schtroumph_c (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
schtroumph_c) wrote2009-07-13 06:40 pm
schtroumph_c) wrote2009-07-13 06:40 pm
Entry tags:
NCIS fic!
Title: Hints
Pairing: Tony/Tim, pre-slash.
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I don't own them, sadly. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: 5 moments in time.
Words: 1794
Spoilers: Starting in season 4 with Dead and Unburied and spoilery through the season 6, but AU before Semper Fidelis.
A/N: Written for the color challenge at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
frenchdrabble. Beta from ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
catwalksalone, who was very patient and very awesome, thaaaanks you!!
Also, summary and titles are hard to find.
Blue
Some people kept any object or quirk linked to a period of chance, Tim knew that. But he didn't think he was amongst the superstitious.
It didn't start maliciously. The blue shirt was thrown on a chair at the end of the day, ready to be taken with the rest of the laundry. Tony didn't ask for it, and by the end of the case it had slipped Tim's mind.
And this night, he was out of the shower, the plot of the second book clear in his mind. Tim put on the first thing his hand found before sitting in front of his typewriter, writing the three first chapters without a pause.
He only left his trance when he got a whiff of Tony's scent, which quickly brought him back to earth. The shirt hit the hamper. Change of plan: laundry day--as soon as possible.
Tim didn't get a chance to catch his breath the next few days, and the shirt waited, clean and folded up, yet he forgot it every time. At least, Tony didn't seem to remember either.
Sometimes, he tried to write when he had some time to himself, and only got a white page to show for it. He let temptation win. Nobody would ever know, after all.
The sentences fought in his head to appear on the paper before he even fastened the last button.
The seventh chapter called to him, Tim envisaged lying, say he lost the shirt, accidentally destroyed it. But when he approached Tony, he was on the phone with a woman, a grin on his lips, and he lost all confidence. He would think of something if Tony ever demanded his shirt back, no need to worry now.
The same night, he wrote ten versions of the new chapter, and each one went directly into the shredder.
Tim tried again two, three days later, and finally head-slapped himself mentally for believing in a magical shirt.
The shirt was back on the desk of an absent Tony the next day. When he finally arrived from a doctor's appointment, he only frowned a little before slipping it in a drawer, without comment and without looking at Tim. This suited Tim perfectly. It was only a shirt, no need to fuss.
Yellow
When he was thinking about his part in it, he blamed Tony. True, Tim wasn't 100% boy scout or angel before meeting him, but he had no choice but admit he'd brought the level down since they'd met, and not just a little.
There was a time when he would have done the polite or right action. Always the kind to say sorry when someone stepped on his feet because it was how his parents had raised him, because he had never wanted to be seen, because he wanted to avoid conflict of any kind.
Now, bothering each other was the best way to spend time and it was always funny to find THE error Tony would not stand when Tim was in charge of the food.
When he saw the yellow of the burst eggs slimed on the white, knowing how much Tony hated that... He should have resisted the temptation, except he didn't even want to try.
And it so worth it. Even if it ended with food bouncing off his head. That, he didn't see coming.
At least it led Tony to find another way to let off steam from too many days stuck together. He'd be able to considerer this good idea proof of how his seniority was superior in every way.
Still, he would have preferred ending the fight before Ziva arrived. Or at least that she worked on her timing, and didn't find him straddling Tony.
She completely distracted him just when he was going to win!
And he was practically sure she was imagining things. The smirk didn't really reassure him.
Green
Millions. Tony felt like giggling. But he wouldn't, because he wasn't the kind of man who giggled. Right. Money. He was going to be rich! Getting back into his old habits! He could buy a new car! Gloat to his family! With a song, and a whole dance routine, even.
Aaaand he was rambling again. Proof of his lack of concentration. He only remembered McGee being seasick when he turned into his third shade of green.
Looking at him searching his bag and running to the toilet helped a little.
Tony mentally put aside his numbered and prioritised list of things to buy and went coolly to the infirmary for Dramamine.
'If you think about it, he held up longer than usual.' thought Tony while watching Tim sit on the ground, face now white, eyes closed.
McGee had started to stand less and less any demonstration of weakness from himself, or anything showing he was the baby of their family, the Probie. It must really bug him to have been so close to getting through a whole trip aboard without being sick even once.
“Good thing you missed the dinner. It was already pretty gross coming in...” Of course, Tony wouldn't have been Tony if he'd ignored such a nice red button.
