I Do Not Own NCIS

I wanted to thank GOTTA for proof reading, very grateful for the time it takes you to do it

Tony glanced over the other card players through the dusty, dim-lit haze of cigar smoke. He admired the man sitting next to him, Gibbs, his father, with his perpetual poker face, blank and reserved. Tony longed for his nerves of steel and calm demeanor. One look could convey a demand and tone without disturbing, so much as one facial muscle.

Tony nearly jumped when, Skeets, sitting across from him abruptly grabbed his cigar from his mouth and began coughing. The sound caused Tony to grimace in disgust as he covered his face and watched phlegm sneak between the man's grimy fingers. Skeets finished with a gargled chuckle as he wiped his lips on his buckskin shirt then fixed his crooked hat,which his body's violent jerks has caused to slip crookedly on his head.

Any optimism Tony clung to, wavered, as he eyed the man next to him. Greeley was on the other side of Skeets, big, confident, his big, dark eyes staring at Tony, boring a hole, making him fidget and sweat. Tony struggled to hold Greely's icy stare, but became mortified when a nervous hiccup escaped as he loudly cleared his throat trying to conceal it.

"Well, I'll call ya, show me whatchya got." Said Boyer or Bayer, the final player. Tony couldn't be sure what his name was as Skeets had introduced him in the middle of a coughing jag. The old, overweight, burly man combed down his gray, wiry beard with his fingers looking skeptical.

Tony licked his lips looking at the huge pot on the middle of the green, velvet covered table. He fanned out his hand laying it near the pile of money. He touched the brim of his hat as if to adjust it but felt a small relief as it rubbed against the irritating, trickling sweat on his forehead.

Everyone except Skeets, sighed discouragingly, giving Tony reason to believe he won the hand. Tony crouched over the pot to slide it towards him, grinning.

"Why you lying sack of-!" Skeets flipped his cards as he slid into another coughing fit. Skeet's hand, included three kings just as Tony's did.

Tony blushed at Skeet's accusation, his mouth going dry.

"Come on Skeets. Don't be pullin' that on the kid. You know it's his first time playin'. Damn, you're crookeder than a snake slithering through a prickly pear patch!" Bayer or Boyer yelled at Skeets.

"Shut up Bayer!" yelled Skeets.

Tony found some solace in seeing Gibbs shake his head in disagreement with Skeet's accusation.

Skeet stood, his chair hitting the floor as he glared down at Tony. The piano music stopped, adding more melodrama to Skeet's confrontation.

Tony blushed, hoping his toothy smile and light chuckle would soften the anger from his opponent. Greeley continued his non-expressive stare at Tony as if to break him.

A loud sigh of aggravation from Gibbs got Tony's attention, his hands slamming on the table. "Skeets, Tony didn't even deal the cards, you can't be blaming him."

"You callin' me a liar?" Skeets grabbed for his gun.

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"There. That should fix it ladies. Is there anything else that needs doin' before I go?"

The corner of Tim's mouth tugged, as he noticed Ziva across the room, smiling, relishing the cool breeze flowing through the newly, opened window, improving the atmosphere of the ladies' stuffy, crowded room above the bar. To Tim, there was nuthin' better in the world than to see Ziva happy. She was sitting in front of a vanity, brushing her long, thick brown hair, but had turned her face into the gentle, breeze.

The noises of the street worked their way through the open window quickly adding to the rambunctious girls' giggles and screeches as they prepared for the evening. They all worked for Mr. Calloway, an ornery, old man that was travelling through town that Tim didn't take a likin' to the man on account of his clearly, intimidating gruffness towards the townspeople he associated with.

The group of girls moaned at Tim's threat to leave, "Don't go yet, Timmy." Piped up Margie, gathering around Tim with the others shaking her long, blonde curls over her naked, smooth shoulders, her pouty lips just inches from his. She pulled at the bodice of her dress creating a touch more cleavage, as Tim blushed.

Miss Lula snaked her arm around his, "Yeah, we love your company and would just hate to see ya' go runnin' off so quickly." She adjusted her hand and Tim winced. "Oh no, honey, is your arm still hurtin' ya'? You really need to let Doc Mallard take a look at it." Lola sighed, her ample chest heaving. Tim tried to keep eye contact with the affectionate woman as he lightly rubbed his forearm.

