Ficlet: Vintage (NCIS, G)
Time to bite the bullet. This has been hanging out for a bit now, waiting for me to stop waffling. Once upon a time, ![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
docmichelle asked for NCIS and the positive qualities of tea. Um, this is... kind of that. Oops. If it's any consolation, the last line came first.
See, I started out being hesitant to post it because it's a new fandom, and I couldn't stop tweaking all the words, and I worry about having the characters down, etc., etc. And then I stumbled onto this, which is strong and brilliant and has a few things in common with the following fic.
But... I kind of like this one anyway, and if it doesn't go up soon, it will be Jossed at birth. So, in the interests of halting my own circuitous mental pacing, I'm putting it out there.
And yes, that is a lot of whining for something less than 1,000 words.
Fandom: NCIS
Rating: G
Pairing: Gen, although I'm convinced they're all a little bit in love with each other
Spoilers: Twilight, Kill Ari, Hiatus
Summary: There are only two people he can have this conversation with, and Abby is busy tonight.
docmichelle asked for NCIS and the positive qualities of tea. Um, this is... kind of that. Oops. If it's any consolation, the last line came first.See, I started out being hesitant to post it because it's a new fandom, and I couldn't stop tweaking all the words, and I worry about having the characters down, etc., etc. And then I stumbled onto this, which is strong and brilliant and has a few things in common with the following fic.
But... I kind of like this one anyway, and if it doesn't go up soon, it will be Jossed at birth. So, in the interests of halting my own circuitous mental pacing, I'm putting it out there.
And yes, that is a lot of whining for something less than 1,000 words.
Fandom: NCIS
Rating: G
Pairing: Gen, although I'm convinced they're all a little bit in love with each other
Spoilers: Twilight, Kill Ari, Hiatus
Summary: There are only two people he can have this conversation with, and Abby is busy tonight.
Notes: If you read this and think, Gee, that's almost familiar... you're probably thinking of this story, which you should go read. I solemnly swear that this can be chalked up to the hive mind, and that I did not come across that one until this had already been fully written. If you happen to like this one, thank enname, who told me to stop wibbling and post it already.
Vintage
He’s alone with the darkness and the clink of ice in a glass. He doesn’t count the boat.
“Stop it.”
“I think I’m entitled.” He tilts the glass back and rolls a cube over his tongue. “And… why?”
She stands on the stairs, arms crossed and head tilted, and gives the glass a meaningful nod. “Your method acting needs work. He would be drinking something harder.”
He doesn’t have anything to say to that, and takes another drink instead. It’s been soda for a month now. He can’t afford to be distracted. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” he mumbles against the rim.
She sighs and watches her skirt shift in a breeze less real than she is. “I thought the Marilyn look was a good compromise, personally.”
He shrugs and lets his eyes linger on her knees. “It’s a classic, even if you aren’t going all the way with it.”
She glares. “You got to blow my skirt up last time, Tony, and don’t think –“
After so long, the innocent look is like breathing. “I meant the hair. You’d look good as a blonde.”
She’s not buying it, but then, she wouldn’t. “Even McGee never went that far, and trust me, he’s almost as bad as you.”
“Ah, Probie. He does me proud.” He’s smiling when he lifts the glass, and not when he lowers it. He’s always been good at telling the truth sideways.
She wanders down the stairs and across the floor, runs light fingers over smooth-planed wood. He watches those fingers, although he’d rather not. He can dress the rest of her up in a thousand costumes, but he can’t hide the familiarity of her careful, capable hands.
“He’s coming back.” He’s very good at keeping only what he wants in his tone.
“Of course.”
That brings him around sharply. “You think so? Some mojo from the great beyond?”
“Nope. I’m just an optimist.”
He’s tired enough to not catch himself. “You died, Kate.”
She nods easily. “Exactly. After that, anything looks brighter.” Her smile is wry.
He laughs a little brokenly and rubs his neck, closing his eyes a moment against the burn.
“She was never meant to sail, you know.” She’s still stroking the wooden ribs, gently, voice pitched to match.
He snorts. “Tell me about it. Won’t fit through the door. Been trying to figure out what to do with it when the taxes come due.”
She shakes her head, not looking at him. “She wasn’t going to take him away. He built her to keep him here.”
