Disclaimer: If I owned them, they'd all get shot a lot more.
A/N: So, sometime between catching up on all of Supernatural (Sucks, BTW), and running out of new fanfic (also sucks), I've found myself with a new fandom. Well, technically it's an old one, 'cause I used to watch this show all the time on an actual TV, but as I've never written fanfiction for it before, I figure it counts as new.
This is the first in a series I'm writing/drabbling, featuring Gibbs and all of the new directors he keeps needing to train.
Despite many claims to the contrary, Leroy Jethro Gibbs was not an entirely unreasonable man. Sometimes, he could even be decent. He could be talked down, if one used the proper downcast eyes and submissive posture one was supposed to employ with an alpha male. It had even happened before, that Gibbs professed actual respect for other people. So, really, he was a completely sane, rational human being.
Most of the time.
There were however, the times when his team was in danger. At those times, the reasonable, decent human being went out the window, and left in his place was a snarling, biting, glaring wolf who barked threats between orders and didn't take no for an answer.
The Director of NCIS was, unfortunately, rather familiar with this wolf. For all that he was someone who everyone else was very interested in keeping alive, Thomas Morrow always seemed to get the dangerous jobs.
Like telling Jethro Gibbs that his people were being threatened by a major terrorist organization. That could be slightly life threatening.
Gibbs took it well, he thought. At first. He was calm and respectful, the perfect NCIS agent speaking to his director.
But then Morrow told him-wincing as he did so-that Gibbs and his team were off the case and the wolf came out.
Still, Morrow wasn't really worried until Gibbs started tossing words like "mine" and "my team" around. Gibbs was notoriously jealous of his team. Nobody had ever quite been able to figure out if it was a latent paternal feeling, or just Gibbs' natural possessiveness towards anything that he considered his, but whatever it was, it had accounted for more than one liaison being reduced to a gibbering, pants-wetting mess.
It wasn't just that Gibbs didn't want anyone but him ordering his people around, it was that Gibbs didn't like anyone but him ordering his people around. And when Gibbs didn't like something…
That something didn't tend to stay long at NCIS.
He was protective, like a father. He was corrective, like a teacher. He was jealous, like a lover. And he was insanely, disproportionately possessive, much like the owner of a prized piece of art. Only he was allowed to order, only he was allowed to touch, only he was allowed to even talk to his people, if he was in a certain mood.
Working with Jethro Gibbs was rather like working with the owner of a rare bookstore. He followed you around while you inspected "the merchandise." He corrected you on the value and worth of what you found. He told you all sorts of things about them, but nothing that would make you consider wanting them for your own. And heaven help you if you tried to actually, maybe- who knows?-take something away.
When Gibbs had worked himself down to carefully-worded requests and then back up to threats, Morrow decided to end the interview before Gibbs said anything that couldn't be retracted properly.
"Agent Gibbs," he said. The man glared at him.
"Sir," he said in his best Marine voice, which implied that the title was Gibbs' way of saying "dung heap."
Morrow rubbed his forehead. "You have twenty-four hours, Gibbs. Then you and your team are off the case."
The glare melted a little bit, but never fully softened. Gibbs wouldn't be forgetting this little incident, one that Gibbs probably saw as an attempt to place Morrow in between Gibbs and his people. He really could rest easy on that account. Morrow had no desire whatsoever to stand in between the wolf and his pack.
You could get bit that way.
A/N: So here I am, watching all the episodes in order, and this plot-puppy comes along. (I know people call them plot bunnies, traditionally, but I don't like bunnies-I think they're creepy-and anyway, these things act more like puppies anyway. Puppies are the ones that sit on your feet and look up at you pleadingly and scratch at the door and beg for scraps and seem like such a GREAT idea before you get one. Bunnies just… hop. And stare at you, balefully.
Okay, so that last part is accurate. But otherwise? All of my story ideas are known as puppies.
Anyway, the next two parts should be up soon.