Chained and Chafed.
Next in the Tony!SEAL series. Gibbs finally has to go to extreme measures to keep Tony and Dean from running all over. Don't they know they have to rest to heal?
“DiNozzo! Get back in that bed.” Gibbs eyed his SFA in annoyance. “Cale! You too.”
Dean Cale scuttled back into the guest room, followed by his commanding officer, Anthony DiNozzo. They looked so much like naughty boys caught in some mischief that Gibbs had to smile. God forbid that they actually saw it.
He was beginning to wonder if he’d lost his mind somewhere along the way. Having two injured SEALs to deal with was a real pain in his ass. Neither one of them had a lick of common sense, and keeping them in bed was harder than he’d expected. But he wasn’t an NCIS Senior Agent and a Marine Gunnery Sergeant (Retired) for nothing.
When he’d brought them home, he’d put them in his guest room. It had been refurnished, a month or so ago, with twin beds and matching nightstands. There was one big dresser with two ranks of drawers, and the closet was obviously divided. They’d brought their go-bags with them, and Gibbs had sent the other two SEALs-Remiel Devereaux, Tony’s partner and Cosmo Richter, Dean’s partner-to get clothing and toiletries from their apartments.
They were now ‘settled in’ for the duration. That meant until Ducky said they were ready to return to duty. Only they wouldn’t settle. They reminded him of Kelly when she was sick more than grown SEAL’s. They’d settle for awhile, but the second they were rested, they were back up.
The first day had been fairly easy; both men were so sore that they’d slept late and gotten up to lounge in front of the TV, still wearing sleeping pants and sloppy t-shirts. He, Gibbs, had gone in to make sure all the reports were in and the other paperwork done. When he’d come back late in the afternoon, Tony was standing at the stove, cooking Spaghetti Bolognese. A far cry from Gibbs’ spaghetti á la jar sauce.
Dean was sitting at the table, snapping green beans and bitching. His arm was healing and it itched. “AJ, I swear. It itches like a bitch. A scratch or two won’t hurt.”
“Hands off, Dean. You scratch and you’ll pull a stitch, just like last time. And I do not want to hear Gibbs chewing me out over it.” Tony didn’t bother to turn around.
Gibbs swatted Dean in the back of the head, making sure he saw who it was. “Do not scratch.” He stuck his head over Tony’s shoulder. “What smells so good? As if I didn’t know. And who went shopping?”
Tony smacked Gibbs’ hand. “Out. If you want a taste, there’s some soon-to-be garlic bread on the counter. Do not stick unwashed fingers in my sauce. As to shopping, I got it all delivered. You do know that you didn’t have a scrap of anything fresh in the house, right?”
“I do. Kinda didn’t have time. What do I owe you?” Gibbs reached for his wallet.
“Nothing. You’re putting us up, keeping track of meds and, in general, mother-henning us.” Tony dipped a scrap of bread in the sauce and handed it to Gibbs.
Gibbs took the bread and chewed appreciatively. “Very good. But you shouldn’t be doing this. Too much standing up.”
Tony nodded. “I’ll sit down in a minute. I just have to get up and stir it once in a while. Keep it from sticking.”
Gibbs watched as Tony settled at the table to help snap beans. He took a hand himself and they were soon done. And that had been the last day of peace.
Both Tony and Dean seemed determined to do themselves some injury or other.
After supper, which was very good, Dean started washing the dishes, and managed to get soapy water on his arm. AJ barked at him to ‘sit down before you fall down’ and went to do the dishes himself. This resulted in him bumping his chest on the open pantry door. He whimpered softly.
Gibbs intervened, “Dammit, both of you sit down. I’ll do the dishes.” Both SEALs offered him sheepish faces and headed for the couch he pointed at. “Sit! Stay!”
They obediently sat, but getting them to stay was a bitch. First Dean was up, claiming that he forgot something in his car.
“You left your car on base, lugnut. Sit down.” Gibbs fixed the SEAL with a hard stare, wondering what the hell the idiot was really up to.
AJ-Tony-barked, “Told ya!” He did not, however, explain what he’d told Dean.
Dean subsided on the couch, tried unsuccessfully to get the remote from Tony, then leaned back to cross his arms over his chest and pout.
Gibbs glowered for a few seconds more, then barked, “I’m going up to change, then I’ll be in the basement; you two rest.” AJ childishly stuck his tongue out at Gibbs' back. “I saw that.”
Gibbs was back downstairs in a few minutes, changed into washed soft jeans and an old ‘Property of US Marines’ t-shirt. He glowered at the two men, who were resting quietly, for now, then went down to work on his boat.
<><><><>.
AJ groaned himself awake. Dean snickered which earned him a poke in the ribs. He swore but refrained from thumping Tony due to his bruised ribs and chest.
Gibbs, hearing the scuffling, yelled, “You two knock it off.” He went back to his sanding, mumbling, “Seriously, grow up.” He was very glad that he’d let Cosmo and Remy bring Tony’s big-screen TV and entertainment system over and hook it all up. They’d also gotten cable installed.
Another round of thumps and scrapes brought him up the stairs. He found Tony on the floor holding his chest, a pained expression on his face, and Dean standing over him looking horrified.
“Ok, what the hell?” Gibbs wasn’t sure who’d started what, but he intended to finish it.
Dean yelped a panicked, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I forgot. Seriously, don’t kill me.”
Tony managed to get up and settle back on the couch. “Ok, ok. Dean, chill. Get me some grunt candy and we’ll call it even.”
Dean nodded. “Ok, right on it. AJ?”
“What?”
Dean gave Tony a pleading look, “You’re not going to take me on the mats, are you?”
Gibbs swatted him on the head. “No, he’s not, but I might.” Dean moaned piteously. “Now. I’ll get the pills. Where are they?”
Dean and Tony both waved in the general direction of the kitchen counter next to the sink. “Over there.”
Gibbs read the labels and found one that said, “DiNozzo. For pain.” He checked the dose, then shook two capsules into his palm. He took them and a glass of water to Tony.
Tony didn’t even glance at them, he just tossed them into his mouth and drank them down. He started to hand the glass back to Gibbs but was told, “Drink all that.”
Tony did then sighed. “Oh, man. Boss, you didn’t give me that prescription, did you?”
