FIC: Gibbs' Barista: Hiatus Revisted - NCIS
I can't seem to stop myself!!
Title: Gibbs’ Barista: Hiatus Revisited
Author: Lyl (lyl_devil)
Rating: PG
Beta: tygermama
Disclaimer: NCIS does not belong to me, I just like to play with their characters. Also, I claim no rights to Starbucks, I just like to make fun of them.
Spoilers: Takes place at the start of S4 just after Hiatus, when we still had ‘the moustache’!!!
Summary: The further adventures of Ella, Gibbs' Starbucks barista.
Notes: Extra super duper thanks to tygermama for coming up with a list of ways to kill yourself (and others) using the barista equipment at Starbucks.
~!~
Ella’s making her forty sixth pumpkin spice latte with non-fat organic milk when she realizes that she’s going to kill someone.
For once, it’s not the staff - everyone is trained and somewhat competent and owning of an actual personality - and it’s not the customers - just the same regular caffeine addicts as any other day. It’s not that she’s nearing thirty and still working at her college job, years after she was forced to drop out of Georgetown.
It’s not even the non-fat organic milk that’s getting to her, because they go through more non-fat organic milk than all the other milk combined, and she’s gotten used to the weird smell it makes when you steam it at a hundred degrees.
No. It’s the fact that this is her forty sixth non-fat, organic milk, pumpkin spice latte this morning, and it’s barely half past seven. She’s been counting.
It’s barely October and the pumpkin latte craze has hit the DC Starbucks crowd. Ella hates it.
Pumpkin is only good for carving and for pie. And occasionally a yummy cake with chocolate chips, but it’s the chocolate chips that make it acceptable. It should not be used to ruin perfectly good espresso and milk, no matter the season or the type of milk.
Starbucks has ruined eggnog for her, too. She has a whole ‘nother month before that monstrosity hits, so she’ll worry about it then. Right now, the pumpkin latte is the bane of her existence.
As she’s trying to decide whether stabbing someone with the thermometer or drowning them in the wash sink would be more effective, a familiar and long missed voiced grabs her attention.
“Coffee. Black.”
Looking up in surprise, Ella smiles for the first time all day at the sight of Gibbs at her counter, and she starts to make his order before it’s even been called. It may have been several months - five months, two weeks, four days - but her hands remember even if it’s taking her brain a bit to catch up.
She hears Zoe at the cash start to question him about his order, and it startles Ella for a second. Zoe may be an old hand at this, but she started working mornings after Gibbs stopped coming, so has no idea that he’s a regular.
“Zoe, I got this,” Ella calls out, hoping to forestall a confrontation. Kevin, working the other register, leans over and punches the order into Zoe’s terminal before turning back to his own. Zoe looks startled for a few seconds, but is quick to catch on and go with the flow. It’s one of the reasons why if Shona had to quit, Ella’s glad Zoe got moved up from afternoons.
Gibbs’ looks thrown for an instant, but pays and moves to the end of the counter to wait for his coffee. Ella is quick as always, and soon has his standard cup of caffeine sitting in front of him and his godawful moustache.
“Nice to see you again, Gibbs,” she says, trying desperately not to sound like the infatuated, food service worker she totally isn’t. She may have been a little depressed when he stopped coming around, but that wasn’t due to any misplaced romantic feelings.
He just reminds her of her father. Just a little bit. It has to be the military in him. She doesn’t know what service or how long ago, but she can tell a military man a mile away.
This particular military man is eyeing her and his coffee suspiciously.
“Something wrong?” she asks, frowning in confusion. It may have been more than five months, but he can’t have forgotten her completely.
He watches her through narrowed eyes for a minute, before coming to some sort of decision.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he tells her, “but have I been here before?”
Now it’s her turn to eye him suspiciously, with a healthy dose of worry added in.
“Every day, for more than five and a half years,” she tells him slowly. “Except for the past few months.”
He closes his eyes at that bit of information, and she wonders at it. Not remembering an event that occurred on a daily basis for more than five years is a cause of some concern for her. And to him as well, it seems.
