Sometimes I hate not being able to sleep... then again...
It's usually when plot bunnys attack... if you believe in that sort of thing.
Here's a theory for you: Muses eat plot bunnies for dinner, that explains why my muses are so full, and I haven't written anything!
words so far: 658
Missing Scene: Bete Noire (the NCIS Hostage Ep), End of.
Gibbs/Tony... only slightly implied (though it ain't finished yet, sista.)
As Tony entered the house he heard it: two gun shots – a ‘double tap’. Making his way to the assumed location of the sound – the basement – and peering over the wooden steps railing, he wasn’t surprised to see Gibbs sitting at his workbench, gun in hand and still in hospital scrubs.
Backing away unnoticed, he stepped into the hallway and wiped his hand over his tired, stubbly, face.
The day hadn’t gone well. He snorted at the understatement of the year: It had been a disaster in his boss’ eyes. The terrorist who had held Ducky, Cait and Gerald – had shot Gerald and Gibbs, before fleeing the scene. He felt as sick as Gibbs that the bastard had gotten away, but he was relieved that no one, especially Gibbs, had been killed.
He took off his coat and hung it up on the coat rack in the closet by the front door, already considering his next action. Coffee. It was usually enough to bring the caffeine addicted ex-marine out of his thoughts long enough to get him to pay attention to what Tony wanted to say… or do.
Wandering into the kitchen, Tony sought out the coffee and a mug – he never drank Gibbs’ coffee, it was like an unwritten rule – not that he’d have drunk it anyway. Making the coffee, he was deliberately quiet, not wanting to startle the other man – the other man with the gun.
When it was done, he had two choices; take the coffee down to Gibbs, or wait for him to come up for it. Both held advantages and disadvantages and he was thinking them through when he heard a noise.
“That for me?” Gibbs growled, rubbing unconsciously at his sore arm.
Tony nodded and pointed at the table, smiling slightly when Gibbs sat down. Setting the mug of coffee down in front of him, and grabbing a glass of milk for himself, Tony sat too. “How’s the pain, now?” He inquired casually, not unsurprised that he received a grunt for an answer.
Gibbs lowered the mug and shook his head. “Bearable… just,” he admitted. He knew Tony was aware that he hadn’t taken any meds since the hospital, and that Ducky would have tried to persuade the younger agent to use his influence on him to take them, but he wouldn’t. It was a reminder to him; to do better – to catch the son of a bitch that had held his people.
“You know, I really don’t believe in all that ‘pain is weakness leaving the body’ crap, Gibbs.” He took out a small vial of pills from his pocket and placed it on the middle of the table. “Ducky told me to give you these,” Tony snorted and cocked his head, remembering the conversation between the ME and himself. “He told me to spike your coffee with them, if I had to,” he admitted, with a grin.
“You didn’t, did you?” The older man held the mug, poised at his lips, suddenly suspicious of the beverage. When Tony shook his head he closed his eyes and took a large swig.
“Nah, but I should have done,” Tony said, lightly, winking at the man when he scowled at him. “Kidding, I would never.” Raising his own glass for a drink, he thought again about the scene he walked in on when the HRT guys went in. Gibbs, laying - out cold - on the floor, and Gerald, out on one of the Morgues’ tables. For a brief moment he thought they were both dead.
“I won’t be killed that easy,” Gibbs stated, making Tony blink in confusion.
Realising that he’d spoken out loud, and that Gibbs wasn’t really all-knowing, he smirked. “Just as well, cause I – we still need you, Boss,” shaking his head, he continued, “Could you just imagine what the team would be like, with me in charge?”
“I dread to contemplate, DiNozzo,” replied Gibbs, his words lightened by the amusement in his voice.
Here's a theory for you: Muses eat plot bunnies for dinner, that explains why my muses are so full, and I haven't written anything!
words so far: 658
Missing Scene: Bete Noire (the NCIS Hostage Ep), End of.
Gibbs/Tony... only slightly implied (though it ain't finished yet, sista.)
As Tony entered the house he heard it: two gun shots – a ‘double tap’. Making his way to the assumed location of the sound – the basement – and peering over the wooden steps railing, he wasn’t surprised to see Gibbs sitting at his workbench, gun in hand and still in hospital scrubs.
Backing away unnoticed, he stepped into the hallway and wiped his hand over his tired, stubbly, face.
The day hadn’t gone well. He snorted at the understatement of the year: It had been a disaster in his boss’ eyes. The terrorist who had held Ducky, Cait and Gerald – had shot Gerald and Gibbs, before fleeing the scene. He felt as sick as Gibbs that the bastard had gotten away, but he was relieved that no one, especially Gibbs, had been killed.
He took off his coat and hung it up on the coat rack in the closet by the front door, already considering his next action. Coffee. It was usually enough to bring the caffeine addicted ex-marine out of his thoughts long enough to get him to pay attention to what Tony wanted to say… or do.
Wandering into the kitchen, Tony sought out the coffee and a mug – he never drank Gibbs’ coffee, it was like an unwritten rule – not that he’d have drunk it anyway. Making the coffee, he was deliberately quiet, not wanting to startle the other man – the other man with the gun.
When it was done, he had two choices; take the coffee down to Gibbs, or wait for him to come up for it. Both held advantages and disadvantages and he was thinking them through when he heard a noise.
“That for me?” Gibbs growled, rubbing unconsciously at his sore arm.
Tony nodded and pointed at the table, smiling slightly when Gibbs sat down. Setting the mug of coffee down in front of him, and grabbing a glass of milk for himself, Tony sat too. “How’s the pain, now?” He inquired casually, not unsurprised that he received a grunt for an answer.
Gibbs lowered the mug and shook his head. “Bearable… just,” he admitted. He knew Tony was aware that he hadn’t taken any meds since the hospital, and that Ducky would have tried to persuade the younger agent to use his influence on him to take them, but he wouldn’t. It was a reminder to him; to do better – to catch the son of a bitch that had held his people.
“You know, I really don’t believe in all that ‘pain is weakness leaving the body’ crap, Gibbs.” He took out a small vial of pills from his pocket and placed it on the middle of the table. “Ducky told me to give you these,” Tony snorted and cocked his head, remembering the conversation between the ME and himself. “He told me to spike your coffee with them, if I had to,” he admitted, with a grin.
“You didn’t, did you?” The older man held the mug, poised at his lips, suddenly suspicious of the beverage. When Tony shook his head he closed his eyes and took a large swig.
“Nah, but I should have done,” Tony said, lightly, winking at the man when he scowled at him. “Kidding, I would never.” Raising his own glass for a drink, he thought again about the scene he walked in on when the HRT guys went in. Gibbs, laying - out cold - on the floor, and Gerald, out on one of the Morgues’ tables. For a brief moment he thought they were both dead.
“I won’t be killed that easy,” Gibbs stated, making Tony blink in confusion.
Realising that he’d spoken out loud, and that Gibbs wasn’t really all-knowing, he smirked. “Just as well, cause I – we still need you, Boss,” shaking his head, he continued, “Could you just imagine what the team would be like, with me in charge?”
“I dread to contemplate, DiNozzo,” replied Gibbs, his words lightened by the amusement in his voice.