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Sep. 18th, 2006 08:49 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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ncisficathonTitle: Calm in the Storm
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lunardreamed
Written for:kuyashinaki
Archive: Tell me where.
Rating: Teen
Warnings/Spoilers: through the season 3 finale
Genre: Slash (non explicit)
Pairings: Tony/Gibbs
Word Count: 1,354
Disclaimer: I do not own anything and am not getting paid
Prompt: "Season 3 finale. I’d really like someone to write a story about Tony in his new role after Gibbs left. Even though I think he could be the boss and make a good job I’d like him to realize that this is not what he wants. He doesn’t want to be the boss and he doesn’t want to do this job without Gibbs (’cause like he told Ziva: his gut is telling him they are missing something). That’s why he gets his ass up, flies down to Mexico and tries to convince Gibbs no matter what. (I myself would make that a love story, but if the author doesn't want to . . . well so be it *lol*). It sure would be drama and probably angst. If Tony succeeds or not is up to the author."
Summary: There’s a whole world waiting for Gibbs beyond Mexico and if he won’t go to it, it might just come for him.
Author's Note:kuyashinaki, I apologize that this was late. I hope you like it.
_____________
It’s raining the day Tony arrives. Which is his bad luck, because Gibbs and Franks are in town for their supply run. The door’s not locked, but enough other things have changed that Tony is reluctant to just walk in. That childish curiosity, the bane of his coworker’s private lives, has been buried beneath the reams of paperwork required of a team leader. His rental sits north. A distant island, offering a safe retreat, but Marines don’t back down and neither do Gibbs’s agents. He settles in to wait.
On the porch, the overhang protects him from the gray, clouded sky, but not the rain, driving sideways and determined to reach him even here. Blown harsh off the sea, the rain is hard and cold and salty. His hair and clothes are plastered to him like a second skin.
The rattle-drum of the rain on wood is constant and overwhelming, drowning out all else. The only thing he can focus on, thoughts driven out by the beat. The porch is an island, the rest of the world swept away by the violent storm. The world smells like wet wood and salt.
An old clunker of a car breaks through the gray curtain and Tony rises, swept forward as time jerks back into motion. He braces himself at the end of the porch, refusing to be carried along any further.
Gibbs emerges from the passenger side of the car, disgusted amusement on his face. He steps rapidly onto the porch. “You look like a drowned rat. Need someone to take care of you still? No sense!” Harsh bark, but Tony only quirks his lips in reply and Gibbs redirects his hand from its approach to the back of Tony’s head and waves at the door, “Go on in.”
Tony picks up his bag as Franks steps up, loaded down with bags and scowling at Gibbs, “Make yourself useful!” Gibbs turns back to the car while Franks heads inside and Tony walks in behind him.
* * *
The next morning, Gibbs is up with the sun and surprised to find Tony already outside watching the waves glitter beneath the morning sun behind him. He strides up behind him, hand lifting to get Tony’s attention, but Tony is already turning, tilting his head in greeting.
“Nice place,” Gibbs explains, floundering.
Tony shrugs. “Wouldn’t want to live here.”
“Yeah?”
“No action.” Tony smiles, but it’s not his trademark grin.
Gibbs struggles to find solid ground. “Going for a run.” Tony nods his head and Gibbs takes off.
* * *
Gibbs returns ready for a confrontation. He’s sick of waiting for DiNozzo to explain himself. “DiNozzo!” springs to his lips familiarly, but Tony raises his head from some criminology journal, looking him straight and calm in the eye, and it doesn’t escape. He can’t call him that. “DiNozzo!” Barked like he’s calling a puppy to heel, bringing his agent to attention. Tony isn’t his agent anymore.
Gibbs pauses a moment, but Tony just waits, offering nothing.
“What do you want?” Gruff, but not commanding.
“I’m good,” Tony’s deliberate misunderstanding is exasperating, which should be familiar. DiNozzo was always exasperating, but this is different. This man is unfamiliar. Everything about him is unfamiliar.
