A/N: My foray back into the Tiva(ish) universe, with more of Gibbs & DiNozzo being bros, really. I figure sometimes even Gibbs doesn't have the magic touch for unhappy babies.
I've used the same name for baby DiNozzo as I did in my one-shot Namesake, and that's Anthony Leroy.
(god, i should be studying for a bio exam, i couldn't focus until i got this out but i'm panicking over lost study time and if Tiva tanks my grade so help me god...)
When Leroy Jethro Gibbs wasn't minding his own business, brooding over all of the unsatisfactory things in his life, and working stoically on some lengthy carpentry project, he was minding his own business, contemplating what he had to be thankful for, and reading some thick novel from Shannon's extensive collection.
After she'd died, he'd promised himself he'd read all of them. He sometimes came across pages she'd dog-eared, or notes she'd scratched in the margins, and it made him smile, and feel like she was leaning against his chest with a book while he watched Kelly slowly nod to sleep on the floor in front of the television.
Tonight's book was brutally thick biography on Otto von Bismarck. He dropped a tea bag into some boiling hot water and immersed himself in the book, only to have his night completely upended around chapter four when the stained-glass front door burst open and a bunch of shouting mixed with wailing and general chaos unfolded.
With a glare, Gibbs looked up just as his door slammed and discerned that—even though it sounded as if a damn army had just infiltrated his living room—the single culprit of the ruckus was none other than his senior agent.
At least, most of the noise was coming from DiNozzo. Some of it was—
"Boss!" Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo shouted desperately, hoisting up an infant's car seat in one hand and balancing a messily stuffed full diaper bag in the other. "I'm havin' a crisis here!"
Gibbs sat up and closed the book, tossing it unceremoniously onto the couch. He took off his glasses, dropped them lazily on the table next to his cup of hot tea, and continued to glare at DiNozzo balefully.
Tony bounded up, sat the infant car seat on the coffee table—recklessly shoving newspapers and a few paperbacks out of the way in the process—and turned it towards Gibbs urgently, waving his hand in an unorganized matter. The baby occupying the infant car seat looked at Gibbs, stunned, for a moment, and then started up crying again in the same pitiful, hoarse way he had been when DiNozzo had first burst in. Gibbs leaned forward and unbuckled his seat fasteners, nudging the baby soothingly in the ribs.
"Hey, buddy," he muttered gruffly, arching his eyebrow.
"He won't," said DiNozzo breathlessly, a pained, tired look on his face, "stop," he continued, letting the diaper bag fall from his hand to the floor at his feet, "crying."
Gibbs tilted his head at the kid. He showed every sign of having been wailing for hours on end—puffy eyes, red, red face, permanently scrunched forehead, dry lips, wet nose. Gibbs tried nudging him again, tickling him a little, to no avail. He looked up at DiNozzo.
"What'd you do to 'im?" he asked bluntly.
DiNozzo gave an outraged squawk.
"I didn't do anything!" he protested seriously.
"Maybe you shoulda done somethin' to make 'im stop," pointed out Gibbs wryly.
DiNozzo glared at him. He thrust out his palm.
"We were watchin' James Bond, and then he just started this," Tony explained, panic crossing his features again. "It was worse earlier. You shoulda heard 'im in the car, Boss, I thought he was gonna shatter my windows, it was like driving with Banshee—uh, never mind, you're not McGee, you won't get that," babbled DiNozzo. "If he keeps screamin', I think his little head might explode!"
DiNozzo sounded terrified that might actually happen, and for a split second Gibbs' didn't know if it was because he was afraid for this son's life or if he was afraid he'd have to explain to Ziva why her firstborn's head had spun off.
In the car seat, baby Anthony squirmed, kicked, and took it up a notch in volume.
"Why'd you bring 'im here?" Gibbs asked abruptly. "Where's Ziva?"
"She's out, I sent her out!" DiNozzo whined, damn near stamping his foot. "She was freakin' me out, Gibbs. She's been mean and snippy and she won't wear anything but sweatpants and this stained green t-shirt and she started saying scary things like I'm not helping enough and she's losing her mind so I told her to go out and relax—and she went to a damn martial arts class," He explained in one breath.
