Unnamed

by mew-tsubaki

Oneshot, slash, slight AU. With everything they've been through the past several months, Reeves would think that something like this wouldn't get under his skin. And yet it does. .::Click, post-s15 AU; light angst, light T::.

Unnamed

An NCIS oneshot

by mew-tsubaki

Note: The NCIS characters belong to Donald P. Bellasario, not to me. Been a while since I wrote about the boys, so time to fix that! :3c Read, review, and enjoy! *Note: Set post-s15. Done for an ask prompt meme on tumblr, for galindathegay, with the prompt of a kiss "…for luck." (With a lil' amendment! X'D)

- ^-^3

To be honest, if anyone asked him directly, he smiled and said he felt fine.

Clayton Reeves, in fact, ached something awful, even though months had passed since the mugging and his near-death experience.

He groaned softly at his desk and rubbed his eyes, really digging his fingers in there, making him see spots behind his eyelids. It was a temporary distraction from the aches, though, so—worth it.

"Reeves—you good?"

He jolted at the sudden sound of Gibbs' voice in the empty bullpen, just on the other side of the short cubicle divider, separating the desks of the MCRT from his MI6 liaison one. Gibbs leaned on the dividing wall, those baby blues piercing Reeves the longer the team leader stared. "…yeah. Yeah, I'm all right."

"I know you're medically cleared. And I know Vance signed off on you returning to work. But you've been back a few weeks. Things—take a while, getting adjusted to them." Gibbs paused, his eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second but not at Reeves, and then he straightened up. He jerked his chin at the younger man. "You tell me—or McGee, or Bishop, or Torres—if something doesn't feel right. Hell, tell Palmer or Kasie. Got it?"

Reeves nodded. He had half a mind to confide in Gibbs about how he perhaps wasn't quite fully back—ninety-eight percent, at best, so not too shabby, but still not fully—but Reeves lost his chance when McGee returned from upstairs in MTAC with an update on the team's current case. And, taking that as a sign, Reeves stood, grabbed some documentation he'd been working on as well as that of some others' as he passed by, and stretched his legs.

Gibbs was right, he knew. He'd been back at NCIS for a few weeks now, but it'd been several months since he and Abby had been attacked, both of them nearly dying as a result. Reeves was certain Gibbs' far-off expression was due only in part to his own traumatic experiences; he was sure Gibbs also missed his surrogate daughter dearly, but the incident had scared her so bad, that Abby had quit.

"Not quitting," Abby had reassured Reeves at the hospital, early on in their recuperation. "Just…leaving NCIS. Your story, Clay—I think I want to focus on helping the living now, not just solving ghost stories and staying in harm's way."

She'd asked him to join her, of course, because a charity started in his mother's name wouldn't feel right without Reeves there. But he'd declined—"For now," he'd told those big puppy eyes which didn't fool him. "I give you my blessing to start the ball rolling and do what you need to. But I… I got my second chance here, Abby, somehow. I'm not ready to leave here just yet."

Stunningly, Abby had accepted Reeves' answer…although he wasn't sure he liked the knowing twinkle in her eye when Torres showed up first to see him that night, well before their other friends visited. Abby Sciuto always was too good at piecing together puzzles others didn't see.

Things hadn't been too bad, the changes, at NCIS. Once Kasie realized she'd been given Abby's blessing, the bespectacled slip of a thing all but danced around the lab, and her beat jived well with the team's—she also had an appreciation for tea, which Reeves tremendously approved. And everyone around the agency in general was willing to help Reeves out if they saw him, from McGee's fellow oddballs in Cyber to Mel, the night-shift janitor, and even the night shift themselves, Tyler and Sawyer.

Reeves smiled to himself as he filed most of the paperwork and folders away, noting a few things for burning, and rounded the corner after turning away from the cabinets lining the back of the office floor. Yeah, all right, he ached some…but he was glad to be back.

"…no! C'mon, really?"

"Yep."

