.Chapter eleven

Three hours later Gibbs was contemplating his sanity. They'd gotten back to his house and the SEALs had essentially gone nuts. They were all running around like teenagers, wrestling each other, throwing a football around and eating everything in the house.

Since he, Gibbs, was cooking it, it was fine with him. He just wished Tony would calm down just a bit. He was, frankly, manic and it worried Gibbs.

Remy settled next to Gibbs on a lounge. "He's fine. Don't look so worried. He just needs to burn off some adrenalin."

Gibbs watched Tony as he tossed Dean across the grassy middle of the yard. "Okay. I've never seen him like this before."

"You should see him after a mission. If he doesn't get himself in the hospital, he's worse." Remy turned to watch Tony for a minute. "Oh, no. Just no, AJ, you don't get to do that." He got up and ambled over to grab Tony before he tried to climb one of the trees, something that was sure to lead to some sort of disaster, given Tony's weight and the size of the tree.

Remy dragged him away, saying, "For fuck's sake, AJ, go pound on Gibbs' piano and stop trying to kill yourself."

Tony just sighed. "Sorry, Remy; that idiot's got me wound tighter than a cheap watch." He wandered inside to play Gibbs' piano.

The thing had been bought by Shannon so that Kelly could take lessons. It had survived three wives due to Gibbs' frankly bull-headed insistence that it be kept in its alcove off the living room. The last one had installed a headphone system so she could play it without having Gibbs correct her mistakes.

Gibbs foiled several attempts to unplug the headphones. He figured that, if Tony wanted them to hear him, he'd unplug the thing himself.

He went back to making burgers and hotdogs. The pot of chili on the grill made the air smell wonderful.

Gibbs kept cooking, the team kept eating. Tim checked on Tony, then Jimmy did. They both reported that Tony was absorbed in his playing and looked much calmer.

Finally Remy went in and got where Tony could see him. Tony took the headphones off. "Yeah?"

"You better eat something. The locust crew have just about eaten the grill. Gibbs is threatening to shoot anyone who eats the last of the burgers, dogs and chili." Remy gently closed the piano keyboard. "Come on."

Tony smiled easily. "Okay. Thanks. We better get going ... I don't think Gibbs would actually shoot someone over a hotdog ... but we better not take chances."

They went back out to the patio to see what was left.

What was left was plenty. Cosmo was threatening to gobble it all down, mostly to needle Gibbs. Gibbs was calmly threatening to shoot Cosmo if he did.

Tony plopped down in a chair and pulled the platter over in front of himself. "Looks good, Boss. Thanks." He made up a cheeseburger and wolfed it down in three bites. Then he made up two chili dogs. They were gone in seconds as well. Another cheeseburger followed the chili dogs and the platter was empty. He pushed it away with a loud burp. All his teammates indulged in rude noises as well.

Gibbs just sighed. "Lord, how did I wind up with half a dozen toddlers on my hands?" But he was grinning, and he'd deny with his last breath that he'd farted. Nope, didn't happen.

.

After that incident things went smoothly. They ran, worked out, did tai chi, yoga and so on.

When it came time to teach Jimmy how to shoot, things were just fun.

Tim was a relatively good shot. Gibbs had retrained him first thing. He shot like a Marine, but what could you expect, he'd been trained by one.

They were surprised to find that Jimmy was comfortable with a BB gun. He admitted that he'd used a friend's when he was much younger. He also admitted that the BB gun had been exactly that, a spring-driven pump rifle that shot round copper BB's.

He asked the difference between what he'd shot and what he'd be shooting and was regaled with all the differences between a BB gun and the AR-15 he'd be shooting.

He would up with a rather shell-shocked expression as he was inundated with facts, figures and specs. He managed to actually remember most of it, only asking a few questions to clear up some things. Tim also listened carefully. He knew some of this. Other things were new.

After all the food was cleared away and the cleaning up done, Remy and Dean brought out their rifles. They then put Tim and Jimmy through the agony of repeated breakdown and assembly. Jimmy did well enough, but Tim turned out to be somewhat of a prodigy. He managed to B&A in very good time in only eight tries.

