FIC: P2: Rock and a Hard Place 1/10
Title: Paws 2: Rock and a Hard Place 1/10
Or: Ten Relationship Rules
Author: KathGrey
Rating: NC-17
Pairing:Gibbs/DiNozzo
Genre:slash
Category:Shifter!fic, AU, romance
Disclaimer:Not mine, not making me any money, just for fun.
Summary: Getting to know each other is hard. Especially if communication is not your strong suit and a case hits a little bit too close to home.
Beta read by wintermute_lj. She put some needed polish on the text, something I am very grateful for. It is much smoother and riddled with less errors now. All remaining mistakes are my own. This fic is essentially plotted through and will be hopefully updated regularly.
Author's note: Sequel to Paws for Christmas. For the sake of this story (and since I got really confused when I tried to
research housing options for the U.S. Army Garrison Miami) please accept my invention
of a gated military housing community in Homestead, Florida.
.-#-.
Rule 1: Take your partner's problems seriously
January 2004
Tony primly folded his hands in his lap, sat there, on his prescribed low bench seat
with his legs closed and folded half under him; with his shoulders proudly straight and
his head bent, he was the picture of elegant attentiveness. Or he would be if not for
one big out of place detail: instead of demurely lowering his eyes (and since when was
he a blushing virgin debutante, for fucks sake!), he was gleefully watching the other
two occupants in the conference room. After having been told for two days - to the
amusement of the rest of the team - of 'don't whine, it can't be that bad', 'see it as
training in selective hearing', and Tony's personal favorite 'just shut your trap and get
it over with', there was nothing quite as satisfying as watching Gibbs fail to use his own
advice less than five minutes into their first joined session of 'Basic Rules for Feline
Owners'.
After the Shepard debacle someone in the Feline Division of the Secret Service had
convinced the President that having a half-trained Feline and an owner who was
ignorant of the rules out in public might not be the best of ideas. Which resulted in
Agent Justine Pope-Leyton showing up at NCIS with the order to give the pair a crash
course.
His dear owner, lover and boss, one Leroy Jethro Gibbs, was at this very moment eying
their instructor with the expression normally reserved for particularly moronic recruits
after he arrested them - like the one that was at the moment waiting downstairs to be
processed. “I don't care if it is traditional! It's a hazard in the field.”
Yep, scathing and incredulous both. Tony lowered his head a little bit more to conceal
his twitching mouth. The glittering eyes he could get away with. Smirking? Not so much.
He didn't want another half-hour long lecture about inappropriate facial expressions for
a Feline in public or mixed company.
Agent Justine Pope-Leyton, clothed in a very fine Yves Saint-Lauren pant suit, raised
an unimpressed elegantly formed eyebrow and let her pen hit the clipboard in her
other hand just once, then sat both things aside. “Special Agent Gibbs, you have been
ordered to attend this course to learn the correct way to handle your Feline so further
unfortunate incidents can be avoided. I would really recommend that you cooperate
and heed my advice. I am not trying to be difficult on principle but I have a lot of
experience training Felines. It is really a pity that A'thon pretended to be stuck in his cat
form and thus had missed out on the full training,” she upped the force of her glare.
“Unfortunately A'thon doesn't seem to be the only one here who does not want to
follow the rules. The traditional collars are known by every Law enforcement agencies
and police departments. We made sure to send them refresher information with the
pertinent descriptions this week so everyone who sees an owned Feline will recognize
them as such and react accordingly.”
Tony sighed. Nearly all of the LEOs he had met on cases simply didn't give a damn about
his little extra characteristics beyond the first startled stare at his eyes. The few who had
sneered, they weren't worth the hassle of remembering them longer than the span of
their investigation. Generally everyone they met was far too busy being annoyed with
or, depending on the officer, scared of his cantankerous boss. In fact, most of them
were quite happy that Tony had taken on the task of playing buffer between the NCIS
team and the locals. If Tony hadn't gotten to know Gibbs and his moods so well, he
would have suspected that their leader behaved that way on purpose to present Tony
as a sort of lesser evil.