“Fuck you”. Offered with an ounce of nausea, but clearly. One day, McGee would dare to hit Tony first.
Tony pretended not to hear him and gave him the medication with a glass of water. Well, he hit his forehead with the glass, but it was because McGee had his eyes closed. Same result.
“I thought I planned enough.” McGee said.
You're welcome, thought Tony and said "You'll remember to bring more next time."
Tim drank without a word. Tony didn't stay with him to wait until he got better, preferring his bed and his list, leaving McGee alone with his pride.
Where was he? Oh yeah, the house.
Red
Tony wasn't hiding. He just needed to clean his hands. He wasn't worried, not really. McGee always got Lady Luck on his side; she wouldn't break up with him now.
He'd only have a scratch, and they'd find a way to argue about something two minutes after he'd regained consciousness. Tony would bet on it.
He pushed the dispenser for more soap, maybe a little harder than necessary. It wasn't efficient enough; his hands were still smeared.
He didn't even try to clean the stain spreading on his shirt, only because there was nothing he could do. It was completely ruined. His favourite shirt, too. And his spare shirt was...no, he didn't have one anymore in his desk. He was wearing it, Jimmy'd dropped something on him, he'd had to change quickly, before their suspect tried to run away. McGee had helped himself from Tony's drawer, making a face at Tony when he protested. He should have asked first, it was a question of principle. Except if McGee had done that, Tony would have refused just to argue 'Sometimes you will argue about nothing at all. You just want to argue.' , and Gibbs would have hit him, and they would have lost time, and the guy wouldn't be at his home anymore, gone, with his gun, and then…
He shook his head. They'd caught the killer, it was good. And McGee would be okay. What was done was done, no need to wonder about the what-ifs. His mind went back to the shirt and he smiled faintly. Not only wasn't it the first shirt he'd lent to McGee, it was also the same he'd worn years before. Life had some strange sense of humour.
It must be in pieces now because of the doctors as much as because of... Tony hit the soap dispenser in frustration. It was a very expensive shirt.
He didn't realize Ziva was in the room until she took his hands and turned off the water.
When would she stop walking into the men's room?
She dried his hands and he let her. Maybe it was helping her. His hands were still red; he'd probably rubbed too strongly.
“Abby's here. Ducky's trying to get more news.”
He nodded silently. Abby would need support, she always over-dramatized. Ziva cleaned the sink, rinsing away the last pink drops still clinging to the surface.
Abby threw herself into his arms as soon as he came into the waiting room and he clung to her. To reassure her, that was all.
One of the doctors came to meet them.
Black
He'd been sitting on the garden chair for a long time. Officially he was taking the sun and/or some time alone.
Unofficially, fatigue and stress had finally caught up to him, he didn't have the strength to move anymore, and he didn't want anyone knowing it.
To make things worse, he'd left his jacket in Gibbs' living room, and he was starting to feel cold. At least the black suit absorbed the last rays of the sun, but it wasn't enough.
He heard the door opening, letting the music Abby chose for the funeral escape. His jacket fell on his shoulders and a drink, without alcohol, obviously, appeared in his field of vision.
Tony toasted the shrub planted for the ceremony. “To Major Mass Spec.” he said solemnly.
Tim bit back a smile and lifted his glass. “We will never forget his heroic sacrifice. Can't I have something stronger?”
“Of course you can. If you want to face Ducky's wrath.” A shudder stronger than the others shook Tim and Tony lost his teasing expression. His hand was on Tim's forehead before Tim could say a word. He let him do; Tony had been slightly overprotective since Tim had left the hospital, and it wasn't exactly unpleasant to be coddled. It was also easier than trying to stop him.
“I'm only a little chilly, Tony, nothing serious.”
It seemed to do the trick and Tony gave his hand, offering his help silently. Tim checked they were alone before taking it and stood up. He winced against the expected pain, Tony supporting him while he was getting his breath back, and walked alone inside to the couch.
He was watching Abby and Palmer waltzing when a blanket flew over his head before being rearranged comfortably around him. Tony joined him then on the couch, some extra pillows and chicken soup probably hidden nearby.
Tim smiled and decided the sudden drowsiness seizing him was entirely Tony's fault, and that he had to pay the price by letting his shoulder become a pillow.
"And if I have to get up?" Tony whispered.
Lulled, in a way, by the sound of Ziva and Ducky singing karaoke, Tim murmured, "I'll choose the tree myself."
