Fic: Caffeine, Interrupted (Team, Tony, Gibbs, PG)
Ahaha! Let's see if this will get my journal home page to stop simultaneously telling me it's been X number of days since I posted and also that I haven't yet posted an entry. Say what? Three days to go until the new series!
Title: Caffeine, Interrupted
Author: little_ozzo (Jules)
Word Count: 2660
Rating: PG
Category: Team, Episode Tag
Genre: Gen
Pairing: None, though there is entirely ignorable Gibbs/DiNozzo potential.
Summary: Gibbs wakes up in hospital after the very cool rescue scene in Requiem, and talks to his team.
Spoilers: 5x07 - Requiem, 5x02 - Family, Jeanne.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to DPB, CBS, Paramount, et al. No copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: Everyone has to write a Requiem post-ep fic, right? If you haven’t, you should. And if you have, go write another. There seriously can’t be enough, in my book. This is again, unbeta-ed, and un-Americanized. Except for that z there, because it looked wrong with an s. If anyone is willing to turn beta for me (mostly characterisation and canon, and de-Britifying), I would be insanely grateful. ;-)
Now translated into Russian by aqwt101
Caffeine, Interrupted
Gibbs found waking up slow and difficult, which in itself was unusual enough to tell him that something was wrong, even without every single one of his senses telling him: hospital. His pupils shrank at the harsh fluorescence of the lighting; his hands clenched in starch-stiff sheets; his nose wrinkled at the scent of antiseptic; and his ears twitched in annoyance at the low beeps accompanying squeaking gurneys and the slap of safe, sensible shoes on resin floors. But most tellingly of all, his mouth tasted nothing like coffee at all, suggesting he had been denied the substance for much longer than he usually preferred.
“Ah, Jethro,” Ducky greeted his return to consciousness jovially. “You’re in the hospital.”
Gibbs rolled his eyes, though he suspected the effect was lost due to his seeming inability to lift his eyelids any further than halfway, and so he mustered up a croaky, “Ya think?”
A soft chorus of relieved sighs told him that Ducky was not the only visitor present, and he struggled to look around only to find his neck muscles stiff and sore. “Maddie?” he settled for asking, feeling remembered warmth flood the fingers of his left hand.
“Still fine,” Ducky informed him kindly, letting him know that although he didn’t remember anything after waking up on the dock and watching Maddie being loaded into the ambulance, this probably wasn’t the first time he’d been conscious since then. “They’re keeping both of you in tonight for observation, but the likelihood of complications seems low.”
Gibbs licked his lips and swallowed. “Tony?”
“Right here, boss,” Tony answered, leaning into his field of vision and grinning, though it was a wan, pathetic version of his usual smile. “You really need to work on your defensive driving skills.”
Gibbs’ dry, caffeine-free mouth split into an amused smile, which was wiped away all too swiftly by a bout of coughing. “Easy,” Ducky soothed, one hand slipping under his neck to lift him gently, and a straw touched Gibbs’ lips. He sucked greedily, thirst giving him the strength to reach up and grab at the cup Ducky was holding for him.
When he was done, he felt ten times better than he had, well enough to sit up properly by himself and gripe at Ducky about being kept in overnight, though he could see from the steely look in the ME’s blue eyes that it was a battle he had no chance at winning. His arguing, however, made the tension he could see in Ziva and McGee’s shoulders ease slightly - Tony, who was slumped in the chair next to his bed looking entirely too pale, didn’t look as though he had the energy to be tense.
McGee, in the chair next to Tony, appeared to be letting the senior agent rest at least half of his weight on his shoulder, but he didn’t look like he minded the reassuring contact at all. Fear and concern lingered openly on his features. Ziva, standing stiffly at the foot of Gibbs’ bed, showed neither of the same emotions on her face, but her eyes were shadowed. Gibbs knew that his actions were the cause of his team’s rattled nerves, and though he had never been fond of apologies, he still shifted against the pillows at the sense of guilt that gnawed at him.
“You worked out that Haas was checking the mail,” he said, giving Ziva the opportunity to do something other than maintain her impassive mask.
She took it, recognising it for the non-verbal apology Gibbs had intended it to be, and slipped into report mode. “Actually, it was the Director,” she informed him, and launched into a neat, concise report of the team’s actions from the moment McGee had plucked Gibbs’ abandoned badge out of his drawer, to the call from Jen to get to the south west docks. “When McGee and I arrived at the scene, Coyle and Judd were already dead.”
