This story was written for Ceildh in the 2009 NFA Secret Santa. Check out her work on this site to see the style I was aiming for. It was written and set between seasons 6 and 7 but I modified it slightly after season 7 aired to make it consistent.
Chapter 1: Just a head shot
The wind whipped its icy tongue around Gibbs' body, chilling him to the bone. He would have pulled his coat tighter except that the vile smelling man at his back currently pressing a gun against his ear would probably object.
Gibbs allowed himself a moment of discontent; if only the Navy Captain whose body they had found dumped beside the college football field had been DiNozzo's age, McGee's age or even Ducky's age it would be someone else freezing their butt off right now. Unfortunately, he and the Captain were born within a year of each other so there was no question as to who was going undercover – and whose butt was going to get frozen.
In truth, it wasn't the bitter cold that bothered him so much as the vulnerability. He wanted to be the one lying out there somewhere in the unseen distance, the comforting feeling of a sniper rifle in his hands and the bald head of his captor glinting in his sights. He wanted to be protecting his team, not the other way around. It was not that he didn't trust them to do the job right; it's just that he just wasn't big on delegation. He was the boss, they were his team. It was worse than handing over the car keys and sitting in the passenger seat.
His captor was scoping the rooftop for possible traps unaware of the invisible distant lethal danger. His team would be spread out evenly like three spokes of an enormous mile-diameter wheel covering this pre-arranged position. Very soon, one of them would be taking out his low life companion.
The timing of the final shot had to be just right: too early and they wouldn't have the evidence they needed to take down the entire operation, too late and well, skinny bald guy would pull the trigger attached to the gun currently boring into his skull.
The position of his captor's car had already ruled Ziva out of contention, a fact she was probably swearing over right now. Who would he prefer between DiNozzo and McGee? In days gone by, it would have been an easy choice: apart from the odd ear clip, DiNozzo had the better aim. All that had changed when Kate was shot.
Gibbs remembered that night in Abby's lab in the aftermath of Kate's murder. He was lining up the rifle sights when he suddenly caught the lustful glint in McGee's eyes.
"It looks sweet the way you hold that, Boss."
McGee was just the type to romanticize the sniper role and Gibbs had been quick to crush all his fantastical notions of sniper heroism.
"Sweet? Think Ari looked sweet when he shot Kate?"
The look on McGee's face told him the jibe had hit home. It might have seemed harsh at the time, especially after what they had all just endured, but it had to be done: short, sharp and to the point. He had to make McGee understand that being a sniper was not an artistic endeavor but a cold hard, technical job.
He had assumed the situation was laid to rest along with Kate so it was with dichotomous mixture of pride and horror that he realized several years later that his jab had not deterred McGee at all. One of his old sniper buddies reported that McGee had been asking around the shooting range for some extra help on his 'long range paintball shots'. Gibbs knew better than that. While McGee was never going to be a true marine grade sniper, he was stoic enough to put in hard yards to become an expert marksman.
It was six more months before Gibbs saw the results of McGee's extra-curricular training. He had taken the team down to the range for a little practice and the change in McGee's demeanor was remarkable. He had the cool calm posture of sniper, the patient, relaxed stance and the careful trigger squeeze with the ball of the finger. Ziva noticed too but said nothing – her prowess with a gun had been honed since childhood and she made no secret of the fact she thought everyone on the team should improve their aim.
Tony, however, was clearly not ready to lose his 'senior agent' status to McGee on any count. Gibbs could see the fire of competition in his eyes. The next day, Gibbs had quietly slipped him the name of another sniper friend who liked to teach. A healthy rivalry would be good for both his male agents.
Another six months and Tony's marksmanship had improved but something told Gibbs that the more impetuous agent was never going to outpace his younger, more patient rival. In the heat of an improvised battle, Tony's superior instincts would far outweigh McGee's but in the slow waiting sniper game, McGee was intrinsically better suited.
Gibbs' musings were interrupted by a rough push on his back urging him forward towards the bin where the stash of false drugs had been laid. Gibbs orientated himself to encourage the man to terminate their journey in a position that gave both his remaining agents a chance at a decent shot. His opponent had his own agenda, however, shifting him in other directions. Once their macabre dance was over, only McGee had a realistic shot.
Two thoughts chased each other around Gibbs' head: "Don't risk it, DiNozzo" and "Don't second guess yourself, McGee". Then a third piped up – "Allow for wind". Even a light breeze at McGee's range could shift the bullet trajectory from its intended target straight into Gibbs' head - and this was not a light breeze. When the wind was like this, fiercely swirling in all directions, there was a point where McGee was just going to have to go on faith.
"Get it," growled the voice at his ear.
Slowly and deliberately, Gibbs leaned forward, his captor's barrel glued to the side of his head the entire journey. He kept his movements fluid: the last thing he wanted to do was make a sudden move and have the gun go off unexpectedly. Besides, smooth motion would be easier for McGee to track.
Peering over the rim of the receptacle, he spied the package. Wrapped in a loose brown paper covering, it resembled a large book: Abby had done a good job of making it look like the original. He reached in with both hands and closed his fingers around it. Then, with a slow graceful movement, he brought it out into the open.
"Yes!" said the jubilant voice in his ear.
The package was all his captor needed and all the evidence NCIS needed. Now it was just a question of who shot first.
Gibb's felt rather than heard the gun at his head cocking.
Then there was an explosion in his ear.
Gibbs recoiled involuntarily at the sound then spun to face his captor. To his satisfaction he found the man lying on the ground with a neat hole positioned almost exactly at this temple. The other side of the head, he knew would not look so discrete. Gibbs straightened and held up a thumb to signal the mission's success to his unseen team.
Author note:
People in Britain and Australia do indeed 'orientate' themselves, it's only you Americans who 'orient'. Both words are correct but the former is more common over here and the latter, more common in the US. Google it or check out askOxford. My spell checker doesn't even blanch at 'orientate' and it's set to US spelling.