After a thorough review of range rules and protocol, they turned their attention to handguns. Jimmy, again, did well. But Tim, intimately acquainted with his SIG-Sauer, managed to do his B&A in just over a minute. Very good time.

Then, at nearly 2000, Cosmo brought out the cleaning kits and set both men to cleaning. He nearly had a heart attack when he saw how dirty Tim's SIG was. Tim admitted to hating getting gun oil all over his hands.

Cosmo eyed Tim with some disgust and said, "Well, shit. A little gun oil isn't going to kill you, a dirty gun just might." And with that he took a huge bottle of gun oil and squirted it all over Tim. Tim didn't say or do anything, he just stood there.

Tony, well aware of Tim's dislike, stayed out of it. Gibbs, unaware, did too.

Tim stood where he was told to and endured a dressing-down of epic proportions. It included such phrases as, 'not a girl', 'not stupid' and 'expect much better'. He couldn't believe the difference between the near-screaming dressing-down and his Father's cold disdain. One was hurtful in the extreme; the other, expected SEAL attitude.

Jimmy eyed Tim with dismay. He was supposed to be the 'good' boy but there he was, standing at ease, covered with gun oil.

Dean eyed up Tim, then Jimmy. "You don't seem to have a problem with gun oil." The statement was a question.

"No. Not at all. Seriously? I do autopsies. There's blood, bile, stomach acid ... and contents. And ..." he looked around at some very green faces. "Um ... sorry, sorry. Not appropriate. Never mind. Just ... let's say that gun oil is not a problem."

The laughter was light and friendly. Gibbs remarked. "No, don't guess gun oil would be a problem. You want a beer?"

Jimmy thought a moment. "I'll need a ride home. If someone will do that, sure, I'd love another."

Gibbs handed over the bottle. "I'll take you home. Or ... Tony?"

Tony nodded. "I'm designated. And Tim?" Tim rolled his eyes in Tony's direction. "Not drivin' you home covered in oil. Get over yourself."

Tim sighed. "Yes, I'll do just that. Can I go take a shower now?"

Tony glanced at Remy, who shrugged, then Dean, who nodded. "Go."

Tim turned to Gibbs. "Boss?"

Gibbs waited a beat. "If you're over your little problem, sure."

Tim considered that seriously for a moment. "Um ... I'm over it. Unless someone squirts it in my shorts, that is." There was more laugher as Tim headed into the house to shower and change. He rather underhandedly left his oily clothing in the laundry room for someone else to get the oil out. But, he had to admit, the treatment had cured his aversion to oil on his hands. Not the aversion to oil anywhere else, however.

.

Another week rolled by with H2H, gunsmithing and everything else all piled onto the half-day cold-case work at NCIS. No one complained; the pressure was actually off everyone. No one expected them to gear up and head out at a second's notice, either to solve a crime or go into combat. Cold cases were a walk in the park.

Tim wondered what it might be like to actually do BUD/s but was quite sure he'd fail.

Jimmy, on the other hand, didn't; he was just glad to do as well as he was in this watered-down version.

.

The weekend saw them at the range. Quantico had several; most included screaming DI's of various ranks and services. Others were supervised by a few safety officers. Tony chose one of the latter for their training. He didn't need some over-enthusiastic DI screaming in his face. The results were usually less than satisfactory... to the DI.

Tony attached himself to Tim while Gibbs took Jimmy. The rest of the SEALs just gathered around to kibitz and bitch.

The first thing was to load the magazines. Contrary to popular usage, the component that held the ammo wasn't a 'clip', it was a magazine. The term "clip" came about during WWII, as the rounds used in an M-1 were held together with a metal clip, leaving the rounds 'bare'. The load was shoved into the orifice, leaving the clip to be discarded on the field. Using the term "clip" instead of "magazine" came about due to older shooters using the term they were more familiar with. They were used interchangeably by civilians; the military tended to discourage it.

After checking everything, and making Tim check it again, Tony okayed the next step. Gibbs did the same for Jimmy, complimenting him on his thoroughness.

