Title: His Mouth
Fandom: NCIS
Author: cheekymice
Rating: PG13 for language and content
Beta: willwork4dean. A huge big honking thank you to Will for her wonderful insight and help with this fic
Genre: Humor/Angst (a strange mix but that's what my muse came up with. I blame the vast quantities of Dihydrocodeine and Tramodol I've ingested today!)
Disclaimer: I don't own anything relating to the TV show NCIS sadly.
Story: Tony muses on how his mouth often gets him into trouble
His Mouth
The fist firmly connected with his jaw again.
Tony's head snapped back and hit with a resounding crack against the concrete support he was handcuffed to.
That should have been warning that it was finally time to stop answering each punch with a quip but he couldn't help himself.
"My neighbor can punch harder than that and she's got arthritis, glaucoma and a bum hip. She's also got dementia and thinks I'm Bobby Kennedy--"'
His nose imploded this time.
Great, now he couldn't breathe without inhaling blood and snot but still his mouth wouldn't quit.
"You know, you kind of remind me of Steven Seagal…you're carrying a lot more pounds though. Take my advice. Loose some of the paunch, it's throwing your weight and making you punch like a girl. Too many cannoli's… huh…. I can dig…gotta love…"
Luckily his cheek managed to stop the fist this time and it sent new shockwaves down to his already aching jaw.
But still his mouth opened once he got his breath back.
"You know, maybe you need to get laid more often. You seem to have a lot of pent up frustration there…"
A foot shot out and sunk hard into his stomach.
He whined like a girl as he cramped.
Damn, hadn't expected that one. He had been sure it was going to be another nose shot.
Tony gasped and tried to curl into a ball but the pillar he was sat against and the handcuffs around his wrists made that move impossible. He hunched forward as much as he possibly could as he wheezed.
Okay, he couldn't breathe…not good.
The pain exploded like fireworks bouncing around his mid-section. Oh God, he'd probably ruptured something important, something that really should never, ever rupture.
Maybe he'd die like Houdini, finally done in by a sneak hit to the gut.
The guy aimed another kick.
He tensed but it didn't help much. At least he gave a manlier grunt this time. Vomit whooshed up to his throat, and he couldn't hold it back. He bent forward to try and save his suit but the splatter effect thwarted his valiant effort.
He retched and retched.
When that stopped he tried to catch his breath.
One good thing about being unable to breathe properly was he couldn't talk. Lack of oxygen could do that to a person but Tony managed to lift his eyes and smirked to make up for the lack of shining wit. Well, it was probably more of a grimace but the intention was certainly there.
Although on reflection it probably just looked like he had gas.
Whatever it looked like, 'Steven Seagal' seemed satisfied that he wasn't going to come back with another stupid comment anytime soon and seemed to relax.
"Not so tough now are you?' 'Steven' grinned and before he walked away he coughed up a loogie and let rip.
Nice.
"Better get out of here before more feds come." The other guy in the room muttered under his breath, he seemed pissed that the show was over.
Tony felt the wet spat slide down his cheek but he waited until he was alone before he wiped his cheek against his jacket. His now rumpled suit already had blood on it, masticated pizza and bile and all the crap off the floor from when he'd been brained so a little spit added to the mix seemed kind of right.
Tony shut his eyes and groaned. Not only was his suit ruined but Gibb's was going to kill him for getting abducted again.
Once was careless, twice a misfortune, but three times was just plain embarrassing.
This time was not his fault though. If anything it was Gibbs himself that had caused his currant predicament
"DiNozzo! Go check the warehouse again. Interview that security guard while you're at it. See if he's remembered anything else. We need something…"
So he'd gone back to said warehouse -- on his own because it wasn't considered the main focus of their investigation. Hell, it wasn't even the considered second or third on the list of relevance. It was just a dump site for stolen computers that might or might not even have anything to do with the case they were working on but they had hit a dearth of new and useful info so it was back to square one.
And that was why he was handcuffed -- yes, his cuffs, something else Gibb's would get a stick up his ass about -- to a concrete pillar.
He'd arrived and spoken to the sites only security guard. A guy who frankly wouldn't have noticed if Angelina Jolie streaked buck naked in front of him with a lit firework up her ass.
Tony hadn't been in the best of moods when he'd eventually stalked over to the warehouse. Rent-a-cops always had that affect on him. The moron could have tried the patience of a saint especially when he'd snidely slipped into the conversation that he wanted to join a "real agency" like the FBI and not a rinky-dink agency that no one had heard of.
Tony's trigger finger had become worryingly itchy but he'd contented himself with just casually warning the guard that that he'd personally contracted the plague through his job and left it there…hanging in the air. He'd even coughed dramatically for effect. He snickered to himself as he walked away, sure that the security guard would be making an appointment ASAP with his doctor. Hey, he hadn't lied, not really.
The warehouse was at the far end of the complex and was just as he'd remembered. It was an abandoned, filthy shit-hole. Thanks Boss, just what he needed when he was wearing his new and very expensive Ermenegildo Zegna suit.
He looked down and saw he already had a dust-bunny clinging to his pants leg.
Great.
He swatted at his leg then had to flick the cobwebby mess off his hand as it stuck firm. It landed on his shoulder. He shut his eyes and counted to ten before finally managing to wipe the offending web against the doorframe.
