility for this one. I only brought him home because -” He trails off, realising he’s not entirely sure why he’s brought DiNozzo back for the night.
“I didn’t ask for justification, Jethro,” Shannon says, slipping her hands around his waist. “You always do like having a project to work on.”
“Maybe I’ll just build another boat,” Gibbs retorts, but he rests his head against Shannon’s collarbone, breathing in the remains of today’s perfume. “Kid’s a wildcard, Shan. He’s on his fourth city since college, or so he says. I don’t think he’ll be in Washington much longer.”
Shannon leans away to meet his eyes, and Gibbs keeps her on her feet with the pizza-free hand locked on her lower back. “Maybe no one’s ever asked him to stay.” She extricates herself from his hold, moving with dancer-like elegance as she picks up the plate with the rest of the pizza on it and places it on the counter next to him, moving past him with a spin to lean against the door into the den. “Nice to meet you, Tony. Sleep well.” She turns back to Gibbs once more as she heads for the stairs. “Kelly rang earlier. She sends her love, and she’s sorry about Proust. I told her you’d ring tomorrow.”
“I’ll be up in a few,” Gibbs acknowledges, and he grabs another slice of pizza before taking the rest to DiNozzo, who sniffs the air and lifts his eyebrows hopefully.
“Is that pizza?” He rubs his hands together in glee when Gibbs reveals the plate, and is already stuffing a second slice down his throat before Gibbs has even had time to perch himself on the coffee table. “Who’s Kelly?”
“My daughter,” Gibbs replies, watching with open amusement as DiNozzo inhales the food enthusiastically. “She’s at college.”
“Your daughter is college age?” DiNozzo asks, stopping chewing for a moment. “Did she inherit your eyes?”
Gibbs doesn’t hold back on the clip to DiNozzo’s ear, though he does make sure he hits the uninjured side of his head. “Not in a million years, DiNozzo.”
Gibbs watches him demolish the rest of the pizza, the only sound in the room DiNozzo’s loud swallows. When he’s done, he looks up, and squirms a little under Gibbs’ intense gaze.
“Which college does she go to?” he asks, and it takes a moment for Gibbs to remember where they broke off their conversation.
“Why are you so interested?”
DiNozzo shrugs. “Hey, I might factor it into the decision of where I’m gonna go next,” he says nonchalantly, leaning across to put the plate back on the table. “I hope it’s somewhere hot, like Miami, or maybe LA. I think I’d look good with an all-year tan. DC gets real cold in winter.”
“Maybe it’s not the city you need to change,” Gibbs says casually. “Maybe it’s the organisation.”
“What, go Fed?” DiNozzo asks with a laugh. “Can you see me with the FBI? CIA?”
“Maybe not,” Gibbs allows. “Maybe something like NCIS.”
DiNozzo blinks, confused. “The National Coalition of Independent Scholars? I majored in Phys. Ed.”
Gibbs doles out another smack. “Naval Criminal Investigative Service, genius.”
DiNozzo looks at him, rolling his tongue over his teeth. “My knowledge of all things naval comes in at a consistent zip and nada, Gibbs. My areas of expertise are basketball, football, and the Civil War era. Don’t ask.”
“I’m pretty sure you’d find someone to help you out with that,” Gibbs says.
There’s a short silence, as DiNozzo looks at Gibbs warily, weighing up the veiled offer. “Someone, huh?” he says eventually, and Gibbs doesn’t blink, just keeps his gaze on him, until a smile breaks over DiNozzo’s face that’s totally unlike any of the others he’s shown him tonight: less teeth, but more heart.
“It’s late. You want something to drink, you know where the kitchen is. You touch my beer, you’re walking to the precinct tomorrow.” Gibbs gets up, shaking out his stiff knees, and heads for the stairs without looking back. “I’ll see you in the morning, Tony.”
End.