Loading the magazine wasn't as easy as shoving rounds into it. If you weren't careful, you'd fuck up a finger. It was nearly impossible to get the mag loaded wrong, but a blood blister was a possibility.

Tim and Jimmy loaded, stripped, and reloaded magazines until their fingers were sore. Then they broke for lunch.

After lunch they returned to the range. This time they were actually going to get to shoot.

Tim was sure he was going to make a fool of himself. He knew he was more than competent with a handgun, but long guns were usually reserved for the SWAT-type teams at NCIS. He had been involved in a few gun battles, but, with a long gun, he was more the 'pray and spray' type.

Although they were all sure that Tim knew how to be spotted, Gibbs explained it again. Jimmy was vaguely aware of how it worked and was glad of the explanation and the assurance that someone would be 'up his ass' every second.

Gibbs eyed Tony for a moment, "AJ, why don't you spot someone?"

"I'm a horrible spotter. I'm a trigger man all the way. No idea why. I worked on it for ages, until some old guy named Gunnery Sergeant Hathcock told me that some people are just shooters and that's it. I'm one of those." Tony's wide grin meant nothing to Tim or Jimmy.

But someone else was a different story. Gibbs eyed him for a second then muttered, "Hathcock. Lord, that man gets around."

Remy nodded. "That he does. So ... who's with who again?"

Gibbs repeated, "I'm with Jimmy. AJ, with Tim. You all either help or get out of the way."

Remy agreed to handle targets. This meant that he would be down range, behind a bunker, ready to change paper targets when they were shot out.

Dean and Cosmo said that they would load mags and be general dogsbody.

After they got reorganized, Gibbs and Tony put Jimmy and Tim through another set of drills. They worked through the whole process of spotting and targeting. Then they actually were allowed to shoot.

Tony looked through the spotter's scope. "Okay. Down one, left two. Take windage into account and try again."

Jimmy adjusted his aim and squeezed the trigger. The rifle bucked in his hands.

"Good. Very, very good. Again." Tony turned his head to smile at Jimmy.

Jimmy smiled back and fired again.

While Jimmy, knowing nothing much about guns, was doing well, Tim wasn't.

Tim had what some women call 'testosterone poisoning.' He knew how to shoot. Or so he thought.

As a consequence of this, he wasn't listening to his spotter. Gibbs growled at him, which made him nervous, which affected his performance, which made him even more nervous. A vicious cycle that couldn't be broken.

Dean finally broke in. "Gibbs, he's determined to do it his way. Let him. He can't waste more ammo than you two are already. But ... if he doesn't listen to you, he'll have me as spotter."

Gibbs got up from his prone position, dusted his knees and chest off, then said, "Okay. He's all yours. I'm about to give him a #10." He eyed Tim with considerable disfavor. He started to say something else then just shrugged, gave Tim a fish eye and ambled off to watch Tony and Jimmy.

Dean let Tim do his thing for a mag then announced, "Okay, that's more than enough. You'll never get it if you don't listen to me. And, believe me, mister, you'd better. I'm not Gibbs. I don't have to live or work with you, so you will listen and learn ... or I'll take you on the mats and kick your ass. Got me?"

Dean never raised his voice but Tim was very sure that he was pissed. His expression and intensity made that very clear.

"Yes, I got you. But ... Gibbs worked alone. So does Tony. Why can't I?" Tim revealed his frustration in his tone of voice, body language and attitude.

"Don't get attitudinal with me. Gibbs and AJ are both experts. They spent months of time learning to go it on their own. Ask either one of them if they liked it. You haven't let off ten shots and you're wanting to do something that takes literally months of nothing but shooting, daily. Give me, and yourself, a break." Dean wondered if Tim was going to turn out to be one of those men who washed out at the last minute due to attitude. "Adjust your attitude, before I adjust it for you." He pointed to the shooting mat. "Now, get down there and pay attention."

Tim's stricken look made Dean feel a bit bad, but he'd feel a lot worse if he rang out.