Chances were good that all this new information pamphlet would accomplish was to
make the situation worse. Pope-Leyton meant well; she had always been one of the
nicer trainers at the Stables - or the Center, as it was called now according to her - but
despite her Secret Service background she just didn't seem to get that she was not
dealing with a typical Owner-Feline pairing. All the traditional training in the Feline
world wouldn't have prepared him for working side by side with a Navy Cop. Tony was a
working cat, not a high society puss!
At least now he would be able to share his blight with his partner. And no, despite
what Gibbs had said, this was nothing like one of the mandatory procedure or sexual
harassment lectures every Agent had to endure from time to time!
When Gibbs had entered the room Tony already had an hour of refresher training
behind him and, gloating internally, had followed the instruction's orders for proper
behavior nearly to the letter, just to give his partner a demonstration of what he had
had to endure. Gibbs entered the room and pressed his lips into an uncompromising
line after one look at the set-up of the room and another, longer look at Tony. The older
man preferred to lean against the table, instead of sitting down on the regular chair that
stood beside and slightly in front of the lower bench seat Tony was occupying at the
moment.
The regular furniture had been removed but for one smaller table at the far side of the
room which served as Agent Pope-Leyton's desk; the area in the middle was being used
for training and demonstration. A dining table, complete with plates, glasses and the
works, had been set-up alongside a desk and a couch. Heck, someone had dragged two
field beds into the room, put a down comforter over it and enough pillows to make any
teenaged girl giggle in glee plus some other additions that made Tony want to puke
whenever he looked at it.
Gibbs shoved his hands into his pant pockets. “I don't care if your collars are traditional.
On a human, wound around their throat and worn openly, they sparkle. You just don't
give a criminal that kind of easy target. It's a basic rule every LEO and Agent knows. And
that doesn't touch the issue of the break link not working when the collar is used that
way.” he coldly pointed out.
The not so hidden insult glided off the woman like water off a duck. “That is another
point you might want to rethink: people are simply not used to seeing a Feline in
human form in public and especially not as a member of an investigative team. It causes
unnecessary conflicts and can endanger A'thon. Think of the reason I was sent here.”
The grin died on Tony's lips and he made an aborted move to touch his left cheek. The
marks there had faded and were no longer visible, but they were well remembered.
Unnecessary conflicts, his ass. Madam Director had been bat-shit, short and simple; it
had nothing to do with Tony.
Pope-Leyton hadn't been mean or overly condescending with him the last two days, just
very insistent on what she saw as correct behavior. Tony guessed that it hadn't been
Major William's decision to send such a traditionally minded instructor specifically - the
Major had more sense than that. It had to have been the brainchild of the same idiot
that thought these lessons were important in the first place. Someone on the Hill was
not happy with how the Center was developing. Too bad.
No matter how much Tony had grumbled and complained to the rest of the team,
he had done his best to simply weather this small storm. Knowing that her opinion
wouldn't matter in the end, that it was Gibbs' word that counted and not hers, had
made it bearable. Now she threatened to take away a job he had grown to love within
the five weeks he had lived and worked with Gibbs. Did she have the power of taking
away his humanity in public by making it an official order?
“The President himself approved of my decision to take Tony into the field; he even
agree to send him to FLETC for courses. And that incident with our former Director had
more to do with her obsession with me and less with him running around on two feet
instead of four.” Gibbs pointed out.
“I read the report, of course, and I concede that it was a highly unusual situation that is
unlikely to reoccur in the future, but-” the woman made a gesture to Tony, like he was
exhibit A in a lecture, “you can't deny that the way A'thon appeared in her presence
aggravated the situation. She wouldn't have been as jealous of a tiger. Knowing that
someone has another, possibly attractive form and seeing it are two very different
things.”
“I wasn't open to her advances. At all. And I won't deny him his choice of how he wants
to appear just to spare some fragile sensibilities,” Gibbs shot back and it made Tony's
heart swell with warm feelings.
