Tony has messed up and Gibbs wants to know what his excuse is.
A DiNozzo-centric gen story.
Written: November 2010. Word count: 300.
"My office now, DiNozzo."
McGee and Ziva look startled at Gibbs's tone. I'm not surprised. We've all heard Gibbs pissed, angry, irked, bemused, frustrated, sarcastic; we've all heard him snap, growl and snarl at us. But even I, in all the years I've worked with him, have never heard such a cold, distant, steely tone.
He's already by the elevators, he didn't wait for me. I cast a fake grin at McGee and Ziva and hurry across to join him. I know I don't want to keep him waiting.
He's inside one of the steel cars, holding the doors open. He drops his hand as I get near and I have to jump in sideways to avoid being squashed.
Seconds after it begins to move, he hits the emergency stop button. The elevator comes to a grinding halt and the emergency lights flicker on.
"Well?" he demands. "What's your excuse this time, DiNozzo?"
I look at him towering over me (a good feat as I'm an inch or two taller than he is), glaring down at me. His eyes are like flint and ice; they are as cold and steely as his tone.
I straighten my back, lock my knees, link my hands together behind me and meet the frozen glare. "I don't have one, Gibbs," I say.
For a moment he's speechless. Then he says, his tone heavy with disbelief, "What did you say, DiNozzo?"
I know he heard me; he always hears me; he always hears everything, even when he's not around. I swallow, trying to force some moisture into my mouth. "I don't have an excuse, Gibbs. I screwed up."
Again he says nothing. Then the hard look of his face softens just a little. "Well done, Tony," he says, and nods before starting the elevator again.
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