On His Six
Summary: Little Timmy McGee is left in Gibbs' care for the day. What could possibly go wrong?
Tags: Gibbs, Timothy McGee, humor, kid, family, kid!fic, drabble
500 words, drabble
For: jane_x80 (read her stories at AO3!
For the NCIS Adult+Kid Challenge: mix an adult and a child who don't usually get written about and see what happens. Info about the challenge is posted at my LJ and also and ncis-discuss at LJ. If you'd like to join in this little challenge, see the post at my LJ or at ncis-discuss at LJ. Everyone is welcome! Just choose any character to be the adult and another one for the kid, such as McGee is the adult, Abby is the child and put them in a situation where they have an interesting interaction.
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Gibbs stood at attention. "Yes, ma'am, I'll take good care of him."
"Don't make it sound like you're about to mount an attack, Gunny," Mrs. McGee said, smirking. "Timmy is only six."
"He'll be fine," Gibbs added.
"Just...be cautious," Mrs. McGee said in a low tone. "He's smart."
Gibbs raised one eyebrow.
"Very smart," Timmy's mother warned.
At ease once the front door closed, Gibbs turned to have a good look at the little boy left in his care. He didn't even reach his waist. Big green eyes stared back at him, curious.
"You hungry?" Gibbs asked, thinking this was a bad idea.
Timmy nodded solemnly and took Gibbs' hand, even though Gibbs hadn't offered it.
Once crackers-and-juice time was over, the boy honed in on the small black-and-white TV in the living room. He pointed at it with a stubby finger. "What's that?"
"TV?" Gibbs explained, thinking the kid wasn't all that smart.
Tim looked around, puzzled. "Where's your computer?"
"At work. The sun's out, we're going outside," Gibbs ordered, even if the kid probably wanted to watch cartoons all day.
Timmy happily followed on Gibbs' six, as if born to it. Looked like scuttlebutt was correct, and Rear Admiral McGee did run his home like a battleship.
"Want to play ball? Tag?" Gibbs ventured. No reaction from the kid, other than some owlish blinking.
Gibbs was starting to think Timmy was mute when the boy pulled a phone-sized gadget out of his pocket. "Radio?" asked Gibbs.
Timmy shook his head. "It's a pocket drone." He showed Gibbs a separate control box with a mini joystick.
"Your dad buy it for you?"
Timmy sent Gibbs a withering look. "Noooo. Built it myself. The NX-425 maneuvers in tight spaces; the propellers retract; the camera sends pictures to my computer. It can carry and release a load of up to five pounds." He chattered happily about hover mode and variable speed capabilities. "Blah blah blah geeky words..."
"Huh," was all Gibbs could get out.
Tim cocked his head a little. "Got any batteries?"
Gibbs found some batteries and handed them over. "How old you say you were?"
Timmy laughed. "Six, silly."
"You should call me Gibbs."
Timmy stared, waiting for something.
"Or Boss," Gibbs suggested. "How about we take that drone of yours..."
"It's an NX-425," Timmy corrected. "...Boss."
"Okay, how about we take the NX-425 to Pax River, and hover over the football game?"
Timmy grinned. He was missing a front tooth. "It can drop 50 paintballs at a time."
Apparently the boy was not only smart, but he was trouble. Gibbs asked, "Think your dad will bail us out of the brig?"
"Nope." After a pause, Timmy said, sounding confident, "But my mom will."
"Why do I get the feeling that this has happened before?"
Timmy McGee smiled angelically.
Gibbs ran a hand over his hair, took a deep breath, and barked, "Grab your gear!"
~ • ~ the end~ • ~