Top Dog by ceilidh
A/N; Written for the NFA "Find Your Inner Child" challenge. If I say what happens, it'll spoil the fun, but - oh, if only this could happen in the series!
Enjoy! :o)
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Top Dog
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*whump*
Tim McGee's first thoughts, as he flew inelegantly backwards, was that he'd been here before.
Three times now.
And in exactly four point two seconds, he'd hit the floor, with one almighty –
*thud*
– oh yeah, that felt familiar.
"Owwww!!"
So did that.
Still, at least his arm wasn't being mangled this time. Now, if he could just get his lungs to work. With a ninety pound German Shepherd sitting on your chest, that was easier said than done.
He could protest, of course, but – no, in that panting grin, Jethro's teeth looked especially sharp today. And since he was finding him so comfortable to sit on, the chances of persuading McMutt to move – hell, that was as likely as Gibbs giving up coffee, Tony giving up sex, and Ziva becoming a diplomat.
Then again, Tim noted, giggling helplessly against a kibble-scented kiss, he was getting used to it. This was the second time, this week, that Jethro had flattened him. And it was still only Wednesday.
Still, lying on the floor, albeit with a ninety pound dog sprawled on top of you, wasn't all bad. It gave you time to think, a chance to find all those household jobs that you wouldn't normally see.
His ceiling needed re-painting, for a start. Some softer, butt-saving carpet might be an idea too.
Against a happily slurping tongue, Tim now sighed, ruefully wondering where it had all gone wrong. None of the books he'd read on dog training, and he'd read plenty of them, had prepared him for this.
He'd bought in the finest bed, the best food, a huge boxful of toys. Even a brand new collar and leash. He'd even set his alarm an extra hour early, so he could take this ungrateful rug on legs for 'walkies' before work.
And where had all that selfless organisation gotten him? Flat on his back, in a winded heap, beside his fridge.
Pulling a face at that last thought, Tim sighed again while absently tousling Jethro's ears. Even without all those 'how to-' books on doggy-hood, he'd known that Jethro would need exercise. He'd been sure that two brisk walks each day, morning and night, would be enough, but – well, no. As Jethro's head tilted quizzically sideways, as if sensing his thoughts, Tim now knew that it wasn't.
Even in this new apartment, a spacious palace compared to his last one, and the yard outside it – no, Tim knew those toys, those long walks, and a safely enclosed yard, still weren't enough. And as all those books had warned him, nothing turned a placid dog faster than lack of exercise, and lack of company.
If he didn't do something about this, and soon, then both he and McMutt would be in serious trouble.
That McMutt was getting worryingly good at reading his mind, too, since he now found the immediate solution – bouncing away, to a soft groan of thanks, from Tim's chest, and trotting into the kitchen to fetch his leash.
By the time he returned, Tim had managed to sit up – finding it impossible now not to smile. The sight of his Jethro, bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, ears pricked, and with his leash dangling from his mouth was, as ever, just irresistible – so much so that Tim started to laugh now, in real pride and pleasure, as he fastened Jethro's leash.
He wasn't quite the cute little puppy that he'd originally planned to get, but – no, he had no regrets. For companionship, protection, and just sheer entertainment, his Jethro was the best dog in the world.
A popular one too, Tim noted, watching him enjoy the familiar gauntlet of gushing, cooing admirers. Nothing, it seemed, broke the ice with your new neighbours as quickly as a big, fluffy, soppy dog – a chorus of 'oooohs-' 'aaaahs-' and 'aw, what a cutie!' causing his smile to helplessly widen.
It would be nice if they were referring to him, of course, but – well, no, not even he was that naïve.
Besides, if Abby thought for one second that any of these lovely ladies were making a move on him – well, as she was so fond of saying, she could kill all four of them, and leave no traceable evidence. So yes, if it kept Abby happy, and if it kept him alive, he'd gladly let Jethro take all this attention.
To Tim's proud amusement, that cooing attention still continued when they got outside. Jeez, at this rate, they might just be back home by midnight, and… what the hell?!?!?
Instinctively shielding Jethro from the thoughtless idiot that had almost hit them, Tim then straightened – an equally instinctive yell of protest turning, instead, into a broadening smile of light-bulb brilliance.
The answer to keeping Jethro happily exercised, with reliable company, while he was at work had just flashed past him. Now he just needed a little bit of help, and one hell of a big favour, to make it happen.
