I Love My Job, I Love My Job, I Love My Job - for Michele
by firechild
Rated PG
Disclaimer: The idea is mine--the characters, sadly, are not.
Warning: Um.... you might wanna be ready to catch any renegade rolling eyes?
A/N: This is my return gift for Michele, who made me a lovely tag. :) So it's not really a drabble, per se--I don't do word counts; the story takes as many or as few words as it takes. I know it's not what you had in mind (because, srsly, who besides me would?) but I hope you enjoy it!
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"No one's ever gonna believe this."
He didn't realize that he'd spoken out loud until he heard the reply.
"Why, 'cause seafoam's really not your color?"
"No, 'cause no one's ever gonna know!" And then it hit him. "If you even think of taking pictures of this, I will use your guts to restring my piano!"
"Awww, come on--would I do that to you?" It had to be hard to try to sound hurt through that audible grin. And when it came right now to it... no, he didn't really think that his partner would seriously do that to him. Abby? She'd already have candids waiting to pop up in every NCIS inbox on the planet by now. One of the many reasons he thanked God daily that she'd never pushed for field training. But no, he trusted that he was safe this time. Still, he had to follow through with his part in this little game. "All I know is, anyone not on this wire ever sees a picture of me in this thing, you're gonna have a puffy plastic red heart where your face should be." And after the struggles of the last few weeks, it was good to hear his partner chuckle.
Sighing, he kept one eye out for their kidnapper and told himself to fix the suit head and to stop fiddling with the loose end of one of the gold threads that comprised the gold/yellow rainbow-and-stars design embroidered on the white... tummy... of his borrowed suit. He stifled the urge to scratch his brow and wondered briefly how long a human being could survive in this thing. Not long, if the teenage toy-store employee's eagerness to hand over her job for their stakeout was any indication.
He had to remind himself that... Wish?... Bear probably didn't wear a watch, and indoors in this suit, it was a little hard to rely on his internal chronometer. He would *not* ask his partner how much longer he'd have to endure hordes of sticky, shrieking preschoolers destroying the day care corner while their parents shopped for last-minute holiday gifts in the rest of the store.
He wrinkled his nose at the smell of his own sweat, and then realized that this type of fiber stuck to everything when it shed, which meant that it would be in his hair and all over his clothes before he'd be able to spot and collar the woman who'd been snatching Navy brats.
Nope. Seafoam was definitely not his color.
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