Ducky took over, setting down Gibbs’ medical chart on the edge of his mattress. “Five and two gunshots wounds respectively. Very impressive marksmanship.”
Gibbs rolled his head to the side to look at DiNozzo, eyebrows lifted, but it was McGee who responded. “They were armed, but Tony took no chances. Didn’t miss a single shot.”
Tony’s cheeks gained a little colour as he flushed with embarrassed pleasure at the compliment, but before Gibbs could try and chase away a little more of his pallor with a sincere, “Good job,” Ziva interrupted, her voice tight and strained.
“If he had not gotten to you so quickly-” She stopped abruptly, not trusting her words, and chose instead to glare at Gibbs fiercely. A few years, Gibbs thought proudly, and her gaze would be almost as intimidating as his. He inclined his head minutely, holding the eye contact.
The moment was broken by the stuttering skid of platform boots in the corridor outside, followed by a crash as the door burst open and Abby tottered in, pigtails in disarray. “Gibbs!” she squealed, launching herself at him. She fell on him and hugged him tightly, making Gibbs huff as the air was forced from his lungs, while Ducky expertly tucked his IV tubing out of the way.
“Hey, Abs. I’m fine, I promise,” Gibbs reassured her, pressing a kiss to her temple and rubbing at her back soothingly.
“Are you sure?” she demanded, pulling back to perch on the edge of his bed, scrutinising him carefully. “Because, you know, the car is back in my evidence lab and I saw how Tony had to get you out - which, by the way, kudos, D-man.”
DiNozzo waved a hand in theatrical modesty.
“How bad?” McGee asked, softly, and Abby gulped dramatically to emphasise how bad it had been before launching into a description of the torn back windscreen and loose steering wheel, as well as recounting exactly where all of the bullets from the two perps had landed, complete with exaggerated hand gestures.
“Seriously, the windscreen was all cracked and mangled from Tony yanking it out: it was totally like that scene in the pilot episode of Smallville where Clark Kent saves Lex Luthor - except Gibbs has a lot more hair and doesn‘t turn out to be evil. And I can’t speak for the latent homosexuality, either.”
Gibbs blinked but recovered quickly, years of acclimatising to Abby and Tony’s unfamiliar pop culture references under his belt. He did another quick surveillance of his team, noting with pleasure that they seemed much more relaxed after Abby’s entrance than they had ten minutes ago. Ziva’s posture was much looser, McGee’s expression of horror had faded, and DiNozzo’s eyes were altogether brighter. Ducky was smiling widely, charmed as ever by Abby's boisterous chatter, and Gibbs decided it was probably time to try his luck with a cup of joe.
“Hey, Duck, how do you rate the hospital coffee round here?” he asked insouciantly, and was confronted with an incredulous arch of Ducky’s eyebrow.
“Not a chance, my dear friend.”
“Ah, come on, I’m getting withdrawal symptoms here,” Gibbs groused.
Ducky actually tutted at him in exasperation. “It’ll do you good to get a decent night’s sleep for once,” he chided. “Speaking of which, visiting hours really are over. I daresay we’ve only been allowed to stay so long because of Ziva’s careful … handling of the ward nurses.”
Gibbs caught sight of Ziva smirking dangerously over the top of Abby’s hair as she leant down to hug him again. He had to admit, though, his eyelids were starting to grow irritatingly heavy once more, despite his having slept most of the afternoon and early evening away - the sky outside his window was blue-black and scattered with occasional silver stars.
“Abigail, Ziva, can I offer you ladies a lift home?” Ducky asked, hanging Gibbs’ chart back up and making a last check of the monitor by his bedside.
They both agreed, and Abby buried her head against Gibbs’ neck to say goodbye. “Don’t do this again, Gibbs. You owe me five million Caf-Pows for making me worry so much.”
“I’ll pay the debt,” Gibbs promised, running his thumb over her cheek as she stepped back, glaring at him adorably.
It was Ziva’s turn to say goodnight next, and she approached a little hesitantly, before offering Gibbs a small, genuine smile. “I am very glad you are not in another coma, Gibbs,” she said sincerely.