Gibbs nodded, “I did. Why?”
Dean just moaned, covered his eyes then announced, “Just shoot me now.”
Gibbs eyed him for a moment then snapped, “I will, if someone doesn’t start explaining.”
Dean eyed Tony then said, “That prescription ... those pills make AJ loopy. And believe me, you do not want to deal. Seriously, dude.”
Tony giggled. “Oh, Deano, you did not. You called Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Gunny extraordinaire, ‘Dude.’ You are so dead.”
Gibbs eyed Tony, then asked, “And how long does that particular effect last?”
“However long the dose does.” Dean got up and ambled toward the stairs, announcing, “As I’ve been grievously wounded in action, I think I’ll go to bed and get some much-deserved rest.”
Gibbs eyed a giggling DiNozzo, then snarled, “Asshole.”
“Yes. Yes, I am. I’ve dealt with AJ like that. Not fun. And you’re the one who gave him those pills, so you deal. 'Night.” And with that, he disappeared up the stairs.
Gibbs eyed Tony, who was now examining the weave of the couch with an intensity that only a drunk, or drugged-out, SEAL could manage. Gibbs rubbed one hand over his face and grumbled, “Well, fuck.” This was going to be a long four hours.
Tony, hearing Gibbs, leaned back to look at him upside down. “Problem, Boss?” He got up, put an arm around Gibbs’ shoulders and smiled; one of those whole-hearted, brilliant smiles that got him into, and out of, all sorts of trouble. “Let me fix it. How about a great big Abby-style hug?” He gave Gibbs a bone-crushing hug, ruffled his hair and tugged him over to the couch. “Sit down with me. There’s a great Three Stooges marathon on.”
Dean’s voice floated down from the guest room. “Oh, and I should tell you that those are the timed-release caps. You’ve got about 12 hours of that. 'Night ... again.”
Gibbs wondered if he should just shoot himself now.
Over the next six and a half hours, Gibbs prevented Tony from going out to buy paint to paint the living room. He also managed to foil his attempt to get out the Christmas tree, mostly by reminding him that Christmas was still several months away. After the tree, Tony decided to make Gibbs a supply of frozen foods, for later consumption. Gibbs had to remind him that there wasn’t that much food in the house. This brought on an attempt to go grocery shopping. The remark that he’d be up on DUI charges ended that.
Gibbs tried to get Tony to go to sleep and was cheerfully told that the meds made him hyper, no chance of sleeping until they wore off in six more hours.
The next six hours were spent in a daze of activity. Tony decided that Gibbs' meticulously clean kitchen needed cleaning. Gibbs just let him, realizing that it was the lesser of two evils. So Tony took everything out of every cabinet, cleaned the shelves, put down new papers, and sorted through years of odds and ends.
His constant, “Boss, do you actually use this?” nearly drove Gibbs to violence. The only reason he didn’t do anything was, one, he wasn’t sure he could actually take Tony, and two, it was his fault for not checking the damn pills. Any opioid made Tony all kinds of crazy. Even the 30 mg in Tylenol 3 could cause problems, like now.
When Tony finally crashed, Gibbs barely got him to bed before he was out cold. Gibbs glanced at the clock and headed for his own bed; it was 0130, and he was beat.
<><><><>.
Morning came and with it, more difficulties. Tony was up, just barely, and Dean was prepping breakfast.
Gibbs eyed Dean for a moment then snarled, “Coffee. And you better not be getting that arm wet.”
Dean shoved a mug into Gibbs’ hand and cheerfully allowed, “Not. Breakfast in ten. AJ decided he wanted full English. Lucky you had everything except tomatoes. I snitched a couple from the next-door neighbor. Left five dollars. That enough?”
Gibbs considered that for a moment. “Probably.” He sighed softly. “‘Full English’?”
Dean continued, “And we’re having American bacon instead of English. And how the hell do they call that bacon? It’s not. And you can’t get it crisp; it just burns.”
Gibbs thought about that for a moment then allowed, “Different cut of meat; not enough fat to crisp up.”
Dean nodded his understanding. After a moment he announced, “Ok, sit down. It’s up.”
So they settled to eat a full English-style breakfast. It consisted of hash-brown potatoes, poached eggs, grilled tomatoes, canned baked beans, bacon, sausage patties, and toast and coffee. Dean apologized for the lack of mushrooms, saying, “No mushrooms; those canned things are tasteless and slimy. Eat up.”
After breakfast, Gibbs told both men, “I have to go in today. Stay out of trouble and rest. You’re not going to heal if you keep running around like teenagers.”
Tony nodded. “Right, Boss. Like you rest when you’re hurt.”
Dean nodded his agreement, carefully keeping out of swatting range.
Gibbs shrugged, offered, “Learn from my example then,” and left.
<><><><>.
Tony sighed again. Dean announced, “If you don’t quit that ... man, you sound like an old woman. What?”
“I’m bored. I need something to do.” Tony picked up the remote, only to have Dean snatch it out of his hand.
“I’m watching that. Chill.” Dean was well aware that Tony was a channel surfer when he was bored, but he was actually enjoying this show. He tucked the remote under his butt, hoping that would discourage Tony. It did, but it also sent him searching for something to entertain himself with.
There was no wi-fi, so his laptop was useless. The game system was hooked up to the TV, and he didn’t have a handheld. His tablet was out for the same reason as his laptop. So, he decided to go in to work, just for awhile. Dean looked up from his show, mumbled, “No, oh no, you’re not,” but didn’t try to stop him.
AJ knew what AJ wanted to do and that was what he would do. Never mind that it wasn’t good for him. Dean shook his head and went back to his show, rubbing his stitches to keep from scratching them. He knew what Gunny Gibbs would do to him if he pulled one out. He did not want to meet the Marine on the mats. Old, maybe; but the old saying, “Just because there’s snow on the roof, doesn’t mean there’s no fire in the furnace,” held true across the board.
<><><><>.
Tony checked in and headed for his desk. He’d dressed in a comfortable pair of jeans, t-shirt and hiking boots, as opposed to the threadbare sweats he’d been wearing for the last two days.