Tim sprawled out on the shooting mat and settled in place, rifle in hand. He made the mistake of calling it a gun, saying, "Okay, I've got my gun in hand, now ..."

Tony, disgusted with his attitude jumped all over him. "McGee, I sincerely hope you do not have your gun in your hand. Jacking off on the range is frowned on."

Tim rolled on his back and looked up at Tony. His puzzled, "What?" led to Gibbs letting out a soft moan and hiding his face in his cupped hands.

Tony turned around and barked, "You got a problem, Marine?"

Gibbs smirked but replied, "Sir, no Sir. Lt. Cmd. Sir."

Tony smirked right back, then said, "You want to do it or should I?"

Gibbs just couldn't make it a second longer, he started laughing but managed to snort out, "No, can't ... you."

Tony glowered down at Tim. "Okay, here's the skinny." He pointed to his rifle. "That is a rifle." He pointed to his crotch. "This is a gun." He barked, "Stand up."

Tim scrambled to his feet. Tony picked up Tim's rifle. "This is your rifle." He shoved it into Tim's hands. He grabbed Tim's crotch. "This is your gun." He stepped back. "Repeat after me. This is my rifle. This is my gun. One is for fighting, the other for fun." He made the appropriate gestures. "Repeat."

Tim mumbled, holding out his rifle, "This is my rifle." He thrust out his hips, imitating the gesture Tony had shown him. "This is ..."

Tony was in his face before he could finish. "I can't hear you!"

Gibbs interjected. "You wanna spend all your time getting that right? Or do you want to get on with this?"

Tim flushed heavily but shouted the required phrase ten times, as loudly as he could.

Tony nodded. "Okay. Get back down there and pay attention."

Tim opened his mouth, shut it, then opened it again. "Um ... Tony? I'm sorry. Really. Can we try again? Together?"

Tony looked at Tim for a second, then nodded. "Sure. Here." He handed Tim a bottle of water. "Drink that. Then we'll try again."

Tim drank his water and settled down.

This time he carefully listened to Tony's instructions and managed to hit the paper. He spent the rest of the day shooting under Tony's direction.

At the end of the session they compared the papers Remy brought down.

Tim had done badly for the first paper, but had gradually done better and better as the day went by.

Jimmy had done well at first but hadn't gained ground as quickly as Tim.

The consensus was that they would both be competent shooters, but neither one of them would ever make sharpshooter status.

Jimmy wasn't that upset, he just said, "Well, I'll still be able to enjoy sport shooting, which was what I was aiming for." He grinned at his unintentional pun. "Thanks for all your help."

Gibbs nodded. "You're welcome. Come on. Clean-up time." He packed the rifle away with Jimmy's help.

Tim sighed; he wasn't happy with his whole performance and said so.

Tony patted him on the shoulder. "Well, once you got over yourself, you didn't do half bad. Never make Sharpshooter, but not bad." He turned to Gibbs. "Want to take clean-up to your place? I'll stop in and get some steaks."

"Okay, sounds good to me." Gibbs was actually beginning to enjoy the circus his house had become.

They all headed out to shower, change, get food and meet at Gibbs' house for supper.

.

The next week was another week of workouts, shooting practice, H2H training and cold cases.

The SEALs still wound up at NCIS, wandering in and out at odd times, reviewing cases and making Vance crazy. But, of the 300 some-odd cases involving Navy personnel, they'd cleared over 100, most of them by hanging around the suspects and gossiping.

Added to all that, they were now all swimming across the river at noon.

They'd go out and dive off the pier, swim across and back, climb up the ladder at the side of the pier, then head back to NCIS for hot showers and lunch.

After work they were in the NCIS gym or at the local near Tony's apartment.

Tim's spread sheet kept them all on track. Tony, barking at everyone's heels kept them on task. Gibbs just mentally sat back and enjoyed things.

The end of the week was the date of their first attempt to requalify.

Friday morning they all reported to the NCIS range with an assortment of arms that made the qualifying officer raise his eyebrows. Tony just smiled at him.