Gibbs chucked lightly at the statement. “That only happens when explosions are involved.”
“We’ll pass by Maddie’s room before we leave, Jethro. She was sleeping soundly earlier, and her mother flew straight from Oakland to be with her. I’m sure you’ll be able to see her tomorrow.”
Gibbs shut his eyes in relief, and smiled gratefully. “Thanks, Duck.”
“My pleasure.”
The door clicked shut behind the three of them, and Gibbs turned to see that McGee was very gingerly attempting to get himself and Tony to their feet, but DiNozzo was apparently having a little trouble sending messages from his brain to his legs. “Just give me a moment, McSpeedy,” he protested wearily.
“Hey, McGee,” Gibbs interrupted them. “Go find me a decent cup of coffee, wouldja?”
McGee froze for a moment, blinking. “Er, I’m pretty sure I heard Ducky say that you shouldn’t have any caffeine tonight,” he stuttered.
“McGee,” Gibbs repeated, dropping his voice into that lower register which always had his agents scrambling to do what they were told. It didn’t fail him now, and McGee nodded and nearly stumbled over his own feet getting out of the room as quickly as he could. Gibbs allowed himself a grin, just because he still had the ability to glare and get things done even feeling at the moment as he did: like he might not beat a geriatric, de-clawed cat in a fight.
Tony’s muted snigger told him that the remaining member of his team found it amusing too, and he thought about turning the glare up a little and aiming it at DiNozzo just because his senior agent always made the most entertaining expressions as he tried to dig himself out of holes. Tonight, though, Tony was just about falling asleep where he sat, his hands bruised and battered from pulling the windscreen off the car to save Maddie and himself, and so Gibbs reasoned that he should probably cut him some slack.
“McGee giving you a ride home tonight?” he inquired.
“Not just a ride, but the full DiNozzo-sitting treatment. Ducky‘s orders.” Tony told him, leaning forward to rest his elbows on Gibbs’ bed now that he was lacking McGee’s support at his side. “We’re going to watch The Great Escape. McGee doesn’t think motorbikes are cool, but he will by the end of the movie.”
Gibbs watched as Tony’s eyes, loose in their sockets, took on a dreamy glaze, and doubted that his senior agent would make it even through the opening credits before succumbing to exhaustion.
Tony, however, had always taken delight in never quite meeting the expectations he planted in people, and as if Gibbs didn’t already suspect that his own mind wasn’t quite 100% at that moment, the way Tony’s eyes snapped from tired and whimsical to sharp and reproachful in under a second confirmed it by making him flinch a little in surprise.
“You know, it’d be a lot easier for everyone if you just told us what you were planning on doing before you went and did it. We just work it out and follow you anyway.”
“It wasn’t a work thing,” Gibbs pointed out.
“No, but we’d still follow you. Rule #15, Gibbs. Always stick by your team.”
“It’s always work as a team,” Gibbs corrected him, then hesitated for a moment. “She was Kelly’s best friend.”
“That still makes her team.”
Gibbs stared at him, not doubtful of the truth of his words, but surprised at the simple, to-the-point statement. It wasn’t that Tony couldn’t be precise - in fact, he had an unerring sense of timing, nine times out of ten throwing a necessary piece of information or a lead at Gibbs just as he was getting ready to smack him into focus. It was just that their team had always operated on a silent support system, with the exception of Abby: they acknowledged help and kind gestures with near-invisible nods, cups of coffee, and smart ass remarks, but they rarely spoke their sentiments out loud.
He kept his eyes level with Tony’s, even though his neck muscles were starting to protest vehemently against his half-upright position, and studied his senior agent closely. Two months ago, Tony had thrown a pink envelope into a remote-controlled fire. Gibbs hadn’t seen the letter, but he’d gathered what was in it. He remembered the stomach-churning relief he had felt when Tony had let the paper curl and disintegrate in his fingers; when he had chosen to stay with the team and to let Jeanne go. That feeling was mirrored now in Tony’s flexible features, unmoving in the harsh lighting of the room, and Gibbs had the sudden urge to reassure him further, to let Tony know that he had made his own choice.
“Thank you, Tony,” he rasped awkwardly after a moment, and Tony looked at him without a hint of his usual levity.
“I just pulled you out. You did the rest.”
Gibbs thought of Kelly, telling him to go back, helping him to make his choice. “No, DiNozzo. I didn‘t have to do anything.”