“Good.” Gibbs heads inside and Tony turns back to his journal.
* * *
Tony catches them up on the news stateside, of which sports and movies figure only minimally and girls figure not at all. It’s all impersonal, distant. He reads and exercises. Plays an occasional game of backgammon with Franks or pokes uselessly at the car across from him.
Gibbs is going crazy. Once upon a time, Tony would have blurted out whatever was on his mind, eager to be the center of Gibbs’s attention. He would have already said why he was here and, by now, would be getting really desperate to convince Gibbs.
This Tony knows how to keep his own counsel. Gibbs would say that Tony was waiting him out, but there is no sense of urgency about him. There is no storm brewing beneath that calm exterior. He’s not Gibbs. Gibbs’s calm is an illusion, a stillness of form that conceals the storm beneath. Fury, sorrow, disbelief . . . loss. They all roil within him, battering his heart and soul like waves on the jetty.
His Tony, his agent, the eager puppy, has matured. He’s found his sea legs, standing firm in a constantly shifting world. Yank the rug from under him and he only stands more firmly than before. His confidence is no longer a façade, easily exposed with a backhanded compliment or fleeting failure. The insecure youth who looked to him is gone. This is a man, who doesn’t need him at all.
“What are you doing here?”
“Just visiting.”
* * *
Time drifts by in golden light, pelting rain, and the stars in the sky brighter than they ever were in D. C. Being around this Tony has a soothing effect that even Mexico failed to give and Gibbs enjoys his company even while he misses the old Tony. They get reacquainted during runs along the beach and games of chess. Tony’s surprisingly good and definitely not a beginner.
“Ducky’s retired, you know. Said it’s getting to be too much to work and look after his mother. Said he’s getting too old to go climbing up mountains and tramping through forests just to tell us a body temp. Said he was worn out,” Tony sounds unnervingly sympathetic.
“Wonder how he can stand to be home with those Corgies all day?” Gibbs draws out a chuckle. Never a grin or a laugh.
“McGee was bucking for a promotion, but I told him he needs a little more experience. Got to work on his interpersonal skills, learn how to intimidate people, or else play up that unremarkable air, and get himself out from between the two. I go with him out in the field mostly to work on that. He’s been relying too much on Ziva. Have our new guy work the research. Leave Ziva to terrorize him, get him to grow a pair, teach her how to make use of inaction.”
Gibbs is impressed but unsurprised. He always knew Tony would make a good leader. It just never occurred to him that being a leader would make him something else.
“Sounds like they’re doing well.” Gibbs looks up to ask—
“Abby’s Abby.” Tony and Gibbs share a fond smile and it hits him again – Tony’s all grown up. Still, there’s a look in his eyes. He’s asking for something from Gibbs, needing something and Gibbs hasn’t got a clue what that is. So, he goes with his gut and leans forward to brush his lips across Tony’s.
Tony growls in frustration as he pulls away and grabs Gibbs’s hair. He releases him almost immediately, uncertain he’s taken liberties, but his hand still hovers behind Gibbs’s head and Gibbs moves back with a teasing smile. There’s his Tony. Tony opens his mouth for him and Gibbs slides his tongue inside. He moves over Tony on the couch and Tony leans back, legs falling open to cradle Gibbs between them. Gibbs kisses him long and slow and deep, until Tony threatens to bite down on his tongue if Gibbs doesn’t do something about the eagerly squirming body beneath him. Patience run out at last.
* * *
Tony is constant motion, even in sleep, and when he isn’t tossing or kicking he’s talking, mumbling all sorts of nonsense, even movie quotes. He finally stills shortly before dawn, sprawled out and Gibbs lets him have the bed, following the scent of salt out to the beach. He watches the ocean sunrise, looking out over the waves, sun warm on his back. The world is cool sand and the crash-swish-hush of water on the beach.
“It is a nice place.” The breeze sweeps across his face as time moves forward once more, salt and damp and the promise of a wide world beyond.
