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taylorgibbs Sep. 11th, 2012 05:58 pm)
taylorgibbs Sep. 11th, 2012 05:58 pm)Murgy, the humor didn't want to come in this one.I hope it is okay!
Happy birthday!!!
Healing Just Fine
FRT
Tibbs, McGee/Palmer
Spoilers for Season 9.
Murgy wanted a Tibbs and McGee/Palmer fic, and this was what came out!! ;) Please join me in wishing a happy birthday to Murgy!
3. murgy31 I have a birthday in September... Can I have a Tibbs and McGee/Palmer story please. I wouldn't mind some comedic interaction between Tony and McGee and Jimmy and Gibbs.
“We’re doing what?” Gibbs asked, jaw dropping open. He turned to look at his lover, who was fixing his tie in the mirror, bandages stark white against his hands. Gibbs winced in sympathy and came up behind Tony, angling his head to the side.
“Let me,” he whispered, trying to hide his shudder as he watched Tony try to manipulate the tie. Tony’d injured his hands in the bombing, had taken twenty four stitches in the right palm and almost severed his pinkie finger on the left hand. Even now, dexterous activities caused him pain and unending frustration.
Thank god those were Tony’s only injuries, they’d been bad enough.
It had been a dark time for the team and now, on September 11, they had another somber anniversary to deal with. Gibbs had been planning to forget about it all, but Tony’d set up dinner plans with friends, and he was cagily not mentioning who they were. Gibbs had asked several times a day, but Tony’d shut him down, and Gibbs was grudgingly impressed.
“Dinner. Dress up a little. New couple, and they’re kind of shaken up. We’re treating ‘em.”
“They work at the Yard?” Gibbs asked. NCIS hadn’t been the only ones impacted by the explosion. The Naval Museum and chapel had been leveled, the parking garage and some of the surrounding buildings had taken serious damage too.
“Yep.”
“I know ‘em?”
“Yep.” Tony replied. Gibbs glared at him in the mirror, but Tony’s reflection remained innocent, and Gibbs grinned, shaking his head. “We’ll play this your way, DiNozzo.”
“That’s why I love ya, Boss.” Tony replied, and Gibbs mussed his hair affectionately, knowing just how fortunate he was to have Tony here.
Since the bombing and Ducky’s heart attack, he and Tony had reluctantly come out to the team, him more reluctantly than DiNozzo. They’d all lost a lot that day—colleagues, friends, even Palmer’s marriage hadn’t survived the fallout.
Gibbs knew the odds had been again the team staying intact, but he’d fought to keep them together, though none of them were field certified. McGee’d had some very worrisome flashbacks after the initial shrapnel injuries had faded, and had been ordered into psych, and Ziva’s badly broken leg had meant traction, then surgery, and now PT. And Tony’s hands were nearly healed after two surgeries, but he had a good four weeks before he could even begin to hold a gun again.
While Ducky had come back part time, it was clear he was turning the reins over to Palmer, who was proving serious and capable. Gibbs didn’t know what’d happened to his marriage, but McGee, DiNozzo, and Abby had rallied around Palmer. Focusing on Palmer had seemed to give the team purpose, especially with Ziva seeking medical treatment in Israel.
Gibbs wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he was glad the team had a break. The last few years had been nonstop, and they’d all run themselves ragged. He was nearing mandatory retirement age and intended to turn the team over to Tony—in Gibbs’ mind, there was nobody else who could lead the team—and this downtime had helped him to get DiNozzo’s investigative skills honed on cold cases.
“Come on, Jethro,” Tony said, waggling his eyebrows, wrenching Gibbs out of his thoughts. “It’s a new place and you can’t wear a polo.”
Gibbs grunted, but he disappeared into his closet, pulling out a button-down shirt in an aqua that he would have never worn before the bombing. The dress code suggestions were probably more DiNozzo than the restaurant’s, but if Tony wanted him in something nicer than a polo, it wouldn’t hurt Gibbs to comply. After almost losing DiNozzo, this was a small sacrifice to make. He’d reprioritized a lot in the last few months, connecting more deeply with his father, and even bridging a tentative bond with Tony’s father, though Gibbs could never see them being close friends.
Twenty minutes later, he followed Tony into a quiet restaurant in Old Town, Alexandria. Tony stood in the doorway for a moment, scanning the interior, peering around the bar and groups of business-clad individuals who had probably stopped in for a drink after work. Everyone in the area had a story about 9/11, and days like this tended to bring friends and colleagues together.
“There they are!” Tony said, waving. It was too darn far and too damn dim Gibbs to see who was there, and he wove through the tables, following Tony until the other man stopped suddenly.
“Boss…you um… You know Palmer…and McGee.”
“Yup,” Gibbs replied, skewering each man with his sternest look. This he hadn’t expected, and it took him a moment to adjust.
McGee stood tall, staring at a spot just above Gibbs’ ear, clearly unwilling to meet his gaze, and he shook slightly, something he’d done a lot of since being in the thick of the bombing. Palmer’s hand on the small of McGee’s back seemed to ground him, the younger man locking eyes on Gibbs, his expression screaming his fierce protectiveness for McGee.
Who clearly had a ways to go, but with Palmer by his side, he had a good shot at being whole again.
Gibbs allowed a small smile to emerge, nodding to Palmer, his respect for the other man growing by the second. He hadn’t known these two were together, but it was clear that they were good for each other, and he could get behind anything that helped McGee—hell, helped both of them.
“Let’s sit down,” Tony said, squeezing Gibbs’ forearm. “Surprise,” he whispered, leaning in. “You okay with this?”
“Better than okay,” Gibbs assured, nudging Tony’s shoulder with his. “Dinner on me tonight, guys.” He gave McGee a long look, saying what he couldn’t in words. That he approved. And that McGee would heal just fine.
