Chicken Noodle Soup
WARNING: brief mention of former mpreg. Any spellings errors still left, I apologise for.
Summary: It's not really fair that DiNozzo needs Gibbs for the smallest tasks – considering he was the one that carried their baby for nine damn months! – but when he's right there next to him, it doesn't really matter any more.
"Chicken noodle soup, chicken noodle soup," to be quite frank, after a whole day of cooing retarded children's song, chanting 'chicken noodle soup' suddenly seems a whole lot more productive.
Tony can know.
"Is there any particular reason why I come home to find you singing songs about food for our baby DiNozzo?" the sudden sound of the stern voice doesn't help to calm DiNozzo's nerves but is oddly comforting at the same time.
Because Jethro is home and now everything will be okay.
"It soothes him Jethro," DiNozzo tries to explain, rocking the baby boy in his arms – it gurgles cutely and Tony spontaneously loses his train of thought, eyes widening at the sight of the baby smiling.
"Soup calms him?" Gibbs quirks an eyebrow in question, and he hangs his coat on the rack by the door – watching DiNozzo disappear into the kitchen, before reappearing in the hallway, rocking the child still, pacing the house as if that will help.
"Not soup," Tony frowns, slightly confused, "my voice, so I was trying to get him to sleep by singing about soup and—" he pauses when he realises how stupid that sounds – when he sees Gibbs' raised eyebrows, he coughs, "quit while I'm behind?"
"Quit while you're behind DiNozzo," the older man agrees, the smallest of smirks lurking in the corner of his mouth – he takes the baby boy from DiNozzo, pressing him into his chest, and immediately the gurgling stops, the child making a small soothed noise instead.
Tony wants to glare but can't. The fact that he just spent the whole day trying to get their baby to have a nap, doesn't even matter anymore. Never mind all the hours he spent trying to get the kid to be calm and make those soft snores – who cares when you have Leroy Jethro Gibbs, who will fix all your baby-related troubles in a second.
The fact that it is fucking unfair that all Gibbs had to do was kick back for nine months, but that he is the one that can silence their baby merely by holding him, seems a whole less trivial now that the greying man is there.
The small boy makes a noise of disapproval in the back of his throat when Gibbs shifts him in his arms, but the man shushed the child, murmuring softly: "daddy missed you, were you good to DiNozzo?"
"He was a pain in the ass," Tony said affectionately – Gibbs gives him a little look, and then the man is smiling, the tone of Tony's voice warming his chest.
"He gets that from you," Gibbs laughs, carrying the boy to the stairs, "you're grumpy when you're tired as well."
"I tried putting him to bed already Jethro," Tony warns, but follows him nonetheless – Gibbs is magic, and he know he'll be magic when it comes to this as well.
Gibbs carries the baby into the makeshift baby room, formerly known as the guest room. A stack of comic books by the rocking chair, the top one left lying opened, told Gibbs Tony had indeed been in the room, as the man usually sat there and read his comics while the baby slept. If the boy had been sleeping for over an hour, the younger man would continue doing chores around the house or watching a movie, carrying the babyphone around all the while, but he refused to leave the baby alone for the first hour, just in case anything happened. He was far too frightened to lose their child to leave it on its one for too long, and Jethro could relate to that fear – as long as it didn't border paranoia, he would see it as rather endearing to watch.
Jethro puts the boy in his crib and watches him squirm for a little while – moaning in protest – before setting the mobile into motion, and offering him a stuffed teddy.
Not ten minutes later, the baby is fast asleep.
"How come he only ever sleeps when you put him to bed?" Tony complains faintly – only half-interested when Jethro wrapped his muscular arms around Tony's hips and leaned his head onto the man's shoulder.
"He gets that from you, too," Gibbs mutters, Tony's hands entwining with his own.
"How do you figure that?" the man turned to look at Gibbs, wrapping the other's arms tighter around himself.
"You never go to bed before I'm home," Gibbs explains simply, pushing his chest into the other's back, "don't you always wait up? Just like him, no?"
Tony figures that maybe Gibbs is right, and suddenly it's no longer important that he spent all day trying to get their baby to quiet down a bit. Because Gibbs is right there and he has his arms around his waist, and his breath against his neck, and he knows that this is what family is supposed to be like, because this is love and that is all that matters.
And if this, this whole lovey-dovey-family thing means he has to sing 'chicken noodle soup' every day, in vain, he will do so. Because the reward – Gibbs home and safe and in his arm – is more than worth it.
AN: short and sweet and sappy with a nameless baby. I had to try my hand at this pairing, and though this is the first of three that I've finished I'm still relatively okay with it. Let it be known that he's not singing 'chicken noodle soup' like Kidz Bop Kids, but rather keeps on repeating the three words in a rather toneless voice. Meh. I'm happy since it's my first try, but not happy enough to believe there's no room for improvement, so comments are very much appreciated.