Waking Scars for Goodisrelative
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ncisficathonTitle: Waking Scars
Author: Saharra Shadow
Email: nightwing_t2@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: Except for the original characters they're not mine, but they did join me for a play date: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Character(s): Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Anthony Dinozzo, Tim, and Kate.
Named Original Characters: Tomas
Pairings: None.
Rating: PG
Word-count: 3,294 words.
Warnings: I call root beer sarsaparilla.
Summary: The answer behind the knife and the baring of old scars.
Beta(s): Kamerreon, Deathangelgw, and Slash4femme
NCIS_Ficathon Recipient: Goodisrelative
Request: The story behind Gibb's Rule number 9 "Always carry a knife." Where did this come from? What if it is from Shannon?
Archiving: Sure! Just drop me a note, so I know where it wandered off to.
Author Notes: Most of my story occurs during off-screen times between and during episodes.
Spoilers: My story is set after "Missing" in Season 1.
~*~ indicates scene changes.
*** indicates open and close of a memory.
Gibbs shrugged as he stepped in the elevator with Tony and Kate on his heels. His people were home. Shrugging, he eased the tension that had collected in his shoulders as the elevator jolted before dragging them upwards. At a quiet 'Ow!' from Dinozzo, he flicked his gaze towards his senior agent before turning back to the door while keeping one ear on the nervous shifting beside him. Almost there. He'd speak up soon. Despite his willingness to poke at everyone else's personal business in the middle of the bullpen, his own was normally voiced in more private locations. Normally Gibbs' basement, but this one apparently wasn't going to wait that long.
"Admit it. You were worried about me. Right? You don't have to say anything, I know." Glancing towards the nervously shifting figure beside him, Gibbs held back a sigh as Tony continued. It wasn't that he minded the question -- he minded the timing. They had to get through the rest of the day.
"Okay. I want you to say it. You care. Right?" Ignoring the question for the moment, Gibbs stepped out of the elevator, listening to the quiet shuffle of feet that announced Tony and Kate were hard on his heels. And then the nervousness seemed to take on a form of acceptance, and not the kind he was looking for.
"So, you're saying you don't care?" He stopped and turned around. He couldn't let Tony's determination of his own lack of worth stand. It'd be ingrained before the end of the day. He caught sight of McGee perched in Tony's chair as he strode back over to his senior agent. Hopefully, he could deflect it for a bit. It'd be easier to earn Tony's forgiveness than correct the man's bad opinion of himself.
A small smile crept its way onto his face. "Tony, as far as I'm concerned--" Raising his hands, he cupped Tony's jaw line, patting one cheek lightly before pulling back one hand to shake a finger at his agent. "--you're irreplaceable." Gibbs grinned at the slow smile and pleased exclamation it got him.
"I knew it! Heh." He continued walking. "I knew behind the whole Marine thing, you really are-at heart..."
Turning on his heel, Gibbs led the procession of his team back to their desks, with Tony directly behind him. He'd pay for this later, but -- "Forget about it McGee, he's still alive."
He kept his grin as he settled himself at his desk, watching as Dinozzo lost the bounce he'd had. Yes, he'd been worried. They all had. The fact they'd gone hunting him, that he'd gone hunting him, should have been enough. At least until later when it wouldn't turn into scuttlebutt for the whole building.
Hearing Kate's soft snickers, he barked out, "Reports on my desk by the end of the day. Got it?" Kate may be a decent criminal profiler, but she needed to rethink her training if that was what she considered an appropriate reaction to his and Tony's discussion. She would've been a hell of a lot better off if she'd ignored it. Tony would be found snooping around her stuff again, soon enough.
~*~
Tossing his file on top of Kate's and McGee's, Tony paused beside Gibbs' desk for a moment, keeping his gaze on the wall behind his boss. "You owe me for that one. Pizza: the good kind." Shoulders stiff and back straight, he turned on his heel and strode from the office, not bothering to add his usual wave and 'see ya later'.
Once the elevator doors had slid shut, he slumped against the side, letting his forehead fall against the cool metal of the elevator walls. He could still smell it, the wet damp of the sewer. The decay. He shuddered. He had a duffle in his car. A shower and a change would help. Gibbs' not-apology would solve the issue of his growling stomach.