Gibbs looked up from the last of his paperwork, blinked and snarled, “Dammit, DiNozzo, this isn’t resting. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Just checkin’ in, Boss. I’m bored and thought I’d pick up a couple of cold cases, make sure all the paperwork is done. That sort of thing. I’ll go right back, as soon as I’m done.” Tony reached for a stack of folders and began flipping through them, hiding a flinch as he pulled bruised chest muscles.
Gibbs decided this was one of those times when learning by experience was a good thing. He completely forgot that Tony had worked with much worse injuries; he, Gibbs, just hadn’t known about them. But that did explain some of his crazier antics, like that horse thing.
Tony worked for about an hour, finishing paperwork that was long overdue. He was flagging rapidly, but stuck with it from sheer stubbornness. Finally, he leaned down for something on the floor, bumped his chest on a knee and couldn’t quite stifle his grunt of pain.
“DiNozzo! Go the hell home and rest. If I catch you messing around again, I swear, I’ll chain you to the bed.” Gibbs slapped the file he was reading down on his desk and grabbed his gear. “Come on. I give up. I’m takin’ you myself.”
Tony blinked at Gibbs like a toad in an ash pile. “Oh, Boss, that’s not necessary. I’m fine.”
Gibbs snorted. “Sure you are.” He reached out and wiped the thin sheen of sweat from Tony’s forehead, showed it to him and shook his head. “And how many times have you done exactly this and I missed it?” He was disgusted with himself for not noticing.
“Boss, how good am I at undercover?” Tony gave up the argument, grabbed his backpack and followed Gibbs to the elevator. He was glad to go home, even if he didn’t want to admit it.
Gibbs realized that Tony had driven in, so he told him that it was a twenty-minute drive back to his house, and that was all the time he had to make it home. Tony argued for five more minutes, in case he got caught at a light. Gibbs agreed to this, but not a second more.
Tony made it in twenty-three minutes.
“DiNozzo, get in here.” Gibbs met him at the door and made his displeasure plain. He pointed to the couch. “Get your butt on the couch and don’t get up.”
Dean made a face at Tony over Gibbs’ shoulder. Gibbs turned on him. “And none of that.” Gibbs went into the kitchen, grumbling, “Idiot SEALs, don’t know when to give up.” He started making coffee, enough for three. “What’s for supper?”
Dean shrugged. “No idea. Ask AJ.”
Tony, more exhausted than he wanted to admit, replied, “Not me. I cooked yesterday.”
Gibbs looked at Dean.
Tony saw the look and exclaimed, “Oh, no, Boss. He can’t cook.” His horrified tone made Dean snicker.
Gibbs decided that he wasn’t about to argue that Dean had cooked a perfectly good breakfast, so he pulled a pile of takeout menus out of a drawer and fanned them out. “Ok. Pick one.”
Tony picked, and it turned out that they were having pizza. Dean called in three large with various toppings. One supreme, one all-meat, and one old-fashioned. Gibbs was the only one who would eat that without picking off the anchovies.
Each man took a pizza and finished it off in record time. Gibbs wasn’t fussy about certain things, plated food being one of them, so they ate off paper plates and just tossed them and the pizza boxes into the trash.
Tony announced, “I’ll take all that out and burn it in the back. Okay?”
Gibbs shook his head, “Can’t. No-burn ordinance here. Just toss it.”
Tony grumbled but tossed the paper in the trash, for now.
Dean decided that all the trash needed to be burned and, not having heard about the ordinance, set out to make a burn ring in the backside of the back yard. Gibbs caught him moving some extra bricks from when Gibbs had put down a walkway.
“Cale, damnit, you’re supposed to be resting that arm. What the hell are you doing?” Gibbs was feeling somewhat like a Scoutmaster with a bunch of unruly Scouts.
“Um ... making a fire ring? All that paper needs to be burned.” Dean gave Gibbs a deer-in-the-headlights look.
“Can’t burn in the city. Get back inside. If you’ve ripped your stitches, Tony’ll thump you. Then I’ll thump what’s left.”
Gibbs chivvied Dean back inside as he whined, “How was I supposed to know there’s a law? Gimme a break.”
Gibbs just snarked, “Arm or leg?” then pointed at the couch. “Sit! Rest. You guys are like a couple of two-year-olds who don’t want to take a nap.”
Tony, who was parked on the couch, channel surfing, grumbled, “I’m bored. I’ve got some cold cases, but someone,” he glowered at Dean, “won’t shut up so I can read them.” He went back to surfing.
Dean flopped down on the recliner, whining, “Yeah, and I wouldn’t be bored if a certain someone would settle on something to watch, instead of changing the channel every three seconds.”
Gibbs threw up his hands in disgust and announced, “Okay! That’s it! You two ... I’m gonna work on my boat.” He held up a hand as both men brightened, “And, no, you cannot help me. I’d like to actually put it in the water someday.” He left for the basement after glaring at them both again.
Dean offered, “Man’s a bit tense.”
Tony replied, “Yes. Yes, he is. We better watch ourselves for a while.”
“Ya think?”
“Yeah, I do.”
They returned to fighting over the remote, in that absent way of men who are friends.
The rest of the day was a trial of patience for all of them, Tony and Dean because they were bored and restless and in just enough pain to make them not want to do much, and Gibbs because Tony and Dean were hell-bent on entertaining themselves somehow. He spent more time restraining their ‘enthusiasm’ than anything else. His final words that night were, “You two lugnuts are going in with me tomorrow. I’ll find cold cases for both of you to work on. That way I can keep an eye on you. Go. To. Bed.”
<><><><>.
Tony was up and making breakfast the next morning, but Gibbs could tell that he was hurting. He was guarding his chest to keep from bumping it. Yesterday's cycle of cat-naps and activity hadn’t done either Tony or Dean much good.
Tony grinned at Gibbs, “Morning, Boss. Coffee.” It wasn’t a question; it was a statement. “Go drag Dean out of bed for me. Breakfast in five.”
Gibbs nodded and headed back upstairs to do that. It didn’t take but a second to grab the SEAL by one ankle and drag him off the mattress. “Up! Breakfast. Now.”
Dean grumbled but complied, shambling down the stairs, messy-headed and grumpy.
They ate breakfast, then went to their rooms to get ready for the day.
Gibbs finished dressing and was about to call the two SEALs when they thundered down the stairs dressed in running gear.
“What the hell? You two idiots are not supposed to run for another two days.” Gibbs rubbed his eyes, then pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.