He wasn't sure if he really heard Tony laugh just before falling asleep, but surely he dreamed the kiss on his temple.
Pairing: Tony/Tim, pre-slash.
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I don't own them, sadly. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: 5 moments in time.
Words: 1794
Spoilers: Starting in season 4 with Dead and Unburied and spoilery through the season 6, but AU before Semper Fidelis.
A/N: Written for the color challenge at
frenchdrabble. Beta from catwalksalone, who was very patient and very awesome, thaaaanks you!!Also, summary and titles are hard to find.
Some people kept any object or quirk linked to a period of chance, Tim knew that. But he didn't think he was amongst the superstitious.
It didn't start maliciously. The blue shirt was thrown on a chair at the end of the day, ready to be taken with the rest of the laundry. Tony didn't ask for it, and by the end of the case it had slipped Tim's mind.
And this night, he was out of the shower, the plot of the second book clear in his mind. Tim put on the first thing his hand found before sitting in front of his typewriter, writing the three first chapters without a pause.
He only left his trance when he got a whiff of Tony's scent, which quickly brought him back to earth. The shirt hit the hamper. Change of plan: laundry day--as soon as possible.
Tim didn't get a chance to catch his breath the next few days, and the shirt waited, clean and folded up, yet he forgot it every time. At least, Tony didn't seem to remember either.
Sometimes, he tried to write when he had some time to himself, and only got a white page to show for it. He let temptation win. Nobody would ever know, after all.
The sentences fought in his head to appear on the paper before he even fastened the last button.
The seventh chapter called to him, Tim envisaged lying, say he lost the shirt, accidentally destroyed it. But when he approached Tony, he was on the phone with a woman, a grin on his lips, and he lost all confidence. He would think of something if Tony ever demanded his shirt back, no need to worry now.
The same night, he wrote ten versions of the new chapter, and each one went directly into the shredder.
Tim tried again two, three days later, and finally head-slapped himself mentally for believing in a magical shirt.
The shirt was back on the desk of an absent Tony the next day. When he finally arrived from a doctor's appointment, he only frowned a little before slipping it in a drawer, without comment and without looking at Tim. This suited Tim perfectly. It was only a shirt, no need to fuss.
When he was thinking about his part in it, he blamed Tony. True, Tim wasn't 100% boy scout or angel before meeting him, but he had no choice but admit he'd brought the level down since they'd met, and not just a little.
There was a time when he would have done the polite or right action. Always the kind to say sorry when someone stepped on his feet because it was how his parents had raised him, because he had never wanted to be seen, because he wanted to avoid conflict of any kind.
Now, bothering each other was the best way to spend time and it was always funny to find THE error Tony would not stand when Tim was in charge of the food.
When he saw the yellow of the burst eggs slimed on the white, knowing how much Tony hated that... He should have resisted the temptation, except he didn't even want to try.
And it so worth it. Even if it ended with food bouncing off his head. That, he didn't see coming.
At least it led Tony to find another way to let off steam from too many days stuck together. He'd be able to considerer this good idea proof of how his seniority was superior in every way.
Still, he would have preferred ending the fight before Ziva arrived. Or at least that she worked on her timing, and didn't find him straddling Tony.
She completely distracted him just when he was going to win!
And he was practically sure she was imagining things. The smirk didn't really reassure him.
Millions. Tony felt like giggling. But he wouldn't, because he wasn't the kind of man who giggled. Right. Money. He was going to be rich! Getting back into his old habits! He could buy a new car! Gloat to his family! With a song, and a whole dance routine, even.
Aaaand he was rambling again. Proof of his lack of concentration. He only remembered McGee being seasick when he turned into his third shade of green.
Looking at him searching his bag and running to the toilet helped a little.
Tony mentally put aside his numbered and prioritised list of things to buy and went coolly to the infirmary for Dramamine.
'If you think about it, he held up longer than usual.' thought Tony while watching Tim sit on the ground, face now white, eyes closed.
McGee had started to stand less and less any demonstration of weakness from himself, or anything showing he was the baby of their family, the Probie. It must really bug him to have been so close to getting through a whole trip aboard without being sick even once.
“Good thing you missed the dinner. It was already pretty gross coming in...” Of course, Tony wouldn't have been Tony if he'd ignored such a nice red button.
“Fuck you”. Offered with an ounce of nausea, but clearly. One day, McGee would dare to hit Tony first.
