FIC: Something New (NCIS) Part 1/7
Title: Something New
Author:
threesquares
Rating: R (or NC-17, depending on your tolerance)
Disclaimer: I'm not Bellesario or CBS, so I don't claim to own them.
Characters/Pairings: Gibbs/DiNozzo
Genre: Slash; First Time
Warnings: Other than the saucy bits, nothing I can see
Word Count: 15,997 (kind of makes me want to write three more words)
Beta: All mistakes are mine.
Written For: 2014
tibbs_yuletide Day 02
Summary: Losing his memory, reliving his family's deaths, retiring, and returning, as well as some new arrivals in his life, have Gibbs taking a new look at his life and what he wants. Starts in summer and ends at Christmas.
Happy Holiday Season, everyone. This one is for Gibbs. It’s very-Gibbs centric and Tony is, I hope, sort of in character in a vague seen-only-from-the-outside kind of way. I was very bold and signed up for two stories so if I can pull it off, maybe Dec 19th’s story will be for Tony.
I hope you like the story. It seems too long. And I am entirely uncertain about it. All kinds of crazy stuff happened as I wrote. I couldn’t make them do what I wanted! They insisted on doing what they wanted.
This takes place about a year after Gibbs was blown up, goes to Mexico, and returns. Nevermind Jeanne. I am ignoring her.
Many thanks to sinfulslasher for managing the Tibbs Yuletide and being welcoming to a newcomer, and thanks to my favorite simian for the beta work and encouragement. This story doesn’t feel, somehow, like other things I have written, but I hope you like it nonetheless. Thanks!
Squares
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Gibbs was not a fanciful man.
His father, Jackson Gibbs, was a storyteller of the first water, and could, would, stay up into the early hours of the morning laughing and shooting the breeze with friends and family. If Jethro was a nostalgic man-and he wasn’t that either-he would smile to remember laying in bed as a boy, hearing the voices drifting up in stereo: the sharp, bright tones of a group on the porch smoking and talking as well as the duller, more indistinct ebb and flow of the people downstairs playing cards or refilling drinks in the kitchen. If he thought about it, he would remember that their house was regularly the center of such gatherings: family descending for long weekends or holidays or local friends from church or lodge or town. If he really let himself remember-something only likely under the strongest of painkillers or...well, some heretofore unimagined future circumstance that was so improbable as to be impossible...if he really let himself venture deep into memory, he would remember how comfortable it was lying there in the dark of his room, all the chattering grown ups downstairs. The deep blue depth of the night sky creeping in from outside, limning the neat tower of boxes on his desk, full of neatly stacked baseball cards, next to the model cars. The white of his pillow and sheets almost glowing in his side vision when he turned his head against the shadowy twilight of everything else in the room, including the navy blue quilt weighing him down.
He had no desire to be downstairs among the adults. But the niggling voice saying he would feel safer with a nightlight-something he had decided on his ninth birthday last month that he was too old for-was silent just now with so many people below him, at his back.
But Gibbs didn’t. Remember things like that. Not really. He wasn’t nostalgic, and he certainly wasn’t fanciful. He didn’t believe in signs or portents, the jinx, or the evil eye. Oh, there were some things that you just didn’t do, no sense inviting trouble. Like shaving before a mission or cleaning your boots in the morning. Like that. But nothing like what Abby got up to. Though he had to admit, it worked for her, for them all; he had seen whatever alchemy her personal brand of beliefs produced lead to closing a case more than once.
No, Gibbs was not a fanciful man. But if he was, he would have felt the fickle hand of fate hanging over him that day. Trouble and surprises, often indistinguishable, came in threes. And the first two arrived before 0500 one August morning. The sky was just starting to show a faint orange glow at the horizon.
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Gibbs liked waking in the dark. It was efficient. Plus testing himself against the dark with everything light ahead of him. He was showered and ready by the time it was light outside. He would either work in the basement until he drove into the Yard, or just go in early. Sometimes he ran the two miles to the park and looped around it before returning home to the small house in the small suburb where he lived, the houses old enough to have decent sized lots and still be surrounded by some dense woods.
He didn’t need an alarm clock and woke within minutes of 0430 almost every morning, but slowly, his eyes opening in the dark to blink to awareness as the living room brightened imperceptibly around him. This morning he felt every one of his 50 years-in his knees mostly-and decided not to run. He started the coffee and instead of taking ibuprophen, took a longer and hotter than normal shower in the guest bath off the kitchen, pulling on jeans and a tshirt from the pile on the dryer when he was done. He’d work on the boat for a couple of hours, then change and go in to work, still ahead of his team...most of the time. Ziva and McGee sometimes came in early. Tony and Abby sometimes never left.