Reeves quirked an eyebrow and slowed his pace down the corridor. He was heading towards the vending machines—upon observation, his stomach growled—but the voices ahead nearly had him stop. That volume was absolutely Kasie Hines', and only Ellie Bishop popped her Ps on words like "yep."

They didn't sound nearer or further…ah, they were likely around the corner from the machines. Still, Kasie asked, "Seriously, though—you and McGee never figured it out? And I thought you two were investigators."

Well, that was a bit alarming. Figured what out? For a panicky second, Reeves held the manila folder in his hands flat against his chest, but it did nothing to calm his stammering heart. If either of them had picked up on what Abby had, then—

"No. Neither of them would give us a straight answer, so. It's frustrating."

Reeves calmed. Now he certainly had no clue about what they were gossiping.

"But—Torres and Quinn?" Kasie sighed. "I never met her, but everything you guys have told me about her…she seems like someone way outta Torres' reach."

Bishop snorted. "Uh, Nick Torres, utter ham who never lets an opportunity to flirt go? I dunno, I think he could've worn her down."

"Eh…" Despite her skepticism, Kasie shared in Bishop's laugh, because Torres was a well-known flirt, although Reeves would call the bloke only moderately relentless, since even Nick Torres had manners and exercised boundaries.

…nevertheless, Reeves' good humor died down in short order, circling back to the women's topic of gossip in the first place.

Torres and Quinn.

His stomach no longer growled, instead souring right along with his mood. So Reeves quietly backtracked and returned to his desk, ensuring he hadn't been seen or heard.

- ^-^3

Much of the afternoon remained humdrum for Reeves, although handling his own work and feigning cheerfulness in assisting others from time to time was no longer helping after accidentally eavesdropping earlier. He didn't skip lunch—a growling stomach could be heard through three steel walls by Bishop's food-attuned ears if one weren't careful—but his sandwich felt like a rock deposited down his gullet today.

Worse still, McGee returned to MTAC, and Gibbs followed, with Bishop and Torres heading out to collect their suspect. Except Torres wasn't present.

Bishop geared up and stuck her head over Reeves' desk. "Hey, I already texted him, but if Torres swings through here first, tell him I'm pulling the car around, so he needs to meet me out front so we can pick up Lieutenant Hampstead, okay?"

Reeves pursed his lips, a quip about not being anyone's messenger boy on the tip of his tongue. But at the confused cock of Bishop's head, he realized she wouldn't understand his annoyance, and it'd take a helluva lot longer to explain, so he gave her a tight smile instead. "Right. Got it. Pass along the gift of Nick Torres."

Bishop grinned and snickered at that. "Thank you, Clayton."

He eased up at her reaction, because it was hard to stay grumpy when Bishop smiled. Still, it would be fantastic if he could…run into Quinn by accident, though Reeves knew the odds were astronomically low, since she'd returned to her FLETC instruction post to give her better hours to take care of her mother.

So that left him with asking the man in question himself. Hrmm.

Reeves sifted through what else he had to do—nothing pressing, although there was an old report for Palmer to sign, and there was something he wanted to review with Kasie—so he collected the files and headed to the elevator. Work instead of searching for Torres and getting this confusion squared away? A much more appealing option.

Of course, the elevator doors opened and revealed Torres in one of his absurdly tiny t-shirts, resting against the back handrail. The other man perked up, seeing Reeves.

But Reeves frowned and sidestepped him.

Torres straightened up. "Okay, I know I just came from the armory to get fresh clips, but a) the armory really doesn't smell and b) since when has the smell of gunpowder bothered you, Clay?"

The moment the words were out of his lips, Torres' eyes went wide and Reeves bristled unknowingly. He heaved an exasperated sigh and settled Torres with an unimpressed stare.

"I, uh, o-okay, very bad choice of words, I agree." Torres held up a finger so Reeves would wait, and the shorter agent tugged on one of Reeves' arms until Reeves joined him in the elevator.

"Nick, you—" he started, Bishop's request coming to the forefront of his mind.

"Hold on." Torres leaned over and flipped the emergency switch. "Okay. Go."

