Prologue:
August 21th 2004
Gibbs turned off the loud noise - he refused to call it music - and got behind his favorite forensic scientist. She was so fascinated by whatever she was working on that she didn't even react to the sudden silence. “What d'ya got, Abs?”
The Goth turned around so fast that only a fast sidestep rescued the team leader's face from being lashed with her pig tails. “Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs, this is so fascinating!”
“What's fascinating, Abs, and how does it help my case?”
Abby was practically vibrating, a sign of too many Caf-Pows in too little time. “Whoever died in that car, it was not your Sergeant,” she proclaimed and folded her arms in front of her chest, waiting for his reaction.
“I knew that already, Abs. We found a mountain lion that looked like it had been run over by a car in that truck, not a human body, and you already told me that the blood on the clothes we found on the back seat wasn't human, either.” Gibbs feigned impatience and acted as if he would storm out of her lab any second; it was how their game went, and, as long as she didn't take too much of his time, he was willing to indulge her.
The working theory at the moment was that their missing sergeant had killed the beast by accident- damaging his car in the process- and taken the cadaver with him to avoid notice; after the car later gave up the ghost, he'd fled on foot. And now they had to find him.
“Yes, yes! Buuuuut-” she turned around, hitting one of the buttons on her keyboard, and the picture on her screen changed to one of an amplified image of a hair. “That is real mountain lion hair.”
Now this was getting tedious. “Abs.”
“Gibbs, don't tell me you don't know about Felines?” Abby pouted, disappointed at his ignorance. Nice of her to believe in him so fully, but he was not all knowing.
Well, he did know about their existence in general: humans that could shift into cat forms like some real life werewolves, but until this moment it had never come up in practice. His granny had told him legends about talking cats that lured weak-minded spouses into the forest where they would never be seen again, along with other fairy tales. Little Jethro's favorite had been about a panther guardian who only appeared when something bad happened down in the Stillwater mines. Shadow Whisperer would melt with the dark, go places where no human could go and lead the miners out to safety, sometimes he would appear as panther, sometimes, in the form of a human with black fur. He was said to shift fallen rocks and whisper reassurances to the injured miners, waiting with them until the rescuers arrived, and, before anyone could get a real look at him, he would disappear in the shadows that had given him his name.
But those were old wives tales. Real Felines? The issue hadn't pinged on their radar at all with this case until now. “In theory. Abs, you're saying that the animal cadaver in Ducky's lab is NOT a Feline. So?”
“But someone who didn't know enough about it to manage a good fake tried to make it look like we found our missing Sergeant, and wanted us to believe that he had: a) morphed, and b) was dead, so nobody would come looking for him. They shredded the clothes- which is not so wrong, because if he had changed in them they would be torn- but smeared some human blood on the garments; and that's just totally wrong. Felines morph without bleeding, and are, genetically, not even near real felines, so I can rule out that poor cat.” Abby beamed at him.
“Great. And now? How does that help me find my Sergeant?”
“It helps you because I found his hidey-hole; where he did his research on Felines. There aren't many places where you can learn about them, you know. They belong to the White House, traditionally- and those guys are very stingy with information. I've got more access because of my clearance, but normal people.... not so much. It's all hush-hush and there's this huge conspiracy theory floating around. I traced back who got nosy about them- along with what information they got- and voilà; here's your address. He's even online right now.” She held out a sheet of paper and her cheek, which he kissed softly.
“Thanks, Abs.” he said, and hurried away.
“This is really fascinating stuff!” He heard her call after him. He guessed that, for the next few days, he would be regaled with a wide variety of facts he would never need about Felines.
Step 1: Wait
Dec 6th 2004
“Special Agent Gibbs, this is the second time you have directly and personally saved the life of the President of the United States. We want to reward you for your services above and beyond the call of duty.”
The recipient of this speech was standing at parade rest in front of the big desk in the Oval Office, his expression as bland and attentive as he could make it. Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs, former Marine sniper and self proclaimed all-round bastard generally had no patience for political posturing but even he could hardly ignore a summons to the White House, no matter how much he wanted to. Especially when his new Director backed up the order. Tom Morrow would have helped him formulate a polite response and then sent him on an important (and immediate) mission to some far away base, but Jen Sheppard had been only too eager to force him to play nice. She graciously accompanied him to this meeting, partly so she could make sure that he actually arrived when and where he should, and partly because she wanted to make a personal appearance. A big, public commendation ceremony with one of her agents front and center would be quite a feather in her cap, no matter that the 'heroic deed' had happened under her predecessor.
The Secretary of the Navy, Edward Sheffield, was droning on about honor and dedication and whatnot; Gibbs used the time to wonder about this meeting. There were some differences between this and the last dratted ceremony he had been forced to attend. Only four men and himself were in attendance. The President, his personal secretary, SecNav and a Marine Major in his dress blues. No PR staff, no cameras. This scenario was a far cry from the pomp Sheppard had probably dreamed about, especially since she wasn't even allowed in the room and had been politely asked to wait outside.
Sudden silence made him concentrate on the matter at hand, instead of the indignant consternation of Jen Sheppard when the door had closed in her face. The expectant expressions on the people around him clued him in that they wanted him to quit his stoic tin soldier routine and say something.
“It is my honor and duty to serve.” There, that was harmless, true enough, and should satisfy them. Brass rarely ever wanted to know his honest opinion about something.
President Hayes smiled his bright, political smile and nodded approvingly, then he motioned the Major to do his part. “Major Williams will explain everything to you, feel free to ask him if something is not clear. I hope you will enjoy your reward.”
The major looked like the living model of a paper cut-out advert for the Marines. Tall, muscled, with a crew cut and an expressionless face. Gibbs approved, but his puzzlement was growing exponentially. This wasn't like the usual ceremonies where someone did a big speech and afterward pressed a new shiny medal on his chest. Well, the jeweler’s case the major had retrieved from his travel bag would fit the bill, but the thick file that accompanied it didn't.
Williams put down the file in front of the agent, aligning it meticulously so it was exactly parallel to the lines of the desk. “These are the papers for your Feline companion. We have already filled out nearly every pertinent detail; we just need to add the serial number of your chosen Feline and you have to sign in the specified places. Please make sure to read the restriction clauses and the abuse of privileges list carefully before signing.”
“What the fuck?!?” Gibbs was so flabbergasted the words escaped his mouth without any censoring input from his brain to curtail them. His eyes went comically round before they narrowed to angry slits. He shouldn't have used foul language, but this had better be a very bad joke. His icy stare darted from one men to the other, gauging their reactions, and finally came to rest on the President's face. The man looked faintly amused, not offended.