The cheery ding of the elevator made him scowl as it announced he was back on the main floor. It meant moving. Walking into the parking lot and sliding behind the wheel of his car before pulling into the lines of cars that he had no choice but to deal with at the moment, but it was D.C. so of course the traffic would pile up just when he wanted to get somewhere safe and quiet. And alive, not dying like the mold slime snagged in his clothes and caught on his skin. His hands tightened on the wheel as he was forced to brake and slow down. Three more lights and each one just had to be red. Finally, he flipped his blinker and took one last turn, guiding his speeding car into the right neighborhood. He took one deep breath, scowling at the heavy flavor that coated his tongue. He'd have to scrub down the car tomorrow. This stench would linger.
The screech of brakes applied just a bit too harshly and he was there, safe in the driveway. Not his house, but the only safe place he had at the moment. Grabbing his duffle, he stepped out of the car and then slammed it shut. There was no point in locking his car, not here. No one in the neighborhood was stupid enough to touch a car in Gibbs' driveway.
Palming the doorknob, he stepped inside and slapped his hand against the wall only to drag it up the clean, aged surface to hit the light. Sparse. Just like always. He took a breath, breathing deep. But the air . . . there was the flavor of fresh shaved wood and a hint of the sweet musk inherent in the oils and varnishes he used on his boats. This meant it was over. He was back. He was safe.
~*~
Silently, Gibbs watched as Tony stalked away toward the elevator. He scowled, brow furrowing. Tony wasn't all the way back yet or he wouldn't have let him off so easy. Pizza, even the good kind, was a cheap not-apology as the other phrased it.
Thumbing open his phone, he placed his order at the pizza place they both favored. It was family run and used a brick oven for its cooking. He called in a meat special and a traditional Margherita pizza with a few extras, namely some green peppers, spinach, and mushrooms. Basically a low-key veggie pizza. Ducky would be proud and Tony would scowl, but he'd eat it just the same. Fingers tapping idly on the keyboard, he threw in an order for some of their home-brewed sarsaparilla. He nodded, listening to the confirmation that it'd be ready for pickup in forty-five minutes or so. He'd have the paperwork wrapped up in plenty of time to make it. Traffic was normally decent this time of the evening.
~*~
The creak of footsteps overhead drew Tony's attention away from the drop of imported beer that was slowly making its way from the lip of the bottle and down its side. Eventually it'd be stuck dangling there, only to fall when it could no longer hold on. He smirked and flicked the bottle, sending the drop flying to land somewhere on the sawdust decorated floor. Gibbs was home. He'd make his way down here soon. Squirming, he settled himself more comfortably in the blanket nest he'd made against one of the sawhorse legs. He could've taken Gibbs' seat, but he wasn't feeling that petty tonight. Besides, between the layer of blankets and the sawdust that had already blanketed the floor, his seat was just as comfy as Gibbs' hard seat. He grinned, flicking a still damp strand of his freshly washed hair out of his face. Actually, it was probably more comfortable.
The stamp of booted feet on the stairs sounded overhead. Eyes closed, he nodded. "Gibbs."
"Tony."
Calm and to the point. Neither bothered with recriminations.
At the feel of a piece of wood tapping the back of his hand, Tony opened his eyes slowly. Eyeing the spare piece of wood and the pizza loaded onto it, he smiled. "Nice plates."
"They work."
Taking a last pull of his beer, Tony set it aside and grasped the plate, balancing it in his lap. He watched as Gibbs' hand came into his side view and picked up the beer only to set down one of the sparsely marked bottles that always held Tomas's mother's sarsaparilla recipe. He smiled widely. Gibbs was one of the few they'd sell it to outside of the dine-in customers. "Best not-apology yet, Jethro."
~*~
Gibbs leaned against his boat, watching as Tony's mumbled recitation of the time in the sewer trailed off and the bottle of sarsaparilla slipped from his lap to tip onto the floor. A soft series of clinks announced its contact with the cement floor. It was empty, which was good. It meant Tony wouldn't be scrubbing the floor in the morning before breakfast.
One bottle. Normally, Tony went through two before he slipped off, though he normally began rambling around halfway through the first. Leaning down, he caught the neck of the bottle between two fingers and lifted it to his work table. The 'chink' sound, instead of the soft thud he was expecting, caught his attention and he turned, scanning the scarred wooden surface. A knife. Tony's knife was laying there, the bright metal flashing in the basement's dim light.