He appears to come to some kind of decision, because he opens his eyes and says in a soft voice, “Had an accident a few months ago. Head injury. Lost my memory for awhile.”
Ella doesn’t know what to say to that, so doesn’t even try.
“Thought I had it all back,” he adds quietly, looking away.
“Hey,” she says, grabbing his attention. “Sounds like your brains got scrambled pretty good. It takes time for everything to fall back into place, and what doesn’t go easily requires a little nudge.”
“A nudge? Is that what I should call you?” he asks, one of his little smiles curving his mouth.
“Call me whatever you want, but just remember that I’m the one making your coffee in the mornings,” she tells him, a matching smile on her face.
“So is this what we do in the mornings? Talk?” he asks, deliberately changing the subject.
“Oh hell, no,” she laughs. “I make you a dark, hot and strong coffee, occasionally make you try new blends - which you tend to like,” she adds, “and you weed out the weak ones for me.” She finishes with a gesture over her shoulder at the rest of the staff, hoping her point gets across. By the smirk on his face, it apparently does.
“This is the longest conversation we’ve ever had,” she tells him. “In fact, I think this one beats out all the other ones combined.”
“At least I know you’re not lying,” he admits as he picks up the cup of coffee. He brings it up for his ritual sniff, then stiffens and blinks. When he looks at her, there’s something like recognition in his eyes, and a long forgotten neuroscience lecture on the neural pathways linking scent to memory comes to mind.
“Ella?” he asks, tentative and questioning.
She doesn’t know whether to be pleased that he remembers her, or irritated that he associates her existence with extra bold Sumatra. She decides on the former, and goes with the grinning course of action.
“Enjoy your coffee, you addict,” she says, waving primly at his mock glare.
“And shave off that moustache,” she calls out as he walks away, and this time the glare he shoots over his shoulder is real.
She still can’t stop grinning, and doesn’t think anything can dent her good mood.
“Grande, non-fat organic pumpkin spice latte.”
Nope. Not even that.
END
Next up: DiNozzo and McGee go on a coffee run!
Title: Gibbs’ Barista: Hiatus Revisited
Author: Lyl (lyl_devil)
Rating: PG
Beta: tygermama
Disclaimer: NCIS does not belong to me, I just like to play with their characters. Also, I claim no rights to Starbucks, I just like to make fun of them.
Spoilers: Takes place at the start of S4 just after Hiatus, when we still had ‘the moustache’!!!
Summary: The further adventures of Ella, Gibbs' Starbucks barista.
Notes: Extra super duper thanks to tygermama for coming up with a list of ways to kill yourself (and others) using the barista equipment at Starbucks.
~!~
Ella’s making her forty sixth pumpkin spice latte with non-fat organic milk when she realizes that she’s going to kill someone.
For once, it’s not the staff - everyone is trained and somewhat competent and owning of an actual personality - and it’s not the customers - just the same regular caffeine addicts as any other day. It’s not that she’s nearing thirty and still working at her college job, years after she was forced to drop out of Georgetown.
It’s not even the non-fat organic milk that’s getting to her, because they go through more non-fat organic milk than all the other milk combined, and she’s gotten used to the weird smell it makes when you steam it at a hundred degrees.
No. It’s the fact that this is her forty sixth non-fat, organic milk, pumpkin spice latte this morning, and it’s barely half past seven. She’s been counting.
It’s barely October and the pumpkin latte craze has hit the DC Starbucks crowd. Ella hates it.
Pumpkin is only good for carving and for pie. And occasionally a yummy cake with chocolate chips, but it’s the chocolate chips that make it acceptable. It should not be used to ruin perfectly good espresso and milk, no matter the season or the type of milk.
Starbucks has ruined eggnog for her, too. She has a whole ‘nother month before that monstrosity hits, so she’ll worry about it then. Right now, the pumpkin latte is the bane of her existence.
As she’s trying to decide whether stabbing someone with the thermometer or drowning them in the wash sink would be more effective, a familiar and long missed voiced grabs her attention.