SecNav, on the other hand, was anything but amused. He cleared his throat and shot his best, but most aggravating, agent a censoring glare. The look in his eyes promised the silver haired agent a posting at McMurdo in the Antarctic until retirement if he didn't hold his tongue. “Mr. President, you have to forgive Special Agent Gibbs, this is a huge honor and it stunned him.”
Hayes tipped his head. “Stunned? I would say he looks… pissed.”
And why shouldn't he be? The thought of owning a living, sentient and intelligent being was repugnant to him. No matter what some scientists said, just because someone had fur in addition to hair didn't make them non-human. “Mr. President, I have to politely decline this… honor. I have neither the time, nor the inclination to fit someone into my life at the moment and-”
“Gibbs!” Sheffield tried to interrupt him.
“-and I don't approve-”
“GIBBS!”
Yep, the agent could feel the antarctic ice closing in on him, but at least he would be alone in his frosty exile.
Hayes interrupted them both. “Gentlemen, stop. Before this gets any more awkward. Please leave the room and let me speak to Special Agent Gibbs alone.”
The other three men exchanged surprised looks, but they left the office swiftly.
“Please, sit down.” The President waited for Gibbs to follow his order and steepled his fingers. “Let's not beat around the bush. Your tone of voice is way past the border of insulting, but your refusing this reward doesn't come as a surprise- given your reputation.”
Gibbs had relaxed a bit, his shoulders gotten less stiff. He was all for quitting talking in circles but normally, whenever a politician deigned to use a phrase like 'stop beating around the bush', the BS that followed would be of gigantic proportions and stink to high heaven.
Hayes smiled and the wrinkles around his dark eyes deepened. “I value my life- very much so-and I want to reward you for saving it. Detecting and eliminating that sniper was exceptional work. Another medal would just not cut it in my eyes. My Secret Service people researched your background quite thoroughly at my order.”
Another expletive got ruthlessly shoved down before it could escape. Once might be forgiven, but now he couldn't cite surprise.
“You seem to constantly be searching for a long term companion, judging by your four marriages and the fact that it was never you who broke it off. It's not hard to see that the tragic way you lost your first family had an impact. Your dedication to your job and, forgive me for saying so, difficult disposition are not conducive to achieving the white picket fence dream.”
Any other man would have had his head bitten off by now before being told where to stick his research and opinions, but in this case Gibbs had to swallow his anger. Punching the Leader of the Free World was out, no matter how good it would feel. The agent didn't know what offended him more-the fact that they had dug into his past or the assumption that the only way he would be able to keep someone in his life was when the other party had no freedom to leave.
His thoughts wandered to his house; his, he would freely admit, very dark, very lonely house. Darker and lonelier especially this time of the year. All the other houses on his street sported festive decorations and blinking lights, more or less clumsily built snow men, and forgotten shovels and plastic toys. Gibbs sole contribution to the mad decorating and cheerful chaos of the holiday season going on around him was a wrought iron lantern with a thick candle inside which he kept lit. But all this stark minimalism was by choice, not desperation.
“Mr. President-”
“No, let me ask you some questions. I have another reason for selecting this kind of reward. Do you know much about Felines?”
And here he had thought that Abby's research wouldn't be useful. At least this wasn't about his personal life anymore. “Not much, just what is publicly available. They are the result of a mutation of the human genome. Very rare and not visible or significant as long as it does not activate. Extreme stress seems to be an activator. They first appeared after the plague decimated Europe. Scientists speculated that it was a reaction. Like the mutations that can be traced back to the Influenza, just more dramatic.” Gibbs shrugged his shoulders. “And they are, by decree, all property of the governments of their birth countries, most often directly tied to the Head of States.”
Hayes nodded. All good humor had left his face. “All true. It was, surprisingly, Abraham Lincoln who added and anchored that decree in the Constitution. You have to keep in mind the societal background and the time. The middle ages aren't called the dark ages for nothing, and the first communities on American soil weren't much better. People who sprouted tails and fur were seen as exotic freaks at best and demonic creatures that must be burned at worst. Making them property of the White House was in a way better than having them end up as attractions in freak shows or being hunted to death.” The President leaned forward and stretched his left hand, turning it this way and that way, staring down at his chocolate brown skin and then hard into Gibbs' eyes.
“Times have changed. I find any sort of slavery personally offensive but I am unable to directly abolish that rule. What I was able to do was tweak it: there is no longer a reward out there for handing over people who have that kind of genetic marker and forcing it to activate is punishable by life in prison now. That leaves, for the future, only those who mutate and activate naturally. Twelve adult Felines are currently residing in my... presidential Feline-Stables.” The last words were expelled with obvious distaste.
“Twelve Felines that need good homes and caring minders before my tenure is up. Most of them are quite intelligent and self-sufficient but due to the public perception about them being nothing more than sensual sex-slaves and living status symbols, they will never be able to live independently in our lifetime. You strike me as a honorable man who would never abuse anyone and who would always protect those who cannot defend themselves. Jethro Gibbs, that along with your stubborn nature and profession, make you an ideal candidate to keep a Feline safe and happy.” Hayes leaned back in his chair again. “Am I wrong?”
All that sounded very noble and wonderful, but it would not be the President who had to take responsibility for a complete stranger. Still, Gibbs could see that Hayes had made up his mind and wouldn't budge. “No, Mr President, as I said, it is my duty and honor to serve.”
“I hope that you will add enjoyment to this list in the future.” Hayes dryly commented and when he saw Gibbs bristling in anger he added: “Not suggestively meant, Gibbs, or we wouldn't be having this conversation.”
The President rose from his chair and circled his desk until he stood beside the agent. Then he picked up the jewelery case, embossed with the emblem of the White House, opened it and handed something to Gibbs. The item resembled the dog tags every soldier was familiar with, it even sported his engraved name, but instead of dull metal it was made of platinum. Gibbs flipped it. The back was blank.
“After you've chosen among them, your Feline's name and ID number will be added to the tag. Now please, Agent Gibbs, accept my token of gratitude and sign those papers. I have a meeting at three and I'm already going to be late.”
Gibbs' fingers closed convulsively around the little piece of precious metal that would proclaim him the owner of another human being, Feline or no. Next time he might be tempted to let the enemy sniper shoot. Well, of course not, but at the moment it was really tempting.
-.#-.
Step 2: Choose carefully.
When he stepped outside the office door, the only people waiting for him were Major Williams and SecNav. There was no sign of his Director; it made him wonder what she had been told. Both men were immediately fixated on the file in his hands.
Williams held out his hand for the file and began to check that every dotted line sported the correct signature.
“God help me, Gibbs! One day soon you'll give me a heart attack!” Sheffield groaned and fumbled with his unlit cigar. “I told Director Sheppard what happened and sent her back to the office. Take as many days off as you need to, ah, acclimate to your new… circumstances.”