Tony blurted, “But, Boss ...”
Dean interjected, “We have to...”
They both subsided when Gibbs whacked them both in the head. “No! Ducky, the medic, and the doc all said a week. And it’s going to be a week. You won’t lose that much. And I’ll be with you, so shut up and get changed.”
Five minutes later they were back downstairs, dressed in blacks. They scrambled into the company car that Gibbs drove to and from the Yard, and they were on their way in to work.
Gibbs spent the drive keeping Dean from sticking his head out the window and Tony from fiddling with every electronic device on the dash. He also had to contend with Dean trying to grab the steering wheel over his shoulder and Tony playing with the emergency lights and siren.
By the time they got to the Yard, through the checkpoint at the gate and the checkpoint at the doors, he was seriously thinking about killing both of them. Or at least shooting them.
Tony, well aware of what he was thinking, smugly informed him, “If you shoot either one of us, you’ll have to take care of us longer.”
Gibbs snarled at him, then dragged both of them to the bullpen. He pointed to the ‘guest’ desk and barked, “Dean! There! Sit! DiNozzo, you have a desk. Use it.” He opened a file drawer and pulled out a pile of folders; dividing it roughly in half, he slapped a pile in front of each man. “Work on these. DiNozzo, help Cale. Stay at your desks unless you need the head. If you wander off, I swear I’ll chain you to something.”
It wasn’t long before both men were away from their desks. Gibbs looked up to see Ducky dragging Dean out of the elevator. “My dear Dean, please stay at your desk. Your comments are, while somewhat helpful, truly inappropriate. You’ve upset Mr. Palmer.” He patted Dean on the shoulder, then hissed at Gibbs, “Please keep that young man out of Autopsy.”
Gibbs was not about to ask what Dean had done to put the usually unflappable ME in a temper. He pointed at the desk he’d assigned to the SEAL and barked, “Sit! Stay!” Dean flopped into the chair, wincing as the action jarred his still-sore arm.
Three seconds later: “No! Tony, I have no intention of letting you be my lab assistant. You’re way too fond of explosions. Not that explosions, in and of themselves, are exactly a bad thing, but not in my lab. No! Gibbs, do something.” Abby sounded like Tony had gotten on her last nerve. The usually cheery Goth sounded decidedly cross.
Tony also flopped into his chair, and he, too, winced as the action hurt more than expected.
Ziva had wisely opted to make a coffee run, while Tim, not to be left hung out to dry, was down in Cyber Crimes working on something. Neither one wanted to be around when the explosion came. And Gibbs was reaching critical mass quickly.
After the eighth dash to keep one, or both, of the SEALs from doing something they weren’t supposed to, Gibbs disappeared. He returned with a small go-bag which he dropped on the floor under his desk. He didn’t say anything, but his speaking glance at each of his charges was warning enough. For a while.
Gibbs finally flipped his lid when Director Vance phoned him and asked him, with heavy-handed politeness, to get Tony and Dean out of MTAC. He didn’t say exactly what they were doing, but Gibbs could hear the crunch of an over-masticated toothpick. He got up and went to find his again errant charges.
It took him ninety seconds to get from his desk to MTAC and three to get in.
“Ok, you two. I don’t know what you’re doing. I don’t care. Vance wants you both out of here, so come on.” He grabbed Dean by one ear and Tony by a wrist. Neither one objected much; Dean only whined, “Not a kid, Gunny. Seriously, ear?” Gibbs let go of his ear and took the sheepishly offered wrist instead.
He physically kept hold of them until they reached the bullpen, then pointed to their desks. “Sit! Now!” He wondered when he’d become a dog trainer. He reached under his desk and pulled out the bag. What he produced from the bag made Tony exclaim, “Oh, Boss! No! Seriously, just no.”
Gibbs smirked at him and blandly offered. “It’s this, or two weeks on medical leave.”
Tony held out his wrist, as did Dean. Gibbs wasted no time snapping a manacle around the proffered limb and fastened the other end of the attached chain to a small ring under the edge of the desk. This ring was actually a safety feature, meant to keep the desks from sliding around on a rolling ship deck. Salvage was a wonderful thing.
Tony shook his wrist, eyed the four feet of chain with a sad expression, then said. “Don’t suppose you really care that these’ll probably chafe like a bitch, do you, Boss?”
“Nope. Should have stayed put.” Gibbs settled down to finish his work.
Dean kept quiet, eyeing Gibbs morosely.
Gibbs noticed and said, “Second B’s for bastard. And don’t you forget it.”
<><><><>.
Tony eyed the staring man and grumbled softly, “Extreme much?” He hadn’t thought that Gibbs would carry out his threat. More fool he.
“Um ... Boss? Head?” Tony waited for the verdict on his release.
Gibbs looked up, thought for a moment then said, “If I let you go, will you stay put?”
Tony’s expression was so obviously a conflict between the desire to say ‘yes’ and the knowledge that he wouldn’t. Lying to Gibbs was so not a good idea.
Gibbs chuckled softly. “Didn’t think so. Come on.”
And so it went. Gibbs took them to the head, had McGee bring a very nice, nourishing lunch of tofu-and-sprout wraps with sesame-ginger dressing; they both made faces of disgust but realized that they were being punished, so they ate. Gibbs had Ziva courier all their paperwork for them.
Tony and Dean put their heads together over one of the cases and turned it over to Balboa’s team with suggestions that led to solving it. That was the end of their day, as the report was done at 4 pm.
Gibbs unlocked the manacles and shoved the chains back into the bag. “You two lugnuts gonna be any further trouble?”
Dean shook his head frantically. “Sir. No, sir. I promise, sir.”
Tony just shrugged. “Sorry, Boss. Pills make me nuts.”
“Need ‘em anymore?” Gibbs was well aware of Tony’s sensitivity to codeine, and he’d been taking the prescription Tylenol like mad.
“No, don’t think so. Plain Ibuprofen from now on.”
“Ok. Wanna come home with me? Or go back to your apartment?” Gibbs let Tony know, by his blandly accepting expression, that he didn’t care which.
“Your place? Please?” Tony just didn’t want to be alone yet.
Dean put on a pleading expression of his own and said, hopefully, “I’ll pay for steaks?”
