Deciding Gesture Part 1

[nightshadow-t2.livejournal.com]

Title: Deciding Gesture
Author: Saharra Shadow nightshadow_t2
Email: Saharra Shadow: nightwing_t2@yahoo.com
Written for: pipisafoat
Prompt:Story 1: Gen: Tony/Palmer friendship - set when Gibbs is in Mexico, compliant with/explaining 6x16 (Bounce) canon


Disclaimer: Except for any original characters they're not ours, but they did join us 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. This is for fun people, treat it as fun, please.
Fandoms: NCIS
Pairings/Threesomes: mainly gen with mention of offscreen slash pairing, Friendship of Tony and Jimmy is the focus.
Rating: PG-13
Word-count: 1778
Warnings: Umm, Ziva and Tim are brats...
Summary: So, we have that wonderful scene between Tony and Jimmy after Gibbs comes back, but how did they get there? This is my answer. It acts as a prequel to "For the Duck".
Beta(s): Raven whiteraven1606
Archiving: Sure! Just drop me a note, so I know where it wandered off to.





Tony bit back a sigh as the case notes in front of him blurred, the words seeming to crawl about the page. A week. Or near enough it didn't make a difference. There had been no communication from Jethro. Not even a 'Hey, I didn't die.' His house was empty and worst of all closed. The locks on the door that he never used had been latched. But still, they'd hoped that maybe he was just off hiding for a bit, getting his head on straight before barging back in gruff Gibbsish style. That he would come back to them. But that hadn't happened. They'd piled in the house and taken their places at the antique wooden table in the side dining room that was just for them and their small, cobbled together family. Ducky had sat to the left of Gibb's chair. Abby had flounced into her place across from him, while Jimmy sat himself down with an eye to his manners next to him. And Tony had slid into his seat between the pair his mentors insisted were his siblings. They'd chattered about books, the dogs, the newest episodes of various shows. Even the Due South Marathon that had popped up over the weekend. And they'd waited. But as the food grew colder, their conversation stuttered until it breathed it's last with Abby's quiet, "He's not coming back."



Donald had tried until that point, but once it was said aloud he folded in on himself. His sure hand's shook as he picked up his and Jimmy's cold plates and headed back for the kitchen. Probably to warm it up, but most likely to let go of that stiff upper lip in private. Tony had watched his progress through the door and into the hallway. I mean, sure they were lovers and they slept together, but he hadn't realized how old and small being alone could make someone. The house had never seemed too big before. It'd always been just right. Now nothing was right. He and his siblings had sat there and waited, silently watching the light from the windows grow smaller until finally he'd passed his plate to Jimmy and told him and Abby to pack it up and take it home. They'd just looked at him, two pairs of wide eyes, though Jimmy's seemed more jaded than Abby's. Like he'd seen this before. But that was probably nothing more than a trick of the light or at least he hoped it was because this, this wasn't going to happen. They weren't going to become coldness and absence. They couldn't could they? He'd stood there, door in hand, making promises with his mouth while his mind ran in circles around the idea that everything could fall apart because of some screwed up memories and an even more screwed up case.



He'd shut the door and locked it before Abby and Jimmy had even fully left the drive. Turning he headed for the kitchen, keeping his strides slow so he could accommodate the pack of corgis that pressed against him, barely giving him enough room to walk. Even they were sedate, if clingy. And then he'd reached the kitchen and Ducky. He remembered swallowing hard, eyes stinging as he watched the slumped figure sitting at the small breakfast nook with a bottle of bourbon and a shot glass. One wavering hand tipped the bottle, spilling out another shot before he managed to speak. "So, should I start calling you Bones, Ducky?"


Ducky had looked up then, slowly blinking his red-rimmed eyes. A slight lift to his mouth and "Just for tonight, Tony. I'll return to my regular role on the morrow."



He'd slid into the seat across from the medical examiner, steadying the bottle as his longtime mentor poured another shot to replace the one he'd just finished. "Then that makes me Kirk, so I'll stick around to make sure you come back from leave safe and sound."



A lack of sound pulled him back from thoughts of the dinner and staying the night. Tim and Ziva were at it again. He turned his head to Tim's desk and watched the younger agent. This was one of those times he wished he'd vetoed the probie's addition to the team. He just didn't have the necessary maturity, not yet. His smile falling away, the green-eyed agent glanced at the open case file on Tim's desk. It was a cold case. McGee should be checking facts, looking for new trails, but he wasn't doing shit for the second time this morning. Tony's frown deepened as he felt Ziva's assessing gaze settle on him. She'd done this every time Tim bucked an order, stared at him like a rival wolf judging to see if this was the moment to attack to insure their rise to power. He rolled his shoulders, easing the tension that had built and ignored her. Tim was the issue at the moment. "Found anything from the financial data yet?"