His fingers tighten around the glass. “That worked well.” The next ice cube grinds satisfyingly between his teeth. “Maybe I’ll burn it.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Nah. He’d kick my ass.” Which is a point in that plan’s favor, when he thinks about it. It’s hard to ass-kick from across the border.
“So will I. He was going to name her after me.” It's the same old angry-tease in her voice. Her eyes are on him, though, too much knowledge and not enough levity.
He swallows and looks away. “What if I screw this up?”
“You will.”
He rolls his eyes. “Gee, thanks, Kate. Your confidence is –“
“Everyone does.” She shrugs. “He did.”
His eyes track to her forehead against his will, and she smiles. He shakes his head, sharply. “Not his fault. Nobody blames him for…”
Still that smile. “Nobody but him. And you, just a little.”
The floor is fascinating again.
“You blame him more for leaving, though.”
He always hated that about her, the way that she could read people like book summaries. Like she was writing a review, and he wonders sometimes how many stars he would have gotten. The ice is gone, but his smile is a sharp enough distraction. “Now, why would I do a thing like that?”
She looks at him from under her eyebrows. “Don’t play dumb with me. ”
He acknowledges the hit with a softening of his lips.
“Don’t worry so much. You’ll all be his again eventually. For now, they’re yours.”
A bark of laughter catches him off guard. “That’s why I worry, Kate.” It’s easier to say with his eyes closed. “I can’t…”
Lose them, he thinks.
“...let them down,” he says.
There’s a rustle of cloth, and then a touch through his hair, the same calm, measured stroke that the boat never felt. It’s just sense memory, he knows; a playback from the quieter moments in their own little indigo world, waiting for an end that didn’t come. Not from the direction anyone expected. The tightening of his chest is all part of the recall.
“You won’t.”
He leans into the motion even as he argues. “You just said –“
It’s a tug instead of a tap, but they’re exactly the same thing. “I said you’d screw up. I didn’t say they’d let you.” The stroking returns. “Trust your team. They’re smart, and they’ve been trained by the best, and they’re used to hauling your ass out of trouble. Let them, and you’ll be fine.”
For a while it’s just her hand and the silence. He misses being touched casually. When Gibbs left, he handed over more than his badge and his job. Abby has always been the one to walk straight through the line where The Boss begins, but that was when Gibbs was The Boss, and even she looks at Tony like she's trying to find him in there. That might be his own fault, though. He hasn't figured out how to be himself and the job at the same time. He wonders, sometimes, if Gibbs ever learned the trick, or just became the job.
Finally, she pulls slowly away. He sighs and opens his eyes to find her at the bottom of the stairs, light playing over her profile. He doesn’t ask her to stay.
She turns her head back to him. “And bring Abby Darjeeling on Monday. She’s out.”
“Abby doesn’t drink tea. Not enough caffeine content.”
She shrugs. “Ducky.”
He pauses, and then nods. “Yeah. Okay.”
She watches him for a long moment, smiling mostly with her eyes. He leans his head against the table leg and closes his own. A moment later the footsteps fade from his mind.
On Monday, he brings Abby tealeaves.
enname, who told me to stop wibbling and post it already.Vintage
He’s alone with the darkness and the clink of ice in a glass. He doesn’t count the boat.
“Stop it.”
“I think I’m entitled.” He tilts the glass back and rolls a cube over his tongue. “And… why?”
She stands on the stairs, arms crossed and head tilted, and gives the glass a meaningful nod. “Your method acting needs work. He would be drinking something harder.”
He doesn’t have anything to say to that, and takes another drink instead. It’s been soda for a month now. He can’t afford to be distracted. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” he mumbles against the rim.
She sighs and watches her skirt shift in a breeze less real than she is. “I thought the Marilyn look was a good compromise, personally.”
He shrugs and lets his eyes linger on her knees. “It’s a classic, even if you aren’t going all the way with it.”
She glares. “You got to blow my skirt up last time, Tony, and don’t think –“
After so long, the innocent look is like breathing. “I meant the hair. You’d look good as a blonde.”
She’s not buying it, but then, she wouldn’t. “Even McGee never went that far, and trust me, he’s almost as bad as you.”
“Ah, Probie. He does me proud.” He’s smiling when he lifts the glass, and not when he lowers it. He’s always been good at telling the truth sideways.