Gibbs turned away before his smirk could be seen, leading the way to the elevator, “Well, come on. Fire won’t start itself.”
<><><><>.
“DiNozzo! Get back in that bed.” Gibbs eyed his SFA in annoyance. “Cale! You too.”
Dean Cale scuttled back into the guest room, followed by his commanding officer, Anthony DiNozzo. They looked so much like naughty boys caught in some mischief that Gibbs had to smile. God forbid that they actually saw it.
He was beginning to wonder if he’d lost his mind somewhere along the way. Having two injured SEALs to deal with was a real pain in his ass. Neither one of them had a lick of common sense, and keeping them in bed was harder than he’d expected. But he wasn’t an NCIS Senior Agent and a Marine Gunnery Sergeant (Retired) for nothing.
When he’d brought them home, he’d put them in his guest room. It had been refurnished, a month or so ago, with twin beds and matching nightstands. There was one big dresser with two ranks of drawers, and the closet was obviously divided. They’d brought their go-bags with them, and Gibbs had sent the other two SEALs-Remiel Devereaux, Tony’s partner and Cosmo Richter, Dean’s partner-to get clothing and toiletries from their apartments.
They were now ‘settled in’ for the duration. That meant until Ducky said they were ready to return to duty. Only they wouldn’t settle. They reminded him of Kelly when she was sick more than grown SEAL’s. They’d settle for awhile, but the second they were rested, they were back up.
The first day had been fairly easy; both men were so sore that they’d slept late and gotten up to lounge in front of the TV, still wearing sleeping pants and sloppy t-shirts. He, Gibbs, had gone in to make sure all the reports were in and the other paperwork done. When he’d come back late in the afternoon, Tony was standing at the stove, cooking Spaghetti Bolognese. A far cry from Gibbs’ spaghetti á la jar sauce.
Dean was sitting at the table, snapping green beans and bitching. His arm was healing and it itched. “AJ, I swear. It itches like a bitch. A scratch or two won’t hurt.”
“Hands off, Dean. You scratch and you’ll pull a stitch, just like last time. And I do not want to hear Gibbs chewing me out over it.” Tony didn’t bother to turn around.
Gibbs swatted Dean in the back of the head, making sure he saw who it was. “Do not scratch.” He stuck his head over Tony’s shoulder. “What smells so good? As if I didn’t know. And who went shopping?”
Tony smacked Gibbs’ hand. “Out. If you want a taste, there’s some soon-to-be garlic bread on the counter. Do not stick unwashed fingers in my sauce. As to shopping, I got it all delivered. You do know that you didn’t have a scrap of anything fresh in the house, right?”
“I do. Kinda didn’t have time. What do I owe you?” Gibbs reached for his wallet.
“Nothing. You’re putting us up, keeping track of meds and, in general, mother-henning us.” Tony dipped a scrap of bread in the sauce and handed it to Gibbs.
Gibbs took the bread and chewed appreciatively. “Very good. But you shouldn’t be doing this. Too much standing up.”
Tony nodded. “I’ll sit down in a minute. I just have to get up and stir it once in a while. Keep it from sticking.”
Gibbs watched as Tony settled at the table to help snap beans. He took a hand himself and they were soon done. And that had been the last day of peace.
Both Tony and Dean seemed determined to do themselves some injury or other.
After supper, which was very good, Dean started washing the dishes, and managed to get soapy water on his arm. AJ barked at him to ‘sit down before you fall down’ and went to do the dishes himself. This resulted in him bumping his chest on the open pantry door. He whimpered softly.
Gibbs intervened, “Dammit, both of you sit down. I’ll do the dishes.” Both SEALs offered him sheepish faces and headed for the couch he pointed at. “Sit! Stay!”
They obediently sat, but getting them to stay was a bitch. First Dean was up, claiming that he forgot something in his car.
“You left your car on base, lugnut. Sit down.” Gibbs fixed the SEAL with a hard stare, wondering what the hell the idiot was really up to.
AJ-Tony-barked, “Told ya!” He did not, however, explain what he’d told Dean.
Dean subsided on the couch, tried unsuccessfully to get the remote from Tony, then leaned back to cross his arms over his chest and pout.
Gibbs glowered for a few seconds more, then barked, “I’m going up to change, then I’ll be in the basement; you two rest.” AJ childishly stuck his tongue out at Gibbs' back. “I saw that.”
Gibbs was back downstairs in a few minutes, changed into washed soft jeans and an old ‘Property of US Marines’ t-shirt. He glowered at the two men, who were resting quietly, for now, then went down to work on his boat.
<><><><>.
AJ groaned himself awake. Dean snickered which earned him a poke in the ribs. He swore but refrained from thumping Tony due to his bruised ribs and chest.
Gibbs, hearing the scuffling, yelled, “You two knock it off.” He went back to his sanding, mumbling, “Seriously, grow up.” He was very glad that he’d let Cosmo and Remy bring Tony’s big-screen TV and entertainment system over and hook it all up. They’d also gotten cable installed.
Another round of thumps and scrapes brought him up the stairs. He found Tony on the floor holding his chest, a pained expression on his face, and Dean standing over him looking horrified.
“Ok, what the hell?” Gibbs wasn’t sure who’d started what, but he intended to finish it.
Dean yelped a panicked, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I forgot. Seriously, don’t kill me.”
Tony managed to get up and settle back on the couch. “Ok, ok. Dean, chill. Get me some grunt candy and we’ll call it even.”
Dean nodded. “Ok, right on it. AJ?”
“What?”
Dean gave Tony a pleading look, “You’re not going to take me on the mats, are you?”
Gibbs swatted him on the head. “No, he’s not, but I might.” Dean moaned piteously. “Now. I’ll get the pills. Where are they?”
Dean and Tony both waved in the general direction of the kitchen counter next to the sink. “Over there.”
Gibbs read the labels and found one that said, “DiNozzo. For pain.” He checked the dose, then shook two capsules into his palm. He took them and a glass of water to Tony.
Tony didn’t even glance at them, he just tossed them into his mouth and drank them down. He started to hand the glass back to Gibbs but was told, “Drink all that.”
Tony did then sighed. “Oh, man. Boss, you didn’t give me that prescription, did you?”
Gibbs nodded, “I did. Why?”
Dean just moaned, covered his eyes then announced, “Just shoot me now.”
