For this Six Sentence Sunday I offer a selection from a document calledĀ ā(Untitled) soft tired domesticity Draft 2 - Copy Edited copy - REDUXā for the Gun prompt on the Summer Bingo Card
What you got cooking @unreliablenarratorink @the-last-rat-standing @justagibbsgirl @roxannerolls1?
āāā
Her finger circled his temple, tenderly, over traces of scars, where the delicate skin had been broken open too many times. Hard-headed and broad shouldered, he could seem like a giant forged from granite, yet he was only a man of flesh andāwhether he chose to admit it or notāfeelings.
What was eating at Gibbs was a question on a multiple choice quiz:
A. the case had ended with three young Marines lying in the morgue B. Gibbs had been the one to put the fatal bullet in the last C. that heād had to do (B) to keep his own agents from deathly harm D. None of the above.Ā
When in doubt, choose C.
āYou know Ellieās okay, right?ā
The involuntary mewl her nails evoked as they scritched against his scalp softened his grumbled acknowledgment.
āIt was only a graze, not even 5 stitches to close. She could be back to work tomorrow.ā That was pushing it. Bullet damage or not, the whole team needed a solid 48 hours off from work to recharge, Gibbs included. But if it was what he needed to hearā¦ āItāll take more stitches to repair her field jacket.ā
Here ya go, @tangocharliekilo! I have toyed with a BTS for the S13 episodeĀ āStop the Bleedingā to imagine what happened between the time Taft saved Gibbsā life and Gibbsā return to NCIS.Ā Here is the beginning of a fic that has not gone any further yet.Ā Ā
BTS for Stop the Bleeding
As awareness etched a pattern onto the blank slate of unconsciousness, his first sensation was one of floating, followed by a thick fog roiling behind his eyes and a low hum buzzing between his ears. Ā Too many similar experiences prompted an immediate assumption that he was in deep shit.
Apparently, he managed to verbalize at least some of that thought, because a sympathetic, and mildly amused voice cut through the buzz.
āProbably feels that way, Agent Gibbs, but I assure you, you are only in shallow shit, at best.ā
Mike Franks was right. Ā Chuckles the Clown.
He opened his eyes. Ā He thought he opened his eyes. Ā He tried again. And again. Ā Finally, after what felt like enough effort to lift a car, he dragged up his heavy eyelids until slivers of light peeked through.
āWelcome back,ā the voice said. Ā Some vague memory of that same voice babbling about bourbon and bleeders and Motown andā¦the Partridge Family?...washed across Gibbsā thoughts. Ā He brushed it off as a hallucination.
āWhrm I?ā he mumbled, still cocooned in the fog and hum.
āHospital ship. Ā The Daniel Webster.ā
ā ā long?ā
āThis is day five. Your agent uh ā DiGiorno?ā
āDiNozzo,ā corrected another voice, soft and feminine.
āAh. Thank you, Ensign Ryan. Agent DiNozzo told us you werenāt much on talking, but youāve been pretty chatty the past few days. Ā Of course, most of it was fevered delirium, which probably doesnāt countā¦ā
Geez, this guy could talk. Ā āDiā¦Nozzo?ā he ground out as he pried his eyelids open more, revealing two shadowy figures, one on his right and the other on his left.
āYour boss sent him off, I assume to go get the bad guys that put you here. Ā He left about a hundred messages on my phone between the time he bugged out and the time I finished fishing pieces of metal out of your chest.ā
Pieces. Metal, Chest. Ā Images flashed through his mind: Iraq. Dust. Sand. Heat. Joanna Teague. DiNozzo. Luke Harris. Pain. Shock. Oblivion.
As the fog began to clear, he shifted his hands to the bed rails, planning to pull himself up, to fight for cognizance, to do what he did best - act. Ā Immediately, deep agony screamed through his chest, down his ribs, and somehow shot out of his left knee, seizing his body in a helpless rigor-like convulsion, tearing a raw groan from his throat.
Yeah, he was right the first time. Deep shit.