“Then I guess we should be thanking whoever it was that did,” Tony said lightly, a smile flickering around the edges of his lips and temples.
Gibbs moved his hand towards Tony’s head in a familiar movement, but Tony did not flinch, and Gibbs half patted, half stroked the soft hair behind Tony’s ear, the only place he could comfortably reach. “Good job, Tony.”
Tony, not unpredictably, pushed into the soft touch with a satisfied hum, but it had proven to be a day for interruptions so far and the pattern was not to be broken yet. McGee pushed the door open with his shoulder blades, three drinks balanced precariously in his arms.
Tony sat up, breaking the contact, in order to take the proffered steaming cup of tea, and McGee kept the hot chocolate for himself, offering Gibbs a cup of something that was definitely not what he had asked for. “What the hell is this, McGee?” he demanded.
“It’s an iced cappuccino, boss.”
Gibbs sniffed the pale beige concoction warily. “This is just ice,” he observed dangerously.
McGee puffed out his chest, and flicked his eyes over Gibbs’ body as if to calculate how much time he would have to bolt, should Gibbs decide to physically attack him. “There’s at least one shot of espresso in there, boss, I swear. Okay, half a shot. But Ducky and Abby are pretty tight, and they could likely pull off an untraceable murder better than you. Also, you kill me now, DiNozzo would be a witness.”
Gibbs narrowed his eyes to hide his pride - McGee was young, green and occasionally naïve, but he was steadily growing a backbone of steel. DiNozzo’s noisy slurp of hot tea and resultant luxuriant sigh was followed by him piping up, “I got your back, McDecaf.”
Gibbs, feeling less and less in control, fell back on one of his most primitive methods of intimidation, and growled. McGee, just a second ago the personification of confidence, blanched, and Tony shuffled wearily but successfully to his feet. “Let’s make a run for it while he’s bed bound,” he suggested, the bright chime of his tone almost making Gibbs disbelieve the sincerity that had been there before. Almost.
“Hey,” he called as they paused at the door to wave swiftly before their getaway. “Tony, you’d better be back here bright and early to spring me, you hear? With real coffee.”
Tony’s grin was just as blinding as the hospital lighting Gibbs hated so much. “On it, boss.”
End.
Title: Caffeine, Interrupted
Author: little_ozzo (Jules)
Word Count: 2660
Rating: PG
Category: Team, Episode Tag
Genre: Gen
Pairing: None, though there is entirely ignorable Gibbs/DiNozzo potential.
Summary: Gibbs wakes up in hospital after the very cool rescue scene in Requiem, and talks to his team.
Spoilers: 5x07 - Requiem, 5x02 - Family, Jeanne.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to DPB, CBS, Paramount, et al. No copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: Everyone has to write a Requiem post-ep fic, right? If you haven’t, you should. And if you have, go write another. There seriously can’t be enough, in my book. This is again, unbeta-ed, and un-Americanized. Except for that z there, because it looked wrong with an s. If anyone is willing to turn beta for me (mostly characterisation and canon, and de-Britifying), I would be insanely grateful. ;-)
Now translated into Russian by aqwt101
Caffeine, Interrupted
Gibbs found waking up slow and difficult, which in itself was unusual enough to tell him that something was wrong, even without every single one of his senses telling him: hospital. His pupils shrank at the harsh fluorescence of the lighting; his hands clenched in starch-stiff sheets; his nose wrinkled at the scent of antiseptic; and his ears twitched in annoyance at the low beeps accompanying squeaking gurneys and the slap of safe, sensible shoes on resin floors. But most tellingly of all, his mouth tasted nothing like coffee at all, suggesting he had been denied the substance for much longer than he usually preferred.
“Ah, Jethro,” Ducky greeted his return to consciousness jovially. “You’re in the hospital.”
Gibbs rolled his eyes, though he suspected the effect was lost due to his seeming inability to lift his eyelids any further than halfway, and so he mustered up a croaky, “Ya think?”
A soft chorus of relieved sighs told him that Ducky was not the only visitor present, and he struggled to look around only to find his neck muscles stiff and sore. “Maddie?” he settled for asking, feeling remembered warmth flood the fingers of his left hand.