Gibbs eyed him for a moment then snapped, “I will, if someone doesn’t start explaining.”
Dean eyed Tony then said, “That prescription ... those pills make AJ loopy. And believe me, you do not want to deal. Seriously, dude.”
Tony giggled. “Oh, Deano, you did not. You called Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Gunny extraordinaire, ‘Dude.’ You are so dead.”
Gibbs eyed Tony, then asked, “And how long does that particular effect last?”
“However long the dose does.” Dean got up and ambled toward the stairs, announcing, “As I’ve been grievously wounded in action, I think I’ll go to bed and get some much-deserved rest.”
Gibbs eyed a giggling DiNozzo, then snarled, “Asshole.”
“Yes. Yes, I am. I’ve dealt with AJ like that. Not fun. And you’re the one who gave him those pills, so you deal. 'Night.” And with that, he disappeared up the stairs.
Gibbs eyed Tony, who was now examining the weave of the couch with an intensity that only a drunk, or drugged-out, SEAL could manage. Gibbs rubbed one hand over his face and grumbled, “Well, fuck.” This was going to be a long four hours.
Tony, hearing Gibbs, leaned back to look at him upside down. “Problem, Boss?” He got up, put an arm around Gibbs’ shoulders and smiled; one of those whole-hearted, brilliant smiles that got him into, and out of, all sorts of trouble. “Let me fix it. How about a great big Abby-style hug?” He gave Gibbs a bone-crushing hug, ruffled his hair and tugged him over to the couch. “Sit down with me. There’s a great Three Stooges marathon on.”
Dean’s voice floated down from the guest room. “Oh, and I should tell you that those are the timed-release caps. You’ve got about 12 hours of that. 'Night ... again.”
Gibbs wondered if he should just shoot himself now.
Over the next six and a half hours, Gibbs prevented Tony from going out to buy paint to paint the living room. He also managed to foil his attempt to get out the Christmas tree, mostly by reminding him that Christmas was still several months away. After the tree, Tony decided to make Gibbs a supply of frozen foods, for later consumption. Gibbs had to remind him that there wasn’t that much food in the house. This brought on an attempt to go grocery shopping. The remark that he’d be up on DUI charges ended that.
Gibbs tried to get Tony to go to sleep and was cheerfully told that the meds made him hyper, no chance of sleeping until they wore off in six more hours.
The next six hours were spent in a daze of activity. Tony decided that Gibbs' meticulously clean kitchen needed cleaning. Gibbs just let him, realizing that it was the lesser of two evils. So Tony took everything out of every cabinet, cleaned the shelves, put down new papers, and sorted through years of odds and ends.
His constant, “Boss, do you actually use this?” nearly drove Gibbs to violence. The only reason he didn’t do anything was, one, he wasn’t sure he could actually take Tony, and two, it was his fault for not checking the damn pills. Any opioid made Tony all kinds of crazy. Even the 30 mg in Tylenol 3 could cause problems, like now.
When Tony finally crashed, Gibbs barely got him to bed before he was out cold. Gibbs glanced at the clock and headed for his own bed; it was 0130, and he was beat.
<><><><>.
Morning came and with it, more difficulties. Tony was up, just barely, and Dean was prepping breakfast.
Gibbs eyed Dean for a moment then snarled, “Coffee. And you better not be getting that arm wet.”
Dean shoved a mug into Gibbs’ hand and cheerfully allowed, “Not. Breakfast in ten. AJ decided he wanted full English. Lucky you had everything except tomatoes. I snitched a couple from the next-door neighbor. Left five dollars. That enough?”
Gibbs considered that for a moment. “Probably.” He sighed softly. “‘Full English’?”
Dean continued, “And we’re having American bacon instead of English. And how the hell do they call that bacon? It’s not. And you can’t get it crisp; it just burns.”
Gibbs thought about that for a moment then allowed, “Different cut of meat; not enough fat to crisp up.”
Dean nodded his understanding. After a moment he announced, “Ok, sit down. It’s up.”
So they settled to eat a full English-style breakfast. It consisted of hash-brown potatoes, poached eggs, grilled tomatoes, canned baked beans, bacon, sausage patties, and toast and coffee. Dean apologized for the lack of mushrooms, saying, “No mushrooms; those canned things are tasteless and slimy. Eat up.”
After breakfast, Gibbs told both men, “I have to go in today. Stay out of trouble and rest. You’re not going to heal if you keep running around like teenagers.”
Tony nodded. “Right, Boss. Like you rest when you’re hurt.”
Dean nodded his agreement, carefully keeping out of swatting range.
Gibbs shrugged, offered, “Learn from my example then,” and left.
<><><><>.
Tony sighed again. Dean announced, “If you don’t quit that ... man, you sound like an old woman. What?”
“I’m bored. I need something to do.” Tony picked up the remote, only to have Dean snatch it out of his hand.
“I’m watching that. Chill.” Dean was well aware that Tony was a channel surfer when he was bored, but he was actually enjoying this show. He tucked the remote under his butt, hoping that would discourage Tony. It did, but it also sent him searching for something to entertain himself with.
There was no wi-fi, so his laptop was useless. The game system was hooked up to the TV, and he didn’t have a handheld. His tablet was out for the same reason as his laptop. So, he decided to go in to work, just for awhile. Dean looked up from his show, mumbled, “No, oh no, you’re not,” but didn’t try to stop him.
AJ knew what AJ wanted to do and that was what he would do. Never mind that it wasn’t good for him. Dean shook his head and went back to his show, rubbing his stitches to keep from scratching them. He knew what Gunny Gibbs would do to him if he pulled one out. He did not want to meet the Marine on the mats. Old, maybe; but the old saying, “Just because there’s snow on the roof, doesn’t mean there’s no fire in the furnace,” held true across the board.
<><><><>.
Tony checked in and headed for his desk. He’d dressed in a comfortable pair of jeans, t-shirt and hiking boots, as opposed to the threadbare sweats he’d been wearing for the last two days.
Gibbs looked up from the last of his paperwork, blinked and snarled, “Dammit, DiNozzo, this isn’t resting. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Just checkin’ in, Boss. I’m bored and thought I’d pick up a couple of cold cases, make sure all the paperwork is done. That sort of thing. I’ll go right back, as soon as I’m done.” Tony reached for a stack of folders and began flipping through them, hiding a flinch as he pulled bruised chest muscles.