“Have you asked him if he wants to expose himself to constant scrutiny and
uncomfortable reactions of total strangers?”
Now, wasn't that a clever way to make it sound like anyone who wanted to stay in
human form must have lost his marbles, and it was just evil Gibbs' inconsiderate orders
that forced his poor Feline to expose himself to harm? Tony could very well answer for
himself, and from the way Gibbs cocked his head as soon as he moved and opened his
mouth, the older man had waited for Tony to join the conversation and stop acting like
a decorative piece of furniture. Tony stood up and took his place beside his boss.
“Yes, he did ask,” he firmly stated and watched the way her eyes narrowed.
Gibbs had given him the choice. Well, kind of. On his first day as a human Gibbs had
ordered him to come with the older man to the office, but it had had more to do with
his morphing illness than form preferences. And later...
“And Agent Pope-Leyton, He hasn't pressured me at all, it is me wanting to be useful,
to fill my day with more than just being an ornament, that made me try to become a
full member of Gibbs team, instead of just a tag-along. I like helping my team, I like
investigating and solving crimes.”
Sometimes, though, like during this case last week where they didn't get to go home
for 75 hours straight, he wouldn't have minded crawling under his desk and sleeping in
his tiger form instead of doing that as a human. His tiger didn't mind hard floors. “Most
people at NCIS are used to me by now; they were just curious and unused to a Feline.”
“But the general public is more used to see Felines in their cat forms and it would be-”
Gibbs sharply nodded in direction of the improvised double bed and the disgusting nest
of blankets at its foot, cutting her off at her argument that ran in circles anyways. “This
does not look like you are restricting your lecture to the public domain either, does it?”
More like wanting to dictate each and every aspect of their lives - at least that's what it
looked like to Tony.
“Those are needed for my overall assessment of the living situation. Where does A'thon
sleep? Where does he eat? You refused to give me access to your home, Agent Gibbs, so
I am unable to directly observe how you deal with the challenges of properly managing
a Feline by yourself.”
Out of the frying pan... Tony could practically feel the fury pouring out of every pore of
his boss. Gibbs was fiercely protective of his private domain, so of course he wouldn't
allow some nosy stranger into his home.
“His name is Tony. And where he sleeps is. Not. Your. Business.” Gibbs slowly and
precisely pronounced the last three words.
Pope-Leyton stiffened, pinned down by the unrelenting expression in the icy blue eyes
staring back at her.
Would she be diplomatic and sensible enough to let go of Gibbs’ proverbial tiger tail, or
would she risk being mauled? Gibbs didn't need fur, claws or predator's teeth to make
someone scramble to back away slowly and carefully - it was a skill Tony envied.
Fortunately Gibbs didn't know about some of the sections in the questionnaire Tony had
been asked to fill out yesterday and hand back at the end of the lectures. A document
that now rested in the bottom drawer of Tony's desk and which he had decided to
ignore for as long as possible. And maybe, just accidentally, let it fall into a shredder.
No paper pusher at The Hill needed to know the answers to some of those questions to
judge if Tony needed refresher training in all areas.
Apparently the female agent had some sense of self-preservation that won over her
etiquette outrage, making her back off a little bit. “Let's concentrate on the public
aspects for now. You do not seem to entertain much at home so that part would have
played a minor role in my instructions anyway. Back to the collar.”
Her eyes, only daring to stray away from the scowling Special Agent for a brief moment,
honed in on the simple dog tag chain around Tony's neck and it made him raise a hand
and curl his fingers protectively around the old chain. The woman had demanded that
he showed his platinum tag openly at all times. The way her eyes bulged when she saw
what the precious small plate was hanging on had been alarming. Tony had feared that
she would have a heart attack, and there was no doubt in his mind that whoever had
sent her would have blamed him for it.
There had been days in the past when he had worn his Feline tag on his old collar
openly, outside of his clothes for everyone to see and know whom not to fuck with, but
after the holidays? No way. This chain had been a present and some things just were not
for every Joe and Jane to gawk at.