The agent looked strictly straight ahead. “Thank you for this consideration, but it isn't needed. It will be better to include this addition as soon as possible in my normal daily life.”
That response made his boss glare at him. “Sheppard and I agreed that you are allowed to bring the Feline to work as long as you keep control of it, just keep it out of crime scenes and by all that is holy, don't cause a diplomatic incident. Who knows, maybe this will loosen your bastard self up a bit.” And with those words he turned around and strode away, figuratively washing his hands of this situation. It was a good thing that he didn't bother to turn around or he would have had to discipline Gibbs for insubordination. The agent was nearly growling.
This was just an early example of the reactions he could expect to his owning a Feline. They all would think that he was happily fucking his furry sex slave every chance he got and he couldn't really avoid showing the Feline to people since he would have to take his new companion everywhere he went. Leaving them at home wasn't an option. Not only would that be cruel and unusual punishment, since Gibbs worked a lot and nobody deserved to be left alone for so long, he wouldn't be there to protect them either. That left constant companionship, unless there was a day care center for Felines somewhere, which Gibbs doubted very much. Hell, he wouldn't be able to stop the elevator to allow himself a minute of peace without someone snickering about him having a quickie.
“Special Agent Gibbs? I am the head supervisor of the Feline-Stables. Would you please follow me? My charges are waiting for us. Please feel free to ask me any question you want.” Major Williams politely led the brooding Gibbs down a hidden hallway and through various checkpoints before stopping in front of an ornately carved wooden double door. Some wannabe artist with more fantasy than taste had decorated it with the interwined forms of various jungle cats. Williams pushed the door open and what lay behind wasn't any better.
Gibbs had thought the door tasteless; that had been harmless in comparison to this travesty. If Hayes was as serious as he appeared about his save the Felines plan, he should re-decorate this room, pronto. With all its colorful silk pillows, draperies and thick oriental rugs, the room he was standing in looked like the ill-conceived cross between a bad romance writer's idea of a harem and an 18th century bordello. Chandeliers, huge mirrors and heavy curtains might have been added in the hope that they would give the illusion of hidden windows and space, but, to Gibbs, they just perfected the picture of a gilded cage.
The occupants of said cage had draped themselves decoratively across huge silken floor pillows. Other than Abby's persistent recent fascination with them, Gibbs had never paid much attention to Felines. He had only seen glimpses of them in full cat form on the TV screen at high society events. Government control of information about Felines had somehow translated socially into there being a taboo against Felines appearing at such events in their human form. Now, confronted with the reality of their nature and the need to chose among them, all he could do was stare.
The individuals staring back at him resembled human males and females but with the addition of fur in varying degrees of intensity and color. The fact that all of them were naked just highlighted the differences and made it impossible to ignore those little extras. The light of the chandeliers gleamed on fur that covered sometimes whole limbs, sometimes only stripes of their bodies. On some, it was so short that it showed more like a pattern on skin than real fur, but on others it was so long, thick and fluffy that it would make a Persian cat proud. To Gibbs it seemed as if these human felines mimicked specific races of cats, with lions and cougars as the most prevalent species. But they had some other things in common among their group, not just fur.
All of them were draped as prettily as possible across their pillows, pillows which were clearly chosen to enhance or contrast the shades of their 'special features'. All of them were aesthetically pleasing. All of them wore metallic collars wound around their throats multiple times, and nothing else. And all of them were concentrating on him with eagerness in their slit-pupilled eyes.
All that blatant- and, in some male cases, shameless- rising interest made Gibbs nearly take a step backward. It was a relief when Williams redirected some of the intense attention away from him. “Felines, this is the man I told you about at breakfast. Please be polite and don't crowd him while he tries to get to know you so he can choose. I know that whoever has the honor of going home with Special Agent Gibbs will do their best to be his ideal companion.”
That provoked a “Yes, sir!” and then another round of 'devour the poor Agent with your eyes'. He knew that expression; it had featured prominently on two of his ex-wives faces and hadn't been any more honest then. If his suit, (which was of a good quality but not from one of those unpronounceable designers) along with his simple haircut gave them pause, they didn't show it. He tried to imagine any of these creatures sitting in his living room, and his imagination failed him. While fighting down his flight instinct (and cursing the President) Gibbs nearly missed a soft but deeply derisive snort coming from the shadows to his left.
The mad interior decorator had placed a door-less antique wardrobe in the dark corner beside the entrance. It was filled with various objects, but what made it interesting was not the inside but what was resting on top. The height of the piece of furniture and the lack of light up there made it hard to see clearly, but there was another Feline eyeing the newcomers from its vantage point; one in full cat form- a tiger. One of the dinner plate sized paws dangled lazily over the edge. Seeing intelligent awareness in the green eyes that stared back at him out of a tiger's beautiful face brought the realization home to Gibbs, like nothing else; how wrong, wrong, wrong it was that he was standing here like a kid in a toy store, allowed to chose a new puppet to play with, no matter how much he intended to treat his choice well.
But he couldn't refuse now.
Feline and man gave each other a very careful once over. The shadows concealed the rest of the big cat's figure, but Gibbs could make out a slowly swinging long tail down the far side of the wardrobe, parts of the upper body, and the shape of the full mane- not as full as a lions, but still more than what he remembered being normal for female tigers; this was most likely a male.
Williams confirmed this assumption by addressing the Feline with a male sounding name. “A'thon! Come down at once!”
All his shouting accomplished was that the tiger Feline closed his eyes and yawned, showcasing very sharp looking predator's teeth and, in contrast, an innocent looking curled, bright pink tongue.
“Agent Gibbs, I am sorry. You have to excuse him, A'thon is a special case.” The handler tried to explain before he took another step in direction of the wardrobe. He addressed the tiger again.“You've got your moment in the spotlight, now behave and join the others.”
A'thon gave a big, rumbling, put-upon sigh and, under Gibbs' thoughtful observation, stretched slowly before ambling down the side of the wardrobe. His claws scratched the polished wooden surface, causing the craftsman in Gibbs whimper in agitation to see a beautiful piece of wood being so carelessly abused. The tiger jumped the last bit and landed near the two watching men's feet, so near that they had to step back to avoid a collision. Going by the glittering green eyes and the disdainfully bristling whiskers, it was anything but an coincidental move.
“A little bit hard on the furniture, isn't he?” Gibbs couldn't help but comment.
“Only if he wants to be.” Williams answered. They both watched as the tiger Feline moved, positioning himself between them and the others while facing away from handler and agent, as if A'thon had dismissed them from his mind. The cool attitude spiel wasn't very convincing. The casual lick over a paw, the way the handsomely striped back was slanted, all of it was just too over the top. Gibbs saw how the big head turned in their direction just enough to check if they were still watching, and couldn't help but shake his own head in faint amusement.