Slowly, he reached over and scooped it up, fingers curling through the buckle top that made up one end of the blade. Callused fingers stroked over the oval, leaf-shaped blade. The edges were roughened, nicked and dulled by the metal on metal contact. Rust lay nestled in the chips near the tip where Tony had used it to work the bolt off the wall. Light scratches, more felt than seen, rubbed against the palm of his hand that held the handle. They were from prying the door open. His free hand curled around the blade, hiding it from sight.
It'd saved Tony's life. The bitch would have killed his agent, his--he chuffed lightly and rolled his eyes--irreplaceable friend. Rule nine. It was a remnant. Part of a joke, a memory he couldn't get rid of. It wasn't supposed to mean anything anymore, just be a way to hold on to them, his girls. Damn Dinozzo and his fool's luck.
He scowled at the figure drowsing at his feet before slamming his empty hand onto the table and upsetting the empty, brown bottle. He watched it roll before stopping it with a finger. He'd bought that and the ordered pizza, knowing Tony would be here. It mattered; just like the knife, it mattered. Tony had made the connection, made his importance real without even knowing what he was doing. Just like Shannon. They were both good at making the little things matter more than they had any right to.
***
A soft 'Oh!' and a slight clenching of the slim, sun-warmed hands he'd been watching had Gibbs off his perch at a nearby picnic table as he strode over to the main gaggle of females crowded around his Shannon. They'd upset her. Her hand was rising to the end of her ponytail, fingers tangling in the loose strands as she twisted them back and forth.
Striding forward, he touched her shoulder lightly, before grasping her nervous hand and easing it away from her hair. As it was, she'd managed to create enough knots that he'd be picking them out for her before bed. Peering over her shoulder, he glowered down at what had upset her. It wasn't a gift, just a package. A package mummified in a combination of shipping and duct tape from the looks of it. It'd need a knife to be opened and the closest they had were those kiddy scissors that barely cut paper.
"Auntie sent it." The slender hand in his tightened its grip as she looked up at him, eyes wide and her lower lip pinched between her teeth. "Jethro. Jethro, we can't open it." A flinch of her chin just below her lower lip. "Auntie sent it to be opened at the party." She gripped the edge of her lip again, biting down harder as she tried to control the quiver of her chin.
Lightly, Gibbs framed one side of her face, gently stroking along the back edge of her jaw line and nodded. "I'll fix it." Grabbing the next gift from the stack, he pressed it into the hand held in his. "I'll be back before you're done with these." He waved at the dozen or so gifts left to be unwrapped before turning away and running for the car.
Millennia Mall. He'd made the ten minute drive in five. Grabbing a map off of the service desk, he oriented himself and marched to the nearest hunting/fishing store, bulling his way through the pack of meandering shoppers that were browsing about lazily. Thirty dollars and one cowed clerk later, he had his knife and he was nearly back to the car. He was just shy of twenty minutes when he pulled back up to the park and got out. Sparing the barest of glances for the police car pulling into the lot after him, he jogged back to the party and picked up the mummified gift.
She was working on the second to last one. Slicing through tape and cardboard, he tucked the knife away and presented the now open gift to her. Her warm smile slowly unfolded, bringing a light to her eyes and calling up one of his own smiles as she beckoned him closer. He could still feel it, the light touch of her lips and the minty tingle of the lip-gloss she'd left behind.
***
Blinking, Gibbs tightened his grip on the end of the knife, digging its rough edges into his palm. It'd been the same every time she'd presented him with a knife after that. Every year on that day, she remembered and left a knife for him to find and one little line, No speeding ticket necessary. And the last one. That last time he'd recieved two. He patted lightly at the blade he kept on his person always. He snorted. The other was tucked away and safe. Safe like he'd been in that hospital room.
***
He glanced between the carpenter style Swiss Army knife that'd been pressed into his hand and his frowning girl before him. Her arms were crossed as she glared at the knife, her eyes crossing as she tried to make her glare harsher. Finally she sighed, arms falling to her sides as she bit her bottom lip. She was just like her mother in that.