He lowered his voice conspiratorially.
"Look, Gibbs, I don't think she likes the whole maternity leave thing, can you please take her back and give it to me? I'll take paternity leave or whatever, she's scaring me, it's like leaving a tiger in a cage or, I dunno…" DiNozzo trailed off, looking stricken.
He pointed to the baby again.
"Can you make him stop?" he asked desperately.
Gibbs rolled his eyes gruffly and sat forward a little straighter.
"I'm sure as hell not givin' you paternity leave if you're gonna barge in my house 'cause you can't take care of your own son," he groused.
He picked up Anthony and held him up expertly, glaring mildly at the little one. This little bundle of joy was causing a lot of technical problems lately, and most of them included DiNozzo constantly falling asleep at his desk and Ziva's being filled with incompetent temp agents.
"You try rockin' him?" Gibbs asked.
"I tried everything!" Tony whined. "I rocked him, dangled things at him, made faces, told jokes, ignored him, bathed him, stared at him, begged him!" he listed. "Did you know babies made this much noise?!"
Gibbs ignored the naïve—hopefully rhetorical—question and looked sternly at Anthony.
"Calm down, DiNozzo," he ordered coarsely. He narrowed his eyes, and shifted the baby against his shoulder, patting his back. "Babies are like dogs. They sense agitation. And fear."
"I'm not afraid of him," DiNozzo said sheepishly, attempting to look confident.
Patting Anthony on the back didn't seem to be soothing him. Gibbs stood up and paced around for a minute—and then he frowned. Nope. Still crying insistently. Gibbs paced back over to the couch and winced. The kid had a pair of lungs on him, and Gibbs wasn't exactly used to screaming babies anymore.
"Here," he handed him back to his father.
The baby cried louder the moment DiNozzo took him, and Tony look stricken.
"What's wrong, pal?" he asked, but he sounded more high-strung than soothing.
"Maybe he doesn't like you," snorted Gibbs.
DiNozzo glared and lowered him back to his car seat, turning it towards him. DiNozzo fumbled with the baby for a minute, tried to shush him, and then turned and shot a glare at Gibbs accusingly.
"What the hell did you think I could do?" Gibbs demanded.
"Glare at him!" DiNozzo retorted. "You're—you!" he spluttered, as if that was an explanation.
"Is he hungry?" asked Gibbs logically.
"Ziva fed him before she left," DiNozzo sulked.
"They eat more than once, DiNozzo."
"I know that," growled Tony. "She kind of took the food supply with her."
He glared at Gibbs pointedly, but then suddenly went slack-jawed and snapped his fingers. He dove for the baby bag and rummaged around in it, pulling out a bottle excitedly.
"She gave me this," he said earnestly, and then pulled out another object and thrust them both at Gibbs. "But I can't get him to take the bottle—and Ziva didn't show me how to use the other thing—"
DiNozzo broke off with a yelp as Gibbs thrust the bottle and the breast pump he'd just realized he was holding back into his chest.
"She's already used that, DiNozzo," he growled distastefully, momentarily horrified that he'd just held something that had touched his female agent's— "It's how the milk got from her...into the bottle!"
"Boss," sneered DiNozzo, "don't tell me you're afraid of a little breast milk. You've had a wife and a kid."
Gibbs glared at him, and pointed to his own chest.
"Yeah, my wife, my kid," he said bluntly. "You keep your wife's breast milk to yourself," he barked.
DiNozzo cradled the things in his arms.
"He won't take the bottle," he whined.
Gibbs blinked at him cringing, again as the baby's wails rose once more. He cleared his throat and then narrowed his eyes tensely, clenching his teeth.
"Try convincing him you're Ziva," he said, clearly attempting to sound as nonchalant as possible.
"What?"
Gibbs leaned over and picked up Anthony. He stepped up to DiNozzo and gave him the baby, swatting the pump to the floor and then sort of maneuvering Tony's arm so the bottle was real close to his chest. He pushed Tony's arm a little tighter around the baby.