“I don't let him out of my sight in the field. He is still very much at the beginning of his
training as an investigator and I always have his ownership papers with me. Tony can
easily pull the tag out if someone thinks they have a need to see it. After first dealing
with me,” Gibbs growled. “Sacrificing focus and security for propriety's sake does not
make any sense. We're generally operating on Marine and Navy property, not high
society events. Your counter arguments?”
That had been, for Gibbs' standard, a long speech.
Their unasked for and unwanted etiquette instructor took a deep, deep breath. Of
course she didn't answer Gibbs questions. “That brings me to my next point. You
represent someone who is affiliated with the White House and the President, and thus
have to match certain standards; that is in the rules you signed, Special Agent Gibbs. It
reflects badly on everyone involved if that image is not met. I don't suggest that he runs
around in dress shoes and a full designer suit, that would be impractical with the work
you do, but these...” she helplessly waved her hand up and down to point at Tony's
simple winter shoes, his favorite brown slacks and the simple but well fitting beige turtle
neck pullover he was wearing today.
At one point in his past Tony had only known how the softest wool, silk and cotton
with an insanely high thread count felt on his skin. He wouldn't say no if some Zegna
suit appeared like magic in his half of the wardrobe, but he couldn't help but bristle in
annoyance when this woman dismissed what he was wearing now like it was essentially
trash. It would take months until every detail was smoothed out bureaucratically
concerning his working as a full team member at NCIS. Details like his salary. One reason
why the Feline had tried to play nice with this aggravating woman had been so that
nobody would raise a stink and delay the mills of bureaucracy further. At the moment
Tony was listed as an unpaid consultant, and he was still a long way off from being able
to add something to the Gibbs' household finances or affording designer clothes.
Pope-Leyton acted like Gibbs was mistreating by forcing him to endure inferior clothes
and that was not true. Gibbs could be a right bastard and gave a flying fuck about
pandering to anyone's sensibilities, agents and Feline alike, but Gibbs was, in his own
way, quite considerate in their private life.
It had been strange - and produced a warm tingling feeling whenever Tony remembered
- to watch the taciturn man point at an aisle in Sears and order him to just snatch
whatever he liked and needed. Gibbs would hover, all the while scowling at everyone
and everything as the younger man selected items of the rack, but he had never
complained or told him to put something back. And those slacks she was eying like they
came out of a rummage bin, they might indeed be second hand and not very expensive,
but they did nice things for Tony's ass, judging by the way Gibbs always stilled and
spared him a look whenever Tony opened the lower drawers of the filing cabinet; and
they had been Gibbs' first!
The Feline would never tell anyone, not for kind words nor under torture, that after his
first 'human day' at work - and after Gibbs had retired into his own room - Tony had
gotten up in the middle of the night and retrieved the borrowed clothes he had worn
during the day, rubbing his cheek against the soft material of the sweater and stroking
the wrinkles out of the slacks. The sweater he never wore to work anymore; he’d only
wear it at home because he didn't want to risk ruining it at a crime scene.
Before Tony could give Pope-Leyton a piece of his mind - and judging from the hard line
of Gibbs' lips suggested that he wasn't the only one who wanted to - a loud standard
ring tone broke the tense silence. His boss pulled out his cell phone, squinted at the
display and, without sparing the Secret Service Agent an excuse, answered the call with
a terse 'Gibbs'.
The call lasted longer than Gibbs' normal phone conversations, and when his boss
uttered a polite “Yes, Sir. I understand.” Tony's eyebrows rose until they nearly touched
the fringe of his hair.
“Of course. Please tell them to send everything to my e-mail account. We're on our
way,” the lead agent closed his phone before turning his attention to the scowling
woman. “Excuse us, we have a case. I'll call Major Williams when we have time for you
again.”
“You can't just break off this sessions at will for a random case! The President himself
gave the order to instruct you on the common etiquette concerning Felines!”
Gibbs had already been halfway to the door, Tony at his heels and he didn't turn around
to answer her. “Who do you think just called me?”
Another two steps and he shut the door from the outside.