"I couldn't find a Swiss Navy knife, so I got a carpenter's knife because you're good at carpen-tery." She looked away before turning back to him, her stare firm and open. "It's supposed to keep you safe and bring you home. Mama said that's why she gave you a knife . . . so I wanted to, too. Because then you're doubly sure to come back. Plus, we gotta finish the boat." She shrugged, kicking at the ground. "I can't do it by myself."
Kneeling, he pulled his daughter, his Kelly, into a tight hug, wrapping his arms around her slim frame, the knife clenched in the grip of one hand while the other stroked her hair. "It's perfect."
***
He shuddered, eyes closing as his daughter's whispered words faded away, 'I just wish it was Navy.' It wasn't supposed to matter that much again. Nothing was. A hand covered his, easing the grip he had on the knife before it cut him.
~*~
Stretching his neck, Tony opened his eyes as he stifled a yawn. One more bottle of sarsaparilla and he'd be out for the night. Twisting in his nest, he searched for another of the bottles Gibbs would have brought. He never got less than a dozen, but the rest would be sitting in the fridge. They'd go well with breakfast. A glint of green near Gibbs' feet caught his eye and he reached over, grabbing at the bottle resting there.
The expected amused, 'Tony,', and a booted foot nudging the bottle his way didn't come. Bottle in hand, he looked up to find his normally attentive boss engrossed in the back of his clenched fists. "Huh." Interest piqued, Tony sat up and looked over the clenched hands. A glint caught his eye and he moved to peer through the tunnel formed by Gibbs' fist. It was his belt knife that Gibbs didn't look like he'd be giving up anytime soon. A twitch of Gibbs' hand and his grip tightened as Tony watched. He frowned. Another move like that and Gibbs' hand would be sliced open.
Setting his bottle down, Tony pushed himself up until he was crouched in front of Gibbs. "Better be careful there, Jethro, or you won't be working on that boat of yours for a while." He reached out slowly and laid his hands over Gibbs', prying at the fingers to get them to loosen their grip and gain some distance from the knife.
A shudder went through the hands under his and he smirked. "You know, if you like it that much, you're welcome to keep it. Though I'm not sure its sheath would go with your style." He settled back into his nest of blankets, picking up his bottle and cradling it between his hands as he waited for Gibbs to collect himself. At the growled, 'Dinozzo', he ducked his head to hide a smile. They were back on even ground again.
Nodding at the knife Gibbs still held Tony said, "There's a story there. Gonna tell it?"
"Nope."
"Maybe later then." Shrugging, he tipped back the bottle and took a swallow. "I'd be out before you finished, anyway."
~*~
Eyeing the laidback figure of his normally hyper agent, Gibbs waited for the reply to his refusal. It was what he'd come to expect during Tony's visits. It was shelved for a later time. He wouldn't forget it, but he'd wait and be ready when it came.
Shaking his head, Gibbs pushed himself up from the chair, knife dangling from his fingers. He may not be ready to answer, but there was one thing he could share. Pushing aside cans of odds and ends that he'd collected over the years, he pulled out a dusty, tin lunchbox. Batman. His Kelly had loved Batman.
Carefully, he opened the stiff catches and pried up the top. It creaked a bit. He'd need to oil the hinges again. Smiling, he raked his gaze across the various knives collected within: mostly different types of pocket knives and that first switch blade. Fisting Tony's knife one last time, he let go and allowed it to drop into the box with the other knives. Tony had said he could keep it, after all. Rummaging for a moment, he pulled out that last Swiss Army knife before closing up the box and putting it back in its place. Gently he stroked his thumb across the words that had been carefully scratched into the casing. 'Always come back,' he mouthed. Nodding, he gave the knife one last caress as he turned from the table and tossed it at Tony. The startled yelp and muffled curse he got in return brought a smile to his face.
"Don't disturb the sawdust, Tony. I've got it how I like it."
A muffled, "Sure, Jethro. Night," answered from the pile of blankets. The second bottle lay abandoned next to Dinozzo's nest. Clenched in the hand tucked under his chin was the pocket knife.
Not bothering to hide his pleased smile, Gibbs double-timed it up the stairs. Tonight wasn't his night for sleeping under the boat.
Author: Saharra Shadow
Email: nightwing_t2@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: Except for the original characters they're not mine, but they did join me for a play date: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Character(s): Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Anthony Dinozzo, Tim, and Kate.
Named Original Characters: Tomas
Pairings: None.
Rating: PG
Word-count: 3,294 words.