Tony pretended not to hear him and gave him the medication with a glass of water. Well, he hit his forehead with the glass, but it was because McGee had his eyes closed. Same result.
“I thought I planned enough.” McGee said.
You're welcome, thought Tony and said "You'll remember to bring more next time."
Tim drank without a word. Tony didn't stay with him to wait until he got better, preferring his bed and his list, leaving McGee alone with his pride.
Where was he? Oh yeah, the house.
Tony wasn't hiding. He just needed to clean his hands. He wasn't worried, not really. McGee always got Lady Luck on his side; she wouldn't break up with him now.
He'd only have a scratch, and they'd find a way to argue about something two minutes after he'd regained consciousness. Tony would bet on it.
He pushed the dispenser for more soap, maybe a little harder than necessary. It wasn't efficient enough; his hands were still smeared.
He didn't even try to clean the stain spreading on his shirt, only because there was nothing he could do. It was completely ruined. His favourite shirt, too. And his spare shirt was...no, he didn't have one anymore in his desk. He was wearing it, Jimmy'd dropped something on him, he'd had to change quickly, before their suspect tried to run away. McGee had helped himself from Tony's drawer, making a face at Tony when he protested. He should have asked first, it was a question of principle. Except if McGee had done that, Tony would have refused just to argue 'Sometimes you will argue about nothing at all. You just want to argue.' , and Gibbs would have hit him, and they would have lost time, and the guy wouldn't be at his home anymore, gone, with his gun, and then…
He shook his head. They'd caught the killer, it was good. And McGee would be okay. What was done was done, no need to wonder about the what-ifs. His mind went back to the shirt and he smiled faintly. Not only wasn't it the first shirt he'd lent to McGee, it was also the same he'd worn years before. Life had some strange sense of humour.
It must be in pieces now because of the doctors as much as because of... Tony hit the soap dispenser in frustration. It was a very expensive shirt.
He didn't realize Ziva was in the room until she took his hands and turned off the water.
When would she stop walking into the men's room?
She dried his hands and he let her. Maybe it was helping her. His hands were still red; he'd probably rubbed too strongly.
“Abby's here. Ducky's trying to get more news.”
He nodded silently. Abby would need support, she always over-dramatized. Ziva cleaned the sink, rinsing away the last pink drops still clinging to the surface.
Abby threw herself into his arms as soon as he came into the waiting room and he clung to her. To reassure her, that was all.
One of the doctors came to meet them.
He'd been sitting on the garden chair for a long time. Officially he was taking the sun and/or some time alone.
Unofficially, fatigue and stress had finally caught up to him, he didn't have the strength to move anymore, and he didn't want anyone knowing it.
To make things worse, he'd left his jacket in Gibbs' living room, and he was starting to feel cold. At least the black suit absorbed the last rays of the sun, but it wasn't enough.
He heard the door opening, letting the music Abby chose for the funeral escape. His jacket fell on his shoulders and a drink, without alcohol, obviously, appeared in his field of vision.
Tony toasted the shrub planted for the ceremony. “To Major Mass Spec.” he said solemnly.
Tim bit back a smile and lifted his glass. “We will never forget his heroic sacrifice. Can't I have something stronger?”
“Of course you can. If you want to face Ducky's wrath.” A shudder stronger than the others shook Tim and Tony lost his teasing expression. His hand was on Tim's forehead before Tim could say a word. He let him do; Tony had been slightly overprotective since Tim had left the hospital, and it wasn't exactly unpleasant to be coddled. It was also easier than trying to stop him.
“I'm only a little chilly, Tony, nothing serious.”
It seemed to do the trick and Tony gave his hand, offering his help silently. Tim checked they were alone before taking it and stood up. He winced against the expected pain, Tony supporting him while he was getting his breath back, and walked alone inside to the couch.
He was watching Abby and Palmer waltzing when a blanket flew over his head before being rearranged comfortably around him. Tony joined him then on the couch, some extra pillows and chicken soup probably hidden nearby.
Tim smiled and decided the sudden drowsiness seizing him was entirely Tony's fault, and that he had to pay the price by letting his shoulder become a pillow.
"And if I have to get up?" Tony whispered.
Lulled, in a way, by the sound of Ziva and Ducky singing karaoke, Tim murmured, "I'll choose the tree myself."
He wasn't sure if he really heard Tony laugh just before falling asleep, but surely he dreamed the kiss on his temple.