They were gathered around the center of the bullpen when NCIS Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs’ phone rang. “Gibbs,” he barked. Then listened. “Who?” he demanded, turning away from Tony, Ziva and McGee. His tone wasn’t unusual, the fact that he didn’t want them seeing his face was. Then: “I’ll be right down.” Pause. “No, don’t send her up; I said I’ll be right down.” And he disconnected the call.
Turning back to the group, the senior agent dismissed them to their duties. “Don’t just stand there,” was all it took to send the team scrambling. He headed to the elevator. “Uh, boss,” trailed Tony DiNozzo. “I’ll be right back, DiNozzo, make the calls,” Gibbs dismissed the longest-serving member of the team.
Ziva David arched one black eyebrow at Tony. “Go,” he said. “Don’t let him see you.”
“Duh,” she shot back as she sped toward the stairs.
Gibbs exited the elevator and headed for the reception desk. “Reception” being a polite word for “security,” as the post was manned 24-7 by a Navy or Marine police officer. Standing at the desk with the MP was a tall woman with dark red hair. The kind of red that comes only with help from a hairdresser. As Ziva peeked out from the stairwell, she couldn’t hear what was said, but watched as Gibbs took the woman’s elbow and headed out into the afternoon sunshine with her. Figuring there was no stealthy way to get more information, she returned to her teammates. “Redhead,” she reported. Tony groaned and dropped his head on his desk.
“J,” said the woman as she saw him approach. Her eyes flicked from the gray in his hair to the shoes on his feet, noting changes since the last time she had seen him.
“Andrea,” replied Gibbs, taking her elbow. “Let’s take a walk.”
Neither spoke as they walked down the sidewalk leading away from the building. When they reached the sidewalk, Gibbs turned in the direction of his favorite coffee shop. Andrea shrugged her arm, and he released her elbow. That seemed to be the cue for both to speak.
“J, I didn’t mean,” she started.
“It’s been a long,” he started. Then sighed and stopped walking, turning to face her.
“It’s been almost fifteen years, Andie. Where am I supposed to start?” he groused.
“You could start, mister crabby pants, with ‘Hi, How are you? I’m glad/not glad to see you!” she shot back.
“Crabby!” he started, then ran a hand through his silvering hair. “Hi Andrea, hello, it is a surprise to see you here after so long,” he continued in a lower tone. “What brings you to D.C.?”
“See, now was that so hard?” She smiled at him, meeting his eyes as they were close to the same height. “I am moving to Washington, Jethro, so I thought I’d look up an old friend and see how his life is going.”
“A very old friend,” was his reply.
“I didn’t mean to crash in on you at work, but I didn’t have a home address and thought I’d take a chance that you were still with NCIS, as that’s the last I’d heard.” She explained her sudden appearance and he visibly relaxed. “You’re probably in the middle of something important, some case, but maybe when you’re through we could get together? Dinner? You, me and Mrs. Gibbs?” The question about his marital state was less than subtle, but it brought the response she was hoping for. He smiled.
“You and me, at least,” he answered the question. “Mrs. Gibbs number three took her maiden name back in the divorce.” His eyes sharpened, and he took the same visual tour she had in the lobby. Hair, face, neck … he stopped there and met her eyes again. Blue, darker than his, almost navy. “Dinner,” he thought a moment. “Tonight is out, we’re buried here. But tomorrow? Can I call you and let you know for sure?”
She smiled and handed him a business card she had been holding. “Whenever is convenient for you, and I mean that. I’ll wait.” The comment held the promise of more than dinner, and he got the message.
“It won’t be fifteen years,” he said, then turned to go back inside.
The team seemed hard at work when he returned to the bullpen. Making calls, or appearing to, typing furiously on the keyboard, shuffling papers and crime scene photographs. He made the mental shift from the old memories that had visited him during his ride in the elevator to the task at hand: catching the latest bad guy. Keeping the kids on task. Some days he wasn’t sure which was the bigger job.
Author's Chapter Notes:
I decided Gibbs has gotten too maudlin, too sad. He needs someone from his distant past to shake him out of the stiffly controlled exterior and bring back the Gibbs from Season 1.