Title: Smoking Jacket Blues
Beta: The lovely Seattlecsifan once again saved my bacon. Thanks, hon.
Spoilers: Through Season 7's "Guilty Pleasures"
Challenge: Tony's Romance Skills
Summary: Tony just doesn't understand what's wrong with his smoking jacket.
Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS. It is the property of someone with more money than me.
Author's Note: This story was inspired by the episode "Guilty Pleasures" in Season 7, because I laughed myself silly over Tony and the smoking jacket.
X X X
"What was her name?" Abby asked as she bounced through the front door Tony held open. In her dark pig tails, bad-girl Catholic skirt and blouse, and five inch platform boots, she gave him a pouty smile and put her hands on her hips.
"Brittany, I think. Or maybe Trixie," he mumbled, feeling awkward as he stood under her gaze.
"Hold your arms out," she commanded, and he did so with trepidation. As she slowly rotated around him, he closed his eyes in fear. Not to mention, his eye hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. Who knew a barely five foot tall, beanpole of a woman could deck a man that hard?
"And what did you say to deserve the shiner, DiNozzo?"
"I might have suggested she slip into something more comfortable," he muttered, peeking through his swollen eye, and finding a look of dissatisfaction in the Goth's face. Apparently she wasn't buying it, and he felt propelled to add, "I might have pointed her to the bikini on the table over there."
Closing his eyes, he waited with bated breath for the verbal assault. And waited and waited. Until finally he couldn't take the suspense any longer and peeked once again through his swollen eye.
"You look stunned," Tony remarked.
Baffled, she mused. Not stunned. Instead of voicing her thoughts she replied, "I'm amazed you didn't get kneed in the groin."
At that point, Tony's face flushed a deep crimson that probably matched the bruise between his legs. To his humiliation, Abby burst into laughter.
"It's not funny!" he yelled, making her laugh even harder. He fully expected to be walking funny tomorrow.
It took Tony humming the theme to Jeopardy five times in his head before she finally calmed down and he asked… no… begged, "Help me. Tell me what I'm doing wrong!"
And once again, she motioned with her hands for him to hold his arms out straight so she might inspect. Around and around she went, poking and prodding, stroking the velvet of the jacket, and then examining the collar of his pale blue dress shirt. Around and around even more, ruffling his hair, examining his teeth. The final straw came when she ran her hand down his butt, and he yelped, "Hey!"
Coming to a stop in front of him, she gazed innocently up into his eyes and said, "Just testing the quality of the slacks. That's fine linen."
"I'm aware of that," Tony ground out as his friend took her time torturing him.
For a moment, he stared at the woman as she contemplated all she saw and finally offered him a big grin.
"I believe I have solved your problem," Abby announced, looking pretty darn proud. Turning abruptly, she picked up the massive purse she'd deposited on the couch and began to head for the door, leaving a frantic Tony trailing behind.
"And?" he practically begged.
"Oh, it all begins and ends with the smoking jacket," Abby matter-of-factly replied. "They're old school."
"You mean they're classic," Tony clarified, nodding. He agreed. Nothing spelled class like a royal red velvet smoking jacket.
"Nooooooo," she countered. "Not classic. Vintage. As in old."
"But… but…" he stammered, trying to find the words to save his beloved velvet attire. His mind scrambled, found footing, and took hold. "Hugh Heffner wears a smoking jacket! And women LOVE him."
"I know he wears a smoking jacket," Abby concurred, bobbing her head and making her pigtails bounce.
"See? You agree!"
"Tony, you're not Hugh Heffner," she retorted. "Besides, he may be old, too, but he's got something you don't."
Snorting in derision, Tony preened a little, trying to take on the devil-may-care stance of the ultimate Playboy. Lifting one brow in a suave and sophisticated manner, it suddenly dawned on him what she'd said and he nearly yelled, "What do you mean by 'he may be old too.' " Indignation rose up and he ranted, "I'm not that old. Plus... what does he have that I don't?"
"Money, Tony," she replied wryly. "Lots and lost of money. And a mansion. Never underestimate the mansion."
"I'm pretty much screwed, aren't I?" he morosely asked, feeling as defeated now as he had when Bambi… or Buffy… or maybe it was Tiffany had slugged him earlier that night. Abby was pretty sure she'd never seen him look quite that pitiful before.
But she couldn't lie, and so she said, "In the smoking jacket? Definitely."
When Tony's shoulders dropped, Abby gently patted him on the shoulder, put on her happiest face and bubbled, "But I love you, Tony."
X X X
The next day, walking into NCIS, Tony tried to ignore the stares of those around him. It had been bad enough to have one black eye when Abby walked in to comfort him in his time of need. It was worse, knowing she didn't want to wear the bikini either.