Reeves furrowed his brow. "'Go'?" he echoed.

"Yeah. You seem angry at me, and I'd rather get it all out there." Torres stared up at him and, even in the dim lighting in emergency mode, seemed happily ready.

In a way, that only added to Reeves' irritation. He didn't feel well, their friends gossiped, he didn't know the veracity of the rumor, he needed to tell Torres to get a move on or Bishop would be huffy with him later, he didn't know if he could even ask about the rumor, he didn't know how things would play out if he asked about the rumor, he— Reeves swallowed a lump in his throat, knowing that a lot of his fear right now was thanks to him and Torres still learning about each other, still being in those early days. "I'm just…feeling off," he admitted.

Torres leaned in close, his eyes roving over Reeves' face. He placed his hand on Reeves' chest, too, but he kept his eyes trained on Reeves' face while he moved his hand, gently pushing, prodding places that had been far too tender months ago. "What kind of 'off'?"

The sudden attention made heat crawl up the back of Reeves' neck, and he tried swatting Torres' hand away with the files. "Not that kind of 'off,' Nick. I can be here—"

"Clayton, if anything doesn't feel—"

"It's not that. It's not that!" he insisted, dropping the files and grabbing Torres' hand. He huffed and tried to gather his thoughts.

Torres waited. He waited while Reeves got his pulse under control, and then he lifted their joined hands. Torres gave him a little smile while glancing at his hand in Reeves'. "Hey."

And he knew. He knew it was his hand in Torres', but his head still played the rumor like a broken record, and his shoulders sank, and he fretted about what else he didn't know, and he leaned forward, down, just enough to peck those smiling lips, to have a comforting kiss.

Torres hummed in the back of his throat and touched Reeves' cheek with his free hand. "Okay, big guy."

Reeves tensed, feeling riled up, but a second kiss ought to calm him down, surely. …all right, a third kiss, a deep one, certainly. A fourth—bloody hell, why was he even bothering to count when he'd walked Torres back the short step-and-a-half, putting one of the walls at the other man's back?

Torres groaned…no, no, that was his moan (things sounded funny in the elevator when it was stopped)…and his hands were both free, and they gripped either side of Reeves' face as they continued.

And Reeves' hands—his were both free, and they found their way to Torres' hips, ignoring the clunky gun holster and the badge on his right and toying with the hem of that annoyingly tiny, distractingly tight gray t-shirt Torres wore, his fingers just barely grazing skin and—

Torres broke their kiss, with reluctance, and leaned his head against Reeves' forehead, turned away to resist temptation. "All right, fun as this is, now you've got me worried, babe. Care to explain how I got grumpy and mopey and in-heat Clayton all at once?"

Reeves scrunched his nose up at that. "'In-heat'? Really, Nick?"

Torres laughed and gently pushed on his chest so there was a bit of space between them. "You're sexy as hell, Clayton Dante Reeves, but—come on now."

Reeves exhaled. "I'm being stupidly aggravated," he mumbled, expecting some ribbing at how obvious that was.

But Torres, surprising him at every step, furrowed his brow while smiling. "Over what?"

"…might've overheard some old scuttlebutt."

That smile dimmed. "Clay."

"Just—about you and Quinn."

At that, Torres smacked his forehead, cursed under his breath in Spanish, and winced. "Goddamn it. 'Puppy Love,' still?"

"I don't know what that means."

"McGee or Bishop? No, you know what, not important." Torres bent over to collect the files and pass them to Reeves. "Look, I can tell you what made McGee and Bishop so curious a while back. It really is nothing, except me being a little drunk with a karaoke mic in hand and thinking it wise to hit on my old FLETC instructor. It wasn't with serious intention, Quinn wasn't impressed, and thankfully for me she said it was water under the bridge when she briefly joined Gibbs' team." He shuddered. "The look she gave me…"

Reeves eyed him. "That bad?"

"The kind of look that places curses on people." He brightened up. "But the video someone took of my karaoke isn't terrible. Do I look like an idiot? Yes. Do I still manage to carry a tune and remember all the words while squinting in bar lighting? Double yes."

