"Uhh… your house?"
The veins in Gibbs' neck stood out violently as he burned Tony with his glare. The NCIS rookie quailed under the pressure of the blue stare and considered bolting from the bull pen before admitting to himself that he'd never make it.
"Did I stutter, DiNozzo? Yes, my house. Get up off your ass and move it. Now."
Without a further word or second glance, he spun on his heel and stalked towards the elevator. Feeling like a puppy limping after a ferocious rottweiler, Tony somehow managed to scramble to his feet and slip into the elevator just before the door slid shut. The tension was tantamount to torture as the metal box careered towards the garage level. It only disimproved when Gibbs made a snorting sound of disapproval when Tony made towards his own car, jerking his head towards his own banged up vehicle. Sliding into the passenger seat, Tony leaned his head against the cold glass as the car screeched from the parking lot and felt oddly like a kidnapping victim on their way to a shallow grave. It suddenly struck him that Gibbs was exactly the sort of man who could kill another man and never, ever get caught.
"Boss?"
The sharp inhale of breath, squeezed between tight nasal passages, whistled through the car.
"Ain't in the mood for a conversation right now, DiNozzo."
Tony swallowed a desperately dry swallow.
"Right. Uhh… just one quick question, not a conversation per se. Uhm… what's at your house?"
Gibbs' grip tightened on the steering wheel as the car sped along the inky black roads.
"Consequences."
He didn't utter any further explanation and Tony felt his insides constrict painfully as silence enveloped them. Rather than trying to figure out what kind of consequences lay before him, he closed his eyes and tried to black his current situation out of his mind. In what seemed like both an eternity and a millisecond later, the car took a sharp right and swept into a driveway. Opening his eyes, Tony blinked at the decidedly normal looking, middle-class home in front of him. He didn't quite know what he was expecting… but a family home in a nice neighbourhood wasn't one of them.
Wasn't Gibbs a perpetual bachelor?
He jerked out of his reverie when the driver's door slammed shut. With legs like lead, he followed suit and tentatively followed Gibbs into the unfamiliar house. Closing the door shut behind him, he blinked as he looked around the living room and adjacent kitchen. Confusion dogged him. It looked like no one did, or ever had, lived here. Save for a suspiciously ancient looking television set and an oddly placed ironing board, there were no personal effects. Anywhere. Hovering awkwardly as Gibbs rattled and rooted around in the kitchen, he chewed his lip.
"Boss? Is there-"
"You eat steak?"
Tony blinked stupidly at the question as Gibbs emerged from the kitchen with two very sizeable cuts of steak in his hands. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't that. Words failed him as he gawped down at the two prime cuts of meat.
"Jesus H Christ," Gibbs mumbled irritably. "First you're insubordinate and now you're a damned mute. Any other difficulties you got that I need to know about, DiNozzo? For crying out loud, do you eat steak or do you not?"
Tony spluttered.
"I… I love steak."
"Good. I usually cook em' over an open fire but that'd take too long. The grill will have to do. There's a bathroom upstairs, first door on your left. Go get washed up and then wait in the living room. These won't take long."
Psychological warfare.
As Tony walked slowly towards the stairs, on auto-pilot, he realised that this was his consequence. Mind games. Sick, meat based, mind games. He found the bathroom easily which had the equal look of abandonment about it albeit it intensely clean and neat. Splashing water on his face and scrubbing his hands, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He looked like hell. Pale, drawn and outwardly bewildered. Minutes sailed past as he stared at himself before a sudden pang of anger sparked inside him. This was absurd. Gibbs should have canned him at the Navy Yard and have done with it. He wasn't a toy to play with… a mouse for a cat to paw about before snapping its neck in two. He turned off the faucet with a snap and headed downstairs with the intention of telling Gibbs what to do with his job. The extremely delicious looking steak that met him at the bottom of the stairs caught him off guard. Holding the plate Gibbs had placed in his hands as if it were an exotic snake, he watched as the man flung himself down on the sofa and began eating his own.
"Sit the hell down and eat, DiNozzo. It's not hard. I am sure you've done it before."