Gibbs did a quick headcount and came up with twelve, including the tiger. “Why is he not in human form?”
A'thon abruptly stopped his shenanigans, heaved himself up, and strode away, his head held high, walking until he reached an empty pillow where he let himself fall down with more force than grace.
Williams sighed and then spoke just loud enough so his voice would carry to Gibbs, no further. “I told you, he is a special case. Sometimes things go wrong when the gene activates and a Feline has their Virgin Morph. It is very strenuous for the body and sometimes the heart gives out or... Felines can get stuck. I didn't witness it, I took over one year ago on President Haye's orders and A'thon was already part of the stable. It is such a waste.”
To be stuck in feline form when you were accustomed to two working thumbs, communicating with other humans and running around on two feet and so much else? Yeah, that was a little bit more than just a waste and the Major deserved the derisive grumble and hard stare Gibbs bestowed on him for that remark.
His non-verbal communication skills must have been as effective as usual, as Williams now sported a faint blush. He didn't raise his voice, but tried to defend himself. “I want what is best for these guys. I want them to have good homes and honest, benevolent owners; and A'thon... has been here for a very long time. If I am right in my calculations, he is in his mid thirties, and nobody has ever shown any serious interest in him. He knows it as well, look at him.”
The Feline in question was again showing them a cold shoulder, but this time there was nothing playful to be detected. The only indication that he was still paying attention were the black-tipped plushy ears that were turned in their direction.
“If I understood correctly, no matter what they look like, their thought process is as human as yours or mine?” Gibbs asked and observed the present Felines. His eyes lingered on one female with a ginger mane and matching fur. She smiled coyly at him, but all it did was make him wrinkle his forehead and direct his attention at another individual. It was not easy to judge their ages correctly, but most of them seemed to be in their early twenties.
“Yes, but that is not what matters to potential owners when they come to select a companion. They want a decorative, tame jungle cat for show and an exotic human body for... well.” Williams shrugged his shoulders.
“Fucking.” Gibbs completed the sentence, not bothering with delicate phrasing. Yeah, pussyfooting officers, he knew them well. “Good thing that I'm not interested in fucking someone who can't really afford to say no, fur or no fur, damn it!”
“That's not something I've heard before.” Williams murmured, some of the professional behavior giving way to frank appraisal and honest approval.
“Don't throw me into the same pot as your usual customers. Morons who deny these people their humanity, want to have sex with them despite- or maybe because of- that fact, and then get technical about bestiality just piss me off.” All this was nice and dandy, but even if his fellow marine seemed to agree with him, it didn't alter the fact of why they both were here. “Now what?”
Williams changed gears again. “Any of them caught your eye? M'aya, maybe?” He pointed at the female that Gibbs had noticed earlier. “You can talk to them; see if their hobbies and interest are compatible with yours. They don't just lie around all day and look pretty.”
“No, I meant what do I have to do to claim one of them? I already know who I want.” Gibbs clarified.
“You've already chosen?” the Major asked, startled.
Gibbs glared at him impatiently.
“Ah yes, of course. Tell me who and I will hand your owner tag to our engraver. It will be completed while I finalize the papers. Witnesses are on stand-by and we will file the details of your Feline's clearance with your agency.” Williams rattled down the list, but his thoughts seemed to be troubled. “There is no way back once you've chosen; are you sure you really don't want to take more-”
“Yes.” Gibbs didn't wait for another objection. He made his way through the pillows and towards his goal, ignoring the manicured fingers that dared to reach for his trouser legs, until he came to stop at A'thon's side.
Not only the tiger Feline was blinking at him with a dumb struck expression; Gibbs could feel everyone's incredulous reaction. He couldn't care less. His blue eyes locked with wide green ones. “You'll do as I say at work, don't destroy my things, and I will always take care of you to my best ability. I'll never hurt you on purpose, and I'll treat you with the same courtesy I afford anyone else- which does not say much, let me warn you.”
A'thon scrambled up, nearly falling over in his haste.
“You can have a life as normal as we can manage. That's all I can promise. Do we have a deal? If you don't want to, I'll choose someone else.” Gibbs held out his right hand and watched patiently while the feline took his time, looking him up and down, judging his sincerity, before glancing around. His fellow felines were visibly eager for him to decline the offer. A'thon shrugged his shoulders, then placed his enormous right paw in the silver haired agent's palm. Gibbs had big, strong hands- but they were still dwarfed by the tiger's.
.-#-.
Step 3: Take home
Williams hadn't tried again to make Gibbs reconsider. Instead, and under the other marine's grudging close attention, he had done his best to give him a crash course on how to care for his new companion while they were waiting for the bureaucratic mills to finish grinding. It wasn't that difficult, most of the things he said were pointing out what good common sense would have told him anyway. Like, he shouldn't feed A'thon real cat food; instead he should be fed a normal, human diet- just without adding spices and what animals reacted negatively to. Felines in cat form being similar to actual big cats in their sensitivity to certain human spices.
What kind of name was A'thon? It sounded artificial and rolled off his tongue clumsily. Gibbs asked Williams about it and the grimace the other man made before he answered didn't bode well.
“No, that's the name that was chosen for him. I don't know his original name.”
A non-answer and as helpful as a stone to the head. Great. That left one option that Williams, despite his more humane attitude towards Felines, hadn't thought of: asking the one who should know best. How difficult could it be for A'thon to use his claws and scratch the name he wanted to be called with into... Well, the sawdust covered floor in his basement would do nicely.
Other points were more pertinent to a seamless transition; things like the fact that certain brands of pain medication made A'thon act dizzy and lowered his inhibitions. Or that you should never let anything you didn't want him to see lie around because the tiger was nosy. At that point the major was pointedly staring at the tiger Feline who did his best to look like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.
Finally every 'i' was dotted and every 't' crossed and Gibbs could leave with his new companion by his side. The Agent had refused to accept the offered leash and just asked A'thon to follow him and ignored the awed and curious stares from everyone who saw them pass by as soon as they were back in the regular areas of the White House. He had arrived in Sheppard's limousine but someone had the foresight to send him one of the NCIS cars. A'thon waited till Gibbs opened the door for him and then jumped in and lay down on the backseat.
Gibbs was happy to see the back of the White House, he had spent enough time there, nearly half a day. It was getting dark and snow had begun to fall slowly. That and a sharp wind made the streets slippery and tricky, enough so that even Gibbs drove more slowly than normal. His version of slow (and some corners he traversed with two tires barely on the ground) made his passenger yip and whimper, sounds he had never thought tigers could produce.