Anthony started rooting around in DiNozzo's shirt and Gibbs smirked.
DiNozzo looked severely freaked out by the behavior and tentatively nosed the tip of the bottle towards his son's mouth, trying to trick him—apparently—into thinking he was Ziva.
Anthony took the bottle, and quieted down.
"YES!" howled DiNozzo.
"There," groused Gibbs. "All you had to do was grow a pair," he deadpanned.
"That's a good one, Boss," DiNozzo said sarcastically.
He didn't get a chance to say anything else, because Anthony spit the bottle back out and resumed crying almost instantly. DiNozzo's face fell and he chucked the bottle to Gibbs again—who chucked it onto the table—and started trying to soothe the baby.
Gibbs rolled his eyes and pried Anthony away, firmly attempting to work his own long-dormant parental magic on the baby.
DiNozzo was right—nothing was working.
"I'm calling Ziva!" burst out Tony, looking downright tearful.
"Don't," warned Gibbs. "You think she'll let you live this down?" he goaded mildly.
DiNozzo thrust his arm out as Gibbs calmly sat down with the baby.
"He's gonna cry himself an aneurysm and Ziva will never forgive me and I'll spend the rest of my life wondering why I couldn't make him stop—"
"Ah, jeez, DiNozzo, shut up," ordered Gibbs, rolling his eyes. "You sound like a woman."
DiNozzo made a shrieking noise.
"If I was his mother he'd probably shut up!"
Gibbs nodded curtly.
"You're right," he said curtly. "Ziva ever left 'im before?" he asked.
DiNozzo looked guilty.
"Uh, no."
"Yeah," Gibbs said dryly. "I figured."
He lifted Anthony up and looked at him balefully, raising his eyebrows. The baby looked right back at him and just cried and cried, unable to tell them why he was so upset. Gibbs tried glaring at him. He cried louder.
DiNozzo strode over and took him away, looking nettled.
"You're scaring him," he snapped.
"You asked me to glare at him," Gibbs pointed out, annoyed.
"I changed my mind."
DiNozzo hugged Anthony to his chest and pouted at him.
"Please stop crying," he whined. "Please stop, champ."
Gibbs frowned, wracking his brains. He stood up again and prowled over, reaching into the farthest corners of his mind and trying to remember if he'd ever been home for a night like this.
"This isn't fair," Tony griped, glaring at the boy. "You don't do this to Mama."
"Ha," Gibbs snorted. "The hell he doesn't. Why d'you think Ma-ma won't get out of the sweatpants?" he asked pointedly.
DiNozzo looked perturbed, then apologetic.
"You mean you abuse my wife like this when I'm at work?" he demanded of Anthony.
Gibbs shook his head, rolling his eyes. He reached out and placed his palm on Anthony's head, checking for a fever. He hadn't expected to find one, and he didn't find one, but he seemed to quiet a little—and DiNozzo looked hopeful—but then he started screeching again with renewed volume and Tony looked like he would launch himself off a cliff.
"Boss, I need a drink," he complained.
Gibbs blinked at him slowly. He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes.
"Whiskey," he said bluntly.
DiNozzo looked at him uncertainly.
"Um—" he began, but Gibbs had shoved by him. "Boss—?"
Gibbs gave the gruff order for DiNozzo to follow him, and after a quick second of deliberation, Tony turned on his heel and high-tailed it after Gibbs. He was careful on the basement stairs—he really didn't want to have to tell Ziva he'd fallen down Gibbs' stairs with the baby in his arms—and caught up to Gibbs over by the workbench.
Gibbs grabbed a bottle of bourbon off the shelf and scanned the label. He shot a narrow look at the baby, looked back at the bottle, seemed to think hard for a minute, and then stormed past DiNozzo and marched right back upstairs. Exasperated and exhausted, DiNozzo flew after him. Gibbs stopped in the kitchen, grabbed a container of granulates sugar from a nearly empty cabinet, and went back into the living room.