Sitting gingerly down in the exact spot he couldn't possibly know he would come to claim as his own for many, many years, Tony balanced his plate on his lap and glanced uncertainly at the steak and the lack of silverware. He wasn't hungry, his stomach was in knots, but something told him that his best chance of survival in the short term was to eat.
"Use your knife."
This was said slightly less snappishly and Tony managed to remember the knife he had carried since he had joined Gibbs' team. Fishing it out, he cut a small sliver of meat and forced himself to eat it. The first bite worked as some kind of calming balm and he realised he was starving. The rest of the impromptu dinner sailed down his throat and by the time he put his knife down he felt borderline human again and managed to make eye contact with the conundrum across from him.
"Thanks, Boss. That was actually really nice."
A small smirk crossed across Gibbs' face.
"You thought I'd live in a one bed room apartment and live on take out, huh?"
Tony's face betrayed him.
"That's alright," Gibbs muttered, setting down his now empty plate. "It's a reasonable assumption."
"Why am I here, Boss?" Tony blurted out, suddenly unable to contain himself. "You said on the way over here that your house had consequences and I… uhh… I don't really understand how a medium-rare steak constitutes a punishment?"
Gibbs didn't answer him straight away. Instead, he stared at him for a solid minute in sheer silence.
"Wash up, would ya? I need to make a call. I'll be back in about five or ten."
Tony's mouth fell open as Gibbs rose from the sofa and swept back out the front door. He heard the car door open and shut but no engine start. Whoever he was calling… it was private. Beginning to feel nauseas again, Tony stood slowly up and gathered the dishes. Walking into the kitchen he grabbed the griddle pan and set to work with his mind whirring. He'd had strange evenings in his life but this… this was a whole new level.
Out in the car, Gibbs sighed and leaned back in the driver's seat feeling every one of his years. For all his bluster and bravado, he wasn't sure he could go through with what he had brought the kid home for. Hell, they'd only been working together for about eleven months… it's not as if they knew each other all that well. The kid could go running to Morrow, who admittedly would not be sympathetic, but still… it could cause a shit storm that he could do without. Gibbs' mind swam back to the eleven or so month point with Burnley. He knew deep down that if Stan had pulled the stunt Tony had pulled, he would have canned him on the spot without Morrow needing to lift a finger.
He sighed deeply. Very deeply.
Tony was just… different… and he somehow knew that kid and his difference would be the death of him. Dialling the familiar number, he felt a small trickle of relief when it was answered on the second ring.
"The hell you want at this hour of the evening, Probie? Ain't you got nothing better to do?"
Gibbs smirked.
"Good evening to you too, Boss. How's it going at the Cantina?"
Mike Franks chuckled deeply.
"Go on now and stop your foolishness. We both know you ain't calling to check on my health and wealth. What's ailing you? I tell you here and now, Probie, if you looking for a consult on a case at this hour of my life you can forget it. I'm retired and very happy about it."
Gibbs, despite himself, grinned.
"Ain't calling you for a consult on a case, Boss, I'm calling you for a consult on an Agent."
He could almost see Mike's brow furrowing.
"Well go on then. If I know the guy or gal I'll give you the scoop but I probably won't."
"You don't," Gibbs confirmed softly. "He's a new kid. A transfer from Baltimore PD by the name of Anthony, Tony, DiNozzo. Twenty something. Bright as hell, great Agent for a rookie with serious potential. Been on my six as SiC for about eleven months now."
Mike snorted.
"Sounds like a marriage made in heaven, Leroy, so what's the damned problem?"
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Gibbs took a deep breath.
"The kid, for all his good points, is reckless and at times, insubordinate. Today he pulled much the same stunt as uhh… you'll remember what happened when we worked that case in Chicago… and Morrow went postal. Wanted him gone. It's not the first time he's come to his attention. I fought to keep him cos' I know the kid can be an unbelievable asset down the line. Morrow relented but only on the basis I rein the knucklehead in and fast. Paper punishment aren't gonna make a dent in this kid and even if they would, I ain't got the time or patience for them and more importantly I'm not having his career blighted with this juvenile crap. I… uhh… dragged him home with me on a whim and now I…"
Silence ballooned between DC and Mexico.