“If you throw up I'll find a way for you to clean it up again.”
A'thon growled. The agent growled back.
Then his phone rang. “Gibbs.”
The person on the other end didn't waste time with niceties. Caitlin Todd, his second in command, had learned better within three days of working for him. “Boss, we got new intel on our missing Petty Officer Swanson. A neighbor alerted the police because they heard shots. They found the wife dead and the son missing. BOLO has been out for the car, a yellow Fiat, Maryland plates, it was sighted near the Fort Washington Marina. Swanson has a boat moored there.”
Gibbs put his foot down and accelerated the car, the phone pressed between ear and shoulder. Crazy men and little kids were never a good combination. “On my way.”
“McGee and I are en route as well but there has been a pile up and we're stuck behind.”
“Hurry.” His car swerved dangerously but an extra push of speed took him out of the way of a truck and a possible collision. That marina wasn't too far away. Driving a car at this speed took all his attention. Mother nature did her part to make it more difficult and changed her cheerful snowflakes into sleet.
He went over the salient points of this particular case in his mind. The case had been frustrating: a petty officer first class who had stolen, of all idiotic things, the prized coin collection of his Captain so he could afford a better lawyer in his divorce and custody proceedings. They hadn't been able to find him for the last four days.
It was fully dark when he arrived at the harbor and he was greeted by three police cars and one ambulance that stood in a half circle around a small, bright yellow car. Not only had Swanson lost his marbles, he had never had them to begin with. Or he'd slept through all the camouflage lectures in basic because who used such a memorable eyesore as an escape vehicle? It was embarrassing that they hadn't been able to find this man sooner.
Three detectives were currently securing the car, their weapons drawn. The tracks from their cars were still visible on the tarmac so they had to have arrived not more than a minute before Gibbs.
“Gibbs, NCIS, report.” Without his backup of choice he would use what was at hand and fight about jurisdiction after the sailor was in custody and the little boy safe.
“I'm Detective Carlson. Car's empty, no blood, no weapon as far as we can see. No sign of the perp or the kid. We haven't touched anything.” The oldest detective, an African-American man, told him after taking a good, long look at the grim features of the agent. “Haven't had time to check his boat yet.”
Gibbs stretched to glare over their shoulders into the car. Someone had turned on some of the floodlights, probably the marina official that was standing to the side, wringing his hands. A vicious swear word made it out between the agent's cold lips. On the backseat lay a raggedy looking plush bunny.
There weren't many options open to the fugitive. “Where's the boat moored? He might try to escape over water.”
“Far left pier, sixth boat down, at the end. He's mad as a hatter if he wants to try that. Sea's stormy and it's winter. Not sailing weather. We called the Coast Guard to warn them just in case.”
Gibbs drew his own weapon and began to run. “Make the manager turn on all lights! Carlson, you're with me.”
Swanson was standing at the head end of the pier, looking up at the suddenly bright flood lights and then to the approaching men. In one hand he held a pistol, the other clutched a little boy, maybe 6 years old, to his chest.
“Petty Officer Swanson, lower your weapon, nobody has to get hurt.” Gibbs ordered. The planks under his feet were trembling, battered by the waves and he had to blink water out of his eyes. If at all possible he didn't want to risk a kill shot. “Now, do it sailor.”
“She tried to divorce me, the bitch. Take away my son.” Swanson sobbed and clutched the whimpering boy harder. “That's not right. A man has a right to his son.”
The agent spared a quick glance at the boy. A man also had the damn responsibility to care for his kid and from the looks of it, Swanson had fucked up majorly. His son wasn't even wearing a winter coat, just a thick bright blue fleece sweater. With the way his eyes were half open and glazed, the way his little head hung down as if his neck couldn't hold it up he was already deep into shock.
“Put your weapon down! Now.” Gibbs bellowed and took aim. For a second it looked as if ingrained reflexes to that particular tone of voice might do the trick, the gun was slowly sinking down and the man swayed on his feet. But then the sound of feet trampling over the wooden pier drew his eyes.
“Nononono...” Swanson wailed. “No way... No! If I can't have him...”
Gibbs knew how the rest of that sentence usually went and before the crazy sailor could point his weapon at his helpless child the agent pulled the trigger. His bullet caught the man in the right shoulder and downed him nicely, his weapon falling out of his numb fingers and out of his reach. What he hadn't counted on was that Swanson was so far beyond any reason that even the shock of being shot wasn't really registering with him. He was following Gibbs' personal rule 9: never go anywhere without a knife: the agent saw it glittering in the floodlight.
“Get the kid!” he ordered Carlson and then threw himself at Swanson, since he didn't have a clear shot anymore. The sailor was bigger than Gibbs, crazy, wet and slippery like an eel. With cold fingers clutched around the maniac's fist and all muscles trembling from the tension of holding the man down he could only watch helplessly as the little boy tumbled over the edge of the pier like a marionette that had been cut from its strings before the detective could reach him.
Swanson had seen it too and his crazy, high pitched laughter threw Gibbs out of his horrified stillness. A hard uppercut left the lunatic half conscious. Carlson took over and cuffed the now placid sailor.
It was nearly impossible to make out a child's small body among the icy waves of the sea. Gibbs eyes frantically scanned the peaks and valleys, tried to calculate where the torrent would have taken the boy, while he shrugged out of his warm winter coat. While not as wild as farther out, the waves were still forceful, heavy clothes would pull him under like a stone. One dress shoe hit the pier, then the other.
“...so shut your eyes while your mother sings, sings, …misty seas... shut eyes* forever...,” Swanson babbled.
“Shut him up!” Gibbs shouted and turned around, only to be faced with open mouths and pointing fingers by Carlson's men. “The kid! Where? Did you see...?”
“T-t-t-tiger,” the youngest Detective stuttered: “Jumped! There.”
Icy blue eyes followed the direction of the trembling finger and there in the water, a little bit farther off than he had calculated, more to the coast than to the open sea, he could see someone desperately battling against the raging waves. Gibbs had completely forgotten about his new shadow when he had arrived at the marina, but there he was: A'thon, stretching his head high to give the kid he held onto by the neck of the soaked blue fleece jacket a chance to breath. Again and again the merciless water pulled the two heads under the surface. The waves pressed the swimmer dangerously near some of the moored boats. Crashing against their hulls would make an already dangerous situation worse.
“Where did it escape from? It'll eat the kid!” Someone shouted hysterically and coming down on the idiot's head didn't warrant Gibbs turning around while he hastened to get as near to the swimmer as he could while still staying on the pier. “If he wanted to eat someone he would have bitten your fleshy behind, not jumped in after a kid to drown! Now help me.”
