Disclaimer: I own nothing, I claim nothing, I make no money, but I do have fun!
A/N: Okay folks, I shouldn't be doing this, but I paid yet another car repair bill this week and got kinda frustrated. The result was this series. It is going to be a series of short ficlets that have no plot, and little substance. It's basically pointless fluff, but hopefully you'll laugh a little bit. I have a few planned, but I can't make concrete assertions about when I will update. Lastly, anything described below or in subsequent chapters will not actually work, so please don't try it and sue me when things go horribly wrong.
-Not Afraid to Give Orders-
Gibbs sighed; he really didn't want to go through this right now. It was the middle of flipping summer, and hot as hell. He was tired; the day had started at about 0200 with a call to the scene of a double homicide out in the boonies. It was just him and his newest agent, one former homicide detective Anthony DiNozzo, working the case, and they'd been at it for hours without a single break. Gibbs was low on caffeine, completely out of patience, and currently stuck on the side of the road holding the broken timing belt from the charger in his hands. Gibbs looked from the timing belt to his new probie, the younger man leaning against the side of the car gazing at the passing traffic. This was all his fault.
He knew it was an initiation of sorts (one that he even slightly approved of, although he'd never come out and say that), so he should've been expecting it. Really, it was even a little overdue; it shouldn't have caught him off guard.
That still didn't make anything less than damned annoying.
Somehow, the mechanics in the motor pool all thought that each of his probies (if they lasted more than a month) needed a lesson in just how big of a bastard Gibbs could be, and always arranged a little mechanical failure early in their tenure. Now Gibbs was good with cars, a proficient mechanic, and none of the issues were beyond his capability to fix if he had the right part. However, unless he was willing to carry what amounted to enough parts to build an entire engine in the trunk, just in case, the proper part would always have to be purchased.
That would be the point. When Stan Burley had had his turn at this rite of passage, Gibbs had made him run five miles to the nearest auto parts shop to pick up a new starter. Now however, they were almost in the middle of nowhere and unless he told his newest agent to steal a car and find a mechanic they certainly weren't getting out of this anytime soon. Damn the motor pool mechanics for pulling pranks. Damn DiNozzo for being new. Damn the whole freakin' world for being so damned annoying. He didn't have time for this, he had a murderer to catch.
"DiNozzo!" Gibbs barked as he threw the belt at younger man.
"Yeah boss?" DiNozzo looked slightly confused as he easily caught the ungainly auto part.
"Do you know what that is?"
DiNozzo looked at the belt in his hands carefully, Gibbs rolled his eyes. Of course the kid has no idea what he's looking at. "Get to Front Royal and find me another one," he ordered.
"Why don't we just call a tow truck?"
"Do you have cell reception?"
The kid checked his cell phone, scowling slightly as he noted the lack of bars, before looking back at Gibbs. "Boss, we're fifteen miles to Front Royal."
"Then you'd better get moving. I want to be home before dark!"
The new agent paled at the thought of the impossible deadline, and looked down the road toward Front Royal as if contemplating the distance. He then looked back to the belt in his hands, examining the break. Oh this was frustrating! Gibbs had given an order, orders were to be followed, and yet the kid was not moving. Just as Gibbs was about to shout at him, and maybe cuff him on the back of the head, DiNozzo straightened up and started walking.
He got as far as the back passenger side door of the sedan.
Gibbs was a strange mixture of irate and perplexed as a grumbling DiNozzo opened the car door and retrieved a couple of items from his pack, one of them being an expensive looking lighter. Why would a guy who doesn't smoke carry around a lighter? And why wouldn't he just get his ass in gear and get to Front Royal? He was very confused as he watched his agent slowly heat up the ends of the timing belt over the flame of the lighter. After a few minutes, the younger man uncapped the other item he'd gotten from his pack, a tube of superglue, and applied a little to the one of the ends before sticking the belt back together.
He couldn't help it, he simply had to ask "What the hell are you doing, DiNozzo?"
"Well, I'm not really in the right shoes for a fifteen mile run," DiNozzo answered.
Right, as if that actually told Gibbs anything. The young agent took the mended belt to the engine and quickly re-installed it using the tools that Gibbs had laying about from his initial assessment of the problem. After he put the pieces of the belt housing back on, Gibbs felt compelled to speak up again.
"DiNozzo, there is no way in hell-" he began.
"No, it's not gonna last, but it should get us back to the Navy Yard. Just don't drive like Dale Earnhardt Jr." DiNozzo straightened up and slammed the hood down.
Gibbs stared at him, and the kid stared back for a few seconds before shrugging, collecting the tools and getting back in the car. He shook his head. Apparently, his newest agent was not afraid to give orders of his own. This partnership just might work, Gibbs thought as he got back into the car. He'd just have to make sure that little episodes like this didn't happen very often, it'd be hell for his image.
"This car blows up and its replacement will come out of your paycheck."