Reeves snorted, because this aligned much more with the Nick Torres he knew. "Really does feel silly to be upset over something like this. But…" He thought back on Gibbs' concern this morning, on everything these past few months, on the past couple years with this team—and he glanced down at Torres. "Even though you'd think I've learned well not to take this time for granted." Reeves raised his dark brow. "Good grief, can you imagine if I hadn't survived that?"

Torres shuddered and glared at the doors. "Yeah…no, don't remind me." He leaned against Reeves.

The gesture made the MI6 agent smile. "I mean it, though. I'm not taking this time—or the people—for granted. I'm not ready to give up on everything here that's made me so incredibly happy."

Torres didn't meet his eyes here. "You mean NCIS."

"Nick, I mean you, too."

It was amusing: Reeves had gone from huffy to having clarity to happy, and now here Torres was, disgruntled yet happy.

But they'd wasted a lot of time in the elevator. Torres' diversion to the armory alone was one thing; he and Reeves had spent another five minutes in here, and Reeves had left his phone at his desk. He went to flip the emergency switch off when Torres stopped him. "Nick, you've got to meet Bishop—"

"And I will, but." Torres stared up at him, frowning and brow pinched with barely hidden worry. "Clay, was that really everything on your mind?"

The incident's aches came to mind, but the pain was dull and distant as his heart swelled, seeing the sincerity in the face of one who was quick to joke and brush things off. So Reeves flipped the switch and leaned down to kiss him, long and hard, breaking apart shortly before the doors reopened on their floor.

Red-faced, Torres yelped at him, "What was that for?!"

Reeves shrugged. "For luck, I dunno." He grinned, but it was more akin to a content smirk after the attention Torres had given him. He motioned with his chin for Torres to scoot, since Reeves still needed to head downstairs. "Be safe."

Torres rolled his eyes and tossed a wave over his shoulder. "Yeah, yeah… Love you, too."

Both of them froze. Torres turned, briefly met Reeves' eyes, they blinked in the stunned silence because neither of them had said that word yet and—

"Uhh, gotta go!"

Luckily for Torres, the elevator doors shut then, and Reeves descended. But he laughed to himself, just as embarrassed as his partner. Yeah, this place made him incredibly happy.

- ^-^3

SO. XD First, Click—you two rly shouldn't be making out (and hopefully don't fuck) in the elevator. Other ppl use that thing! Second, this came about from a tumblr ask meme, but when my pal sent an ask, tumblr…formats things funny, so I thought the prompt was a kiss "for luck, I don't know," which has a slightly different meaning than a kiss simply "for luck." :3c And I got a rly lovely comment on my old Click fic, "The Right Type," and I know in general there are other Click fans, so it's been too long since I last wrote them; they needed this! XD Basically just giving Clay a momentary worry that's not much, let them make out, and then give them a first (first "love" said), which is all kyoot to me. Also Nick's explanation of the karaoke thing is p much my hc for how things went; the showrunners are wrong, *lol*. X'D But Click~~~ Clayton Reeves deserved better, and I will always write bi!Nick Torres (and frankly bi!Clayton Reeves, and ofc bi!Jess Knight, even tho she's seasons later :3c). Ngl, this was v tempting/prolly would be easy to turn into Clellick (OT3 Power, Make-Up! XDDD), but I digress for my fellow Click, Clellie, and Ellick shippers. c: And the title? Simple: These two dorks hadn't named their relationship before, but now that "love" has been said… B3c AhhhhhHHHH, so many feelings here, but. Yeah. Cuties. Thanks again for asking, Max! And ppl: You are always welcome to hit up my askbox on tumblr or to come join me on pfio, for fic or for art~ (Note: Outside of ask memes, I have a Requests FAQ, so check that out, thx!)

Thanks for reading, and please review! Check out my other NCIS fics if you liked this. And, as with my other NCIS fics, show your support via tumblr and pillowfort with a reblog~

-mew-tsubaki X3