If he remembered the discovery channel production about tigers correctly, they were some of the few cats who actually liked to swim; but he doubted that there had been much opportunity at the White House Stables to train that skill. The sailing boat that was nearest to Feline and child was covered with a thick tarp to safeguard its deck's surface from the winter weather. Gibbs pulled out his knife and, instead of wasting time untying it, slashed the material apart. After a second of hesitation the LEOs helped. While they pulled the tarp off completely Carlson and Gibbs climbed across the deck of the boat to the other side and leaned over the railing. They stretched as far as they safely could to reach the visibly struggling Feline and his burden.
Again and again waves pushed both heads under and Gibbs held his breath until they resurfaced again. A'thon saw them and desperately battled to come nearer.
“Just a little bit more, come on, you're doing great!” Encouraging words were shouted, unheard by water-filled tiger ears.
Finally, the waiting men were able to grab the still form of the boy and tow him onto the deck. “Got him!” Gibbs panted and handed the kid to the waiting hands of the paramedics before turning around again to rescue his Feline.
A'thon was at the end of his reserves, his movements were getting sluggish and as soon as he felt fingers claw into the soaking wet fur of his nape the rest of the fight went out of him.
"Don't try to use the collar, it has a break link." Gibbs cautioned the kneeling detective beside him.
Hauling a tiger upwards and into safe territory was not easy. The Feline had the body mass of a tall, well built adult man but the cold water that soaked him through his fur and to the skin added considerable weight. A third set of hands helped them bridge the last inches and when Gibbs looked up he saw the anxious face of his Junior Agent, McGee looking back.
“Boss, you're all right?”
“Just peachy.” Must the young man ask such inane questions? Couldn't he see that his boss was nearly as wet and miserable as the Feline and the kid?
Speaking of the kid, Gibbs could see paramedics working on the little one further down on the pier. He could only hope that he would survive- but it was out of his hands now. Another man wearing the uniform of a medic was waiting for them, thermo-sheets and woolen blankets in his arms. Instead of doing his job, hurrying to them, he was just standing there, staring at the crumpled form at Gibbs' feet.
“He's mine, a Feline, not a threat. Give me those blankets before he dies of hypothermia.” One of Gibbs' hands was still securely holding on to the fur of the Feline, the other stroked over the heaving flanks. It was so cold that he expected to see icicles forming any moment. Wild tigers might like water, but they wouldn't try to swim in a nearly freezing dirty harbor.
The next half hour was filled with people trying to sort out the mess. The boy had been transported to the nearest hospital; when they departed he had been breathing but he was far from out of danger. Agent Todd and Agent McGee had accompanied the father to a different hospital. His shoulder wound was a clean shot and there shouldn't be any complications- even if Gibbs wished he had put the bullet between his eyes instead.
That left the lead agent with a lot of paperwork waiting for him at the office, a worse than usual disposition, damp clothes, and an even damper A'thon wrapped in multiple blankets on the backseat of his agency Sedan.
.-#-.
*Lines are from: Wynken, Blynken and Nod by Eugene Field.
Step 4: Surprise
Gibbs liked boats- he really did, as evidenced by the content of his basement- but he wasn't crazy enough to like them in winter. He played with the thought of going to the office and getting an early start on the paperwork, but in the end, his need to go home won. There wasn't anything that couldn't wait for tomorrow on his desk. His thoughts were longingly directed towards his home and the shower that was waiting there for him. Lots of steamy water to battle the cold and soap to chase away the salty, fishy smell that clung to him and the interior of the car, mixed with what, until today, he would have identified as 'wet dog smell'. In this case not so much canine as Feline- but the end result was the same: obnoxious. It clung to everything in the car and wasn't it a good thing that this was not his personal vehicle but an agency car? Whoever got to have the pleasure of cleaning it, it would not be him.
One last turn and he pulled into his driveway, stopped the car, and got out. He was halfway to the front door, his thoughts already ahead of him and filled with hot soapy water when he realized that he wasn't being followed. With a deep sigh he turned around.
The Feline had somehow managed to open the car door at the marina when he wanted to get out, surely he could repeat that trick now. “Do you need a special invitation?!”
Gibbs flung the back door open and was greeted by a wriggling mass of blankets that went still under his glare. A'thon's head sank down until only his eyes and the upper part of his head were visible, with his ears hanging pitifully. If big jungle cats were able to look mortified, this was it.
“Don't tell me you got tangled.”
The head sank further down.
“Oh, for....” It took some hard tugs until the outer layer of the Feline's impromptu chrysalis came loose. Gibbs stepped back, flinging the dirty blankets into the trunk of the car- the ambulance team would want them back- and then finally led the way to dryness and warmth. “Come on, let's try to end this day without another crisis.”
On his way in, Gibbs checked the lantern that was standing on the low sill outside, beside his front door. The thick pillar candle inside was still burning, a flickering, fragile little light, and there was easily enough wax left for the rest of the night and the next day. Wind had blown snow to the spot and the candle's warmth had carved out a hollow in the glittering white pile.
A'thon kept close to his heels, eying his surroundings with interest and curiosity, his earlier mortification forgotten.
One moment to listen for any uninvited guests, switch on the light, coat on its hook, shoes on the rack, like any other evening. “Look around while I prepare the bath. If I find any claw marks I'm going to take it out of your hide, understood?” He didn't wait to see a reaction and climbed the stairs, shrugging out of his clothes as he went until all that was left were his briefs and socks. If his new housemate was bothered by it, too bad. Gibbs hadn't asked for this, and he would be damned before he altered his routine. A'thon would learn to deal with his moods just like his Agents at work had to.
Gibbs wasn't a giant like some basketball players but he still scraped the 6 feet line and thus, when his pipes broke two years back and damaged his bath, he had opted to invest a few dollars more and spring for the bigger tub and shower combination. It was a pretty minor concession to luxury, but his bad knee had thanked him for it more than once. The additional space would come in handy now.
The Feline was in a sad state. The light in the hallway had illuminated damp matted fur that was sticking up in every direction and was smeared with unidentifiable substances. Had that been a bird bone in his ruff? There was a lot of scrubbing in Gibbs' immediate future. The tiger could hardly clean himself with his tongue like a normal cat would. A puking, ill Feline was NOT what the new and hapless owner needed. Even after Gibbs washed him, he would need to dry and brush A'thon's fur to avoid any health issues for the Feline.
