Prompt: Table 3 001. Finger
Word Count:432 words
Summary:Tony is grateful for some things that Gibbs never does and never will.
Author's Notes:Much thanks to sandersyager for all her much needed beta help.
"Those head slaps must make you pissed as hell. Our team leader wouldn't even dare to try to hit us."
Half-smiling, Tony filled his paper cup again from the office water cooler and shrugged, "Yea, well. That's Gibbs for you."
"Yeah…but it must be pretty damn humiliating. Don't know how one person can take all that abuse."
Crushing the cup in his hand, Tony mimed a lay up shot, grinning when it landed, in a trashcan a few feet away.
"With Gibbs, it isn't that way at all. Man does have soft spot after all." Satisfied at having the last word, Tony left the water cooler and his fellow agent and made his way back to his desk in deep thought.
Humiliation never was Gibbs' style. It was, however, the one thing that was a constant in Michael DiNozzo's life; a monthly routine that consisted of lecturing his only son while constantly wagging his right index finger and grasping a scotch in the other hand.
Starting when he was only eight years old, the lectures had grown angrier in tone and substance as he had grown older. Raging on Tony's inadequacies and his actions and finally, his inability to live up to the family name.
Over time, the feelings of shame and guilt had lessened and ability to tune out his father's lecture came forth. Instead, his eyes would focus downward, with the appearance of shame, on his father's scotch, on how the light in the room would make the amber liquid glisten.
No, Gibbs wasn't anything like his father and he was damn grateful for it. Tony shook himself out of the gloomy direction his memories had taken, and had managed to catch the tail end of his boss's conversation on the phone before he hung up.
"….there in half an hour with my team."
Ohh… new case. Thank god. He was getting bored of catching up on his old reports and teasing the hell out of Probie left him bored, which was a first.
"Suit up, people. We got a dead marine at a strip club in full uniform and no I.D. DiNozzo! You get the truck."
Smirking insanely, he grabbed his gear and headed towards the elevator and was about to remark on the fortunate choice of crime scene, when…
"Don't, DiNozzo." warned Gibbs. Now, wake up calls, on the other hand…
Rubbing the back of his head lightly and grimacing, he caught faint smirks on Ziva and McGeek's faces. If it was a choice between head slaps or finger wagging lectures, the head slaps won, hands down.