.-#-.
Chapter 2 -->>
Or: Ten Relationship Rules
Author: KathGrey
Rating: NC-17
Pairing:Gibbs/DiNozzo
Genre:slash
Category:Shifter!fic, AU, romance
Disclaimer:Not mine, not making me any money, just for fun.
Summary: Getting to know each other is hard. Especially if communication is not your strong suit and a case hits a little bit too close to home.
Beta read by wintermute_lj. She put some needed polish on the text, something I am very grateful for. It is much smoother and riddled with less errors now. All remaining mistakes are my own. This fic is essentially plotted through and will be hopefully updated regularly.
Author's note: Sequel to Paws for Christmas. For the sake of this story (and since I got really confused when I tried to
research housing options for the U.S. Army Garrison Miami) please accept my invention
of a gated military housing community in Homestead, Florida.
.-#-.
Rule 1: Take your partner's problems seriously
January 2004
Tony primly folded his hands in his lap, sat there, on his prescribed low bench seat
with his legs closed and folded half under him; with his shoulders proudly straight and
his head bent, he was the picture of elegant attentiveness. Or he would be if not for
one big out of place detail: instead of demurely lowering his eyes (and since when was
he a blushing virgin debutante, for fucks sake!), he was gleefully watching the other
two occupants in the conference room. After having been told for two days - to the
amusement of the rest of the team - of 'don't whine, it can't be that bad', 'see it as
training in selective hearing', and Tony's personal favorite 'just shut your trap and get
it over with', there was nothing quite as satisfying as watching Gibbs fail to use his own
advice less than five minutes into their first joined session of 'Basic Rules for Feline
Owners'.
After the Shepard debacle someone in the Feline Division of the Secret Service had
convinced the President that having a half-trained Feline and an owner who was
ignorant of the rules out in public might not be the best of ideas. Which resulted in
Agent Justine Pope-Leyton showing up at NCIS with the order to give the pair a crash
course.
His dear owner, lover and boss, one Leroy Jethro Gibbs, was at this very moment eying
their instructor with the expression normally reserved for particularly moronic recruits
after he arrested them - like the one that was at the moment waiting downstairs to be
processed. “I don't care if it is traditional! It's a hazard in the field.”
Yep, scathing and incredulous both. Tony lowered his head a little bit more to conceal
his twitching mouth. The glittering eyes he could get away with. Smirking? Not so much.
He didn't want another half-hour long lecture about inappropriate facial expressions for
a Feline in public or mixed company.
Agent Justine Pope-Leyton, clothed in a very fine Yves Saint-Lauren pant suit, raised
an unimpressed elegantly formed eyebrow and let her pen hit the clipboard in her
other hand just once, then sat both things aside. “Special Agent Gibbs, you have been
ordered to attend this course to learn the correct way to handle your Feline so further
unfortunate incidents can be avoided. I would really recommend that you cooperate
and heed my advice. I am not trying to be difficult on principle but I have a lot of
experience training Felines. It is really a pity that A'thon pretended to be stuck in his cat
form and thus had missed out on the full training,” she upped the force of her glare.
“Unfortunately A'thon doesn't seem to be the only one here who does not want to
follow the rules. The traditional collars are known by every Law enforcement agencies
and police departments. We made sure to send them refresher information with the
pertinent descriptions this week so everyone who sees an owned Feline will recognize
them as such and react accordingly.”
Tony sighed. Nearly all of the LEOs he had met on cases simply didn't give a damn about
his little extra characteristics beyond the first startled stare at his eyes. The few who had
sneered, they weren't worth the hassle of remembering them longer than the span of
their investigation. Generally everyone they met was far too busy being annoyed with
or, depending on the officer, scared of his cantankerous boss. In fact, most of them
were quite happy that Tony had taken on the task of playing buffer between the NCIS
team and the locals. If Tony hadn't gotten to know Gibbs and his moods so well, he
would have suspected that their leader behaved that way on purpose to present Tony
as a sort of lesser evil.