Warnings: I call root beer sarsaparilla.
Summary: The answer behind the knife and the baring of old scars.
Beta(s): Kamerreon, Deathangelgw, and Slash4femme
NCIS_Ficathon Recipient: Goodisrelative
Request: The story behind Gibb's Rule number 9 "Always carry a knife." Where did this come from? What if it is from Shannon?
Archiving: Sure! Just drop me a note, so I know where it wandered off to.
Author Notes: Most of my story occurs during off-screen times between and during episodes.
Spoilers: My story is set after "Missing" in Season 1.
~*~ indicates scene changes.
*** indicates open and close of a memory.
Gibbs shrugged as he stepped in the elevator with Tony and Kate on his heels. His people were home. Shrugging, he eased the tension that had collected in his shoulders as the elevator jolted before dragging them upwards. At a quiet 'Ow!' from Dinozzo, he flicked his gaze towards his senior agent before turning back to the door while keeping one ear on the nervous shifting beside him. Almost there. He'd speak up soon. Despite his willingness to poke at everyone else's personal business in the middle of the bullpen, his own was normally voiced in more private locations. Normally Gibbs' basement, but this one apparently wasn't going to wait that long.
"Admit it. You were worried about me. Right? You don't have to say anything, I know." Glancing towards the nervously shifting figure beside him, Gibbs held back a sigh as Tony continued. It wasn't that he minded the question -- he minded the timing. They had to get through the rest of the day.
"Okay. I want you to say it. You care. Right?" Ignoring the question for the moment, Gibbs stepped out of the elevator, listening to the quiet shuffle of feet that announced Tony and Kate were hard on his heels. And then the nervousness seemed to take on a form of acceptance, and not the kind he was looking for.
"So, you're saying you don't care?" He stopped and turned around. He couldn't let Tony's determination of his own lack of worth stand. It'd be ingrained before the end of the day. He caught sight of McGee perched in Tony's chair as he strode back over to his senior agent. Hopefully, he could deflect it for a bit. It'd be easier to earn Tony's forgiveness than correct the man's bad opinion of himself.
A small smile crept its way onto his face. "Tony, as far as I'm concerned--" Raising his hands, he cupped Tony's jaw line, patting one cheek lightly before pulling back one hand to shake a finger at his agent. "--you're irreplaceable." Gibbs grinned at the slow smile and pleased exclamation it got him.
"I knew it! Heh." He continued walking. "I knew behind the whole Marine thing, you really are-at heart..."
Turning on his heel, Gibbs led the procession of his team back to their desks, with Tony directly behind him. He'd pay for this later, but -- "Forget about it McGee, he's still alive."
He kept his grin as he settled himself at his desk, watching as Dinozzo lost the bounce he'd had. Yes, he'd been worried. They all had. The fact they'd gone hunting him, that he'd gone hunting him, should have been enough. At least until later when it wouldn't turn into scuttlebutt for the whole building.
Hearing Kate's soft snickers, he barked out, "Reports on my desk by the end of the day. Got it?" Kate may be a decent criminal profiler, but she needed to rethink her training if that was what she considered an appropriate reaction to his and Tony's discussion. She would've been a hell of a lot better off if she'd ignored it. Tony would be found snooping around her stuff again, soon enough.
~*~
Tossing his file on top of Kate's and McGee's, Tony paused beside Gibbs' desk for a moment, keeping his gaze on the wall behind his boss. "You owe me for that one. Pizza: the good kind." Shoulders stiff and back straight, he turned on his heel and strode from the office, not bothering to add his usual wave and 'see ya later'.
Once the elevator doors had slid shut, he slumped against the side, letting his forehead fall against the cool metal of the elevator walls. He could still smell it, the wet damp of the sewer. The decay. He shuddered. He had a duffle in his car. A shower and a change would help. Gibbs' not-apology would solve the issue of his growling stomach.
The cheery ding of the elevator made him scowl as it announced he was back on the main floor. It meant moving. Walking into the parking lot and sliding behind the wheel of his car before pulling into the lines of cars that he had no choice but to deal with at the moment, but it was D.C. so of course the traffic would pile up just when he wanted to get somewhere safe and quiet. And alive, not dying like the mold slime snagged in his clothes and caught on his skin. His hands tightened on the wheel as he was forced to brake and slow down. Three more lights and each one just had to be red. Finally, he flipped his blinker and took one last turn, guiding his speeding car into the right neighborhood. He took one deep breath, scowling at the heavy flavor that coated his tongue. He'd have to scrub down the car tomorrow. This stench would linger.