She wanders down the stairs and across the floor, runs light fingers over smooth-planed wood. He watches those fingers, although he’d rather not. He can dress the rest of her up in a thousand costumes, but he can’t hide the familiarity of her careful, capable hands.
“He’s coming back.” He’s very good at keeping only what he wants in his tone.
“Of course.”
That brings him around sharply. “You think so? Some mojo from the great beyond?”
“Nope. I’m just an optimist.”
He’s tired enough to not catch himself. “You died, Kate.”
She nods easily. “Exactly. After that, anything looks brighter.” Her smile is wry.
He laughs a little brokenly and rubs his neck, closing his eyes a moment against the burn.
“She was never meant to sail, you know.” She’s still stroking the wooden ribs, gently, voice pitched to match.
He snorts. “Tell me about it. Won’t fit through the door. Been trying to figure out what to do with it when the taxes come due.”
She shakes her head, not looking at him. “She wasn’t going to take him away. He built her to keep him here.”
His fingers tighten around the glass. “That worked well.” The next ice cube grinds satisfyingly between his teeth. “Maybe I’ll burn it.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Nah. He’d kick my ass.” Which is a point in that plan’s favor, when he thinks about it. It’s hard to ass-kick from across the border.
“So will I. He was going to name her after me.” It's the same old angry-tease in her voice. Her eyes are on him, though, too much knowledge and not enough levity.
He swallows and looks away. “What if I screw this up?”
“You will.”
He rolls his eyes. “Gee, thanks, Kate. Your confidence is –“
“Everyone does.” She shrugs. “He did.”
His eyes track to her forehead against his will, and she smiles. He shakes his head, sharply. “Not his fault. Nobody blames him for…”
Still that smile. “Nobody but him. And you, just a little.”
The floor is fascinating again.
“You blame him more for leaving, though.”
He always hated that about her, the way that she could read people like book summaries. Like she was writing a review, and he wonders sometimes how many stars he would have gotten. The ice is gone, but his smile is a sharp enough distraction. “Now, why would I do a thing like that?”
She looks at him from under her eyebrows. “Don’t play dumb with me. ”
He acknowledges the hit with a softening of his lips.
“Don’t worry so much. You’ll all be his again eventually. For now, they’re yours.”
A bark of laughter catches him off guard. “That’s why I worry, Kate.” It’s easier to say with his eyes closed. “I can’t…”
Lose them, he thinks.
“...let them down,” he says.
There’s a rustle of cloth, and then a touch through his hair, the same calm, measured stroke that the boat never felt. It’s just sense memory, he knows; a playback from the quieter moments in their own little indigo world, waiting for an end that didn’t come. Not from the direction anyone expected. The tightening of his chest is all part of the recall.
“You won’t.”
He leans into the motion even as he argues. “You just said –“
It’s a tug instead of a tap, but they’re exactly the same thing. “I said you’d screw up. I didn’t say they’d let you.” The stroking returns. “Trust your team. They’re smart, and they’ve been trained by the best, and they’re used to hauling your ass out of trouble. Let them, and you’ll be fine.”
For a while it’s just her hand and the silence. He misses being touched casually. When Gibbs left, he handed over more than his badge and his job. Abby has always been the one to walk straight through the line where The Boss begins, but that was when Gibbs was The Boss, and even she looks at Tony like she's trying to find him in there. That might be his own fault, though. He hasn't figured out how to be himself and the job at the same time. He wonders, sometimes, if Gibbs ever learned the trick, or just became the job.
Finally, she pulls slowly away. He sighs and opens his eyes to find her at the bottom of the stairs, light playing over her profile. He doesn’t ask her to stay.
She turns her head back to him. “And bring Abby Darjeeling on Monday. She’s out.”
“Abby doesn’t drink tea. Not enough caffeine content.”
She shrugs. “Ducky.”
He pauses, and then nods. “Yeah. Okay.”
She watches him for a long moment, smiling mostly with her eyes. He leans his head against the table leg and closes his own. A moment later the footsteps fade from his mind.
On Monday, he brings Abby tealeaves.
no subject
'Cause any show with Abby can't be all doom and gloom.
No, it can't. :) I'm sure there'll be lots of fun stuff to play with.
BTW, can I ask a favor?
no subject
Hee. Somewhere to put it. Cool.
no subject