Light, PG-13, NCIS
Title: Light
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/character: Gibbs/Fornell, reference to McGee/DiNozzo
Summary: Whatever that bastard was using had hit Gibbs slightly off center, leaving one eye in excruciating pain, but capable of making out shapes of light and dark around him.
Warnings/Spoilers: None
A/N: Written for kink_bingo. Prompt is Sensory Deprivation. Wonderfully beta'd by karaokegal, and dedicated to Mad_Jaks, for her birthday.
Gibbs bent double as the pain spread across his face. He scrunched his eyes but could still feel an acidic scorching eating its way through them. A strong hand gripped his arm as he heard guns going off around him.
"That sure as hell better be you, Fornell!"
"C'mon!” Fornell called above the din, dragging him to the left.
Whatever that bastard was using had hit Gibbs slightly off center, leaving one eye in excruciating pain, but capable of making out shapes of light and dark around him. The other he couldn't even force open, and his face that side was burning like napalm.
“What the hell happened?” Fornell asked once they were hidden behind something tall and metallic.
“Kid surprised me. Sprayed me with something.” Another indication that those once honed reactions were being blunted by age.
“Looks like a flamethrower from the state of your face.” There was a hint of fear in Fornell’s voice that Gibbs did not want to hear.
“We’re being shot at and you’re worried about how I look?”
“They’re not shooting at us, they’re shooting across us. Keep down!” Fornell pushed on his shoulder, as if Gibbs was just going to stand up in the middle of a damn gunfight.
Sirens blared and the sounds of shooting receded. Gibbs leaned back against whatever it was he and Fornell were ducking behind. Some shouting in the distance sounded a lot like his team had finally arrived.
“Over here!” Fornell shouted to them and Gibbs winced. He shifted away slightly to avoid losing yet another of his senses.
“Get the doctor!”
Somewhere between the sirens, the running feet and various radios, walkie-talkies and mobiles he could make out familiar voices.
“You alright, Boss?” DiNozzo sounded out of breath. Nice to know he was worth sprinting for. Would have been better if the question hadn’t been so stupid.
“Just great DiNozzo. Walk in the park,” he snapped back.
“Ducky’s van just got here,” Ziva panted “What happened?”
“Got sprayed.”
“Wow, inner city skunks are evil.” DiNozzo’s joke would have been more distracting if he, like every other voice he’d heard, didn’t sound scared.
"Hardly, Tony,” and that had to be Ducky. Even without the accent, he couldn’t think of anyone else who’d say that. “From the smell, I’d say Bear Mace."
"Someone's been watching too much Dog." McGee was here, then. From the sound of it, he’d been picking up Tony’s watching habits again. And here Gibbs thought he’d taught them subtlety.
Two hands cradled his head, moving it one way and then the other.
"Looks like it hit your temple,” Ducky said, calmly and sounding like it was as much to himself as to Gibbs. “Did you feel anything actually hit your eyes?"
Gibbs tried to shake his head free of Ducky’s grip.
"Wasn't paying that much attention."
The good eye was wrenched open and an agonizingly bright light shone in it. He felt fingers tug on the bad one and backed away violently.
"Hmm.” Gibbs waited for the diagnosis. “Well I'd like you to go for a check-up, but I suspect the visual impairment is temporary."
There was a word there that Gibbs did not like. "Suspect?"
"Jethro, it's just not that simple.” He heard Ducky sigh and tried to wind down the pissed-off attitude. Not Ducky’s fault.
“It appears to have missed your eyes, but I won't know that until it begins to wear off. You know you really should go to a hospital, those blisters on the side of your face-"
"Later, Ducky. DiNozzo."
"Yes Boss!"
"Want to tell me what the hell just happened?"
*********************************************************************
Three tangents and one distracting memory later, Gibbs was informed that they really had no idea. It looked for all intents and purposes that he and Fornell had literally walked into a turf war. No connection to their suspect; no connection to the crime.
"I'll get my team on it, Gibbs,” Fornell assured him “Assault on a federal officer plus whatever the hell else I can find to throw at them."