The screech of brakes applied just a bit too harshly and he was there, safe in the driveway. Not his house, but the only safe place he had at the moment. Grabbing his duffle, he stepped out of the car and then slammed it shut. There was no point in locking his car, not here. No one in the neighborhood was stupid enough to touch a car in Gibbs' driveway.
Palming the doorknob, he stepped inside and slapped his hand against the wall only to drag it up the clean, aged surface to hit the light. Sparse. Just like always. He took a breath, breathing deep. But the air . . . there was the flavor of fresh shaved wood and a hint of the sweet musk inherent in the oils and varnishes he used on his boats. This meant it was over. He was back. He was safe.
~*~
Silently, Gibbs watched as Tony stalked away toward the elevator. He scowled, brow furrowing. Tony wasn't all the way back yet or he wouldn't have let him off so easy. Pizza, even the good kind, was a cheap not-apology as the other phrased it.
Thumbing open his phone, he placed his order at the pizza place they both favored. It was family run and used a brick oven for its cooking. He called in a meat special and a traditional Margherita pizza with a few extras, namely some green peppers, spinach, and mushrooms. Basically a low-key veggie pizza. Ducky would be proud and Tony would scowl, but he'd eat it just the same. Fingers tapping idly on the keyboard, he threw in an order for some of their home-brewed sarsaparilla. He nodded, listening to the confirmation that it'd be ready for pickup in forty-five minutes or so. He'd have the paperwork wrapped up in plenty of time to make it. Traffic was normally decent this time of the evening.
~*~
The creak of footsteps overhead drew Tony's attention away from the drop of imported beer that was slowly making its way from the lip of the bottle and down its side. Eventually it'd be stuck dangling there, only to fall when it could no longer hold on. He smirked and flicked the bottle, sending the drop flying to land somewhere on the sawdust decorated floor. Gibbs was home. He'd make his way down here soon. Squirming, he settled himself more comfortably in the blanket nest he'd made against one of the sawhorse legs. He could've taken Gibbs' seat, but he wasn't feeling that petty tonight. Besides, between the layer of blankets and the sawdust that had already blanketed the floor, his seat was just as comfy as Gibbs' hard seat. He grinned, flicking a still damp strand of his freshly washed hair out of his face. Actually, it was probably more comfortable.
The stamp of booted feet on the stairs sounded overhead. Eyes closed, he nodded. "Gibbs."
"Tony."
Calm and to the point. Neither bothered with recriminations.
At the feel of a piece of wood tapping the back of his hand, Tony opened his eyes slowly. Eyeing the spare piece of wood and the pizza loaded onto it, he smiled. "Nice plates."
"They work."
Taking a last pull of his beer, Tony set it aside and grasped the plate, balancing it in his lap. He watched as Gibbs' hand came into his side view and picked up the beer only to set down one of the sparsely marked bottles that always held Tomas's mother's sarsaparilla recipe. He smiled widely. Gibbs was one of the few they'd sell it to outside of the dine-in customers. "Best not-apology yet, Jethro."
~*~
Gibbs leaned against his boat, watching as Tony's mumbled recitation of the time in the sewer trailed off and the bottle of sarsaparilla slipped from his lap to tip onto the floor. A soft series of clinks announced its contact with the cement floor. It was empty, which was good. It meant Tony wouldn't be scrubbing the floor in the morning before breakfast.
One bottle. Normally, Tony went through two before he slipped off, though he normally began rambling around halfway through the first. Leaning down, he caught the neck of the bottle between two fingers and lifted it to his work table. The 'chink' sound, instead of the soft thud he was expecting, caught his attention and he turned, scanning the scarred wooden surface. A knife. Tony's knife was laying there, the bright metal flashing in the basement's dim light.
Slowly, he reached over and scooped it up, fingers curling through the buckle top that made up one end of the blade. Callused fingers stroked over the oval, leaf-shaped blade. The edges were roughened, nicked and dulled by the metal on metal contact. Rust lay nestled in the chips near the tip where Tony had used it to work the bolt off the wall. Light scratches, more felt than seen, rubbed against the palm of his hand that held the handle. They were from prying the door open. His free hand curled around the blade, hiding it from sight.
