Ya’ll are so lucky, you don’t even know.
So last night, after marathoning half of the third season of NCIS I started writing an appallingly evil story in which, after the events of the episode “Frame-Up,” where Tony is appropriately framed for a gruesome murder, he doesn’t manage to get out of the charge and gets sent to prison. It was was pretty awful and written from Gibbs’ perspective and started off with Abby quitting her job in tears and crying all the way through Tony’s sentencing and then Gibbs’ blackmailing people into giving him Tony’s medical records from the inside after DiNozzo spends the third week he’s in prison in the infirmary.   It was, eventually, going to get a little better, with Tony escaping from prison and sending Gibbs postcards and signing him up for NetFlix and sending him movies and junk and it was all going to be tres long-distance forbidden romance but then my computer ate it.
Like I said: ya’ll are so lucky.
The only good thing is, now this frees me up to write a serial killer story and get back to my roots in the X-Files.
*blinks* I feel a little cheated. And dirty. But the good news is, now my imagination has something to work with.
Is it OK with you if, in my brain, Tony is working at a Home Depot and sends Gibbs random bits of hardware, and Gibbs thinks it’s all metaphorical until he realizes Tony’s developed A Problem With Kleptomania and he’s in danger of going to jail again for employee theft?
…No?
Even better: Tony starts sending him gay porn. Just, you know, buys out Falcon’s entire collection and starts mailing them to Gibbs. Especially the ones involving boats.
And addresses each package to Seaman Gibbs, naturally.
…Or you know, Tony might not be that good a speller. It’s entirely possible one of the packages could go out to Semen Gibbs. I’m JUST SAYING. LOOK YOU STARTED IT.
Well, young lady, that doesn’t mean you have to FINISH IT.
And it’s not as if the word “seaman” doesn’t make anyone, anywhere, even the straightest-of-the-straight-for-reals-I’m-totally-het, giggle like a five-year-old girl.
I’ll give you a shiny penny if you think of a better name for the magazine:
Gibbs looks up from his desk when McGee knocks on the door. “Heya boss?”
He grunts, and waves him in. Something about McGee’s respect for personal space drives him up the wall these days.
McGee clears his throat. “So… the mail came in this morning,” he said.
Gibbs sucks down the last dregs of his coffee and aims for the basket, obscurely disappointed that he doesn’t have anyone to bounce it off of. McGee was clear on the other side of the room, he’d have trouble arguing he was Acting Backboard. “Yeah?” he says.
“Yeah. Couple of standard interdepartment memos, that sort of thing–” and he’d have gotten away with it, Gibbs thinks, if it weren’t for the fact that his right eye twitches a little whenever he’s trying not to laugh.
Gibbs shoots, and misses. “What is it, Di-McGee?”
“Sorry, sir, it’s just you got this, too,” McGee mutters, and slides a magazine across the desk. It lands in Gibbs’s lap, front page lost in the roll of glossy pages, but he gets a glimpse of over-tanned skin and what looks like a sailor’s cap in a very unorthodox position, before he looks up at McGee.
“What the hell is this?” he demands, like he doesn’t already know. Tony will *burn in hell.*
“Land-Homo,” McGee answers. “It’s a monthly, Abby says. She says they’ve got some great articles on knotwork in this issue.”
“Get out.”
“Page 84!” he says, and scampers off.
…I have a deep and rational fear that we might be soulmates.
And honestly, could there be a better name for that magazine than what you’ve already chosen? Possibly just the more subtle: Land HO!
Of course, this all ends when Tony runs away to Mexico and Gibbs follows and builds him a teak hottub on the beach.
Dude, it’ll be just like Shawshank Redemption, but gay(er). And hott with the double-t action because as much as I love me some Morgan Freeman, even he’s going to say, “Damn, that’s some hott double-t action” because Tony is walking down the beach barefoot when he spots Gibbs, who is obviously doing something that involves a sander and an unbuttoned shirt.
Soulmates is OK, but if you call me Dawson I will cut you.
The best thing about Tony? Even on the run from a murder rap? Totally has laid in a supply of good Mexican beer and sunbathing, and Gibbs would walk in slightly burned and kind of scruffy and NAIL HIM IN THE SAND. Ah, the joys of an active fantasy life.
