Something About Ginger
Author: Erin (erinm_)
Characters, Pairing: Gibbs and Tenthe Doctor (with an appearance by Team Gibbs)
Summary: Gibbs and the Doctor have a lot in common if you think about it...
Warning: post-Season Four (aka Donna) for Doctor Who; some time between Seasons One and Three (aka Kate) for NCIS. *Written for Round 10 of prompt_in_a_box on LiveJournal. Prompt: "Some people lose their faith because Heaven shows them too little. But how many people lose their faith because Heaven showed them too much?" (Thomas Daggett, The Prophecy, 1995). This is for ladyyueh, who writes awesome fic out of complete randomness on a regular basis. I wanted to write her something in return and she asked for a cross of Doctor Who and NCIS.
Disclaimer: NCIS belongs to CBS and Donald Bellisario. Doctor Who belongs to the BBC and Russell T. Davies.
Gibbs stepped out of the elevator to see Tony picking on McGee. "-like a puppy," Tony huffed. Kate threw a wad of paper at Tony and gave McGee a smile as Gibbs moved into the hole. Tony bolted for his desk and picked up a file, trying to look like he'd been working all along.
Gibbs sat down at his desk and tried not to smile as Kate and Tony began making faces at each other and Gibbs knew that, no matter what, he'd never be alone.
Whether he liked it or not.
Leroy Jethro Gibbs was a simple man. Everyone made him out to be rather complex, but he was as plain as a man could get. He liked you or he didn't; he trusted you or he didn't.
There was no deeper meaning to his thoughts or opinions. He saw things as black or white, up or down, right or wrong. Granted, he did – occasionally – slip into a grey area, but it was only when absolutely necessary.
His whole life, he'd done what felt right. And he didn't care what anyone else thought. Only he was to blame for his mistakes – that's what made them his. The world's problems weren't his and he couldn't fix everything. Regardless, he had a habit of blaming himself. It didn't happen often, but it did happen.
He didn't like being told what to do, even if it was part of his way of life. If you were given an order, you followed it. Whether you believed it was the right order or not. He'd ignored orders before, and when he did - greater good or not - he'd had to suffer the consequences.
It had been his choice to stop fighting. They warned him that it was the wrong decision, and he knew what was to come, but he still left. He'd lost friends and family and he was tired. The band was playing and he wanted it to stop.
So he forced eleven, took Jack's vortex manipulator and the Chameleon Arch and didn't care when or where he ended up.
The problem was that he wasn't supposed to remember. Sure, he'd forgotten the major details, but there were still little things...
An obsession with red hair; the front door he never locked, even though he was the only one with a key; an aversion to technology; the mystery of the basement being bigger than it should be; the raging storm always brewing just under the surface...
The fact that, where most people found an elevator uncomfortable, he found the space inviting and homey.
He'd always done what was right for everyone else. Now, he only cared about his team. His friends...
He would protect them and, with each catastrophe, he was one step closer. He never cared about his own well-being, and he knew that, with each injury, the next one just might be the one he didn't walk away from. But that didn't bother him.
The fact it didn't, however, did bother him.
But not as much as the robotic voices of automated messages...