Gibbs decided this was one of those times when learning by experience was a good thing. He completely forgot that Tony had worked with much worse injuries; he, Gibbs, just hadn’t known about them. But that did explain some of his crazier antics, like that horse thing.
Tony worked for about an hour, finishing paperwork that was long overdue. He was flagging rapidly, but stuck with it from sheer stubbornness. Finally, he leaned down for something on the floor, bumped his chest on a knee and couldn’t quite stifle his grunt of pain.
“DiNozzo! Go the hell home and rest. If I catch you messing around again, I swear, I’ll chain you to the bed.” Gibbs slapped the file he was reading down on his desk and grabbed his gear. “Come on. I give up. I’m takin’ you myself.”
Tony blinked at Gibbs like a toad in an ash pile. “Oh, Boss, that’s not necessary. I’m fine.”
Gibbs snorted. “Sure you are.” He reached out and wiped the thin sheen of sweat from Tony’s forehead, showed it to him and shook his head. “And how many times have you done exactly this and I missed it?” He was disgusted with himself for not noticing.
“Boss, how good am I at undercover?” Tony gave up the argument, grabbed his backpack and followed Gibbs to the elevator. He was glad to go home, even if he didn’t want to admit it.
Gibbs realized that Tony had driven in, so he told him that it was a twenty-minute drive back to his house, and that was all the time he had to make it home. Tony argued for five more minutes, in case he got caught at a light. Gibbs agreed to this, but not a second more.
Tony made it in twenty-three minutes.
“DiNozzo, get in here.” Gibbs met him at the door and made his displeasure plain. He pointed to the couch. “Get your butt on the couch and don’t get up.”
Dean made a face at Tony over Gibbs’ shoulder. Gibbs turned on him. “And none of that.” Gibbs went into the kitchen, grumbling, “Idiot SEALs, don’t know when to give up.” He started making coffee, enough for three. “What’s for supper?”
Dean shrugged. “No idea. Ask AJ.”
Tony, more exhausted than he wanted to admit, replied, “Not me. I cooked yesterday.”
Gibbs looked at Dean.
Tony saw the look and exclaimed, “Oh, no, Boss. He can’t cook.” His horrified tone made Dean snicker.
Gibbs decided that he wasn’t about to argue that Dean had cooked a perfectly good breakfast, so he pulled a pile of takeout menus out of a drawer and fanned them out. “Ok. Pick one.”
Tony picked, and it turned out that they were having pizza. Dean called in three large with various toppings. One supreme, one all-meat, and one old-fashioned. Gibbs was the only one who would eat that without picking off the anchovies.
Each man took a pizza and finished it off in record time. Gibbs wasn’t fussy about certain things, plated food being one of them, so they ate off paper plates and just tossed them and the pizza boxes into the trash.
Tony announced, “I’ll take all that out and burn it in the back. Okay?”
Gibbs shook his head, “Can’t. No-burn ordinance here. Just toss it.”
Tony grumbled but tossed the paper in the trash, for now.
Dean decided that all the trash needed to be burned and, not having heard about the ordinance, set out to make a burn ring in the backside of the back yard. Gibbs caught him moving some extra bricks from when Gibbs had put down a walkway.
“Cale, damnit, you’re supposed to be resting that arm. What the hell are you doing?” Gibbs was feeling somewhat like a Scoutmaster with a bunch of unruly Scouts.
“Um ... making a fire ring? All that paper needs to be burned.” Dean gave Gibbs a deer-in-the-headlights look.
“Can’t burn in the city. Get back inside. If you’ve ripped your stitches, Tony’ll thump you. Then I’ll thump what’s left.”
Gibbs chivvied Dean back inside as he whined, “How was I supposed to know there’s a law? Gimme a break.”
Gibbs just snarked, “Arm or leg?” then pointed at the couch. “Sit! Rest. You guys are like a couple of two-year-olds who don’t want to take a nap.”
Tony, who was parked on the couch, channel surfing, grumbled, “I’m bored. I’ve got some cold cases, but someone,” he glowered at Dean, “won’t shut up so I can read them.” He went back to surfing.
Dean flopped down on the recliner, whining, “Yeah, and I wouldn’t be bored if a certain someone would settle on something to watch, instead of changing the channel every three seconds.”
Gibbs threw up his hands in disgust and announced, “Okay! That’s it! You two ... I’m gonna work on my boat.” He held up a hand as both men brightened, “And, no, you cannot help me. I’d like to actually put it in the water someday.” He left for the basement after glaring at them both again.
Dean offered, “Man’s a bit tense.”
Tony replied, “Yes. Yes, he is. We better watch ourselves for a while.”
“Ya think?”
“Yeah, I do.”
They returned to fighting over the remote, in that absent way of men who are friends.
The rest of the day was a trial of patience for all of them, Tony and Dean because they were bored and restless and in just enough pain to make them not want to do much, and Gibbs because Tony and Dean were hell-bent on entertaining themselves somehow. He spent more time restraining their ‘enthusiasm’ than anything else. His final words that night were, “You two lugnuts are going in with me tomorrow. I’ll find cold cases for both of you to work on. That way I can keep an eye on you. Go. To. Bed.”
<><><><>.
Tony was up and making breakfast the next morning, but Gibbs could tell that he was hurting. He was guarding his chest to keep from bumping it. Yesterday's cycle of cat-naps and activity hadn’t done either Tony or Dean much good.
Tony grinned at Gibbs, “Morning, Boss. Coffee.” It wasn’t a question; it was a statement. “Go drag Dean out of bed for me. Breakfast in five.”
Gibbs nodded and headed back upstairs to do that. It didn’t take but a second to grab the SEAL by one ankle and drag him off the mattress. “Up! Breakfast. Now.”
Dean grumbled but complied, shambling down the stairs, messy-headed and grumpy.
They ate breakfast, then went to their rooms to get ready for the day.
Gibbs finished dressing and was about to call the two SEALs when they thundered down the stairs dressed in running gear.
“What the hell? You two idiots are not supposed to run for another two days.” Gibbs rubbed his eyes, then pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.
Tony blurted, “But, Boss ...”
Dean interjected, “We have to...”