It'd saved Tony's life. The bitch would have killed his agent, his--he chuffed lightly and rolled his eyes--irreplaceable friend. Rule nine. It was a remnant. Part of a joke, a memory he couldn't get rid of. It wasn't supposed to mean anything anymore, just be a way to hold on to them, his girls. Damn Dinozzo and his fool's luck.
He scowled at the figure drowsing at his feet before slamming his empty hand onto the table and upsetting the empty, brown bottle. He watched it roll before stopping it with a finger. He'd bought that and the ordered pizza, knowing Tony would be here. It mattered; just like the knife, it mattered. Tony had made the connection, made his importance real without even knowing what he was doing. Just like Shannon. They were both good at making the little things matter more than they had any right to.
***
A soft 'Oh!' and a slight clenching of the slim, sun-warmed hands he'd been watching had Gibbs off his perch at a nearby picnic table as he strode over to the main gaggle of females crowded around his Shannon. They'd upset her. Her hand was rising to the end of her ponytail, fingers tangling in the loose strands as she twisted them back and forth.
Striding forward, he touched her shoulder lightly, before grasping her nervous hand and easing it away from her hair. As it was, she'd managed to create enough knots that he'd be picking them out for her before bed. Peering over her shoulder, he glowered down at what had upset her. It wasn't a gift, just a package. A package mummified in a combination of shipping and duct tape from the looks of it. It'd need a knife to be opened and the closest they had were those kiddy scissors that barely cut paper.
"Auntie sent it." The slender hand in his tightened its grip as she looked up at him, eyes wide and her lower lip pinched between her teeth. "Jethro. Jethro, we can't open it." A flinch of her chin just below her lower lip. "Auntie sent it to be opened at the party." She gripped the edge of her lip again, biting down harder as she tried to control the quiver of her chin.
Lightly, Gibbs framed one side of her face, gently stroking along the back edge of her jaw line and nodded. "I'll fix it." Grabbing the next gift from the stack, he pressed it into the hand held in his. "I'll be back before you're done with these." He waved at the dozen or so gifts left to be unwrapped before turning away and running for the car.
Millennia Mall. He'd made the ten minute drive in five. Grabbing a map off of the service desk, he oriented himself and marched to the nearest hunting/fishing store, bulling his way through the pack of meandering shoppers that were browsing about lazily. Thirty dollars and one cowed clerk later, he had his knife and he was nearly back to the car. He was just shy of twenty minutes when he pulled back up to the park and got out. Sparing the barest of glances for the police car pulling into the lot after him, he jogged back to the party and picked up the mummified gift.
She was working on the second to last one. Slicing through tape and cardboard, he tucked the knife away and presented the now open gift to her. Her warm smile slowly unfolded, bringing a light to her eyes and calling up one of his own smiles as she beckoned him closer. He could still feel it, the light touch of her lips and the minty tingle of the lip-gloss she'd left behind.
***
Blinking, Gibbs tightened his grip on the end of the knife, digging its rough edges into his palm. It'd been the same every time she'd presented him with a knife after that. Every year on that day, she remembered and left a knife for him to find and one little line, No speeding ticket necessary. And the last one. That last time he'd recieved two. He patted lightly at the blade he kept on his person always. He snorted. The other was tucked away and safe. Safe like he'd been in that hospital room.
***
He glanced between the carpenter style Swiss Army knife that'd been pressed into his hand and his frowning girl before him. Her arms were crossed as she glared at the knife, her eyes crossing as she tried to make her glare harsher. Finally she sighed, arms falling to her sides as she bit her bottom lip. She was just like her mother in that.
"I couldn't find a Swiss Navy knife, so I got a carpenter's knife because you're good at carpen-tery." She looked away before turning back to him, her stare firm and open. "It's supposed to keep you safe and bring you home. Mama said that's why she gave you a knife . . . so I wanted to, too. Because then you're doubly sure to come back. Plus, we gotta finish the boat." She shrugged, kicking at the ground. "I can't do it by myself."
Kneeling, he pulled his daughter, his Kelly, into a tight hug, wrapping his arms around her slim frame, the knife clenched in the grip of one hand while the other stroked her hair. "It's perfect."