Gibbs set the bourbon bottle on the mantle and uncapped it, tipping the cap upside down and pouring whiskey into it. He opened the sugar, and then he held out his hand firmly.
"You got a binky?" he asked.
"A—what?"
"Binky," repeated Gibbs gruffly, giving him an annoyed look. He waved his hands at his mouth. "For 'im to suck on."
DiNozzo stared at him, and then he involuntarily snickered a little.
"What?" Gibbs demanded.
"Uh, nothin', boss," DiNozzo said, rummaging for one in the bag. "Binky?" he quoted.
"They don't call 'em that anymore?" Gibbs asked narrowly.
"Pacifier's more manly—" at the look on Gibbs' face, DINozzo swiftly changed tunes, "—no, binky's manly, manly as hell Gibbs, call it whatever you want," he said hastily.
Gibbs yanked the pacifier out of DiNozzo's hands and soaked it in the bourbon and then dipped it in sugar. DiNozzo's eyes nearly popped out of his head and he backed up a little, holding out a hand.
"Gibbs, I think you've been breathin' too much sawdust—"
"Give 'im here, DiNozzo."
"Have you lost your mind?" DiNozzo squeaked.
Gibbs glared at DiNozzo. DiNozzo looked back defiantly.
Anthony cried.
DiNozzo raised his eyes to the ceiling, winced, and then handed the baby over, turning his head away. Gibbs cradled Anthony expertly in one hand, nudged his mouth with the pacifier, and waited with bated breath when he took it and started to suck. DiNozzo still looked as if he was waiting for a bomb to go off, but when the crying ceased for a good thirty seconds, he looked around in wonder.
He crept over and peered down at the baby. Anthony looked up at him with red eyes, sucking on the whiskey-soaked pacifier. He lifted his hand and brushed it at Tony's face. DiNozzo wrinkled his nose and looked up at Gibbs, slack-jawed.
"Is this legal?" he hissed.
Gibbs grinned smugly and strolled back to the couch, sitting down and settling Anthony back in his car seat. He tucked him in and peered at him, while DiNozzo inched around and collapsed on the couch next to him, looking warily between his boss and his son.
"Good stuff, isn't it, Al?" Gibbs asked wryly, rubbing his hand absently over one of the baby's bare feet.
DiNozzo shot a suspicious look at him.
Gibbs and Ziva were the only ones who ever called the baby Al. It was a mushing together of his first and second initial, and it was meant to be affectionate but Tony just thought it was weird to call a baby Al. Even if it was short for Anthony Leroy which DiNozzo happened to think was a pretty badass name.
"Boss," muttered DiNozzo seriously. "Is that even safe?"
Gibbs shrugged.
"Old trick," he said gruffly. "Doubt anyone'd tell you to do it these days, but they used to do it to put 'em to sleep."
"What if he gets drunk?" whispered DiNozzo, eyes wide.
"Get your panties out of a twist, DiNozzo, it was only a damn drop or two," Gibbs retorted, rolling his eyes.
He nodded his head firmly and directed Tony's attention to the baby. He was nodding off to sleep, his eyes drooping, his forehead smoothing out, and his arm curled tightly at his chest. Tony smiled tiredly, relieved, and leaned forward, smacking Gibbs' hand away from Anthony's foot. He gave the baby a smug look, as if he'd accomplished this all himself, and Gibbs in return gave him a smack on the back of the head.
DiNozzo snapped around to protest, but his face changed suddenly. His cheeks paled and he gave Gibbs a serious, solemn look.
"Boss," he said quietly. "You gotta promise me—swear on the bourbon, Gibbs—"
"Swear what, DiNozzo?"
"Ziva, under no circumstances, can ever, in a million years, ever know about this!"
*Note that soaking a rag in whiskey and covering it with sugar was an old wives' suggestion for soothing cranky babies to sleep. It's not medically recommended and no one would actually tell you to do this nowadays. Common sense will tell you giving alcohol to a baby isn't smart, however, this was done rather often in many southern homes 'back in the day' and a lot of grandmothers' still swear by it. I'm not endorsing it; I just think it makes for a funny story.
-Alexandra
story #130