Chances were good that all this new information pamphlet would accomplish was to
make the situation worse. Pope-Leyton meant well; she had always been one of the
nicer trainers at the Stables - or the Center, as it was called now according to her - but
despite her Secret Service background she just didn't seem to get that she was not
dealing with a typical Owner-Feline pairing. All the traditional training in the Feline
world wouldn't have prepared him for working side by side with a Navy Cop. Tony was a
working cat, not a high society puss!
At least now he would be able to share his blight with his partner. And no, despite
what Gibbs had said, this was nothing like one of the mandatory procedure or sexual
harassment lectures every Agent had to endure from time to time!
When Gibbs had entered the room Tony already had an hour of refresher training
behind him and, gloating internally, had followed the instruction's orders for proper
behavior nearly to the letter, just to give his partner a demonstration of what he had
had to endure. Gibbs entered the room and pressed his lips into an uncompromising
line after one look at the set-up of the room and another, longer look at Tony. The older
man preferred to lean against the table, instead of sitting down on the regular chair that
stood beside and slightly in front of the lower bench seat Tony was occupying at the
moment.
The regular furniture had been removed but for one smaller table at the far side of the
room which served as Agent Pope-Leyton's desk; the area in the middle was being used
for training and demonstration. A dining table, complete with plates, glasses and the
works, had been set-up alongside a desk and a couch. Heck, someone had dragged two
field beds into the room, put a down comforter over it and enough pillows to make any
teenaged girl giggle in glee plus some other additions that made Tony want to puke
whenever he looked at it.
Gibbs shoved his hands into his pant pockets. “I don't care if your collars are traditional.
On a human, wound around their throat and worn openly, they sparkle. You just don't
give a criminal that kind of easy target. It's a basic rule every LEO and Agent knows. And
that doesn't touch the issue of the break link not working when the collar is used that
way.” he coldly pointed out.
The not so hidden insult glided off the woman like water off a duck. “That is another
point you might want to rethink: people are simply not used to seeing a Feline in
human form in public and especially not as a member of an investigative team. It causes
unnecessary conflicts and can endanger A'thon. Think of the reason I was sent here.”
The grin died on Tony's lips and he made an aborted move to touch his left cheek. The
marks there had faded and were no longer visible, but they were well remembered.
Unnecessary conflicts, his ass. Madam Director had been bat-shit, short and simple; it
had nothing to do with Tony.
Pope-Leyton hadn't been mean or overly condescending with him the last two days, just
very insistent on what she saw as correct behavior. Tony guessed that it hadn't been
Major William's decision to send such a traditionally minded instructor specifically - the
Major had more sense than that. It had to have been the brainchild of the same idiot
that thought these lessons were important in the first place. Someone on the Hill was
not happy with how the Center was developing. Too bad.
No matter how much Tony had grumbled and complained to the rest of the team,
he had done his best to simply weather this small storm. Knowing that her opinion
wouldn't matter in the end, that it was Gibbs' word that counted and not hers, had
made it bearable. Now she threatened to take away a job he had grown to love within
the five weeks he had lived and worked with Gibbs. Did she have the power of taking
away his humanity in public by making it an official order?
“The President himself approved of my decision to take Tony into the field; he even
agree to send him to FLETC for courses. And that incident with our former Director had
more to do with her obsession with me and less with him running around on two feet
instead of four.” Gibbs pointed out.
“I read the report, of course, and I concede that it was a highly unusual situation that is
unlikely to reoccur in the future, but-” the woman made a gesture to Tony, like he was
exhibit A in a lecture, “you can't deny that the way A'thon appeared in her presence
aggravated the situation. She wouldn't have been as jealous of a tiger. Knowing that
someone has another, possibly attractive form and seeing it are two very different
things.”
“I wasn't open to her advances. At all. And I won't deny him his choice of how he wants
to appear just to spare some fragile sensibilities,” Gibbs shot back and it made Tony's
heart swell with warm feelings.
“Have you asked him if he wants to expose himself to constant scrutiny and
uncomfortable reactions of total strangers?”
