THEIR WEAPON OF CHOICE
Each member of the team has a weapon of choice, even if they aren't quite aware of it.
A team gen story.
Written: February 2009. Word count: 1,295.
Many people might be surprised to hear that Gibbs's weapon of choice was not his Sig or his sniper's rifle or any other gun. Instead it was his stare.
He had honed it to perfection over the years. It could, and did, make even the strongest, most determined criminal quail, and in more than one case end up needing a change of clothing.
It could silence DiNozzo and have him backtracking in an instant. It could make McGee tongue-tied. It could scare Palmer. It could reduce Abby's exuberance. It even worked on Ziva and made her glance away. And with Ducky? With Ducky it could stop him mid-latest story. Not that he used it on Ducky very often, not as often as he did with the kids. But when he chose to use it, it worked.
But he didn't over-use it, because that would take away the edge and the success of it. Nor did he use exactly the same stare for every person, or even for the same reason. Oh, no. He made the stare slightly different each time. He kept people on their toes; he kept them guessing.
And the main benefit of the stare over a gun was at least the person remained alive. A little shaken, maybe, but still breathing.
Ducky's weapon of choice was his rambling stories. As friendly and open as he was, there were things he had learned over the decades it was better to keep mostly to oneself.
Thus he told tall tales about his adventures, his affaires, with the fairer sex, just to keep people from realizing the truth. Not that he believed the children would mind, and Jethro knew anyway, but he was too old to change now. And he felt it was safer.
He also used his weapon in other ways, to aid, to assist, to train. He knew when telling, or beginning to tell, a rambling story, would give Jethro a few minutes to formulate his thoughts. He knew when it might draw Jethro's anger away from someone else and turn it to mild irritation focused on him. He knew when telling a story might relax and diffuse a tense situation. He knew that if people could be united in their exasperation with him, they wouldn't be looking to argue or disagree amongst themselves.
He also used his weapon to help educate; so many of the youth of the day were very poorly, in his opinion, educated, at least beyond the required curriculum. And if his ramblings helped teach them without them really realizing what he was doing, then that could only be beneficial.
Tim's weapon was his computer skills and he worked hard on perfecting them. He knew he would never be as good a field agent as Tony, not when it came to the cop like investigation skills that Tony had in abundance. So rather than compete with those skills, he worked hard at improving his other abilities.
Following his time in Cyber Crimes his weapon was so well honed, he doubted there was a computer he couldn't hack into. So now whatever Gibbs needed him to do, whichever other agency or even higher place he needed access to, Tim knew he could deliver, and could do so without being caught.
He'd proven himself to the boss time and time again; he just hoped it was enough. He just hoped his abilities in that respect made up for those he sometimes lacked in pure field work. He thought he did a good job; he just hoped Gibbs thought so too.
Jimmy didn't think he had a weapon, of choice or otherwise.
He was just Jimmy.
He was just Palmer.
He was just the Autopsy Gremlin.
He was just Doctor Mallard's assistant.
He was just the one who got tongue-tied and called Gibbs 'Special Agent Gibbs, sir'.
He was just the one who knocked coffee over and tripped over his own feet and made inappropriate comments at times.
He was just the one who got them lost.
He was just the one who got sent to Abby every time the doctor and Gibbs wanted to be alone.
He was just the one who had a passionate sex affair with a traitor - who turned out to also be a hero.
He was just . . . Jimmy Palmer.
He had no weapons.
Ziva loved weapons, all weapons. Sometimes she thought she loved weapons more than she loved sex.
She loved the feel of a gun or a knife in her hand. She loved knowing that her skill could save or take lives. Holding a gun or knife excited her; nothing came close to the feeling she got when she drew her weapon.
She had a fine collection, but they were not for show, she could use them; she could use them all. She kept them clean and in perfect condition. She was never without at least one.
But she knew that if she had to give up all but one, her choice would be one particular knife. Plain, simple, solid, not large, but it was perfect. It fitted into her hand as if it had been crafted just for her. It gave her pleasure to hold it, to look at it, to clean it, to run her fingers over the blade and handle.
It had been given to her by her father on her tenth birthday, much to the displeasure of her mother. And it had been then that she had known he had finally forgiven her for not being the son he had wanted so badly.
Abby's weapon was her multi-tasking ability. It allowed her to even keep Gibbs on his toes; at least it did from time to time. It allowed her to pre-empt what he wanted, to give him what he needed, and even to keep something back to surprise him with.
Her machines were her babies, she named them all, she talked them, coaxed them, yelled at them at times, and could have them all working at once and not lose track of what they were doing.
She took pride in her work, did it to perfection and even when she was doing four things at once, she made sure that each one was done was well as if she was doing only one at a time.
Sometimes, fleetingly, she feared she might try to do too many things at once and would fail. But when those thoughts flashed through her mind, she ignored them and simply got another Caf-Pow!
Tony's weapon of choice was his clowning around; his foolishness, his supposed lack of intelligence, his pranks; the way he let people believe he was the fool he pretended to be. It kept them off balance; it even made them let their guard down.
He was more than willing to admit, and had done so, that he wasn't as intelligent as McGee. Nonetheless he wasn't the idiot he pretended to be.
But by clowning around and playing the fool, it meant that people didn't really pay him much attention, at least not at a conscious level. And for a cop or a Federal Agent, not being the centre of attention was a good thing.
Some people chose to blend into the background by being quiet and unobtrusive, but Tony had always found his way, for him, to be the better way. Demand attention, draw so much attention to yourself, mess around, behave stupidly, and after a time people just stopped noticing you.
He sometimes wondered if he fooled the boss. Usually he doubted he could - no one fooled Gibbs. But just sometimes when he was the recipient of the infamous 'Gibbs stare' he wondered if just maybe . . .
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