Franks broke it with a gentleness that took Gibbs by extreme surprise.
"You ringing me for advice on how to broach the topic of off the record corporal punishment with the kid, Probie? Is that it?"
Gibbs swallowed.
"Uh huh. I'm in over my head here, Boss. I know I've had people under me since you left but none of them… well I suppose none of them were like Tony, not even Stan. Tony's a great kid, just needs a firm hand but I don't know if I can be that for him… I don't know if I can do… this."
He scrubbed a hand over his tired eyes as Mike considered this.
"I guess it really is easier to say you'll be a great Boss than being a great Boss, huh Probie?"
Gibbs flushed, knowing exactly what smart ass comment of a bygone time the man was referring to.
"Jeez, Boss, c'mon man… now is not the time for I told you so."
Mike conceded the point.
"Look, Probie, there ain't no great science to it. You know this kid, I don't. You must instinctively know this is something the kid both needs and will accept or else you wouldn't have dragged his sorry ass to your house in the first place. You've had men under you in the Marines whom I know for a fact had cause to stand rather than sit after getting on your bad side. I know it ain't the same in the semi civilian world but you can do this. You give the kid the choice, straight up and you sure as hell respect his decision whether or not you agree with it. The boy may well tell you take a hike and quit and you'll just have to swallow that. That's the risk you gotta take."
Gibbs carded a hand through his hair in frustration.
"I would have died for any of those Marines in the Corps, Boss, but that was more about the uniform than the man wearing it. This kid… this freaking kid… he's different. I… uhm… I-"
"You care about him."
"No," Gibbs spat, instinctively. "I care about the hassle I would have to go through to replace him. That's all."
Mike smiled an unseen smile.
"Sure thing," he drawled. "Look, Probie, it's a case of ripping the band aid off. Offer him Option A and Option B and be prepared to follow through on either. That's your damned job and you don't get to whine about it. You're the Boss. You need to be the Boss. I have a sneaking suspicion that kid's been waiting in limbo for longer than be considered kind by now. Put the boy of his misery and do what needs to be done."
Gibbs, knowing this to be the truth, nodded in the darkness before his real problem spilled from him.
"What if he agrees and then… after… he hates me? Or I hate myself?"
Mike shook his head.
"You ever hate me, Probie? You ever hate me for trying my best to keep you on the straight and narrow and prevent you from getting your head blown clean off your scrawny shoulders?"
Gibbs scowled.
He had really lovely shoulders. Broad and well proportioned. Great in shirts.
"No," he admitted grudgingly. "Can't say I ever loved you for it, either."
Mike chuckled.
"Well, that's a fair compromise now isn't it? Listen, Probie, this is part of the job and I know it ain't easy the first time. Hell, you were far from my first and your first time still wasn't easy, pig stubborn as you are. You just gotta remember that you're doing what you're doing for their own good. It ain't pleasant, it ain't something that comes natural, but it is something you gotta do. I may not have liked myself all that much after I did what I had to with you but it fades over time. Being the Boss is not a walk in the park and it ain't a popularity contest you're ever gonna win, but it's one of the most important walks you'll ever take so lace up and get the job done. You hear me?"
Gibbs chewed his lip but felt his resolve harden.
He'd heard what he needed to hear.
"Yes, Boss."
Mike grunted in approval.
"Probie?"
Gibbs sighed tiredly.
"Yeah?"
"The fact that you called me about this, that you care this much about getting it right with this kid… it shows that you ain't got nothing to worry about as a Boss. You're doing a damned good job and I look forward to meeting this DiNozzo. He sounds a lot like a rookie I used to know. Talented but a hard headed pain in the ass, all manner of rough around the edges."
A small and faintly evil chuckle wafted down the line.
"Hell, I can't wait to see how you cope with this new version of you. Paybacks a bitch, Probie."
….
TBC
I've decided to work through the whole team's "first times" but in considerable detail so each person will probably have three to four chapters to themselves at a minimum.
Inks x
….