Character(s): Gibbs, Franks
Summary: Change can be such a drag
Disclaimer: All NCIS characters belong to Bellisario, CBS and Paramount. No copyright infringement intended.
Beta(s): csigeekfan and Will.
A/N: No. 2 in the ‘Behind closed doors’ one-shots series. I took some liberties with this and assumed that Gibbs and Franks worked together at the Navy Yard at some point during Gibbs’s probie year.
“So, this is it then.”
The two men stood facing the doors. The seasoned agent drew the last remaining ounces of nicotine from his cigarette and turned to give his Junior agent a quizzical look. “Not up to your Marine Corps standards, Probie?”
“Not what I’m saying at all, Boss.”
Turning back to face the doors, the older man let a sly smirk break through his tough exterior. He was amused at how his tone of voice could still floor his agent. “Better not be.”
They rode in silence.
“You ever thought about giving that up?” the younger man nodded at the cigarette that his boss had just thrown on the floor of the car and was squashing into oblivion with his boot. “You must get through two or three packs a day, at least.”
The smack to the back of his head wasn’t unexpected and, as he brought his head back up to meet his boss’s eyes he answered rhetorically, “Stupid question huh?”
His boss intent on ignoring him, the Probie turned his thoughts to what awaited at the end of their journey. Why is it taking so long? He could have walked up the stairs whilst carrying an evidence kit and six cups of coffee quicker than it was taking this square box.
Cursing under his breath, he shifted his weight onto his other foot whilst he waited. He may have been there less than a year but he already hated office politics. A new Director was fine. Even the name change wasn’t that bad; at least they weren’t of the three letter brigade anymore. It was just... all the things that accompanied a new director and a new name that bothered him.
Why did they have to move offices? What was wrong with the old one? It was the same with the jackets. They were blue. Now they were black. Apparently, the change was all in the name of efficiency; being more joined-up. That was why they were being made to move from one office area to another. Was it really necessary? Or just a good excuse for corporate services to get themselves in a twist over such things as ID cards, signage, closed or open plan area layouts and whether to put the potted plants by the elevator or the windows? What he did know, was that everything that wasn’t moveable was getting slapped with a fresh coat of sea-green paint; the choking fumes masked, albeit only briefly, by the stench of the Boss’s cigarettes. What the hell was next? And since when was black more efficient than blue?
“Hey!” Franks rebuked as the elevator doors slid open. “You need waking up, Probie?”
“Nah, ‘m good, Boss,” Gibbs sidestepped to avoid the impending threat.
“Hmm. C’mon... let’s go find where you can hide that hip flask of yours...” Franks chided. “And then you can go fetch those black things you left in the car.”
Gibbs rolled his eyes.
“And Gibbs...” Franks stepped out of the elevator and immediately hacked at the pungent aroma of fresh paint fumes. “Use the stairs. Left my third pack in the inside pocket. Don’t want ‘died from the effects of nicotine withdrawal’ written on your tomb... which I guarantee is what will happen if you even think of using that slow, dumb ass elevator.”