"You could just let them shadow mine, we’ll get ‘em first."
Fornell huffed in amusement. “We’ll see.”
The volume of his voice and the footsteps suggested Fornell was already at the elevator. The doors pinged a moment later and Gibbs almost wished he hadn’t gone. Not now, though. They still had a marine with about three kilos of cocaine to find.
There was rustling behind him, which would most likely be Ziva and DiNozzo having some sort of muted argument. He turned towards Tony's desk waited a second and raised an eyebrow.
"Sorry, Boss."
"Sorry, Gibbs."
An apology from each and no more silent conversations. It didn’t hurt to remind them that blind he might be, oblivious he wasn’t.
It was a little too quiet now.
“Well what are you waiting for?” he asked, venting his frustration. “I want Morgan in our interrogation room yesterday!”
*********************************************************************
From the light levels outside DiNozzo’s car, he’d guess it was dusk, maybe seven or so. Too early, but the Director had insisted and Vance was a lot more forceful than Jenny on things like this.
He felt the car pull towards the curb. Tony cleared his throat. “Uh, Boss, looks like you got company.”
If they weren’t still sore, he’d have rolled his eyes. “Black town-car?”
“Yeah.”
“Just a busybody with nothing better to do.” He clicked open the door and stepped out. “You can go.
He heard the other door open and Tony’s overly concerned voice. “You want me to walk you to your door?”
“I’m not putting out, DiNozzo. Go home.”
“Sure, sorry Boss.” He sounded deflated, but Gibbs had had enough of being coddled for one day.
The car door was closed behind him and as he carefully picked his way up to his front door, he heard the other shut and the engine idling. He stopped at the door, turned to roughly where the car was and waved his would-be baby sitter off.
Pushing the door open, he could hear someone in kitchen.
“You better have brought steak,” he called out, trying to resist the urge to feel his way around his own house. He knew this place, dammit, so why did he feel like he was about to fall over?
Gradually he made his way to his chair, footsteps approaching not long after. A chilled bottle was smacked into his hand and it was damn nice for the first time today to not be treated like an invalid.
“Drink that. I brought burgers.”
“Would’ve preferred Porterhouse,” Gibbs complained.
“And I’d prefer you to have all your fingers after you’ve eaten.” The voice was getting quieter as Fornell walked away
“You’re a lousy nursemaid, Tobias!”
“That’s why I’m not a doctor, Jethro!” The voice came faintly. Kitchen, again.
He took a long drink of what was thankfully beer, and strong at that. Now was probably the right time to let all that thinking he’d been avoiding wash over him.
The good eye was still blurry, but the shapes were more defined. He had to fight to open the bad one, and when he did the light still stung like a bitch. Slow recovery. Of course that would have been fine if McGee could whisper properly, or even at all. Hearing words like ‘permanent damage’ in that shit-scared tone hadn’t made the journey back to the Navy Yard any quicker.
Fornell dropped a paper bag on his lap. He unfolded the top and explored inside to find the fries. Creaking springs told him that Fornell had settled himself on the couch. They sat quietly for a while, the sounds of contented eating and the occasional slosh as one or other took a slug of beer.
Gibbs wondered if the elephant in the room was getting hungry.
Finally Fornell spoke. "You worried?"
"Nope," Gibbs said, honestly.
I'm fucking terrified.
*********************************************************************
Their cell phones went off nearly simultaneously. Two case updates, one from either side. Gibbs was well into his fourth beer. He’d guess Tobias was on the same from how easily the laughter came. Turned out the FBI had their own Elf-Lord.
“So I tell him, the next time he tries to play that damned thing on a stake-out, I’d make the level 20 sorcerer a level 20 sorceress.”
Gibbs snorted. He’d have to remember that one. Speaking of remembering.
"How much have you had to drink?" he asked.
"I'll be fine." There it was; that very faint slur on the Ls that you’d miss if you weren’t listening for it. Or maybe he wouldn’t now, maybe it was that senses sharpening thing you get when - no. No more of that thinking.
"That much?"