Now, wasn't that a clever way to make it sound like anyone who wanted to stay in
human form must have lost his marbles, and it was just evil Gibbs' inconsiderate orders
that forced his poor Feline to expose himself to harm? Tony could very well answer for
himself, and from the way Gibbs cocked his head as soon as he moved and opened his
mouth, the older man had waited for Tony to join the conversation and stop acting like
a decorative piece of furniture. Tony stood up and took his place beside his boss.
“Yes, he did ask,” he firmly stated and watched the way her eyes narrowed.
Gibbs had given him the choice. Well, kind of. On his first day as a human Gibbs had
ordered him to come with the older man to the office, but it had had more to do with
his morphing illness than form preferences. And later...
“And Agent Pope-Leyton, He hasn't pressured me at all, it is me wanting to be useful,
to fill my day with more than just being an ornament, that made me try to become a
full member of Gibbs team, instead of just a tag-along. I like helping my team, I like
investigating and solving crimes.”
Sometimes, though, like during this case last week where they didn't get to go home
for 75 hours straight, he wouldn't have minded crawling under his desk and sleeping in
his tiger form instead of doing that as a human. His tiger didn't mind hard floors. “Most
people at NCIS are used to me by now; they were just curious and unused to a Feline.”
“But the general public is more used to see Felines in their cat forms and it would be-”
Gibbs sharply nodded in direction of the improvised double bed and the disgusting nest
of blankets at its foot, cutting her off at her argument that ran in circles anyways. “This
does not look like you are restricting your lecture to the public domain either, does it?”
More like wanting to dictate each and every aspect of their lives - at least that's what it
looked like to Tony.
“Those are needed for my overall assessment of the living situation. Where does A'thon
sleep? Where does he eat? You refused to give me access to your home, Agent Gibbs, so
I am unable to directly observe how you deal with the challenges of properly managing
a Feline by yourself.”
Out of the frying pan... Tony could practically feel the fury pouring out of every pore of
his boss. Gibbs was fiercely protective of his private domain, so of course he wouldn't
allow some nosy stranger into his home.
“His name is Tony. And where he sleeps is. Not. Your. Business.” Gibbs slowly and
precisely pronounced the last three words.
Pope-Leyton stiffened, pinned down by the unrelenting expression in the icy blue eyes
staring back at her.
Would she be diplomatic and sensible enough to let go of Gibbs’ proverbial tiger tail, or
would she risk being mauled? Gibbs didn't need fur, claws or predator's teeth to make
someone scramble to back away slowly and carefully - it was a skill Tony envied.
Fortunately Gibbs didn't know about some of the sections in the questionnaire Tony had
been asked to fill out yesterday and hand back at the end of the lectures. A document
that now rested in the bottom drawer of Tony's desk and which he had decided to
ignore for as long as possible. And maybe, just accidentally, let it fall into a shredder.
No paper pusher at The Hill needed to know the answers to some of those questions to
judge if Tony needed refresher training in all areas.
Apparently the female agent had some sense of self-preservation that won over her
etiquette outrage, making her back off a little bit. “Let's concentrate on the public
aspects for now. You do not seem to entertain much at home so that part would have
played a minor role in my instructions anyway. Back to the collar.”
Her eyes, only daring to stray away from the scowling Special Agent for a brief moment,
honed in on the simple dog tag chain around Tony's neck and it made him raise a hand
and curl his fingers protectively around the old chain. The woman had demanded that
he showed his platinum tag openly at all times. The way her eyes bulged when she saw
what the precious small plate was hanging on had been alarming. Tony had feared that
she would have a heart attack, and there was no doubt in his mind that whoever had
sent her would have blamed him for it.
There had been days in the past when he had worn his Feline tag on his old collar
openly, outside of his clothes for everyone to see and know whom not to fuck with, but
after the holidays? No way. This chain had been a present and some things just were not
for every Joe and Jane to gawk at.
