July Unwritten Fic Meme - Call for prompts
Prompts Closed (Still some available on Dreamwidth.)
Okay, so I've been in a bit of a slump. I've been hip deep in original work (yay rent!) but lately it's been like pulling teeth to get any words out. taylorgibbs talked me into (okay, I was thinking about it after reading her latest, but she urged me to go ahead) trying this as a way to prime the pump. So ( Read more... )
Okay, so I've been in a bit of a slump. I've been hip deep in original work (yay rent!) but lately it's been like pulling teeth to get any words out. taylorgibbs talked me into (okay, I was thinking about it after reading her latest, but she urged me to go ahead) trying this as a way to prime the pump. So ( Read more... )
Prompt: Prompt SG1/NCIS gen
1996, This would put Jack pre-series, right? Gibbs is working with Franks. He knows Jack is depressed and having lost a kid, he gets it on a level that nobody else does. Fishing trip, camping trip, whatever.
When Gibbs had heard the Colonel was going to his cabin, he'd mentioned it to Franks.
"Whatcha still doin' here, Probie?" Franks had waved him away from his desk. "I can do without ya trippin' over yourself for a few days. Git!"
Gibbs had never asked how Franks knew O'Neill, but then, Franks had never asked Gibbs, either. Some things were better left unsaid.
Gibbs wasn't looking forward to seeing his old friend. O'Neill's son's death was too raw and Gibbs knew it would reopen his own wounds, but he also knew better than to leave the man to his own devices. Scuttlebutt was that O'Neill'd taken a suicide mission and everyone was shocked he made it back. If shared pain, even without many words being spoken, helped his old friend, it was worth it.
Gibbs owed his life to the man; the least he could do was return the favor, if possible.
Gibbs bumped his rental down the dirt track the Colonel pretended was a road, cursing that he'd gotten stuck with a sedan instead of a truck. At least it was dry, and still afternoon. October in Minnesota could be fiercely cold, with heavy snow. Today, though, the sun was out and while the air was crisp, it was refreshing rather than frigid. Gibbs had packed cold weather gear, just in case. He knew from experience the weather here could turn on a dime.
Gibbs pulled up to the cabin, parked next to the Colonel's truck, got out and steadied himself for what he might find inside.
What he hadn't expected was music playing by the lake. At least he thought it was music. It sounded like some guy bellowing in Italian. Gibbs rounded the cabin and saw the Colonel sitting on his dock, fishing pole in hand, with a radio or something sitting on the ubiquitous ice chest. Even more surprising was the telescope set up farther up the dock, well away from the water's edge.
Gibbs grabbed a folding chair from the porch and headed toward the water, studying the Colonel. He seemed relaxed, but not drunk; not at all what Gibbs had been expecting.
"Whatever it is, I don't want any," O'Neill called without looking over his shoulder.
"I was kinda hoping you'd drink some of the 18 year old Scotch I brought, but if you don't want any," Gibbs said as he walked down the dock.
"Gunny?" O'Neill half turned in his chair, "Wondered when you'd show up. Didn't think Franks would let you." O'Neill flipped the switch on his radio, thankfully putting the bellowing Italian out of Gibbs' misery.
"He wouldn't let me stay," Gibbs said as he stopped next to his old friend and took a good long look under the cover of setting up his chair. O'Neill was thinner than he'd been, but fit and with an odd tan that bespoke of places Gibbs knew better than to ask him about.
"Franks is an asshole, but he's an okay asshole."
Gibbs chuckled and sat down, "That's probably the best description I've ever heard of him."
"Have a seat, Gunny."
"Don't mind if I do, Colonel."
Their easy friendship borne of blood and fear and death should not have been this accessible. Not with what the Colonel was going through. They sat together for a while, the Colonel pretending to fish, Gibbs letting the situation settle into his mind, waiting for his friend to tell him what was going on. The sun started to drop below the trees and a chilly breeze kicked up off the lake.
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"Surprised?" O'Neill smiled and Gibbs watched him out of the corner of his eye. There was a wealth of meaning in his expression; grief and bitterness, but also acceptance and something that might have been joy.
"Yes," Gibbs hesitated, "I've been there Colonel, so yeah, I'm a little surprised."
"Gunny you've been some of the places I've been, but you haven't been everywhere I've been," with that cryptic comment, O'Neill started to reel in his line and nodded to the ice chest. "Have a beer. I was planning on eating later, but if you're hungry, go make yourself a sandwich."
"I'm good," Gibbs told him, hoping he'd get more from his friend now that he'd started talking. O'Neill was the kind who could talk for hours without ever actually saying anything worth hearing. But you had to listen closely because he'd drop the odd hint in when you least expected it.
"Good. Takes a while for full dark, but better to not ruin your night vision by going inside now," the Colonel gestured at the telescope as he spoke.
"Didn't know you were into that sort of thing, Colonel," Gibbs tossed his empty into the bucket with the others and got two more beers out, handing one to his friend.
"It's a new hobby, Gunny." O'Neill fell silent, sipping his beer, staring into the deepening blue of the evening sky.
Gibbs was struggling to get a handle on what was going on. He knew this man, and he knew what he'd lost, knew the empty aching hole it left in a man's soul.
"The only hobby I had," Gibbs' voice caught, he had never told a soul what he'd done and he never planned to, "was emptying as many bottles as I could, as fast as I could." Gibbs sipped his beer and tried to blank those weeks, months, years, today that his grief still stole his breath if he let it.
"Yeah, Gunny." O'Neill's voice came to him from the shadows next to him. "A couple of weeks ago, I had the same one. That and seeing how long I could hold my weapon without swallowing it."
"What changed?" Gibbs took the chance that he'd actually answer him. Silence stretched between them, only the growing darkness filling the empty spaces, until O'Neill laid his hand on Gibbs' shoulder, warming him against the cooling temperature, then finally spoke.
"I learned, Gunny, that I wasn't in a hurry to die after all." With that, the Colonel got up and picked up his chair and his radio. Gibbs grabbed his own chair and the ice chest then followed his friend to the telescope.
Whatever the Colonel had been through, it seemed to have given him back something Gibbs was still searching for. Maybe he'd find it one day, too.
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