Gibbs shrugs, “Wouldn’t want to live here.” Tony grins brighter than the sun.
fini
Author:
lunardreamedWritten for:
kuyashinaki Archive: Tell me where.
Rating: Teen
Warnings/Spoilers: through the season 3 finale
Genre: Slash (non explicit)
Pairings: Tony/Gibbs
Word Count: 1,354
Disclaimer: I do not own anything and am not getting paid
Prompt: "Season 3 finale. I’d really like someone to write a story about Tony in his new role after Gibbs left. Even though I think he could be the boss and make a good job I’d like him to realize that this is not what he wants. He doesn’t want to be the boss and he doesn’t want to do this job without Gibbs (’cause like he told Ziva: his gut is telling him they are missing something). That’s why he gets his ass up, flies down to Mexico and tries to convince Gibbs no matter what. (I myself would make that a love story, but if the author doesn't want to . . . well so be it *lol*). It sure would be drama and probably angst. If Tony succeeds or not is up to the author."
Summary: There’s a whole world waiting for Gibbs beyond Mexico and if he won’t go to it, it might just come for him.
Author's Note:
kuyashinaki, I apologize that this was late. I hope you like it. It’s raining the day Tony arrives. Which is his bad luck, because Gibbs and Franks are in town for their supply run. The door’s not locked, but enough other things have changed that Tony is reluctant to just walk in. That childish curiosity, the bane of his coworker’s private lives, has been buried beneath the reams of paperwork required of a team leader. His rental sits north. A distant island, offering a safe retreat, but Marines don’t back down and neither do Gibbs’s agents. He settles in to wait.
On the porch, the overhang protects him from the gray, clouded sky, but not the rain, driving sideways and determined to reach him even here. Blown harsh off the sea, the rain is hard and cold and salty. His hair and clothes are plastered to him like a second skin.
The rattle-drum of the rain on wood is constant and overwhelming, drowning out all else. The only thing he can focus on, thoughts driven out by the beat. The porch is an island, the rest of the world swept away by the violent storm. The world smells like wet wood and salt.
An old clunker of a car breaks through the gray curtain and Tony rises, swept forward as time jerks back into motion. He braces himself at the end of the porch, refusing to be carried along any further.
Gibbs emerges from the passenger side of the car, disgusted amusement on his face. He steps rapidly onto the porch. “You look like a drowned rat. Need someone to take care of you still? No sense!” Harsh bark, but Tony only quirks his lips in reply and Gibbs redirects his hand from its approach to the back of Tony’s head and waves at the door, “Go on in.”
Tony picks up his bag as Franks steps up, loaded down with bags and scowling at Gibbs, “Make yourself useful!” Gibbs turns back to the car while Franks heads inside and Tony walks in behind him.
The next morning, Gibbs is up with the sun and surprised to find Tony already outside watching the waves glitter beneath the morning sun behind him. He strides up behind him, hand lifting to get Tony’s attention, but Tony is already turning, tilting his head in greeting.
“Nice place,” Gibbs explains, floundering.
Tony shrugs. “Wouldn’t want to live here.”
“Yeah?”
“No action.” Tony smiles, but it’s not his trademark grin.
Gibbs struggles to find solid ground. “Going for a run.” Tony nods his head and Gibbs takes off.
Gibbs returns ready for a confrontation. He’s sick of waiting for DiNozzo to explain himself. “DiNozzo!” springs to his lips familiarly, but Tony raises his head from some criminology journal, looking him straight and calm in the eye, and it doesn’t escape. He can’t call him that. “DiNozzo!” Barked like he’s calling a puppy to heel, bringing his agent to attention. Tony isn’t his agent anymore.
Gibbs pauses a moment, but Tony just waits, offering nothing.
“What do you want?” Gruff, but not commanding.
“I’m good,” Tony’s deliberate misunderstanding is exasperating, which should be familiar. DiNozzo was always exasperating, but this is different. This man is unfamiliar. Everything about him is unfamiliar.
“Good.” Gibbs heads inside and Tony turns back to his journal.