“I don't let him out of my sight in the field. He is still very much at the beginning of his
training as an investigator and I always have his ownership papers with me. Tony can
easily pull the tag out if someone thinks they have a need to see it. After first dealing
with me,” Gibbs growled. “Sacrificing focus and security for propriety's sake does not
make any sense. We're generally operating on Marine and Navy property, not high
society events. Your counter arguments?”
That had been, for Gibbs' standard, a long speech.
Their unasked for and unwanted etiquette instructor took a deep, deep breath. Of
course she didn't answer Gibbs questions. “That brings me to my next point. You
represent someone who is affiliated with the White House and the President, and thus
have to match certain standards; that is in the rules you signed, Special Agent Gibbs. It
reflects badly on everyone involved if that image is not met. I don't suggest that he runs
around in dress shoes and a full designer suit, that would be impractical with the work
you do, but these...” she helplessly waved her hand up and down to point at Tony's
simple winter shoes, his favorite brown slacks and the simple but well fitting beige turtle
neck pullover he was wearing today.
At one point in his past Tony had only known how the softest wool, silk and cotton
with an insanely high thread count felt on his skin. He wouldn't say no if some Zegna
suit appeared like magic in his half of the wardrobe, but he couldn't help but bristle in
annoyance when this woman dismissed what he was wearing now like it was essentially
trash. It would take months until every detail was smoothed out bureaucratically
concerning his working as a full team member at NCIS. Details like his salary. One reason
why the Feline had tried to play nice with this aggravating woman had been so that
nobody would raise a stink and delay the mills of bureaucracy further. At the moment
Tony was listed as an unpaid consultant, and he was still a long way off from being able
to add something to the Gibbs' household finances or affording designer clothes.
Pope-Leyton acted like Gibbs was mistreating by forcing him to endure inferior clothes
and that was not true. Gibbs could be a right bastard and gave a flying fuck about
pandering to anyone's sensibilities, agents and Feline alike, but Gibbs was, in his own
way, quite considerate in their private life.
It had been strange - and produced a warm tingling feeling whenever Tony remembered
- to watch the taciturn man point at an aisle in Sears and order him to just snatch
whatever he liked and needed. Gibbs would hover, all the while scowling at everyone
and everything as the younger man selected items of the rack, but he had never
complained or told him to put something back. And those slacks she was eying like they
came out of a rummage bin, they might indeed be second hand and not very expensive,
but they did nice things for Tony's ass, judging by the way Gibbs always stilled and
spared him a look whenever Tony opened the lower drawers of the filing cabinet; and
they had been Gibbs' first!
The Feline would never tell anyone, not for kind words nor under torture, that after his
first 'human day' at work - and after Gibbs had retired into his own room - Tony had
gotten up in the middle of the night and retrieved the borrowed clothes he had worn
during the day, rubbing his cheek against the soft material of the sweater and stroking
the wrinkles out of the slacks. The sweater he never wore to work anymore; he’d only
wear it at home because he didn't want to risk ruining it at a crime scene.
Before Tony could give Pope-Leyton a piece of his mind - and judging from the hard line
of Gibbs' lips suggested that he wasn't the only one who wanted to - a loud standard
ring tone broke the tense silence. His boss pulled out his cell phone, squinted at the
display and, without sparing the Secret Service Agent an excuse, answered the call with
a terse 'Gibbs'.
The call lasted longer than Gibbs' normal phone conversations, and when his boss
uttered a polite “Yes, Sir. I understand.” Tony's eyebrows rose until they nearly touched
the fringe of his hair.
“Of course. Please tell them to send everything to my e-mail account. We're on our
way,” the lead agent closed his phone before turning his attention to the scowling
woman. “Excuse us, we have a case. I'll call Major Williams when we have time for you
again.”
“You can't just break off this sessions at will for a random case! The President himself
gave the order to instruct you on the common etiquette concerning Felines!”
Gibbs had already been halfway to the door, Tony at his heels and he didn't turn around
to answer her. “Who do you think just called me?”
Another two steps and he shut the door from the outside.
.-#-.
Chapter 2 -->>