NCIS (television): The Endless Tick-Tick Stream Begins
Title: The Endless Tick-Tick Stream Begins
Fandom: NCIS
Rating: PG
Warning(s): Spoilers for 6x03, "Capitol Offense."
Word Count: 888 words.
Summary: It's his job to worry, even about his own team.
A/N: Written for round 1 of ncis_lfws.
So what’s your game, Leon?
Gibbs caught up with McGee in the bullpen, still thinking about Vance and evidence and the need for control. But he stopped when he caught sight of the blond standing by his desk, zipping up his backpack. He was still wearing the jumpsuit; he obviously planned to shower and change at his apartment before tracing the voice mail.
Of course he is, the Shannon-voice in his brain scolded. He can’t want to run around like that all day, can he?
Gibbs just shook himself, trying to get his head in order. He had something more pressing to think of.
‘For your eyes only,’ Vance had said. The meaning was obvious, but something about the way he had said it still nagged at Gibbs’ sensibilities.
As was his habit when lost in thought, he reached for his coffee cup, sitting on his desk. It was empty.
He frowned and tossed it into the trash as McGee headed for the elevator. No choice left; time for a refill.
He silently fell into step with Tim at the elevator door, sliding past the young woman stepping out. "Ground floor," he said at McGee’s inquiring look.
"Need a refill already?"
Gibbs gave him a calm, steady look, and McGee grinned back in return. "Just checking," the younger man said.
"Cute."
The elevator jolted as the doors closed, and the familiar hum of its movement filled the silence in between them.
Gibbs kept sneaking glances at his subordinate. ‘For your eyes only.’ And then there had been that look the Director had shot over Gibbs’ shoulder, one that had been directed at McGee, he was certain.
Had their eyes connected? Perhaps they had shared something in that look, some expression of pure understanding arcing between them in a bolt of something electric. Something that he had missed, dammit, because Leon Vance specialized in being unreadable and he hadn’t been facing Tim, who could be understood in a glance.
His palms were itching. Gibbs shoved his hands in his pockets to quell them. He would not hit the emergency stop switch. No interrogation was taking place. Tim hadn’t done anything wrong. Surely, he had not seen anything strange in the Director’s office.
His nerves were still jangling.
"This is stupid."
McGee’s voice was soft, but it still cut through the air, suddenly heavy with some sort of weight. His hand flickered through Gibbs’ vision and hit the emergency stop switch.
Jethro let out a quiet breath. The choice had been taken from him now, even if the responsibility had not.
Then he directed his attention to McGee, who was already starting to bristle. Gibbs had a brief and amusing mental image of an orange tabby cat puffing out its fur and hissing. It took some effort not to smile, which would surely have set off a negative reaction.
He cut Tim off before he could open his mouth. "Do you like Director Vance, McGee?"
The question didn’t come as surprise. Gibbs felt his gut twist into a strange shape as McGee pressed his mouth into a thin line.
"I respect him," he replied.
"It isn’t the same thing."
"I know that."
The itching in his palms had increased to a fever pitch. But he didn’t know what he wanted to do with them, except perhaps grab McGee by the shoulders and shake him like a rag doll for being recalcitrant.
"It doesn’t matter whether or not I like him," McGee said. "He’s the Director."
It matters to me. Gibbs bit off the retort, but only just barely. Tim always required some delicate handling.
"He seems to pretty fond of you, all things considered. Though I suppose it’s a plus that you’re not trying to stick a knife in his back."
"So what if he likes me?"
(Did Tim’s eyes flick to the left?)
"Let’s call it self interest. I worry, Tim, it’s my job."
(McGee only lied when there was something vital at stake. What was it this time? Jethro was reminded that he hated secrets.)
"I don’t think he’s the type to play favorites."
"Leon Vance redefines ‘impartial.’ That’s not what bothers me."
"So...what is it?" And then McGee lets out disdainful snort. "Don’t tell me you’re worried I’m hanging out with the wrong crowd."
(It touched a nerve, he wouldn’t lie about that. But he still couldn’t overcome the dreaded twisting in his gut.)
Jethro clenched his hidden hands into fists. "You two seem close, is all I’m getting at."
Something went still in Tim’s expression. The emergency stop switch went back to its normal position and the elevator lights shot back to life.
"Director Vance came to visit me a lot more often," McGee said. The unfinished ‘a lot more often than you,’ hung in the air.
Gibbs opened his mouth to say something. The elevator doors chose to open at that moment, (of course, because his life wasn’t difficult enough) giving McGee an avenue of escape.
He watched Tim beat a trail through the small crowd at the door. Shutting his eyes, he leaned his head back against the wall.