Tony catches them up on the news stateside, of which sports and movies figure only minimally and girls figure not at all. It’s all impersonal, distant. He reads and exercises. Plays an occasional game of backgammon with Franks or pokes uselessly at the car across from him.
Gibbs is going crazy. Once upon a time, Tony would have blurted out whatever was on his mind, eager to be the center of Gibbs’s attention. He would have already said why he was here and, by now, would be getting really desperate to convince Gibbs.
This Tony knows how to keep his own counsel. Gibbs would say that Tony was waiting him out, but there is no sense of urgency about him. There is no storm brewing beneath that calm exterior. He’s not Gibbs. Gibbs’s calm is an illusion, a stillness of form that conceals the storm beneath. Fury, sorrow, disbelief . . . loss. They all roil within him, battering his heart and soul like waves on the jetty.
His Tony, his agent, the eager puppy, has matured. He’s found his sea legs, standing firm in a constantly shifting world. Yank the rug from under him and he only stands more firmly than before. His confidence is no longer a façade, easily exposed with a backhanded compliment or fleeting failure. The insecure youth who looked to him is gone. This is a man, who doesn’t need him at all.
“What are you doing here?”
“Just visiting.”
Time drifts by in golden light, pelting rain, and the stars in the sky brighter than they ever were in D. C. Being around this Tony has a soothing effect that even Mexico failed to give and Gibbs enjoys his company even while he misses the old Tony. They get reacquainted during runs along the beach and games of chess. Tony’s surprisingly good and definitely not a beginner.
“Ducky’s retired, you know. Said it’s getting to be too much to work and look after his mother. Said he’s getting too old to go climbing up mountains and tramping through forests just to tell us a body temp. Said he was worn out,” Tony sounds unnervingly sympathetic.
“Wonder how he can stand to be home with those Corgies all day?” Gibbs draws out a chuckle. Never a grin or a laugh.
“McGee was bucking for a promotion, but I told him he needs a little more experience. Got to work on his interpersonal skills, learn how to intimidate people, or else play up that unremarkable air, and get himself out from between the two. I go with him out in the field mostly to work on that. He’s been relying too much on Ziva. Have our new guy work the research. Leave Ziva to terrorize him, get him to grow a pair, teach her how to make use of inaction.”
Gibbs is impressed but unsurprised. He always knew Tony would make a good leader. It just never occurred to him that being a leader would make him something else.
“Sounds like they’re doing well.” Gibbs looks up to ask—
“Abby’s Abby.” Tony and Gibbs share a fond smile and it hits him again – Tony’s all grown up. Still, there’s a look in his eyes. He’s asking for something from Gibbs, needing something and Gibbs hasn’t got a clue what that is. So, he goes with his gut and leans forward to brush his lips across Tony’s.
Tony growls in frustration as he pulls away and grabs Gibbs’s hair. He releases him almost immediately, uncertain he’s taken liberties, but his hand still hovers behind Gibbs’s head and Gibbs moves back with a teasing smile. There’s his Tony. Tony opens his mouth for him and Gibbs slides his tongue inside. He moves over Tony on the couch and Tony leans back, legs falling open to cradle Gibbs between them. Gibbs kisses him long and slow and deep, until Tony threatens to bite down on his tongue if Gibbs doesn’t do something about the eagerly squirming body beneath him. Patience run out at last.
Tony is constant motion, even in sleep, and when he isn’t tossing or kicking he’s talking, mumbling all sorts of nonsense, even movie quotes. He finally stills shortly before dawn, sprawled out and Gibbs lets him have the bed, following the scent of salt out to the beach. He watches the ocean sunrise, looking out over the waves, sun warm on his back. The world is cool sand and the crash-swish-hush of water on the beach.
“It is a nice place.” The breeze sweeps across his face as time moves forward once more, salt and damp and the promise of a wide world beyond.
Gibbs shrugs, “Wouldn’t want to live here.” Tony grins brighter than the sun.
fini
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