He slipped on the supportive sandals Ducky had bought him one Christmas-looked like a hippie but they were a hell of a lot easier on his knees given the hours he spent standing on cement-and poured himself a mug of coffee. An hour later, probably close to 0600, Gibbs took the stairs two at a time to pour himself more coffee. He was almost to the pot when he heard the racket from the street out front.
Muffler shot, he thought, waiting for the car to pass. This early in the morning, this deep in the relatively sheltered neighborhood, it was rare to hear much traffic. The noise came closer and then the squeal of brakes joined the clangor of the broken exhaust system. Doors slammed-one, two, three, four-and the hysterical wails of children in distress topped off the god-awful din.
Gibbs turned and pushed his empty mug onto the counter, grabbed a flashlight and his wallet, even as he strode through the house and out and down the steps.
A station wagon was stopped in the middle of the road and while the engine was running rough, at least the muffler wasn’t clanking. There was a dog-shaped shadow lying in the road illuminated by the headlights, and four dark human shapes crowing in around it in a panic.
“Hey now.” The shapes had resolved themselves into a woman and three children, all turning at the sound of his deep voice. All three kids shifted closer to the woman, the two smallest to press against her legs, the tallest of the three moving to stand by her side and a little in front. Recognizing the protective stance, Gibbs stopped a good ways away and pointed back to the house, golden light spilling from his open front door.
“Hey. Sorry to surprise you. I’m Jethro Gibbs. I live there. See my light? I’m a federal agent.” He turned the flashlight on to illuminate the badge, then flicked it off. “Mind if I take a look?”
“Oh. Of...of course. Kids, back up okay? Let’s get out of Mr. Gibbs’ way. Did we...did I...hit your dog?” The woman’s voice was steady but sorrowful and worried.
“I don’t have a dog. In fact, there isn’t anyone around here with a dog. Not since the Lucy family moved last winter.” Gibbs wanted to get a look at the dog, which hadn’t moved at all that he could tell.
“I’m Lucy,” said the smallest shadow, in a tiny voice.
“Oh, so you came back then. How was Minnesota?”
A small giggle. “I’m Lucy. Not the Lucy family.”
The middle-sized shadow asked. “Will you help the dog, sir?”
“You can call me Gibbs, or Jethro, not sir. Let me see what I can do, okay, son?” The voice had been distinctly masculine, even though young. From the height of the dark shape, maybe six or seven? That made Lucy younger than that. Gibbs catalogued these impressions and facts even as he flicked on the flashlight and directed the beam on the ground until he illuminated the dog. Probably dead or unconscious given how still it was.
Instead, he found himself looking at the red glint of the light reflecting against alert black eyes peering up at him from where it lay, head on paws, just in front of the station wagon. Gibbs moved closer and crouched down, biting back any sound that would betray his stiff knees should have taken ibuprophen and reaching forward to pet the soft fur. Big.
Gibbs could see more now since it must be approaching 0630 and sunrise. He felt more than saw movement around him and heard the woman’s voice from where she leaned over him, trying to get a look.
“Is he okay?”
“Looks it.” Gibbs pronounced. He stood up and looked around. “Let’s get your car off the road and see if we can get the dog to come up on my lawn.”
“Let me just pull into the driveway.”
Gibbs turned back to her in surprise. “You were coming here?”
Her face was a pale oval in the dim light of morning. He could see her dark hair in a pony tail, surrounded, even in the new light, by a halo of escaped curls. “Next door. But yeah. We’re moving from Florida. We must...must seem strange...coming in the middle of the night.”
Gibbs liked her forthrightness, felt the need to defend. “It’s almost morning. Nothing wrong with morning. Nothing wrong with nighttime either, come to that.”
She smiled, again felt more than seen, and said, “Let me get the car moved. Kids, you want to stay here or get in the car for one more minute?” Neither of those options seemed desirable so in the end, she walked the kids over to the small front lawn of the ranch style house next to Gibbs’, and then walked back to retrieve the car. Gibbs stood by the dog, leaning over to pat his (her?) head briefly. He was reassured by the quick rise and fall of the dog’s flanks against his foot, and the thump of the heavy tail on the asphalt. The dog was bigger, even, than he had first thought and if he wasn’t mistaken, was resolving out of the darkness into one of those large, furry breeds...a retriever, or a...St. Bernard? They were really big though.