"It's useless data. There's nothing of interest in it. There hasn't been in well over five years." He pouted, twisting his face into an annoyed scowl. "Did you actually expect me to find anything?"



Tony bit back a grimace because yeah, he did. This wasn't something new. Cold cases were just something that was done when new cases weren't popping up. Tim knew this. He'd done them. He was good at them. "Maybe it is and maybe it isn't. You don't know that till you check it out." He shrugged, offering a wry smile. "It's part of the job."



A scowl broke across Tim's face, his eyes narrowing as he bit out, "And what about a real case? We've been on these since Gibbs left. If he were here we'd already be out--"



Breaking away from his desk, Tony strode over to McGee's workspace. He rested one hand on the closed file of the cold case McGee had abandoned as he leaned down so he was eye level with his probie. "These are real cases where real people died." The sharp bite of his tone belied his relaxed stance as he lightly tapped the folder, just below its case number. "You know who this is McGee?"



Ziva broke in, her short, sharp words breaking Tony out of the staring contest he'd been in with McGee. "How could he? The man is dead, Tony. He is known to no one."



Biting at his lip, McGee paused, casting a glance in Ziva's direction before throwing out a curt, "No."



The floor was quiet. The normal rustle of paper and shuffle of feet absent as his co-workers tuned into the drama of his team. He bit back a snort, shaking his head slowly. They weren't his team. "This is the father of Sam Dermot who calls here every year on the anniversary of First Sargent Dermot's death. He was killed outside a hotel while waiting for a taxi. Those financial stats? They're the best link we have between him and the main suspect in his murder." Tony fell silent and pushed himself up and away from McGee's desk, taking the file with him as he turned his back on both of them. His back was straight and voice firm as he spoke into the still room. "If Gibbs were here he'd be pissed. You don't discount his people, our people like this. Just get the rest done. Both of you."



McGee's subdued voice floated between their desks. "But, the Dermot file? I can--"



Tony cut him off with a wave of his hand without even looking up from his desk and the extra case he'd added to his stack. "I've got it. Go find yourself a better case McGee. I've got the time for this one."



****



Tony slumped into the springy support of his seat as the elevator closed behind McGee and Ziva. This had been a hell of a day. Admittedly, it wasn't entirely due to his remaining teammates. They'd been like this since the Director agreed to support Jethro's unorthodox promotion. Their piss-poor attitudes had simply been exactly what he didn't need upon realizing that Gibbs really was gone. And maybe it wasn't really a bad thing that he'd finally called them on everything. He'd been patient. Maybe it was time that patience ended. He shrugged and began the shutdown ritual for his computer. While the machine beeped and whirred as it closed down, he secured the files he'd had out. The folder he'd taken from McGee had migrated to the top of the stack. It'd be there in the morning. Just like the other cold cases beneath it. He snorted softly. Truthfully, they'd be there till the paperwork finally went through. They wouldn't be doing a field investigation till the formalities were taken care of in triplicate.



Turning the lock on his desk drawer, he pushed back his chair and headed towards the elevator. He stood there in what had been Gibb's office watching the closed metal doors. Then slouching against the wall, he slammed hi hand down on the button that would take him to the morgue. It wasn't all right. He had a team he couldn't trust to even do fucking cold cases. And these were the people he was supposed to go into the field with. He was supposed to trust them to have his back. They were supposed to be his team. And they weren't. Gibbs was supposed to be the head of their little misfit family, but he'd left.



The chime of the elevator doors opening pulled him from his musing. Pushing off of the wall, he stepped into the hallway and headed for the main entrance of the morgue at a steady pace. Head down, the newly appointed team leader shouldered the door open. The silence in the room brought him up short. There was no soft, British voice echoing throughout the room on a random topic of the hour. Shoving his hands in his pockets, Tony peered around. The room was neat, everything tucked in its place, but the comforting presence of Ducky was missing. He shuffled over to the good doctor's desk and slouched down in the chair. Pulling his hands from the pockets of his slacks he rubbed at his forehead. So maybe he wouldn't get that talk he'd decided on at the last minute. It wasn't Ducky's fault. He hadn't called down and checked. Ducky didn't mean anything by not being here. He knew that. Accepted it even. It just sucked. Closing his eyes he listened to the lack of sound. It wasn't the talk he'd come looking for, but at least it soothed his headache.



****

TBC--Jimmy's on scene next! The rest is in my notebook and I need to transcribe it, but I didn't want you to think it wasn't coming. I like writing by hand best. I hope this fits what you wanted.:)