Happy birthday!!!
Healing Just Fine
FRT
Tibbs, McGee/Palmer
Spoilers for Season 9.
Murgy wanted a Tibbs and McGee/Palmer fic, and this was what came out!! ;) Please join me in wishing a happy birthday to Murgy!
3. murgy31 I have a birthday in September... Can I have a Tibbs and McGee/Palmer story please. I wouldn't mind some comedic interaction between Tony and McGee and Jimmy and Gibbs.
“We’re doing what?” Gibbs asked, jaw dropping open. He turned to look at his lover, who was fixing his tie in the mirror, bandages stark white against his hands. Gibbs winced in sympathy and came up behind Tony, angling his head to the side.
“Let me,” he whispered, trying to hide his shudder as he watched Tony try to manipulate the tie. Tony’d injured his hands in the bombing, had taken twenty four stitches in the right palm and almost severed his pinkie finger on the left hand. Even now, dexterous activities caused him pain and unending frustration.
Thank god those were Tony’s only injuries, they’d been bad enough.
It had been a dark time for the team and now, on September 11, they had another somber anniversary to deal with. Gibbs had been planning to forget about it all, but Tony’d set up dinner plans with friends, and he was cagily not mentioning who they were. Gibbs had asked several times a day, but Tony’d shut him down, and Gibbs was grudgingly impressed.
“Dinner. Dress up a little. New couple, and they’re kind of shaken up. We’re treating ‘em.”
“They work at the Yard?” Gibbs asked. NCIS hadn’t been the only ones impacted by the explosion. The Naval Museum and chapel had been leveled, the parking garage and some of the surrounding buildings had taken serious damage too.
“Yep.”
“I know ‘em?”
“Yep.” Tony replied. Gibbs glared at him in the mirror, but Tony’s reflection remained innocent, and Gibbs grinned, shaking his head. “We’ll play this your way, DiNozzo.”
“That’s why I love ya, Boss.” Tony replied, and Gibbs mussed his hair affectionately, knowing just how fortunate he was to have Tony here.
Since the bombing and Ducky’s heart attack, he and Tony had reluctantly come out to the team, him more reluctantly than DiNozzo. They’d all lost a lot that day—colleagues, friends, even Palmer’s marriage hadn’t survived the fallout.
Gibbs knew the odds had been again the team staying intact, but he’d fought to keep them together, though none of them were field certified. McGee’d had some very worrisome flashbacks after the initial shrapnel injuries had faded, and had been ordered into psych, and Ziva’s badly broken leg had meant traction, then surgery, and now PT. And Tony’s hands were nearly healed after two surgeries, but he had a good four weeks before he could even begin to hold a gun again.
While Ducky had come back part time, it was clear he was turning the reins over to Palmer, who was proving serious and capable. Gibbs didn’t know what’d happened to his marriage, but McGee, DiNozzo, and Abby had rallied around Palmer. Focusing on Palmer had seemed to give the team purpose, especially with Ziva seeking medical treatment in Israel.
Gibbs wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he was glad the team had a break. The last few years had been nonstop, and they’d all run themselves ragged. He was nearing mandatory retirement age and intended to turn the team over to Tony—in Gibbs’ mind, there was nobody else who could lead the team—and this downtime had helped him to get DiNozzo’s investigative skills honed on cold cases.
“Come on, Jethro,” Tony said, waggling his eyebrows, wrenching Gibbs out of his thoughts. “It’s a new place and you can’t wear a polo.”
Gibbs grunted, but he disappeared into his closet, pulling out a button-down shirt in an aqua that he would have never worn before the bombing. The dress code suggestions were probably more DiNozzo than the restaurant’s, but if Tony wanted him in something nicer than a polo, it wouldn’t hurt Gibbs to comply. After almost losing DiNozzo, this was a small sacrifice to make. He’d reprioritized a lot in the last few months, connecting more deeply with his father, and even bridging a tentative bond with Tony’s father, though Gibbs could never see them being close friends.
Twenty minutes later, he followed Tony into a quiet restaurant in Old Town, Alexandria. Tony stood in the doorway for a moment, scanning the interior, peering around the bar and groups of business-clad individuals who had probably stopped in for a drink after work. Everyone in the area had a story about 9/11, and days like this tended to bring friends and colleagues together.
“There they are!” Tony said, waving. It was too darn far and too damn dim Gibbs to see who was there, and he wove through the tables, following Tony until the other man stopped suddenly.
“Boss…you um… You know Palmer…and McGee.”
“Yup,” Gibbs replied, skewering each man with his sternest look. This he hadn’t expected, and it took him a moment to adjust.
McGee stood tall, staring at a spot just above Gibbs’ ear, clearly unwilling to meet his gaze, and he shook slightly, something he’d done a lot of since being in the thick of the bombing. Palmer’s hand on the small of McGee’s back seemed to ground him, the younger man locking eyes on Gibbs, his expression screaming his fierce protectiveness for McGee.
Who clearly had a ways to go, but with Palmer by his side, he had a good shot at being whole again.
Gibbs allowed a small smile to emerge, nodding to Palmer, his respect for the other man growing by the second. He hadn’t known these two were together, but it was clear that they were good for each other, and he could get behind anything that helped McGee—hell, helped both of them.
“Let’s sit down,” Tony said, squeezing Gibbs’ forearm. “Surprise,” he whispered, leaning in. “You okay with this?”
“Better than okay,” Gibbs assured, nudging Tony’s shoulder with his. “Dinner on me tonight, guys.” He gave McGee a long look, saying what he couldn’t in words. That he approved. And that McGee would heal just fine.