Okay, nothing actually happens in this chapter, it's just Gibbs in his basement all alone (aww), but I'm working on the next bit and that's where the story actually starts. Promise.
Tony was like Gibbs. Gibbs saw it, Ducky saw it… If you re-wound Gibbs twenty odd years and then planted him in the twenty-first-century, Tony would be what you'd get.
It wasn't that they looked alike or shared the same interests, but there was something in Tony's personality and his way of looking at the world that reminded Gibbs of himself.
And that, that exact fact, was why Gibbs was up at four in the morning sanding an already-smooth bit of wood on his boat.
Director Morrow was sending Kate and Tony to work undercover to catch a terrorist. Any other team leader would be proud to have his two protégées personally selected by the director to do what was clearly a very important mission. And he was proud. And he knew that they'd do a good job. He knew he'd still be in contact with them, and he'd still be the one they answered too, and he'd get them back at the end and everything would carry on as normal. It wasn't like they were going to be leaving forever – nobody was taking them away from him. It was a long time – three months – but it wasn't that long. Not really. It wasn't even the danger aspect of it that bothered Gibbs – true, it was a dangerous mission, but it was no more dangerous than what they did every day with him. In all honesty, they'd have so many people watching their backs that they would probably be safer working with Al Quaeda than they would be working with him.
That was the theory, anyway.
The problem Gibbs had with the whole thing was that of all the places in the world to go undercover, the director had to send Kate and Tony to Paris. And Gibbs couldn't help remember what happened when he and his partner were working in Paris, back when he was still like Tony. And if Tony was so much like Gibbs, what kind of a fallout was he going to have on his hands when they got back?
They wouldn't stay in Paris forever. Tony wouldn't be able to turn on the novelty fake-French accent or bring Kate fresh croissants and hot coffee in bed, or whisper nonsense in her ear that she wouldn't understand but would think was romantic because it was in 'the language of love'. They wouldn't be just the two of them, in a foreign country and far away from what they knew. They'd come back to the real world and their real lives, they'd split up in a bitter, drawn-out break-up that would make everybody miserable, and Kate would cry and Tony would feel guilty, and Abby and McGee would be forced into picking sides and the whole team dynamic would be shot to hell.
Of course, there was no guarantee that anything would actually happen between them.
But, Gibbs couldn't help but think, something just might.
And it wasn't as if he could have explained that to the director, was it?
'Oh, sorry Director, but I'm not going to lend you my agents to go Europe to help you shut down a terrorist cell because I'm afraid they'll screw each other while they're over there and I'll have to pick up the pieces when they come back.'
'Why do you think that, Gibbs?'
'Because when I went to Paris, that's how I passed the time with my partner. And what with DiNozzo being such a chip of the old block, you know, I don't want to take the risk.'
That would go down well.
Mind you, Kate was so pissed at the thought of having to live with Tony for three months, she'd probably slit his throat by the end of the first week.
Although, that wasn't the most desirable outcome Gibbs could think of either. There was just no way this assignment was going to end happily.
Either Kate and Tony were going to have a horrible time living together in such a high-stress situation, they'd fight constantly and wouldn't be able to have a break from one another for months on end, they'd come home sick of the sight of one another and then one or both of them would quit or ask to change teams.
Or, they'd get lonely being stuck halfway around the world with only each other and a bunch of strangers, they'd get scared because they had to deal with terrorists and not shoot them the minute they walked through the door, and then they'd get drunk because everyone knows alcohol helps everything. And then Tony would hit on Kate, and she'd be too out of it to care, and it would start with a few drunken kisses and it would finish up with them thinking they were in love.
Gibbs remembered when he was a little boy, play-fighting with his friends and pretending to be pirates or knights, waving long wooden swords around and bashing each other over the head with them. Some adult always used to come along and shake their heads and say 'it'll all end in tears'. He and his friends never believed them, they thought they were just being boring old grown ups, but they were usually right. Gibbs felt like that now – like Kate and Tony and the director were all hitting one another with sticks of wood and Gibbs knew someone was going to get hurt because he'd seen it happen before, but they wouldn't listen.
He didn't invent rule twelve because he enjoyed torturing people, despite what his team thought. And he didn't do it simply because it made things difficult for him, if he was having to deal with break-ups and make-ups and people trying to sneak off somewhere to make out instead of doing their jobs. That was part of it, he had to admit. For the good of the team – and his sanity – it was better if everyone's relationships remained platonic. But he also did it because he didn't like it when Kate turned up in the morning with her eyes all red from crying over whatever some guy did to her, and he didn't like it when Tony was all quiet because he'd done something immensely stupid to a girl he actually wanted to be with. He didn't like to see them hurt, and he knew for a fact that when it's your partner, it hurts more.
This whole thing was a total disaster.
Gibbs took a deep breath and put down his tools. If he wasn't careful, he was going to sand the whole rib of the boat away into a pile of dust. His coffee was cold, but he drunk it anyway. As he swallowed it down, he wondered if Kate would like the taste of croissants dipped in coffee for breakfast, and if she'd be able to stomach watching Tony smother his with peanut butter first. Scowling, he slammed his empty mug down on the table and ran his hands through his hair. As if it wasn't bad enough already – now this damn Paris thing was ruining coffee for him.
Gibbs perched on the edge of his stool and eyed his boat doubtfully. Maybe he'd leave it, for tonight. It would do him good to sleep in a bed for once, instead of falling asleep under the boat. It was far too late to do anything about it now – Kate and Tony had already left. They were probably nearly there by now. The opportunity to do something had been two weeks ago, when the director asked if they'd go. He could have said he they were too busy, he could have said he didn't want them to go, he could have just said no. He needn't have mentioned it to Kate or Tony, needn't have offered them the chance, and then they'd be at home asleep right now instead of on a private jet on the way to Europe.
Gibbs reached for his tools again and set back to work on the boat. He obviously wasn't going to get any sleep tonight, bed or not bed, and if he was going to sit up thinking then he may as well do something constructive with his time. As soon as the sun came up, he'd go to NCIS and find out if Kate and Tony had landed yet.