***
He shuddered, eyes closing as his daughter's whispered words faded away, 'I just wish it was Navy.' It wasn't supposed to matter that much again. Nothing was. A hand covered his, easing the grip he had on the knife before it cut him.
~*~
Stretching his neck, Tony opened his eyes as he stifled a yawn. One more bottle of sarsaparilla and he'd be out for the night. Twisting in his nest, he searched for another of the bottles Gibbs would have brought. He never got less than a dozen, but the rest would be sitting in the fridge. They'd go well with breakfast. A glint of green near Gibbs' feet caught his eye and he reached over, grabbing at the bottle resting there.
The expected amused, 'Tony,', and a booted foot nudging the bottle his way didn't come. Bottle in hand, he looked up to find his normally attentive boss engrossed in the back of his clenched fists. "Huh." Interest piqued, Tony sat up and looked over the clenched hands. A glint caught his eye and he moved to peer through the tunnel formed by Gibbs' fist. It was his belt knife that Gibbs didn't look like he'd be giving up anytime soon. A twitch of Gibbs' hand and his grip tightened as Tony watched. He frowned. Another move like that and Gibbs' hand would be sliced open.
Setting his bottle down, Tony pushed himself up until he was crouched in front of Gibbs. "Better be careful there, Jethro, or you won't be working on that boat of yours for a while." He reached out slowly and laid his hands over Gibbs', prying at the fingers to get them to loosen their grip and gain some distance from the knife.
A shudder went through the hands under his and he smirked. "You know, if you like it that much, you're welcome to keep it. Though I'm not sure its sheath would go with your style." He settled back into his nest of blankets, picking up his bottle and cradling it between his hands as he waited for Gibbs to collect himself. At the growled, 'Dinozzo', he ducked his head to hide a smile. They were back on even ground again.
Nodding at the knife Gibbs still held Tony said, "There's a story there. Gonna tell it?"
"Nope."
"Maybe later then." Shrugging, he tipped back the bottle and took a swallow. "I'd be out before you finished, anyway."
~*~
Eyeing the laidback figure of his normally hyper agent, Gibbs waited for the reply to his refusal. It was what he'd come to expect during Tony's visits. It was shelved for a later time. He wouldn't forget it, but he'd wait and be ready when it came.
Shaking his head, Gibbs pushed himself up from the chair, knife dangling from his fingers. He may not be ready to answer, but there was one thing he could share. Pushing aside cans of odds and ends that he'd collected over the years, he pulled out a dusty, tin lunchbox. Batman. His Kelly had loved Batman.
Carefully, he opened the stiff catches and pried up the top. It creaked a bit. He'd need to oil the hinges again. Smiling, he raked his gaze across the various knives collected within: mostly different types of pocket knives and that first switch blade. Fisting Tony's knife one last time, he let go and allowed it to drop into the box with the other knives. Tony had said he could keep it, after all. Rummaging for a moment, he pulled out that last Swiss Army knife before closing up the box and putting it back in its place. Gently he stroked his thumb across the words that had been carefully scratched into the casing. 'Always come back,' he mouthed. Nodding, he gave the knife one last caress as he turned from the table and tossed it at Tony. The startled yelp and muffled curse he got in return brought a smile to his face.
"Don't disturb the sawdust, Tony. I've got it how I like it."
A muffled, "Sure, Jethro. Night," answered from the pile of blankets. The second bottle lay abandoned next to Dinozzo's nest. Clenched in the hand tucked under his chin was the pocket knife.
Not bothering to hide his pleased smile, Gibbs double-timed it up the stairs. Tonight wasn't his night for sleeping under the boat.
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Date: 2009-09-28 01:48 am (UTC)I miss S1-S3. :-)
I can totally picture Tony in the "nest" :-)
THANKS!
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Date: 2009-09-28 02:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-28 12:29 pm (UTC)I have one tiny quibble, and it may be simply that I'm reading more into it than I should. It seems to me that as Tony is drinking the sarsaparilla, he's getting drunk; is that right? If so, you should know that sarsaparilla is basically root beer. If not, then I fail. ;)
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Date: 2009-09-28 02:34 pm (UTC)I'm glad you enjoyed and found it sweet!
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Date: 2009-09-28 06:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-01 04:28 am (UTC)