Chapter 13
The next morning, after a fairly quiet night, Dabi woke to the smell of coffee. A glance at her alarm clock told her it was just after eight. A fast shower and dress soon had her downstairs and heading for the kitchen.
Gibbs was up, showered, and dressed, and sipping his coffee while he read his newspaper.
"Morning, sleepyhead," he said. "Did you sleep well?"
She nodded. "I must have; I don't remember dreaming."
"There's cereal in the pantry," he said. "Help yourself. Nice shirt."
She looked down; under an open black, red, and grey plaid poplin men's work shirt was a grey shirt with the Marine Corps logo and symbol written across it in red that she was wearing over stonewashed men's jeans. She wasn't trying to dress like a guy; with the way her body was growing, men's clothing were simply a more comfortable fit in some areas.
"We did a tour of the Quantico Marine base last year, as part of the whole career exploration thing, and they were doing sniper training in one area."
"Did you take a shot?"
"Yup. Hit the first target at five hundred yards. The Gunnery Sergeant who was doing the tour offered to let me try hitting the others. I hit the second target at eight hundred and the third at a thousand. Not necessarily bullseye, but I hit them."
"That's damn good. You ever shoot before?"
"I went turkey hunting the fall before and there's a guy at the bakery who deals with pesky coyotes and the occasional deer. He lets me practice at the range when we get the time and the chance," Dabi said, getting herself a bowl of cereal. "Anyway, that was how I got the shirt and I got to keep the shell casings from the rounds I fired. Some of my classmates didn't understand why it took so long to fire off a shot and the Gunnery Sergeant said that snipers have the rule of one shot, one kill, and that each shot had better count because they may not get the chance again, especially if the shot is the difference between a mission being a success or failure."
"He's got that right."
"Were you a sniper?"
Gibbs nodded. "I still have my rifle."
"Cool."
They continued to chat about various subjects before Dabi had to take Azan outside for his morning piddle.
With Gibbs watching, Azan did his business.
Then;
"Hey Jethro!" someone called to Gibbs.
It was Jack Armstrong and his teenage son, Eric; Gibbs' neighbors.
"Morning, Jack," Gibbs called back.
"Who's the pretty lady?" Jack asked.
"That's my daughter, Dabi," Gibbs said. He raised an amused eyebrow when Dabi blushed at the smile Eric gave her. "Where are you off to today?"
"Got a friend with a coyote problem. Gonna go up for a few days, have a little fun before school starts again," Jack said, loading a canvas bag into the back of his truck.
"You get the bolt on your rifle fixed?" Gibbs asked.
"Bolt fixed and scope sighted," Jack said, holding up a Remington Model 700 rifle with a scope attached to it.
"That's a nice-looking dog," said Eric to Dabi, who blushed again. Eric was very cute, standing nearly six feet tall, with wavy brown hair, green eyes, and broad shoulders that stretched his sweatshirt.
"His name's Azan; he's my hearing dog," she said, very, very glad she had bothered to put a little make-up and some earrings on before coming downstairs. She had even sprayed on a little body mist this morning; Wild Berry Tulips from Bath and Body Works.
"Yeah? Where do you go to school?" he asked, liking the way her red hair curled around her face. She smelled nice, too.
She told him. "It's near the Kranz Bakery, where I live with my grandparents, and where I work most of the time."
"You work at a bakery? Like Cake Boss? That is so cool," said Eric.
Gibbs was sure Dabi's clothes were going to catch fire if she blushed any harder.
Then trouble struck.
Dabi moved and the tree she was standing next to suddenly exploded as a bullet struck it.
"Daddy!" she screamed, hitting the ground, Eric right beside her. She screamed again when she saw Mr. Armstrong go down, hit. "Daddy!" she screamed again.
Yesterday was happening all over again.
The black truck made a rapid turn-around, with Gibbs firing at it. His shots hit the truck, shattering the windows, but didn't stop it. It did stop the shooting long enough for Dabi to make a frantic dive for the fallen Remington, which was next to the Armstrong truck and a groaning, bleeding Jack.
Hands shaking, she quickly took a magazine from the holder on the stock and slapped it into the rifle, before racking back the bolt to load the rifle. With the scope covers up, the rifle was ready to fire.
She flinched when more bullets struck the truck she was hiding behind. Then they stopped and she saw her dad stand in the street and fire off some shots.
It was her turn.
She moved to kneel beside him, one knee supporting her left arm as her left hand supported the rifle barrel.
As Gibbs watched the truck drive away, he swore. Then he noticed Dabi, and stepped back, out of the danger zone.
He had seen this before, the concentration of someone, usually a sniper, preparing to fire. She had told him about making a five hundred yard shot with a sniper rifle. But the Remington was a deer hunting rifle, a different breed of weapon.
It was going to be a long shot.
She squeezed the trigger.
And the rear-view mirror exploded.
It was a shot of nearly two hundred yards.
The truck swerved as the driver panicked and lost control, before slamming in to a tree.
"Unless I see your hands, the next shot will be between your shoulders!" Dabi yelled, never moving from her position, except to eject the shell and rack in another round. The driver didn't comply, so Dabi adjusted her sight and fired again, this time punching a hole near the driver's head that struck the tree on the way out. "Last warning! Hands! Now!"
Two shaking hands came out the driver side window.
"Do exactly what you are told, driver! Remember, I can see you!" Dabi yelled.
As Gibbs and Eric ran to cover the driver, Dabi watched through the scope. Then the driver looked as if he was about to fight and Dabi fired once more, shattering the open driver-side door widow and striking the side-view mirror.
"Behave!" Dabi yelled.
The driver behaved after that.
It was Shaun Kyle and he was bleeding from flying glass, but Dabi didn't have any sympathy for him, not after what he just did.
Instead, on shaking legs, she headed back to the Armstrong truck, disarmed the rifle, and sat down very heavily on the ground, against the truck.
She noticed Mr. Armstrong was being attended to by a woman, probably his wife, who had a phone to one ear.
"I should go and help him," she thought hazily. "It's my fault he got hurt; Shaun was after me."
But she couldn't move. Instead, with the rifle stock against the ground and the rifle between her knees, she leaned her head against the scope, shoulders slumped. That was when the tears started, slowly sliding down her face.
That was where Gibbs found her a minute later. Someone took the rifle from her, probably to secure it, and someone else put a jacket around her. The jacket had a musky smell, that of a guy. She would later find out that the jacket belonged to Eric, who was in awe of her.
When Gibbs put his arm around her shoulder, she leaned against him, her fingers buried in Azan's comforting fur.
Shaun was secure and being transported to NCIS for interrogation and eventual charging. He hadn't said a word, invoking his right to remain silent.
"Anyone else after me?" she signed to Gibbs.
"Just Eric," he signed back.
"Huh?"
"I think he wants to ask you out."
Dabi didn't know whether to laugh or hide her face in her father's shirt.