They started out with hand guns and it didn't take them long to fire the required two magazines. The examiner took a look at the papers and put his initials in the box. "Ok, that's that. DiNozzo, pass. Gibbs, pass. Palmer, pass. McGee, pass. Although I really don't see any need for a morgue assistant to carry." He looked at Palmer over his sunglasses.

Jimmy just looked back, saying, "Really now? I've already been shot at twice. Think about it: crime scene, the perp isn't actually gone. Or he's afraid I'll find some evidence he left behind. I'd really rather be armed."

The examiner nodded. "You know? You're right. Sorry. Next." The next shooter came up and the group moved on.

.

Gibbs and Tony both chose to qualify as Sniper/Sharpshooter.

Gibbs went first and made, as expected, a perfect score.

Tony also made a perfect score.

Jimmy decided, at the last minute, to do the test. He just wanted an official evaluation of his skills. He managed a very respectable 389 out of 500. Not great, but very good.

Tim gave the long gun test a pass. He knew he wasn't sharpshooter material and didn't see the need to take up the examiner's time.

They left the range in a good mood, chattering amongst themselves about who they'd rather be on a desert island with. Their bright laughter rang out, making Gibbs smile. This bunch would either be the death of him, or the life. He was seriously thinking the latter.

They were headed for the SUV's when a voice called to Gibbs. "Hey! You wanna get the first part of the physical requal over with?"

Gibbs glanced at the examiner who had called to them. "Jeffries. Guys?" He took a quick visual vote then turned back to the examiner. "Sure. We're all running together, but only Tony has to requalify. Tim, Jimmy and I are a bit early but ..."

Jeffries shrugged. "I'll let you run early. Vance ... he stays out of this, mostly. So. And who are these guys?" He eyed Dean, Remy and Cosmo.

Tony did introductions while Jeffries wrote down names. "So, SEALs you say?"

Tony laughed. "We are. They're just running to keep me company. That's ok, isn't it?"

"Sure. Don't give a damn. All I got to do is time you yahoos. Let's get to it."

The thing that was laughable to the SEALs was, the NCIS requirements were for one sprint of 300 yards and a timed run of a mile and a half. They also had to do 20 pull-ups, 20 sit-ups, and 20 push-ups, not timed.

The instructor, used to a bunch of whining and bitching from older agents, waited for Gibbs to start. He was new and didn't know Gibbs, Tony, or Tim from anyone else.

Gibbs sat down on the mat that was used to protect them from the abrasive concrete. Tony, Tim and Jimmy followed.

Then Tony called the count. "Up ... Down ... up ... down ... all ... a ... round ... the ... town. Sit ... up ... lay ... down ... don't ... want ... to ... see ... the ... DI ... frown."

They racked the sit-ups off so quickly that the examiner nearly lost count. The only reason he didn't was that they were sitting up in unison.

Jeffries was impressed when everyone flipped over to do pushups, without stopping to rest. Tony counted again, this time just simple numbers.

The pull-ups were also quickly disposed of. Gibbs went first and banged them off, doing leg-lift pull-ups; his legs never dropped below 90 degrees.

Tony did the same in the same time, while Tim and Jimmy both did straight-leg pull-ups, also in record time.

Dean, Remy and Cosmo didn't bother TI Jeffries with pull-ups, they just stood around and shouted encouragement, bad advice and critique.

The TI checked them off, announcing, "Well, that's that. Now we run." He looked up from his clipboard. "Yes, we. I run with you. There was a bit of cheating with a shortcut so now ... we have to run with you. I'm not happy with it but ... there you are." His sour expression made it clear what he thought of the whole new routine. It wasn't like he needed to run with every group, like they were a bunch of high school kids, but rules were rules.

The course they were to run was a 1.5 mile course which zig-zagged through a few obstacles and up and down hill. It was set up to simulate, as best they could, a foot pursuit.

Jeffries just yelled, "Start!"

Tony took lead with Gibbs right on his heels. Tim, Jimmy and the rest all formed up behind the two leaders and stuck like glue. Jeffries took eyes behind.

Tony set a pace that made Jeffries groan; they weren't going to make the distance. Then he realized that he was dealing with SEALs. He picked up his pace and ran beside Tony. "You a SEAL?"