“Still fine,” Ducky informed him kindly, letting him know that although he didn’t remember anything after waking up on the dock and watching Maddie being loaded into the ambulance, this probably wasn’t the first time he’d been conscious since then. “They’re keeping both of you in tonight for observation, but the likelihood of complications seems low.”
Gibbs licked his lips and swallowed. “Tony?”
“Right here, boss,” Tony answered, leaning into his field of vision and grinning, though it was a wan, pathetic version of his usual smile. “You really need to work on your defensive driving skills.”
Gibbs’ dry, caffeine-free mouth split into an amused smile, which was wiped away all too swiftly by a bout of coughing. “Easy,” Ducky soothed, one hand slipping under his neck to lift him gently, and a straw touched Gibbs’ lips. He sucked greedily, thirst giving him the strength to reach up and grab at the cup Ducky was holding for him.
When he was done, he felt ten times better than he had, well enough to sit up properly by himself and gripe at Ducky about being kept in overnight, though he could see from the steely look in the ME’s blue eyes that it was a battle he had no chance at winning. His arguing, however, made the tension he could see in Ziva and McGee’s shoulders ease slightly - Tony, who was slumped in the chair next to his bed looking entirely too pale, didn’t look as though he had the energy to be tense.
McGee, in the chair next to Tony, appeared to be letting the senior agent rest at least half of his weight on his shoulder, but he didn’t look like he minded the reassuring contact at all. Fear and concern lingered openly on his features. Ziva, standing stiffly at the foot of Gibbs’ bed, showed neither of the same emotions on her face, but her eyes were shadowed. Gibbs knew that his actions were the cause of his team’s rattled nerves, and though he had never been fond of apologies, he still shifted against the pillows at the sense of guilt that gnawed at him.
“You worked out that Haas was checking the mail,” he said, giving Ziva the opportunity to do something other than maintain her impassive mask.
She took it, recognising it for the non-verbal apology Gibbs had intended it to be, and slipped into report mode. “Actually, it was the Director,” she informed him, and launched into a neat, concise report of the team’s actions from the moment McGee had plucked Gibbs’ abandoned badge out of his drawer, to the call from Jen to get to the south west docks. “When McGee and I arrived at the scene, Coyle and Judd were already dead.”
Ducky took over, setting down Gibbs’ medical chart on the edge of his mattress. “Five and two gunshots wounds respectively. Very impressive marksmanship.”
Gibbs rolled his head to the side to look at DiNozzo, eyebrows lifted, but it was McGee who responded. “They were armed, but Tony took no chances. Didn’t miss a single shot.”
Tony’s cheeks gained a little colour as he flushed with embarrassed pleasure at the compliment, but before Gibbs could try and chase away a little more of his pallor with a sincere, “Good job,” Ziva interrupted, her voice tight and strained.
“If he had not gotten to you so quickly-” She stopped abruptly, not trusting her words, and chose instead to glare at Gibbs fiercely. A few years, Gibbs thought proudly, and her gaze would be almost as intimidating as his. He inclined his head minutely, holding the eye contact.
The moment was broken by the stuttering skid of platform boots in the corridor outside, followed by a crash as the door burst open and Abby tottered in, pigtails in disarray. “Gibbs!” she squealed, launching herself at him. She fell on him and hugged him tightly, making Gibbs huff as the air was forced from his lungs, while Ducky expertly tucked his IV tubing out of the way.
“Hey, Abs. I’m fine, I promise,” Gibbs reassured her, pressing a kiss to her temple and rubbing at her back soothingly.
“Are you sure?” she demanded, pulling back to perch on the edge of his bed, scrutinising him carefully. “Because, you know, the car is back in my evidence lab and I saw how Tony had to get you out - which, by the way, kudos, D-man.”
DiNozzo waved a hand in theatrical modesty.
“How bad?” McGee asked, softly, and Abby gulped dramatically to emphasise how bad it had been before launching into a description of the torn back windscreen and loose steering wheel, as well as recounting exactly where all of the bullets from the two perps had landed, complete with exaggerated hand gestures.
“Seriously, the windscreen was all cracked and mangled from Tony yanking it out: it was totally like that scene in the pilot episode of Smallville where Clark Kent saves Lex Luthor - except Gibbs has a lot more hair and doesn‘t turn out to be evil. And I can’t speak for the latent homosexuality, either.”