There was a silence that followed, in which Gibbs suspected Tobias was glaring at him. He smirked at the image.
"You better stay." As always, he made it sound like a favor. That was the game.
Fornell snorted. "That'd be a first."
"I don't make you leave."
Gibbs could practically hear Fornell trying to work out a response that didn't make him sound like a teenager. For once, he figured he'd be charitable.
“I can’t bail you out if you get caught DUI. Stay tonight.”
“Fine. Just get me some sheets.” Gibbs was reminded that Tobias knew the game, too.
"There's only one bed, Tobias. And that couch'll cripple you." And that was as generous as Gibbs was going to be tonight
"So it will," he answered, ambiguously.
"C'mon then,” Gibbs hefted himself out of his seat. “And don't try and help me up the damn stairs,” he warned. “I've lived in this place long enough to know it blind."
Which, he hoped, wouldn't turn out to be a good thing.
*********************************************************************
Gibbs woke up slowly, the numbness of unconsciousness slowly retreating from his limbs, sounds filtering in and the light visible even through his eyelids suggested he'd forgotten to close the damn drapes.
Said eyes felt glued shut as he wiped them open.
He squinted as the first-opened blur faded. There was the ceiling. Cracks, cobwebs, flaking paint and all.
He took a deep breath and relaxed back into the mattress. His left eye ached a little, but the right felt just fine.
"Early morning bastard,” came a grumble from next to him.
"I can see, Tobias." There was no emphasis, just plain statement of fact.
Fornell lifted his head, seemingly assessing Gibbs, as though he could tell if Gibbs was blind or not just by looking at him.
"Still look like shit, though." He said, head flumping back onto the pillow.
Gibbs smiled as he took in the room that, just for a moment, he'd wondered if he'd see again.
"Coffee?" he yawned. The muffled reply sounded a lot like ‘fuck off’.
"Not a morning person, Tobias?" Gibbs made sure that he wasn’t quiet as he eased out of bed and headed for the door
"No, and I tend to shoot people who try to turn me into one."
Gibbs considered that.
Better make it Espresso.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/character: Gibbs/Fornell, reference to McGee/DiNozzo
Summary: Whatever that bastard was using had hit Gibbs slightly off center, leaving one eye in excruciating pain, but capable of making out shapes of light and dark around him.
Warnings/Spoilers: None
A/N: Written for kink_bingo. Prompt is Sensory Deprivation. Wonderfully beta'd by karaokegal, and dedicated to Mad_Jaks, for her birthday.
Gibbs bent double as the pain spread across his face. He scrunched his eyes but could still feel an acidic scorching eating its way through them. A strong hand gripped his arm as he heard guns going off around him.
"That sure as hell better be you, Fornell!"
"C'mon!” Fornell called above the din, dragging him to the left.
Whatever that bastard was using had hit Gibbs slightly off center, leaving one eye in excruciating pain, but capable of making out shapes of light and dark around him. The other he couldn't even force open, and his face that side was burning like napalm.
“What the hell happened?” Fornell asked once they were hidden behind something tall and metallic.
“Kid surprised me. Sprayed me with something.” Another indication that those once honed reactions were being blunted by age.
“Looks like a flamethrower from the state of your face.” There was a hint of fear in Fornell’s voice that Gibbs did not want to hear.
“We’re being shot at and you’re worried about how I look?”
“They’re not shooting at us, they’re shooting across us. Keep down!” Fornell pushed on his shoulder, as if Gibbs was just going to stand up in the middle of a damn gunfight.
Sirens blared and the sounds of shooting receded. Gibbs leaned back against whatever it was he and Fornell were ducking behind. Some shouting in the distance sounded a lot like his team had finally arrived.
“Over here!” Fornell shouted to them and Gibbs winced. He shifted away slightly to avoid losing yet another of his senses.
“Get the doctor!”
Somewhere between the sirens, the running feet and various radios, walkie-talkies and mobiles he could make out familiar voices.
“You alright, Boss?” DiNozzo sounded out of breath. Nice to know he was worth sprinting for. Would have been better if the question hadn’t been so stupid.