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Glancing at his coffee, just to make sure he hadn't ordered decaf by mistake, Gibbs then frowned. No, there it was, confirmed on the side. His usual double strength. So he wasn't hallucinating. And if he wasn't seeing things – well, it only logically followed that he wasn't hearing things either.
Tim McGee really had asked him the question that had almost, almost, made him choke on his coffee. Thank God there'd been no spillage, because if there had – yeah, bloodshed may well have followed.
Against the appeal of two bright green eyes, Gibbs' mouth now started to twitch helplessly upwards. So nervously expectant, those eyes were at their most hopeful, and – damn, this kid was good.
Oh, he was going to grant his young agent's request, of course, that was already a given, but – well, to do it straight away, and put the boy out of his misery too quickly, would take out all the fun.
"Did I hear you right, McGee? You want Jethro to come in, with you, to work?" he said at last – needing all the stoic self control he could find, as his namesake's ears twitched up to full attention.
If this was some fiendish strategy, planned out between McGee and his McMutt, then it was working – the nervous grin, and string of 'ummms-' that followed, clearly thrown in to throw him off the scent.
"Umm, y-yes, boss. I – I mean, just to, um, to… you know, to, um, get him a bit more exercise, and, um, stop him wrecking the apartment-"
If he replied, Gibbs knew he'd give the game away, with an eruption of nicely simmering laughter. Opting instead for a non-committal nod, he then jerked his head towards his favourite, furry namesake.
"Flattened you again, huh?"
Knowing better than bluff his way out, knowing what would happen if he tried, Tim just shrugged – pointedly ignoring the quiet huffs of laughter that followed him through the bullpen to his desk.
Pausing to bring his own grin under control, Tim then cast a glance of pure affection towards Jethro.
"I think we've invented a new sport, boss. Doggy-flat-skidding, and I think he's going for a record. Living room on Monday, my kitchen last night. I think by the weekend, we might make the outer hall-"
"Yeah, that sounds about right," Gibbs agreed, half to himself, as he gently tickled Jethro's ears – a puzzled frown, and a twitching smile telling him, a fraction too late, that McGee had still heard him.
His own, painfully learned experience of doggy-flat-skidding was out, and if McGee knew that – well, Gibbs knew the advantage in this battle of wits and wills had just shifted to his opponent. Give this kid a bone to get those tenacious teeth into, and not even Jethro could get it away from him.
On the more practical side, with Tim McGee there was always one of those, he had a genuine point. Keeping a dog of Jethro's size in his apartment for so long at a time was a disaster waiting to happen.
Moving into a larger place had helped, of course, especially with the back-yard that came with it. But exercise wasn't going to be enough for Jethro. He needed discipline too, not to mention company. And Gibbs had to admit that he held a silent soft spot for the dog that had been named after him.
Besides, he dryly reminded himself, he was a damn sight better behaved than DiNozzo. Quite the deterrent too, against those endless wisecracks, and – yeah, that just nailed it for Gibbs. Anything that kept his senior agent in line, and kept him quiet, had to be a good thing.
So even without Tim McGee's hopeful glance towards him, Gibbs was already nodding agreement – holding up a finger to stave off the tide of stammering thanks that he just knew would follow.
"On one condition, McGee-"
As he'd expected, the bright smile faded a little, into Tim McGee's trademark 'uh-oh' frown. Just four little words had left the kid on the ropes and – hey, he just might win this contest after all.
Pointing to the holdall that Tim had tried, in vain, to keep hidden, Gibbs now went for the knockout
"Whatever you're planning, McGee, whatever's in that bag, I get to join in too. Clear?"
Silence. A nervous, 'oh, crap-' nod of agreement that made Gibbs beam in smug approval. Two quickfire jabs had sent Tim McGee crashing to the canvas, and - yeah, that should do it.
Of course, in any contest, there was always the outsider, ready to sneak in to steal the prize, and –
*wuff*
– and right on cue, all wagging tail, prompting paw, and irresistible teeth, here he came.
Judging by the rueful smile on Tim McGee's face, he'd come to the same conclusion. If anyone was going to have the last word, or wuff, on this 'condition', it was going to be Jethro.
As they left the bullpen and headed towards the stairs, Tim allowed himself a quietly smug grin. This unexpected 'condition' may have thrown a spanner into his plans, but its end result – yes, even with that to contend with, 'Operation Jethro' still promised to be a lot of fun. For both of them.
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"McGee! Gibbs!!"
A pause, followed by the loudest squeal of all that threatened to shatter two pairs of eardrums.