Gibbs leaned his head against the medicine cabinet above the sink and allowed himself to close his eyes. What the hell had the President been thinking? Leroy Jethro Gibbs was a working man, a Special Agent with one alimony to pay, now that two of his ex-wives had remarried, and a cleaning lady that came once a week. He wasn't some rich guy with a flock of servants that would take care of every mundane problem for him. Yeah, swimming in a dirty harbor hadn't likely featured in the grand master plan, but it pointed out some glaring logistical mistakes that hadn't been planned for. For example: that the half empty bottle of all-in-one shampoo in his shower caddy would never be sufficient for the task ahead and he strongly doubted that his comb could do double duty as a tiger grooming device. He hadn't thought it necessary hours ago but...“This would be much, much simpler if he could morph to human form.” he murmured.
The only reaction he got was a shuffling behind him that made him school his features and turn around. Nothing was there, but he could hear the wooden floorboards in the hallway creak. “A'thon?” Still nothing. Gibbs rubbed his hands over his nape where his muscles were tight and knotted. “I really have to find out his real name, this sounds like something the Elflord would use in gaming.”
But first things first. A few terse movements, water began to flow into the tub and towels were thrown over the small radiator to warm up. This time Jethro wasn't distracted and heard someone coming up behind him. “Bath's nearly ready.”
“Thank you. My name is Anthony, by the way. Tony, if you want.”
The voice was a little rough from lack of use, not melodious but far and away nicer than anything a cat's voicebox could have produced. Gibbs refused to jump. He calmly added some bath salts (remnants of his last ex-wife) to the water before he looked over his shoulder.
'Tony' was leaning against the open door, naked as the day he was born, one hand on the door frame, the other in front of his genitals. He looked more human than any of the Felines he had seen today with only faint markings on his shoulders and hips that corresponded with his tiger form's stripes. The only commonalities he had with his other form were the green eyes, brunette, gold and black striped shock of hair on his head … and he was just as filthy as the tiger had been.
“Don't tell me that an ice bath cured your morphing problems.”
A tentative, shy smile bloomed on the handsome face and Tony tilted his head. “Ah. No. I always could, just didn't want to.”
“You stayed a cat because you wanted to.” As a concept it was not conceivable to Gibbs.
´
“Do you know that big cats can smell corruption? I stayed a cat to avoid wealthy corrupt people with too much power and the desire to own a Feline." Tony paused, and added in a disgusted tone of voice, "Did you know, tigers are rare and highly sought after among Felines?”
Gibbs ignored the implications of that for the moment and asked instead,
“So this is the first time you've morphed back into human form?” The silver haired man gestured to indicate that the bath was ready. “Hop in while it's hot, I'll shower afterward.” Then he waited for the other man to pass by him so he could leave the room.
Tony took one careful step forward, stumbled and caught himself on the nearby cupboard. “It's been nearly seven years... I couldn't risk someone seeing me, there's surveillance everywhere in the Stables.”
Seven years as a cat were a good explanation for why he was holding onto the door frame like it was the only steady anchor in a swaying world. Gibbs would have to think about his dual nature later, and the implications beyond it solving the soap problem.
Jethro hadn't been keen on touching and washing the tiger form. Even if his fingers still twitched and longed to find out what all that beautiful fur would feel like when it was dry; it felt too much like falling into the prescribed role of a Master to have that kind of unrestricted access after only meeting hours before. He felt even more reluctant about handling a naked human someone who was, in essence, his possession. “Do you need assistance?” It came out gruffer and more impatient than planned. The next step and subsequent stumble answered his question and he hurried to grab the Feline under one shoulder before the fool could crack his head open on his bathroom floor.
Tony ducked his head, a faint blush creeping into his cheeks. “Sorry to be such a bother. I have to find my balance again. Two feet are very different than four.”
The skin under his fingers felt rough and flaky, not silky like Gibbs had expected from how soft Tony's fur had looked. Without thinking about it he altered his grip and rubbed his thumb pad over a visibly agitated patch of skin. The body under his hands grew still. Green eyes with slit pupils eyed him cautiously, warily.
Gibbs acted as if nothing had happened and helped him take the last two steps to the tub before he let go. “You've got rashes. Does this hurt?”
“I never had skin problems before, don't know where they come from.” Tony slowly climbed into the tub and sank down into the warm water with a audible sigh of contentment.
“So you have no idea if this is normal?”
Broad shoulders lifted and sank down again helplessly. “The handlers never bothered to give me those lectures. Saw it as a waste of time.”
It hadn't been included in the short Feline for Dummies lecture Gibbs got from Williams either. Another point, apart from the rashes, that bothered him was Tony's weight. The tiger form had been muscular and lean but nowhere near as thin as the human form. Gibbs wasn't watching directly now, he kept his eyes averted. They were uncomfortable enough in each other's presence, but he remembered how the younger man's ribs had been visible under the skin. Maybe it was something that would be taken care of by time and food. And what was he doing here, standing around like a fool?
“Enjoy your bath. Don't drown. Again. I'll make us dinner.” Gibbs threw a washcloth into the water.
“Food?” Tony eagerly licked his lips. “That would be so great.”
There was no help for it, he reminded Gibbs of a real cat he had brought home as a kid. Bathe him (without getting clawed), feed him, and then let him sleep would be the schedule for this unplanned addition to his household too, it seemed. Without the fleas that had made his mother throw her hands up in exasperation. “A pair of my jogging pants and a sweater should fit you well enough.”
The bright smile the offer earned him made the agent flee the room to search for the promised items. Socks too. All better than letting Tony run around in his house naked. He would have to make some purchases at Sears and Wal-Mart soon to buy clothing that fit Tony properly- along with other supplies. Gibbs entered the bathroom again with his little load. In and out, simple enough, yes?
Put the clothes on the cupboard and prepare to leave again, Marine.
He was closing the door when something caught his eyes. Tony hadn't reacted to his return; he was sitting in the tub, preoccupied with staring at one of his hands that he held raised in front of his eyes. Gibbs watched silently while the other man balled the hand to a fist, stretched it again, repeated the process and turned it this way and that before suddenly letting it drop down into the water.
A splash, movement and Tony sank down backwards to dunk his hair.
Gibbs softly closed the door.
.-#-.
Morning came and with it new challenges for the unlikely housemates. Both had been beat the night before. They had devoured their late meal without talking much with each other, and then gone to bed. Gibbs in the master bedroom's king sized bed and Tony, after asking twice if he was really allowed, in the simple single bed in what had been a guest bedroom and would now serve as his room.
After four marriages Gibbs should be more than used to sharing space and a bathroom with someone. This situation, especially the 'till death do us part' piece of it had some similarities and those, more than the differences, left him with an uneasy feeling. A feeling that he expressed by being more of a bastard than usual, not talking at all until he had downed his first cup of coffee.
Tired eyes made for bad observers, so Gibbs had missed it the night before, but now his attention was drawn to the collar around Tony's throat. It was the one the tiger had worn as well, only now wound around twice, with the tag dangling down like a pendant, boldly proclaiming whose property this young man was.