Tony made for the cubical that had obviously once served as the "office" and started to pull the old filling cabinets away from the wall in case something, anything of use was lurking behind.
He found nothing but he did hear a noise behind him. He flicked his safety off his gun and turned expecting to see the rent-a-cop. What he did see was two men and a large piece of four-by-four homing into view at what seemed like the speed of light.
And that was how he'd ended up handcuffed and incapacitated in a dusty old warehouse bleeding from his nose and a large gash to the back of his head.
Of course being tied up wasn't so bad.
That was until his big stupid mouth had taken over.
It was like his subconscious actually liked getting the crap beaten out of him.
He tentatively wiggled his jaw. It hurt and he wished he hadn't done it but nothing seemed to be broken. His head felt like it was splitting in two and he had a good migraine brewing. His nose was probably busted if the crunch he'd heard at the time was anything to go by and his gut felt like it was on fire, oh, and his eye was in the process of closing but all in all things could have been worse.
Tony mentally chastised himself.
Why did he always talk back?
He knew it was stupid and dangerous but it had always been the same.
He just couldn't stop himself.
Tony didn't need a degree in psychology to know he kind of had …issues... and he knew where most of them stemmed from.
It had all started fairly harmlessly.
He'd always been pretty lonely, seeking company from the staff who managed his family home, and talking incessantly gave him the attention he craved.
He'd talk back to his nanny when he didn't want to go to bed. He'd talk back to the cook when she tried to make him eat his greens and he'd spend hours talking to the gardener. They'd laugh at him and call him a chatterbox.
But things had really changed after his mom died.
Before he talked because he was gregarious and talking to people was fun.
After his mom passed he'd felt so angry, consumed by rage that he couldn't speak, didn't want to talk to anyone. He felt cheated. That was a new feeling.
People whispered behind his back and talked as if he wasn't there.
His father wouldn't even look at him.
He felt invisible.
He felt like it was his fault his mom had died.
When he started to talk again a week after her funeral it wasn't for conversation, nope he'd deliberately baited his father just to get a reaction. He'd been spanked until his ass glowed.
It became a game.
A battle of wills.
His father usually won but it was worth it just to get that rise out of him.
Then when his father had finally tired of his behavior, he'd been sent to a military academy and a whole new set of rules were meant to be broken. He'd spent a good part of his time there cleaning the toilets with a toothbrush.
He'd mellowed in college. He supposed he was too busy drinking and getting laid. Also for once he felt like he belonged. The frat house became the family he'd always looked for and he didn't feel the need to push anyone's buttons.
Then came the police and fed years and the game became dangerous.
The bad guys didn't make you run laps or tan your hide.
Nope… the bad guys were liable to shoot you if you pissed them off.
But he couldn't stop his mouth from running off when he found himself feeling vulnerable or challenged and there had been a whole lot of times he'd stared down the barrel of a gun since joining law enforcement.
He'd lost count of how many times his mouth had been the cause of his injuries.
And it wasn't just the bad guys.
For some reason he deliberately pushed Gibbs' buttons and he really didn't know why he did that.
Freud could have probably explained it but Tony was mystified as to why he baited his boss when he did genuinely like and respect the man.
He was always surprised that Gibbs didn't react beyond the usual head-slap and frosty glare when he pushed.
He suspected he'd get both when Gibbs eventually found him.
He heard a noise. Maybe the two goons were coming back. He could feel a one-liner forming already but it turned out to be a rat rooting around the trash and the quip would have gone over the rodents head.
Hmmmmm.
So maybe he did subconsciously want to get the crap beaten out of himself.
Curious.
His father always did said he was a screw up.
Tony fidgeted. His ass was getting numb and his hands felt like they were about to fall off.
He wondered how long it would take for the team to realize he was missing…again.
He very much doubted that the guard would notice that his car was still on site and come looking for him.
He shut his eyes.
Shit. His head seriously hurt.
Maybe he'd just catch a little nap before all hell broke loose and the warehouse became a crime scene.
Just a nap.
Tony awoke to someone frantically calling his name and shaking his shoulder but he couldn't seem to open his eyes.
"Tony…hey. Call an ambulance, McGee!"
The voice grew louder.
Shhhhh, didn't they know he had a herd of elephants crashing around in his head?
"Tony! Come on…wake up….Tony…"
He groaned and finally managed to open his eyes…well, eye as the other seemed to be welded shut.
"Boss?"
"Who else, DiNozzo?" came the reply.
Tony saw three pairs of eyes staring at him. He had to admit they did look worried rather than pissed.
He smiled.
Ouch. That hurt. He felt his lip split.
"Do you want the good news or the bad news, Boss?" he said.
"Bad news, DiNozzo," came the gruff reply.
"I think I may have yet another concussion."
Gibbs shook his head, and Ziva snorted.
"And the good?" Gibbs asked.
"Um...I think I may have stumbled on that lead we needed." Tony grinned again and rubbed his wrists.
"Ya think, DiNozzo?" Gibbs barked but there was a glint in his eye as he said it. 'So, are you going to tell me what you did this time to end up looking like this?'
'Nothing boss…I did absolutely nothing!' Tony tried to look affronted.
Ziva and McGee each raised an eyebrow. Gibbs stared at him hard.
That was true! I hadn't been him at all…his mouth had a lot to answer for!
End