“Just great DiNozzo. Walk in the park,” he snapped back.
“Ducky’s van just got here,” Ziva panted “What happened?”
“Got sprayed.”
“Wow, inner city skunks are evil.” DiNozzo’s joke would have been more distracting if he, like every other voice he’d heard, didn’t sound scared.
"Hardly, Tony,” and that had to be Ducky. Even without the accent, he couldn’t think of anyone else who’d say that. “From the smell, I’d say Bear Mace."
"Someone's been watching too much Dog." McGee was here, then. From the sound of it, he’d been picking up Tony’s watching habits again. And here Gibbs thought he’d taught them subtlety.
Two hands cradled his head, moving it one way and then the other.
"Looks like it hit your temple,” Ducky said, calmly and sounding like it was as much to himself as to Gibbs. “Did you feel anything actually hit your eyes?"
Gibbs tried to shake his head free of Ducky’s grip.
"Wasn't paying that much attention."
The good eye was wrenched open and an agonizingly bright light shone in it. He felt fingers tug on the bad one and backed away violently.
"Hmm.” Gibbs waited for the diagnosis. “Well I'd like you to go for a check-up, but I suspect the visual impairment is temporary."
There was a word there that Gibbs did not like. "Suspect?"
"Jethro, it's just not that simple.” He heard Ducky sigh and tried to wind down the pissed-off attitude. Not Ducky’s fault.
“It appears to have missed your eyes, but I won't know that until it begins to wear off. You know you really should go to a hospital, those blisters on the side of your face-"
"Later, Ducky. DiNozzo."
"Yes Boss!"
"Want to tell me what the hell just happened?"
*********************************************************************
Three tangents and one distracting memory later, Gibbs was informed that they really had no idea. It looked for all intents and purposes that he and Fornell had literally walked into a turf war. No connection to their suspect; no connection to the crime.
"I'll get my team on it, Gibbs,” Fornell assured him “Assault on a federal officer plus whatever the hell else I can find to throw at them."
"You could just let them shadow mine, we’ll get ‘em first."
Fornell huffed in amusement. “We’ll see.”
The volume of his voice and the footsteps suggested Fornell was already at the elevator. The doors pinged a moment later and Gibbs almost wished he hadn’t gone. Not now, though. They still had a marine with about three kilos of cocaine to find.
There was rustling behind him, which would most likely be Ziva and DiNozzo having some sort of muted argument. He turned towards Tony's desk waited a second and raised an eyebrow.
"Sorry, Boss."
"Sorry, Gibbs."
An apology from each and no more silent conversations. It didn’t hurt to remind them that blind he might be, oblivious he wasn’t.
It was a little too quiet now.
“Well what are you waiting for?” he asked, venting his frustration. “I want Morgan in our interrogation room yesterday!”
*********************************************************************
From the light levels outside DiNozzo’s car, he’d guess it was dusk, maybe seven or so. Too early, but the Director had insisted and Vance was a lot more forceful than Jenny on things like this.
He felt the car pull towards the curb. Tony cleared his throat. “Uh, Boss, looks like you got company.”
If they weren’t still sore, he’d have rolled his eyes. “Black town-car?”
“Yeah.”
“Just a busybody with nothing better to do.” He clicked open the door and stepped out. “You can go.
He heard the other door open and Tony’s overly concerned voice. “You want me to walk you to your door?”
“I’m not putting out, DiNozzo. Go home.”
“Sure, sorry Boss.” He sounded deflated, but Gibbs had had enough of being coddled for one day.
The car door was closed behind him and as he carefully picked his way up to his front door, he heard the other shut and the engine idling. He stopped at the door, turned to roughly where the car was and waved his would-be baby sitter off.
Pushing the door open, he could hear someone in kitchen.
“You better have brought steak,” he called out, trying to resist the urge to feel his way around his own house. He knew this place, dammit, so why did he feel like he was about to fall over?
Gradually he made his way to his chair, footsteps approaching not long after. A chilled bottle was smacked into his hand and it was damn nice for the first time today to not be treated like an invalid.