“Coffee. Black.”
Looking up in surprise, Ella smiles for the first time all day at the sight of Gibbs at her counter, and she starts to make his order before it’s even been called. It may have been several months - five months, two weeks, four days - but her hands remember even if it’s taking her brain a bit to catch up.
She hears Zoe at the cash start to question him about his order, and it startles Ella for a second. Zoe may be an old hand at this, but she started working mornings after Gibbs stopped coming, so has no idea that he’s a regular.
“Zoe, I got this,” Ella calls out, hoping to forestall a confrontation. Kevin, working the other register, leans over and punches the order into Zoe’s terminal before turning back to his own. Zoe looks startled for a few seconds, but is quick to catch on and go with the flow. It’s one of the reasons why if Shona had to quit, Ella’s glad Zoe got moved up from afternoons.
Gibbs’ looks thrown for an instant, but pays and moves to the end of the counter to wait for his coffee. Ella is quick as always, and soon has his standard cup of caffeine sitting in front of him and his godawful moustache.
“Nice to see you again, Gibbs,” she says, trying desperately not to sound like the infatuated, food service worker she totally isn’t. She may have been a little depressed when he stopped coming around, but that wasn’t due to any misplaced romantic feelings.
He just reminds her of her father. Just a little bit. It has to be the military in him. She doesn’t know what service or how long ago, but she can tell a military man a mile away.
This particular military man is eyeing her and his coffee suspiciously.
“Something wrong?” she asks, frowning in confusion. It may have been more than five months, but he can’t have forgotten her completely.
He watches her through narrowed eyes for a minute, before coming to some sort of decision.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he tells her, “but have I been here before?”
Now it’s her turn to eye him suspiciously, with a healthy dose of worry added in.
“Every day, for more than five and a half years,” she tells him slowly. “Except for the past few months.”
He closes his eyes at that bit of information, and she wonders at it. Not remembering an event that occurred on a daily basis for more than five years is a cause of some concern for her. And to him as well, it seems.
He appears to come to some kind of decision, because he opens his eyes and says in a soft voice, “Had an accident a few months ago. Head injury. Lost my memory for awhile.”
Ella doesn’t know what to say to that, so doesn’t even try.
“Thought I had it all back,” he adds quietly, looking away.
“Hey,” she says, grabbing his attention. “Sounds like your brains got scrambled pretty good. It takes time for everything to fall back into place, and what doesn’t go easily requires a little nudge.”
“A nudge? Is that what I should call you?” he asks, one of his little smiles curving his mouth.
“Call me whatever you want, but just remember that I’m the one making your coffee in the mornings,” she tells him, a matching smile on her face.
“So is this what we do in the mornings? Talk?” he asks, deliberately changing the subject.
“Oh hell, no,” she laughs. “I make you a dark, hot and strong coffee, occasionally make you try new blends - which you tend to like,” she adds, “and you weed out the weak ones for me.” She finishes with a gesture over her shoulder at the rest of the staff, hoping her point gets across. By the smirk on his face, it apparently does.
“This is the longest conversation we’ve ever had,” she tells him. “In fact, I think this one beats out all the other ones combined.”
“At least I know you’re not lying,” he admits as he picks up the cup of coffee. He brings it up for his ritual sniff, then stiffens and blinks. When he looks at her, there’s something like recognition in his eyes, and a long forgotten neuroscience lecture on the neural pathways linking scent to memory comes to mind.
“Ella?” he asks, tentative and questioning.
She doesn’t know whether to be pleased that he remembers her, or irritated that he associates her existence with extra bold Sumatra. She decides on the former, and goes with the grinning course of action.
“Enjoy your coffee, you addict,” she says, waving primly at his mock glare.
“And shave off that moustache,” she calls out as he walks away, and this time the glare he shoots over his shoulder is real.
She still can’t stop grinning, and doesn’t think anything can dent her good mood.
“Grande, non-fat organic pumpkin spice latte.”
Nope. Not even that.
END
Next up: DiNozzo and McGee go on a coffee run!