Gibbs blinked but recovered quickly, years of acclimatising to Abby and Tony’s unfamiliar pop culture references under his belt. He did another quick surveillance of his team, noting with pleasure that they seemed much more relaxed after Abby’s entrance than they had ten minutes ago. Ziva’s posture was much looser, McGee’s expression of horror had faded, and DiNozzo’s eyes were altogether brighter. Ducky was smiling widely, charmed as ever by Abby's boisterous chatter, and Gibbs decided it was probably time to try his luck with a cup of joe.
“Hey, Duck, how do you rate the hospital coffee round here?” he asked insouciantly, and was confronted with an incredulous arch of Ducky’s eyebrow.
“Not a chance, my dear friend.”
“Ah, come on, I’m getting withdrawal symptoms here,” Gibbs groused.
Ducky actually tutted at him in exasperation. “It’ll do you good to get a decent night’s sleep for once,” he chided. “Speaking of which, visiting hours really are over. I daresay we’ve only been allowed to stay so long because of Ziva’s careful … handling of the ward nurses.”
Gibbs caught sight of Ziva smirking dangerously over the top of Abby’s hair as she leant down to hug him again. He had to admit, though, his eyelids were starting to grow irritatingly heavy once more, despite his having slept most of the afternoon and early evening away - the sky outside his window was blue-black and scattered with occasional silver stars.
“Abigail, Ziva, can I offer you ladies a lift home?” Ducky asked, hanging Gibbs’ chart back up and making a last check of the monitor by his bedside.
They both agreed, and Abby buried her head against Gibbs’ neck to say goodbye. “Don’t do this again, Gibbs. You owe me five million Caf-Pows for making me worry so much.”
“I’ll pay the debt,” Gibbs promised, running his thumb over her cheek as she stepped back, glaring at him adorably.
It was Ziva’s turn to say goodnight next, and she approached a little hesitantly, before offering Gibbs a small, genuine smile. “I am very glad you are not in another coma, Gibbs,” she said sincerely.
Gibbs chucked lightly at the statement. “That only happens when explosions are involved.”
“We’ll pass by Maddie’s room before we leave, Jethro. She was sleeping soundly earlier, and her mother flew straight from Oakland to be with her. I’m sure you’ll be able to see her tomorrow.”
Gibbs shut his eyes in relief, and smiled gratefully. “Thanks, Duck.”
“My pleasure.”
The door clicked shut behind the three of them, and Gibbs turned to see that McGee was very gingerly attempting to get himself and Tony to their feet, but DiNozzo was apparently having a little trouble sending messages from his brain to his legs. “Just give me a moment, McSpeedy,” he protested wearily.
“Hey, McGee,” Gibbs interrupted them. “Go find me a decent cup of coffee, wouldja?”
McGee froze for a moment, blinking. “Er, I’m pretty sure I heard Ducky say that you shouldn’t have any caffeine tonight,” he stuttered.
“McGee,” Gibbs repeated, dropping his voice into that lower register which always had his agents scrambling to do what they were told. It didn’t fail him now, and McGee nodded and nearly stumbled over his own feet getting out of the room as quickly as he could. Gibbs allowed himself a grin, just because he still had the ability to glare and get things done even feeling at the moment as he did: like he might not beat a geriatric, de-clawed cat in a fight.
Tony’s muted snigger told him that the remaining member of his team found it amusing too, and he thought about turning the glare up a little and aiming it at DiNozzo just because his senior agent always made the most entertaining expressions as he tried to dig himself out of holes. Tonight, though, Tony was just about falling asleep where he sat, his hands bruised and battered from pulling the windscreen off the car to save Maddie and himself, and so Gibbs reasoned that he should probably cut him some slack.
“McGee giving you a ride home tonight?” he inquired.
“Not just a ride, but the full DiNozzo-sitting treatment. Ducky‘s orders.” Tony told him, leaning forward to rest his elbows on Gibbs’ bed now that he was lacking McGee’s support at his side. “We’re going to watch The Great Escape. McGee doesn’t think motorbikes are cool, but he will by the end of the movie.”
Gibbs watched as Tony’s eyes, loose in their sockets, took on a dreamy glaze, and doubted that his senior agent would make it even through the opening credits before succumbing to exhaustion.
