Email: slashgirl@gmail.com

Notes: Challenge response, to wwomb's "midnight challenge: Write a 500 word essay, poem or short story about midnight, aka 12 a.m. or the "witching hour."" I think this counts. This is Jethro's POV, there is also Tony's POV. It is exactly 500 words from the first word of the story.


In the still of the night: Jethro
by Stacy L.A. Stronach

Jethro Gibbs threw the sand paper on the floor in disgust and looked up at the clock. Midnight. Damn, even sanding the boat wasn't doing anything to help him tonight. Normally, the process would lull him to sleepiness at times like this. He picked up the half finished mug of coffee and took a sip.

He knew the only thing that would help him sleep would be to get the thoughts of one Anthony DiNozzo out of his head. Short of a brain transplant, he knew it was unlikely. Sitting on the steps, he gave in to his thoughts. Thoughts of a young man who, while appearing immature and even insecure at times, had a deeper core made of strong stuff indeed. Never mind he was hot to look at too.

Jethro sighed, his inner eye bringing Tony's image to his mind. The light brown hair and the multitude of styles he wore it in, the blue green eyes, so often alight with mischief or humour, the quick, sweet smile. That hot, sexy body with the luscious ass that Jethro spent entirely too much time checking out. The flirtatiousness. Jethro growled, he wanted Tony to flirt with him, not with everything that had tits.

"Ah, fuck it," he muttered. He knew that Tony was straight, that an old ex-Marine Gunny with three ex-wives stood no chance. Never mind that his wishes regarding Tony violated rule #12; Tony would tell him that rules were meant to be broken, hell he'd love to break the rules with Tony.

He sighed, again, the younger man had stolen Jethro's heart in a way no one else had. He didn't understand it, they were so different, and Jethro sure as hell didn't believe that opposites attracted. He knew they valued many similar things, although their ways of expressing those values often differed.

Jethro smiled as he thought of the enthusiasm Tony expressed so often. Like when they got to ride in the Gulf Jetstream, or when he let him go to Puerto Rico. The Gulf brought their trip to Cuba to his mind; Jethro remembered the iguana and catching a glimpse of Tony naked. It had been so very tempting to push Cait into the hallway, close the door and fuck Tony into the mattress. So close to what he wanted, but so far away. Sometimes, like now, he wished he'd done it.

"If wishes were horses, beggars would ride." Jethro groaned as one of his mother's favourite sayings drifted through his head. Horses, indeed. Looking at the clock again, he huffed. 12:02. Standing up, he figured he'd better get some sleep or he'd be grumpier than usual. Not that anyone would notice. Climbing the stairs, Jethro firmly decided to put thoughts of Tony out his head for good. No point in dwelling on what he couldn't have. He snorted, yeah, that would last until he saw Tony tomorrow morning--his resolve would fly right out the window. Damn it. He didn't stand a chance.

//**the end**\\