“Drink that. I brought burgers.”
“Would’ve preferred Porterhouse,” Gibbs complained.
“And I’d prefer you to have all your fingers after you’ve eaten.” The voice was getting quieter as Fornell walked away
“You’re a lousy nursemaid, Tobias!”
“That’s why I’m not a doctor, Jethro!” The voice came faintly. Kitchen, again.
He took a long drink of what was thankfully beer, and strong at that. Now was probably the right time to let all that thinking he’d been avoiding wash over him.
The good eye was still blurry, but the shapes were more defined. He had to fight to open the bad one, and when he did the light still stung like a bitch. Slow recovery. Of course that would have been fine if McGee could whisper properly, or even at all. Hearing words like ‘permanent damage’ in that shit-scared tone hadn’t made the journey back to the Navy Yard any quicker.
Fornell dropped a paper bag on his lap. He unfolded the top and explored inside to find the fries. Creaking springs told him that Fornell had settled himself on the couch. They sat quietly for a while, the sounds of contented eating and the occasional slosh as one or other took a slug of beer.
Gibbs wondered if the elephant in the room was getting hungry.
Finally Fornell spoke. "You worried?"
"Nope," Gibbs said, honestly.
I'm fucking terrified.
*********************************************************************
Their cell phones went off nearly simultaneously. Two case updates, one from either side. Gibbs was well into his fourth beer. He’d guess Tobias was on the same from how easily the laughter came. Turned out the FBI had their own Elf-Lord.
“So I tell him, the next time he tries to play that damned thing on a stake-out, I’d make the level 20 sorcerer a level 20 sorceress.”
Gibbs snorted. He’d have to remember that one. Speaking of remembering.
"How much have you had to drink?" he asked.
"I'll be fine." There it was; that very faint slur on the Ls that you’d miss if you weren’t listening for it. Or maybe he wouldn’t now, maybe it was that senses sharpening thing you get when - no. No more of that thinking.
"That much?"
There was a silence that followed, in which Gibbs suspected Tobias was glaring at him. He smirked at the image.
"You better stay." As always, he made it sound like a favor. That was the game.
Fornell snorted. "That'd be a first."
"I don't make you leave."
Gibbs could practically hear Fornell trying to work out a response that didn't make him sound like a teenager. For once, he figured he'd be charitable.
“I can’t bail you out if you get caught DUI. Stay tonight.”
“Fine. Just get me some sheets.” Gibbs was reminded that Tobias knew the game, too.
"There's only one bed, Tobias. And that couch'll cripple you." And that was as generous as Gibbs was going to be tonight
"So it will," he answered, ambiguously.
"C'mon then,” Gibbs hefted himself out of his seat. “And don't try and help me up the damn stairs,” he warned. “I've lived in this place long enough to know it blind."
Which, he hoped, wouldn't turn out to be a good thing.
*********************************************************************
Gibbs woke up slowly, the numbness of unconsciousness slowly retreating from his limbs, sounds filtering in and the light visible even through his eyelids suggested he'd forgotten to close the damn drapes.
Said eyes felt glued shut as he wiped them open.
He squinted as the first-opened blur faded. There was the ceiling. Cracks, cobwebs, flaking paint and all.
He took a deep breath and relaxed back into the mattress. His left eye ached a little, but the right felt just fine.
"Early morning bastard,” came a grumble from next to him.
"I can see, Tobias." There was no emphasis, just plain statement of fact.
Fornell lifted his head, seemingly assessing Gibbs, as though he could tell if Gibbs was blind or not just by looking at him.
"Still look like shit, though." He said, head flumping back onto the pillow.
Gibbs smiled as he took in the room that, just for a moment, he'd wondered if he'd see again.
"Coffee?" he yawned. The muffled reply sounded a lot like ‘fuck off’.
"Not a morning person, Tobias?" Gibbs made sure that he wasn’t quiet as he eased out of bed and headed for the door
"No, and I tend to shoot people who try to turn me into one."
Gibbs considered that.
Better make it Espresso.