When Abby had mentioned target practice, it hadn't crossed his mind that they would need actual targets. Tony had automatically assumed that anything would work, whether it be a bush or the occasional mailbox. But he had to admit, Abby's idea was significantly more fun.
Before he knew it, the entire back yard was filled with snow figures bearing similar traits to various perps and suspects that had grated on either of the two coworkers' nerves. It was amazing what two adults could do with enough time, patience, and bourbon. However, Tony did draw the line at using red food coloring for realistic impact. Some things were just too morbid for a simple game involving firearms.
Grinning, Abby placed the finishing touches on her last snow-criminal and backed away. In a skillful impression of Vanna White, she raised her arms toward her creation.
"Fire away, Agent DiNozzo."
The man grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back next to him, out of his line of fire.
"You should probably not aim towards the house, snow doesn't slow the bullets very much."
He turned to look at her oddly, lowering his gun and pausing for a moment.
"Have you done this before?"
"Well, yeah," she answered, trying to shrug, heavy coat restricting her range of motion, "Haven't you?"
There were times that Abby genuinely concerned him.
Shaking off the confused feeling that had settled over him, Tony straightened and refocused his hazy mind. He drew up into his shooting stance and nudged Abby back behind him.
"Stay there," he warned, severely, "We're in enough trouble without me accidentally shooting you."
She rolled her eyes, but tucked herself against his side, anyway.
"Ready?"
Tony shifted, stabilizing his shoulders before nodding firmly.
"Aim."
He spun slightly to point the weapon at the first snow target; a tall figure with sculpted spiky hair.
"Fire."
And he did.
The bullet sailed straight through the target, which almost exploded on impact, and kept going. A stream of icicles fell from the roof down to the snow covered ground, having been knocked down from the force of the bullet.
The two adults scrambled to the ground, Tony throwing an arm over Abby's head in an attempt to protect her from both the bullet and the icicles. Eventually, they both ended up flat on their stomachs in the snow, Abby tucked underneath the agent's arm. They were silent.
"Oh my god, I shot my eye out," Tony quoted.
"A Christmas Story?"
He nodded slowly, tentatively sitting up, keeping Abby pressed tightly to his side. "1983 classic. Ralphie and the Red Ryder BB gun."
"That was no BB," said Abby, shaking feverishly and attempting to detangle herself from Tony's arm. There was snow in her clothes; in places that she hadn't considered possible, and the delightful buzz the bourbon had brought on earlier was beginning to vanish. Tony frowned and held on tighter.
"You alright?"
He pushed her hat put of the way and rested a heavy palm on her forehead. Cursing, he helped her to her feet and began to lead her to the house. She was too warm.
They hadn't even made it halfway there when the back door burst open and a frantic Gibbs came crashing through. He hadn't bothered with a coat after hearing the shot, so he was still in his light T-shirt, but the cold didn't seem to have any effect on him.
Spying his surrogate children, he rushed to their side, capturing Abby in a tight hug and grabbing DiNozzo into another immediately after. His heart was still pounding as he stepped back and began to examine them both for injuries.
"We're fine, Gibbs," whispered Abby, batting his hands away when he went to push her coat back to look any signs for her having been hit.
"I'm fine, Gibbs," Tony corrected. "Her fever spiked, again."
The shock was beginning to wear off, and Gibbs spotted the gun lying in the snow, having been abandoned during their frantic attempts to duck for cover.
"What happened?"
"Um…"
Abby looked down at her feet, fidgeting and digging her boots into the snow. A gentle hand landed on her shoulder before Tony stepped up to offer an explanation.
"Target practice, Boss."
Gibbs looked at them oddly, the words not making sense. He mouthed them to himself as he surveyed the disheveled lawn. His eyes widened in realization before shrinking back to slits when he finally comprehended their words and knew what had happened there that day.
He swiftly reached out and grabbed Abby around the waist, tilting her over his left arm and delivering half a dozen heavy swats to the seat of her sweatpants. Squealing as she was put back on her feet, she then watched as he gave Tony the same treatment.
"Gibbs," she whined, "What was that?"
"Target practice," he answered.
They both winced at the word 'practice', but it really was a bit too much to hope for that those well placed swats would be the only ones they would receive that day.
"Go inside, and up to your rooms."
"Boss?"
"Rooms."
"Gibbs?"
"Now!" he barked, watching them scurry inside, leaving him to stare after them, taking deep breaths and trying to calm down.
Toddlers. Toddlers with bourbon and firearms. His house was being overrun by toddlers. Toddlers with bourbon, firearms, and sore asses.