Tony's balance had reasserted itself so he didn't need assistance anymore. He was exploring the house while the agent prepared their breakfast. The younger man was smiling and looking at everything he found, talking a mile a minute but never touching anything. He wore the same borrowed clothes he had been given the night before, not the jeans and shirt Gibbs had laid out for him.
The meal was another repeat of yesterday and, seeing how the Feline devoured his food, barely bothering with using fork and knife, Gibbs narrowed his eyes but decided to not say anything yet. What did Tony think? That he would take away the bacon and scrambled eggs mid-bite? He had cooked enough for both of them, easily. Gibbs slowly ate his own portion, using his best table manners. Taking the time to have a real breakfast and not just coffee to go wasn't part of his normal morning routine, and had to be savored.
When his coffee cup was as empty as his plate the older man stood up and rinsed them. There were a few left over spoonfuls of food in the pan. He held it up and raised his eyebrow questioningly but Tony, who had remained in his seat and silently watched him eat, shook his head no after a little bit of hesitation. Gibbs threw it away and put the pan in the dishwasher.
“You might wanna get ready. Gotta head to the office in ten minutes.”
Tony only nodded and with a soft, “Thank you for the meal,” first rinsed his own plate and cup, placing them with Gibbs', and then left the kitchen; not to go upstairs and to the waiting clothes, like the agent had expected, but into the small hallway bathroom. There was a peculiar grinding sound and, when the door opened again, a tiger instead of a man came out to sit beside the front door.
.-#-.
Step 5: Explore
Two days later, they had established a routine. They took every hour as it came; Gibbs tried not to think too much about it. Get up, shower, put on clothing, eat breakfast and then Tony would transform into his tiger form to accompany his owner to work.
Of all the reactions they received at NCIS, Sheppard's had been disappointingly predictable. The security guard at the door, after staring at the tiger with his mouth open, had told the silver haired agent that he was expected to go up to her office first thing when he arrived. Gibbs had passed him as if he hadn't said a word and waited until the doors of the elevator closed before rolling his eyes heavenward.
Jen had devoured the Feline with her eyes, causing Tony to choose to sit down on his haunches as near as possible and sideways behind his owner. Gibbs couldn't fault his instincts and faintly wondered what the big cat was smelling on her. The director looked like she would lick her lips any second now.
“One of my contacts in the White House told me all about it,” she gushed.
Gibbs felt how 'It' pressed against his legs.
“To be honest, at first I thought you were crazy for picking the damaged one. Normally you aren't a bleeding heart.” Sheppard beamed at the agent and patted him on the shoulder. “But I shouldn't have doubted you, you chose the perfect Feline for you. There was a very tasteful article in today's newspaper about the rescue at the marina, very favorable. And it isn't as if you need a sex slave. Such a pity that we can't hold a press conference, but SecNav insisted that the President wants to handle this with the utmost discretion, so the usual laws concerning Felines apply.”
All of this was not only more personal than he felt allowable, but it also sounded like the Director thought Gibbs should be ecstatic about owning someone. No matter that he had, indeed, been lucky; Tony had a character and personality that made it easy to like him. That wasn't what she was gushing about. Her belief that he could want to own someone, without being forced to, left a very foul taste in Gibbs' mouth. Before she could go on mourning the lost opportunity and insult not only Tony but Gibbs more, he interrupted her.
“Director, I have a mountain of paperwork waiting for me and a case to close. Please excuse us,” he forced out between his teeth; he left the office before she could call him back.
Gibbs had ignored all the other awed, envious and curious stares by the people at the Yard and acted like nothing extraordinary at all had changed. He'd simply walked in with his companion- with a little NCIS ID plate clipped to his collar beside the tag-and then left it up to Tony what he did with his time, as long as he wasn't in the way. There wasn't much for him to do in tiger form, but it seemed as if Tony had only broken his self-appointed tigerness for Gibbs, nobody else.
If he wished to lie behind the fourth, empty desk in their cubicle, that was his prerogative. Contrary to his much more lively behavior at home, Tony seemed to like pretending he was invisible at the office, simply observing what was going on and never being too far away from Gibbs' side. The Feline had a knack for anticipating his moves and actions. He was never in the way as the team was wrapping up their last case. No new cases came in, so it wasn't that difficult to ignore his presence. At first, people found excuses to pass near the MCRT's area to catch a glimpse of the tiger Feline, but they didn't dare it more than once when faced with icy blue, angry eyes and a scowl that served Gibbs well when he had to make fully grown sailors quake in their boots. HR personnel, secretaries and fellow agents weren't immune to it either and, when weighing staring at something that looked like a tame tiger against angering a very much not tame special agent, it was easy to guess which scenario won, hands down.
More interesting were the reactions of Gibbs' team. When he'd introduced the Feline to them the day before, there hadn't been time for such pleasantries; he refused to use Tony's ridiculous official name, instead calling him simply 'Tony." McGee had for one moment looked as if he didn't know if he should be fearing for his life or asking if he was allowed to pet Tony. Caitlin Todd was ignoring their new addition whenever possible. Her only comment had been to congratulate Gibbs and mention that she knew Felines from her days as a Secret Service Agent.
The leader of the team steadily worked through his reports but spared part of his attention to what was going on around him.
“Oh. Thank you Tony! That's the one I've been searching for. I wondered where I'd left it.”
Gibbs looked up. Ah, after a day and a half of careful observation and hidden reconnaissance the next stage of the Feline's campaign to stealthily claim territory and assert his presence seemed to be underway. From his position he could see the tiger standing on his hind legs in front of McGee's desk, his front paws on the desktop and a file in his mouth which the computer expert took with a shy smile. But then the young agent made a mistake, he hesitantly raised his free hand in the direction of Tony's head.
The tiger shied away and landed on all
Story Notes:
Written for the 2010 Advent Calendar. I used one of the premises of generale_kenobi's Companion series, with her permission: the President rewarding Gibbs; and spun my own story. Big thanks to riazendira the_proofreader and mercurial_gem for beta work and cheerleading. I'm kind of ashamed that I needed so much support, but this fic nearly ate my mind. I took some additional liberties with canon, DADT is non-existant in my AU, for example.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Gibbs gets a hero's reward, no matter if he wants it or not.
Chapter End Notes:
Written for the 2010 Advent Calendar. I used one of the premises of generale_kenobi's Companion series, with her permission: the President rewarding Gibbs; and spun my own story. Big thanks to riazendira the_proofreader and mercurial_gem for beta work and cheerleading. I'm kind of ashamed that I needed so much support, but this fic nearly ate my mind. I took some additional liberties with canon, DADT is non-existant in my AU, for example.