Finally, the red tail lights went dark where the woman parked in the driveway, and there was quiet again in the neighborhood. Gibbs was a little surprised no one else had come out to see what all the racket was about but maybe, coming up on Labor Day weekend, people were away.
He moved a few steps toward his house and turned back toward the dog. “You coming?”
The dog didn’t bark, but it did rise and follow Gibbs to his lawn. His new neighbors stood on their own lawn in the growing light. Gibbs sighed, inwardly.
“Why don’t you all come in?” He glanced ruefully down at the dog. He’d have to figure out what to do with it. “Nothing to eat over there. I’ve got coffee and...uh...milk and cereal. Don’t have any donuts, but you can come in and sit down for a minute.”
The kids looked at their mother, hungry obviously. “If you are sure, Mr….er...Agent Gibbs.”
“Just Gibbs. Or Jethro.” Gibbs repeated.
“Well, that would be...nice, Jethro. I could really use a bathroom, to be honest.”
Gibbs smiled and led the way in, deliberately turning his back and letting them follow at their own pace. The snick of the outside light was drowned out by the click of the dogs nails on the old hardwood. He was putting a bowl of water down for the dog when the bedraggled family made their way into his kitchen.
“Here, kids, have a seat. We’ll let your mom go to the bathroom.” Lucy, hair wild from sleep, looked up at him solemnly but still held tight to her mother’s hand and went with her to the small bathroom that Gibbs’ pointed her to. The other two kids were equally disheveled, but not dirty. The oldest was a girl, her hair short and straight where her mother’s was long and curly, but still dark and shiny. Her brother’s hair was lighter, almost blonde, though not as blonde as Lucy’s. They perched tentatively on chairs around his old oak table.
Gibbs moved to the counter. “What can I get you...water, milk, coffee?” The girl looked at the closed bathroom door.
“I’ll have coffee. Please.” Her brother shot her a look but didn’t say anything.
After a few seconds, he said, “Me too, please.”
Gibbs didn’t hesitate. The way to a mother was through her kids, and a mother like this, indulging them, even if it skirted a line, was probably okay. He filled two mugs with an inch of coffee and the rest milk. The girl scowled a little but didn’t say anything. Her brother grinned like he had won the lottery and drained the mug.
Gibbs laughed. “What’re your names, kids?”
“I’m Sophie and he’s-”
“Brian!” Brian spoke for himself, gap-toothed grin still in place, even as he turned his head to see his mother and sister rejoining them. She glanced at their mugs.
“Did you say thank you?”
The two kids looked shamefaced and hurried to say ‘thanks’.
“They said please, and drank up. Thanks enough.” He raised an empty mug and poured another cup when she nodded. “House has been empty about a month now. You have furniture coming?”
“Should be here this morning,” She smiled suddenly. Tired though she was, she was obviously happy to be there. “I know we should have waited until this morning to get on the road, but we just wanted to get here, you know?” Lucy had climbed up onto her mother’s lap so when the woman held out her hand, Gibbs had to go to her to shake it.
“I’m Caroline Strogatz.” Even as the two adults shook, Lucy curled forward, stuck her thumb in her mouth, eyes half closed already, too tired to be thirsty even. Gibbs crossed to the refrigerator, opened the freezer and smiled. Last month, Tony’s brief stay at his house while his apartment complex was fumigated, had resulted in a number of unusual grocery purchases, including frozen waffles. He put two in the toaster without asking, put the syrup on the counter.
Caroline smiled thanks and continued, “Movers’ll be here by ten with furniture and all our boxes. We have sleeping bags if we don’t get everything set up in time.”
“You have to put the beds together and move all the furniture in yourself?”
“No, the movers will do that too, don’t worry...that dog...he’s not yours?”
“Nope. Never seen him before.”
While they ate, Gibbs discovered that Caroline was a writer and her husband was an analyst for the Navy. They were moving from Pensacola, but her husband was currently stationed at Camp Lemmonier in Djibouti, Africa. Fifteen minutes later, the older kids were full and ready to explore their new home. Gibbs could tell Caroline was too. She declined help with Lucy and thanked him gratefully, but firmly. Gibbs checked his watch, realizing he had to go too. Not sure he wanted to get too involved and equally concerned about not making Caroline feel uncomfortable, Gibbs didn’t offer his house for dinner. He’d stop by later and check on them.
He leaned against the counter and finished his coffee, looking over to meet the dog’s calm eyes where he (she?) lay...almost...close enough for him to touch. He had started out farther away but Jethro suspected he had been inching over while he fed his new neighbors. Too innocent eyes met his. Like Tony. Gibbs’ lips twitched.
“And what am I going to do about you?”
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