They both subsided when Gibbs whacked them both in the head. “No! Ducky, the medic, and the doc all said a week. And it’s going to be a week. You won’t lose that much. And I’ll be with you, so shut up and get changed.”
Five minutes later they were back downstairs, dressed in blacks. They scrambled into the company car that Gibbs drove to and from the Yard, and they were on their way in to work.
Gibbs spent the drive keeping Dean from sticking his head out the window and Tony from fiddling with every electronic device on the dash. He also had to contend with Dean trying to grab the steering wheel over his shoulder and Tony playing with the emergency lights and siren.
By the time they got to the Yard, through the checkpoint at the gate and the checkpoint at the doors, he was seriously thinking about killing both of them. Or at least shooting them.
Tony, well aware of what he was thinking, smugly informed him, “If you shoot either one of us, you’ll have to take care of us longer.”
Gibbs snarled at him, then dragged both of them to the bullpen. He pointed to the ‘guest’ desk and barked, “Dean! There! Sit! DiNozzo, you have a desk. Use it.” He opened a file drawer and pulled out a pile of folders; dividing it roughly in half, he slapped a pile in front of each man. “Work on these. DiNozzo, help Cale. Stay at your desks unless you need the head. If you wander off, I swear I’ll chain you to something.”
It wasn’t long before both men were away from their desks. Gibbs looked up to see Ducky dragging Dean out of the elevator. “My dear Dean, please stay at your desk. Your comments are, while somewhat helpful, truly inappropriate. You’ve upset Mr. Palmer.” He patted Dean on the shoulder, then hissed at Gibbs, “Please keep that young man out of Autopsy.”
Gibbs was not about to ask what Dean had done to put the usually unflappable ME in a temper. He pointed at the desk he’d assigned to the SEAL and barked, “Sit! Stay!” Dean flopped into the chair, wincing as the action jarred his still-sore arm.
Three seconds later: “No! Tony, I have no intention of letting you be my lab assistant. You’re way too fond of explosions. Not that explosions, in and of themselves, are exactly a bad thing, but not in my lab. No! Gibbs, do something.” Abby sounded like Tony had gotten on her last nerve. The usually cheery Goth sounded decidedly cross.
Tony also flopped into his chair, and he, too, winced as the action hurt more than expected.
Ziva had wisely opted to make a coffee run, while Tim, not to be left hung out to dry, was down in Cyber Crimes working on something. Neither one wanted to be around when the explosion came. And Gibbs was reaching critical mass quickly.
After the eighth dash to keep one, or both, of the SEALs from doing something they weren’t supposed to, Gibbs disappeared. He returned with a small go-bag which he dropped on the floor under his desk. He didn’t say anything, but his speaking glance at each of his charges was warning enough. For a while.
Gibbs finally flipped his lid when Director Vance phoned him and asked him, with heavy-handed politeness, to get Tony and Dean out of MTAC. He didn’t say exactly what they were doing, but Gibbs could hear the crunch of an over-masticated toothpick. He got up and went to find his again errant charges.
It took him ninety seconds to get from his desk to MTAC and three to get in.
“Ok, you two. I don’t know what you’re doing. I don’t care. Vance wants you both out of here, so come on.” He grabbed Dean by one ear and Tony by a wrist. Neither one objected much; Dean only whined, “Not a kid, Gunny. Seriously, ear?” Gibbs let go of his ear and took the sheepishly offered wrist instead.
He physically kept hold of them until they reached the bullpen, then pointed to their desks. “Sit! Now!” He wondered when he’d become a dog trainer. He reached under his desk and pulled out the bag. What he produced from the bag made Tony exclaim, “Oh, Boss! No! Seriously, just no.”
Gibbs smirked at him and blandly offered. “It’s this, or two weeks on medical leave.”
Tony held out his wrist, as did Dean. Gibbs wasted no time snapping a manacle around the proffered limb and fastened the other end of the attached chain to a small ring under the edge of the desk. This ring was actually a safety feature, meant to keep the desks from sliding around on a rolling ship deck. Salvage was a wonderful thing.
Tony shook his wrist, eyed the four feet of chain with a sad expression, then said. “Don’t suppose you really care that these’ll probably chafe like a bitch, do you, Boss?”
“Nope. Should have stayed put.” Gibbs settled down to finish his work.
Dean kept quiet, eyeing Gibbs morosely.
Gibbs noticed and said, “Second B’s for bastard. And don’t you forget it.”
<><><><>.
Tony eyed the staring man and grumbled softly, “Extreme much?” He hadn’t thought that Gibbs would carry out his threat. More fool he.
“Um ... Boss? Head?” Tony waited for the verdict on his release.
Gibbs looked up, thought for a moment then said, “If I let you go, will you stay put?”
Tony’s expression was so obviously a conflict between the desire to say ‘yes’ and the knowledge that he wouldn’t. Lying to Gibbs was so not a good idea.
Gibbs chuckled softly. “Didn’t think so. Come on.”
And so it went. Gibbs took them to the head, had McGee bring a very nice, nourishing lunch of tofu-and-sprout wraps with sesame-ginger dressing; they both made faces of disgust but realized that they were being punished, so they ate. Gibbs had Ziva courier all their paperwork for them.
Tony and Dean put their heads together over one of the cases and turned it over to Balboa’s team with suggestions that led to solving it. That was the end of their day, as the report was done at 4 pm.
Gibbs unlocked the manacles and shoved the chains back into the bag. “You two lugnuts gonna be any further trouble?”
Dean shook his head frantically. “Sir. No, sir. I promise, sir.”
Tony just shrugged. “Sorry, Boss. Pills make me nuts.”
“Need ‘em anymore?” Gibbs was well aware of Tony’s sensitivity to codeine, and he’d been taking the prescription Tylenol like mad.
“No, don’t think so. Plain Ibuprofen from now on.”
“Ok. Wanna come home with me? Or go back to your apartment?” Gibbs let Tony know, by his blandly accepting expression, that he didn’t care which.
“Your place? Please?” Tony just didn’t want to be alone yet.
Dean put on a pleading expression of his own and said, hopefully, “I’ll pay for steaks?”
Gibbs turned away before his smirk could be seen, leading the way to the elevator, “Well, come on. Fire won’t start itself.”
<><><><>.