So what’s your game, Leon?
Fandom: NCIS
Rating: PG
Warning(s): Spoilers for 6x03, "Capitol Offense."
Word Count: 888 words.
Summary: It's his job to worry, even about his own team.
A/N: Written for round 1 of ncis_lfws.
So what’s your game, Leon?
Gibbs caught up with McGee in the bullpen, still thinking about Vance and evidence and the need for control. But he stopped when he caught sight of the blond standing by his desk, zipping up his backpack. He was still wearing the jumpsuit; he obviously planned to shower and change at his apartment before tracing the voice mail.
Of course he is, the Shannon-voice in his brain scolded. He can’t want to run around like that all day, can he?
Gibbs just shook himself, trying to get his head in order. He had something more pressing to think of.
‘For your eyes only,’ Vance had said. The meaning was obvious, but something about the way he had said it still nagged at Gibbs’ sensibilities.
As was his habit when lost in thought, he reached for his coffee cup, sitting on his desk. It was empty.
He frowned and tossed it into the trash as McGee headed for the elevator. No choice left; time for a refill.
He silently fell into step with Tim at the elevator door, sliding past the young woman stepping out. "Ground floor," he said at McGee’s inquiring look.
"Need a refill already?"
Gibbs gave him a calm, steady look, and McGee grinned back in return. "Just checking," the younger man said.
"Cute."
The elevator jolted as the doors closed, and the familiar hum of its movement filled the silence in between them.
Gibbs kept sneaking glances at his subordinate. ‘For your eyes only.’ And then there had been that look the Director had shot over Gibbs’ shoulder, one that had been directed at McGee, he was certain.
Had their eyes connected? Perhaps they had shared something in that look, some expression of pure understanding arcing between them in a bolt of something electric. Something that he had missed, dammit, because Leon Vance specialized in being unreadable and he hadn’t been facing Tim, who could be understood in a glance.
His palms were itching. Gibbs shoved his hands in his pockets to quell them. He would not hit the emergency stop switch. No interrogation was taking place. Tim hadn’t done anything wrong. Surely, he had not seen anything strange in the Director’s office.
His nerves were still jangling.
"This is stupid."
McGee’s voice was soft, but it still cut through the air, suddenly heavy with some sort of weight. His hand flickered through Gibbs’ vision and hit the emergency stop switch.
Jethro let out a quiet breath. The choice had been taken from him now, even if the responsibility had not.
Then he directed his attention to McGee, who was already starting to bristle. Gibbs had a brief and amusing mental image of an orange tabby cat puffing out its fur and hissing. It took some effort not to smile, which would surely have set off a negative reaction.
He cut Tim off before he could open his mouth. "Do you like Director Vance, McGee?"
The question didn’t come as surprise. Gibbs felt his gut twist into a strange shape as McGee pressed his mouth into a thin line.
"I respect him," he replied.
"It isn’t the same thing."
"I know that."
The itching in his palms had increased to a fever pitch. But he didn’t know what he wanted to do with them, except perhaps grab McGee by the shoulders and shake him like a rag doll for being recalcitrant.
"It doesn’t matter whether or not I like him," McGee said. "He’s the Director."
It matters to me. Gibbs bit off the retort, but only just barely. Tim always required some delicate handling.
"He seems to pretty fond of you, all things considered. Though I suppose it’s a plus that you’re not trying to stick a knife in his back."
"So what if he likes me?"
(Did Tim’s eyes flick to the left?)
"Let’s call it self interest. I worry, Tim, it’s my job."
(McGee only lied when there was something vital at stake. What was it this time? Jethro was reminded that he hated secrets.)
"I don’t think he’s the type to play favorites."
"Leon Vance redefines ‘impartial.’ That’s not what bothers me."
"So...what is it?" And then McGee lets out disdainful snort. "Don’t tell me you’re worried I’m hanging out with the wrong crowd."
(It touched a nerve, he wouldn’t lie about that. But he still couldn’t overcome the dreaded twisting in his gut.)
Jethro clenched his hidden hands into fists. "You two seem close, is all I’m getting at."
Something went still in Tim’s expression. The emergency stop switch went back to its normal position and the elevator lights shot back to life.
"Director Vance came to visit me a lot more often," McGee said. The unfinished ‘a lot more often than you,’ hung in the air.
Gibbs opened his mouth to say something. The elevator doors chose to open at that moment, (of course, because his life wasn’t difficult enough) giving McGee an avenue of escape.
He watched Tim beat a trail through the small crowd at the door. Shutting his eyes, he leaned his head back against the wall.
So what’s your game, Leon?