Tony, however, had always taken delight in never quite meeting the expectations he planted in people, and as if Gibbs didn’t already suspect that his own mind wasn’t quite 100% at that moment, the way Tony’s eyes snapped from tired and whimsical to sharp and reproachful in under a second confirmed it by making him flinch a little in surprise.
“You know, it’d be a lot easier for everyone if you just told us what you were planning on doing before you went and did it. We just work it out and follow you anyway.”
“It wasn’t a work thing,” Gibbs pointed out.
“No, but we’d still follow you. Rule #15, Gibbs. Always stick by your team.”
“It’s always work as a team,” Gibbs corrected him, then hesitated for a moment. “She was Kelly’s best friend.”
“That still makes her team.”
Gibbs stared at him, not doubtful of the truth of his words, but surprised at the simple, to-the-point statement. It wasn’t that Tony couldn’t be precise - in fact, he had an unerring sense of timing, nine times out of ten throwing a necessary piece of information or a lead at Gibbs just as he was getting ready to smack him into focus. It was just that their team had always operated on a silent support system, with the exception of Abby: they acknowledged help and kind gestures with near-invisible nods, cups of coffee, and smart ass remarks, but they rarely spoke their sentiments out loud.
He kept his eyes level with Tony’s, even though his neck muscles were starting to protest vehemently against his half-upright position, and studied his senior agent closely. Two months ago, Tony had thrown a pink envelope into a remote-controlled fire. Gibbs hadn’t seen the letter, but he’d gathered what was in it. He remembered the stomach-churning relief he had felt when Tony had let the paper curl and disintegrate in his fingers; when he had chosen to stay with the team and to let Jeanne go. That feeling was mirrored now in Tony’s flexible features, unmoving in the harsh lighting of the room, and Gibbs had the sudden urge to reassure him further, to let Tony know that he had made his own choice.
“Thank you, Tony,” he rasped awkwardly after a moment, and Tony looked at him without a hint of his usual levity.
“I just pulled you out. You did the rest.”
Gibbs thought of Kelly, telling him to go back, helping him to make his choice. “No, DiNozzo. I didn‘t have to do anything.”
“Then I guess we should be thanking whoever it was that did,” Tony said lightly, a smile flickering around the edges of his lips and temples.
Gibbs moved his hand towards Tony’s head in a familiar movement, but Tony did not flinch, and Gibbs half patted, half stroked the soft hair behind Tony’s ear, the only place he could comfortably reach. “Good job, Tony.”
Tony, not unpredictably, pushed into the soft touch with a satisfied hum, but it had proven to be a day for interruptions so far and the pattern was not to be broken yet. McGee pushed the door open with his shoulder blades, three drinks balanced precariously in his arms.
Tony sat up, breaking the contact, in order to take the proffered steaming cup of tea, and McGee kept the hot chocolate for himself, offering Gibbs a cup of something that was definitely not what he had asked for. “What the hell is this, McGee?” he demanded.
“It’s an iced cappuccino, boss.”
Gibbs sniffed the pale beige concoction warily. “This is just ice,” he observed dangerously.
McGee puffed out his chest, and flicked his eyes over Gibbs’ body as if to calculate how much time he would have to bolt, should Gibbs decide to physically attack him. “There’s at least one shot of espresso in there, boss, I swear. Okay, half a shot. But Ducky and Abby are pretty tight, and they could likely pull off an untraceable murder better than you. Also, you kill me now, DiNozzo would be a witness.”
Gibbs narrowed his eyes to hide his pride - McGee was young, green and occasionally naïve, but he was steadily growing a backbone of steel. DiNozzo’s noisy slurp of hot tea and resultant luxuriant sigh was followed by him piping up, “I got your back, McDecaf.”
Gibbs, feeling less and less in control, fell back on one of his most primitive methods of intimidation, and growled. McGee, just a second ago the personification of confidence, blanched, and Tony shuffled wearily but successfully to his feet. “Let’s make a run for it while he’s bed bound,” he suggested, the bright chime of his tone almost making Gibbs disbelieve the sincerity that had been there before. Almost.
“Hey,” he called as they paused at the door to wave swiftly before their getaway. “Tony, you’d better be back here bright and early to spring me, you hear? With real coffee.”
Tony’s grin was just as blinding as the hospital lighting Gibbs hated so much. “On it, boss.”
End.