"Nah, I'm okay, it's just taken' a slow time to heal."

Tim noticed Miss Ziva's concerned expression from across the room, turning his attention away from her's, quickly embarrassed.

"Why do you take such good care of us Timothy when there's nuthin' in it for yourself?" asked JoJo.

"Just want to make sure you ladies are well cared for, all ladies need a man to help with the heavy stuff and all."

"And you young man are in need of a mama around, why you're barely old enough to wipe your own nose." Jojo drew closer and gave Tim's cheek a pinch, chuckling.

Tim blushed, again, wishing Miss Ziva hadn't heard JoJo's remark. He looked down, embarrassed, wiping the back of his hand across his nose, quickly realizing his obvious reaction, rolling his eyes at the thought of his own sheer stupidity. Miss Lula laughed, hugging him from behind as JoJo tousled his hair.

"And who feeds you? You're certainly a tall drink of water but on the thin side, boy!" Exclaimed Lula as she gave him one last squeeze before releasing him.

"Where is your ma'ma honey? I've never seen you with any kin." Tim wasn't sure if there was pity or concern in Margie's expression.

A sad smile grew on Tim's face as he mumbled. "Whadya mean? I'm old enough to be on my own." He scooted the brim of his hat up, with a distant look in his watery eyes, absentmindedly rubbing the spot on his arm that Lula had aggravated just minutes before.

"Tim?" JoJo shook his shoulder. "Are you in there, sweetheart?"

Tim blinked away any unshed tears then quickly brought himself back, breathing in deep as he smiled. "Yeah, I'm fine. Well.." Tim shrugged then touched the brim of his hat, nodding. "Night ladies, take care, now hear?"

"Bye sweet thing." Miss Lulu patted his back as the rest of the girls voiced their heartfelt goodbyes.

Tim's eyes rested on Ziva's for a second longer, then he started towards the door.

"No! Wait!" Ziva followed him through the exit closing the door behind her. "I'm sorry, you probably have somewhere to go.."

"No! I don't! I mean, uh, I was just going to, uh, well..." Ziva chuckled easing away his awkwardness as he joined her. "Clearly, I have nuthin' doin' at the moment."

"Oh good." Ziva's voice was barely above a whisper. "I just wanted to, well, this is probably not proper for a lady but I feel I should buy you dinner for helping us out so much..."

"Is this because them girls said I was skinny?"

Ziva saw the obvious hurt in Tim's face instantly grasping Tim's shoulder. "No! Not at all...I mean, I'm sorry if that's how you see it, but...I just really appreciate everything you do for us." Ziva was relieved to spot a smile sneak back into Tim's face.

The piano music downstairs stopped, gaining Tim and Ziva 's attention to the saloon below.

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Gibbs stood firmly, moving his jacket to the side to reveal his sixshooter. "Now I suggest you just temper yourself down, this here is a friendly game of poker and there's no need gettin' that smelly union suit of yours in a nasty ol' twist, Skeets."

Tony remained sitting, not wanting to add fuel to the fire, hoping he could portray the same confidence his father.

With the halting of the piano music and the full attention of the small number of customers, the saloon was so quiet you could hear the proverbial pin drop.

A movement upstairs caught Gibbs eye as he spotted the boy he had seen over the last week around town, dirty faced, thread-worn clothes; a vagrant, not more than early twenties. Gibbs had never met the boy but always admired the sweet smile and the good nature he portrayed in town, helping people when he could along with friendly conversation.

Gibbs was surprised to see the kid's choice of weapon. He was hunkered down beside a corner wall, aiming a slingshot, no less, at Skeets. Damn kid.

Gibbs tried to make eye contact with him to scare him off but he released the rubber band before Gibbs had a chance. Skeets cried out in shocked anger as a good-sized pebble hit him dead center on the nose. Skeets scanned the saloon spotting the kid holding the slingshot, taking aim and shooting without so much of a blink beforehand.

"No!" Gibbs yelled out, shoving Skeets too late to prevent his aim making its designated mark.

The young cowboy fell back, unmoving, while a young, fancy-dressed girl, yelled out in anguish, running to kneel by his side cradling his head in her lap.

"Dammit, why'd you have to go and do that for, Skeets? He's just a kid!"