…okay, I totally rescind the soulmates offer, because now you made me say to myself, “Hey, Tony’s just like a Boyscout!” And now I’ve got a mental image of Tony IN THE BOYSCOUTS, being all PREPARED AND STUFF, and Gibbs is obviously his team leader or whatever the hell and trying not to perve on the 13-year-old kid trying to earn his Eagle badge.
Permission to use the NCIS Distress Face? D:
Oh — gAH. Permission granted, Marine.
Of course, eager young Tony DiNozzo doing his damndest to earn merit badges off of Gibbs is kind of hot in the WORST AND MOST HORRIBLE WAY EVER ARRRRRRGH.
You know, your moral outrage would be a lot more convincing if you weren’t always writing hilarious stuff involving DOMESTIC ABUSE and NAMBLA. Which is ALREADY CAPTIALIZED, so just imagine it’s been SUPER-CAPITALIZED TO EMPHASIZE MY POINT.
… Which is, let she who is without perve cast the first D: face.
Gibbs was hammering in the last stake to his tent when he heard the bubblegum. (Fuck the regulations; next time he had to take a dozen sugar-hyped pre-pubescents whose main topic of conversation was whether Batman or Barney would win a jello-eating contest, with his only help a scrawny bubble-gum-chewing kid trying to finish up his Eagle, he was going to camp in a park that had a damn cabin. Or at least an outhouse.)
“Hey Mr. Gibbs?” Snap. That meant Anthony.
“Yes.” He made sure not to phrase it like a question.
“Thought you should know, I dug the ditch over there,” he said, waving toward a thicket that wasn’t near the water source. “If you wanted to check, see if I did it right.”
Gibbs scowled, and got to his feet. Anthony popped his gum again and handed him the shovel; the handle was warm where his hand had wrapped around it.
“Aren’t you a little old to still be doing this crap?” he muttered, making for the thicket. “What do you want an Eagle badge for, anyway?”
Anthony followed him. “I’m just sixteen, sir. Plenty young enough to be doing stupid stuff. Of course,” he added, “If you prefer, I could just go out and get myself a meth habit or start doing gay porn.”
Gibbs would’ve said something cutting and sarcastic, except that on the word “porn” he tripped over a log and fell right into the ditch.
“Hey,” he heard Anthony say brightly, “Good thing Kaleb just had to go tinkle!”
…It’s settled. We are soulmates. Meet me at Stonehenge in an hour for our soulbinding. It will obviously involve a Druid chorus.
Who’s in charge of the virgins? Somebody *always* forgets the virgins. And the lute. I think I can find a priestess at this time of night, but she don’t come cheap, so that’s your call.
But actually, I’m crazy-scared of your cadre of fans (I would say legions, on account of them being multitudinous, but they’re also willing to cut a bitch, so cadre sounds more badass), and I don’t know how they’d feel with me cutting in line, so I’m just gonna love you from afar. I will send you SGA trading cards with super-secret messages on them, though. Our love is so pure.
You know, now that you had already written it there is no eason at all why you could not write it again *stares at you*
wait a minute, wait a minute. You have roots in the X-files?!? I DIDN’T KNOW, shame on me! What pairing were you shipping? Or slashing? Guh, guh, inquiring minds need to know!
also? *updates bookmarks*
My secret history in X-Files is a shameful, horrible thing. I was writing in it when I was in middle school, trust me, you don’t want to read it. And I was a TOTAL and remain to be a Mulder/Scully shipper. I love it hard.
Hee! I don’t know whether to be more amused by the original idea or the comments that followed - I’d like to see more of both!
A Mulder/Scully (OMG I started typing “Sheppard” instead of “Scully” *headdesk* *headdesk*) shipper! YaY. Me too! I did read a couple of Krycek/Mulder fics back then, but my heart just wasn’t in it.
You wrote fics too? zomg!
Okay, so! I know it’s not of the cool to post another comment so long after the subject has died, but…
Tony totally doesn’t send Gibbs gay porn. Tony totally, totally sends Gibbs the DVDs of Animusic.
For real for real.