"Oh, my Gooooood!!! Jethro!!!"
Arms outstretched for the expected Abby-hug, Tim sheepishly crossed them over his chest instead. That hug was clearly destined for someone else now, and – yeah, it was probably for the best. He was still aching from last night's round of doggy-flat-skidding, and as much as he loved them – yeah, for the sake of his still tender ribs, the many pleasures of Abby's power hug would have to wait.
Of course, as both he and Gibbs now noted, that hug might not come at all, to either of them. To their shared amusement, Abby was on the floor now, in a snug huddle of happily paddling paws.
If not for a subtle cough, and the lure of a massive Caf-Pow, she'd have been down there all day – a sheepish 'console-a-cuddle' met with quiet laughter from Gibbs, and an unseen wince from McGee.
He'd never show it, of course, it would hurt her too much, but he was almost glad when she let him go. But then he started to smile again as he watched her wrap Jethro into another ecstatic hug.
When she was happy, he was happy, which meant that Gibbs was happy, so everyone on his team was happy, and – oh yeah, Tim reminded himself, grinning now with anticipation, the best part was still to come.
That went for Gibbs too, of course, as a pointed glance towards the bag at his feet subtly reminded him
Genuinely looking forward to his reaction, Tim grinned as he unzipped it and pulled out its contents – that reaction all he'd hoped for, as Gibbs' face broke into one of the biggest smiles that he'd ever seen. And when the hand that usually whacked you round the head proudly pounded your back instead – yes, even Tim McGee knew he could safely relax, and simply enjoy this rare and special moment.
"Great idea, McGee! Yeah, if this doesn't stop him flattening you, nothing will!"
Still basking in this moment of glory, Tim then frowned as that moment took an unexpected turn. It was his idea after all. It was only fair that he should take the first go at it, and – hmm, seemingly not. Fair play and protocol meant nothing, it seemed, against the greater power of your boss's seniority. And as a mischievous grin smugly reminded him, he had agreed to that gently imposed 'condition'.
So yes, if anyone was going to take first go at 'Jethro-blading' then it was going to be Gibbs.
Arguing would be pointless, of course, and would only lead to the inevitable concussion, so Tim didn't even try. Instead, pouting slightly, he followed Gibbs out of the lab, then down the stairs that led to the garage.
His only consolation, one that couldn't help but make him smile again, came, of course, from Abby – a proud hug, and an even prouder kiss, joining her open approval now as they watched Gibbs gear up.
"Awww, Timmy, what a great present! He'll love it!!"
Staring back at her, genuinely thrown, Tim then smiled with the gratitude of the 'just-in-time' inspired. Ah yes, it was Gibbs' birthday that weekend. Trust Abby to remember that, and trust him to forget it.
'Okay, McBrainDrain, you'd better stock up on post-its. But right now, you've got a lifeline. Use it.'
"Yeah, I, um, well, you know, I… um, wanted to do something different for him. something special-" he said at last – breathing another sigh of relief as Abby, seeing no reason to doubt him, proudly kissed his cheek.
Caught up, as he always was, by that infectious energy, he then grinned, his earlier sulkiness forgotten – enjoying with her a moment of pure joy that not even a full size, intravenous Caf-Pow could induce.
If maybe a bit shakily, Jethro Gibbs was on rollerblades, skating circuits around the evidence garage – his means of propulsion pulling him, inevitably, through its open doors and out into the main Yard.
Anticipating disaster, especially if Jethro made for the nearest gate, Tim and Abby ran out after him – both staring, in pure disbelief, at the sight that met their eyes, and the sound that met their ears.
With all the space they could possibly ask for, Jethros I and II were now on an all-out sled run – a symphony of barks, and a yell of sheer exhilaration, leaving no doubt over how much fun it was.
"Yeeeeeeeeee-haaaaaaaaaa!!!!"
Their astonishment was nothing, though, against the amazement that now struck their Director.
Opening her window to air out her office, Jenny Shepard now stood by its frame, and just stared. Rubbing her eyes, in pure disbelief, she then turned them back to the unbelievable sight below her.
No, she wasn't heady on bourbon. She wasn't imagining things. And she wasn't hearing things either.
Jethro Gibbs really was rollerblading through the Yard – and clearly loving every ridiculous second.
"Wheeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!"
Closing her window, Jenny then moved away from it so that no-one could possibly see what followed. Leaning against the wall, clutching her sides for support, she closed her eyes, and simply howled.