Tony snorted. "Thought everyone would have heard by now. I'm a SEAL all the way."

Remy laughed then started calling cadence.

"Hey, Hey! Army, get your packs and run with me.

We are the sons of UDT.

Hey, Hey! Air Force, get in your planes and fly with me.

We are the sons of UDT.

Hey! Marine corps, get your guns and kill with me.

We are the sons of UDT.

Hey, Hey! Navy get your ships and drop us off.

We are the sons of UDT."

They all joined in, even Gibbs.

Jeffries was ready to tear out his hair; they were halfway through the run and he was starting to sweat. Tony had set a punishing pace.

Gibbs, deciding he'd had enough of this SEAL stuff, bellowed, "Now! Hey! This is how we do it in the Corps!

I was born in the woods.

and raised by a bear.

I gotta double set of jaw teeth

and a triple coat of hair.

Two brass balls,

and a cast-iron rod.

I'm a mean mother fucker.

I'm a mean devil dog.

I'm a Marine, by God.

He was answered by the whole group. "OO-RAH!"

Jeffries kept up, and kept his mouth shut, even though the chants got filthier as they ran.

Finally, Tony barked, "One mile, one half mile. Halt!"

They stopped flat, no one stumbled, no one failed to be in line. Tony looked them all over then smiled. He turned to Jeffries with a shamefaced look. "Sorry about taking over there. What now?"

Jeffries laughed. "Don't sweat it. Next is sprint. I wouldn't even bother, but one does it, all do it."

He eyed the line of men and realized that they were, more or less, in the at ease posture. He checked his clip board then said, "Okay, as I call your name, step up to the line. I'll blow my whistle. At the signal, run to the red line and back. I'm not going to insult your intelligence by saying, 'as fast as you can.'

There was some laughter at that. It helped lighten the mood a lot.

"Okay, DiNozzo, Gibbs." Tony and Gibbs stepped up to the line. Jeffries blew his whistle and they were off.

Gibbs was shorter than Tony by about three inches but it didn't make any difference in their time, they crossed the line neck-and-neck.

Jeffries clicked his stopwatch and announced, "Well, damn. 55 seconds. Very good. Especially after a mile-plus endurance run."

Tony laughed then said, "Chase some asshole for a dozen blocks then run out of steam at the crunch? No thanks."

Gibbs agreed with a grunt, taking a bottle of water from Remy and chugging it. "Thanks."

"No prob. Jimmy and Tim up next?" Remy wasn't about to insult anyone by raving over their time.

Jimmy grinned at Jeffries as he and Tim lined up. Tim was feeling very proud of himself, he wasn't even winded after their endurance run. A mile and a half was barely a warm-up for someone who regularly ran six and swam across the Anacostia on a nearly daily basis.

The whistle blew and Tim and Jimmy were off. Their time wasn't quite as good as Gibbs' and Tony's as they completed the run in 60 seconds. Quite a good time by anyone's estimation.

The whole group gathered around Jeffries to hear his verdict. "Well, I've passed all of you. I'd pass the whole group but you're not NCIS' problem." He smiled, handed out pass scrips and ambled off to brag about his 'autopsy guy' passing with flying colors.

Gibbs nodded, tucked all the pass cards away and announced, "Great! That's that. Now, all we have to pass is the Defense/Offense and we're done."

Jimmy, well aware that he was out of the loop on some things, asked, "And what's that?"

"Apprehension, arrest and detainment." Gibbs chuckled at Jimmy's blank look. "After you run them down, you have to fight 'em, deck 'em and cuff 'em."

Jimmy's, 'Ooh!' made Tony laugh.

"You can do it, Gremlin. And you've got something going for you that we don't." Jimmy looked blank. "You don't look tough."

"Well ... um ... that's good, right?" Jimmy glanced around.

Dean nodded. "Seriously. Very good. Fools 'em. Then you whack 'em and they never know what hit 'em."

With that comment they prepared to return to the NCIS gym for the last part of their requalifying examinations.