NCIS rated G 1/1
Jun. 28th, 2005 03:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gilascaveA slash implied ficlet. Not betad. No heading. No title! Just boredom.
Tony wanted to drop his head on his desk, but doing so would surely call attention to himself. Not only from Cait, who was apparently engrossed in her work, but from Gibbs. Gibbs, who was always engrossed in whatever he was doing never failed to miss a chance to call Tony on a moment of laxitude.
Not that banging his head on the desk was laxitude, exactly. It was more of a need to expression his frustration, and possibly even a chance to get out of the rest of the day's work due to head injury. Well -- Gibbs would just give him a smirk and point out it was self-inflicted, and get back to work, DiNozzo.
He tried not to glance over at the clock, but found himself looking anyway. Three ten. Dear god, was there no mercy in the world? It had been 2:55 p.m. two hours ago. Tony fidgeted, then caught himself before anyone could look over.
He dreaded the words "if you have nothing to do" as much now as he ever had when he'd been a kid.
He racked his brain again for something. Any excuse to get out of his chair and go someplace. He'd just come back from the bathroom, so that was a no go. He had no reports to or from Forensics, Autopsy, Accounting, HR... In short, he had no reason to be doing anything except sitting at his desk typing away.
He was going to go mad.
Tony wished he could risk surfing the web for just a few minutes. But he knew that somehow as soon as he did, Gibbs would magically appear at his desk. He picked up a pen, tapped it silently against his fingers for a moment, considered stabbing himself in the eye. Commiting suicide would not only get him out of this endless afternoon, but would give Cait and Tim something more interesting to do as well. They'd thank him.
Gibbs, of course, never needed something more interesting to do. He'd haul Tony back from the grave, prop him up at his computer, and say get back to work, DiNozzo. And don't think you get paid overtime if you're dead.
Tony stifled a whimper as the clock read 3:12 p.m. Going to die. There was no way out of it. His brain would melt and dribble out of his ears and his skull would turn into plaster, one solid hit and it would be nothing but dust. They'd vaccum him up out of his keyboard, and Gibbs would find a way to tell him he still had to finish his reports.
"DiNozzo!"
Tony's head snapped up, afraid and confused -- how the hell had he known? "Yes, boss?" he managed, quickly and guiltlessly.
He blinked as he saw Gibbs holding up his cup of coffee. Then he was on his feet, grabbing his jacket and practically running. Gibbs' empty cup, which needed to be refilled. From the Starbucks, halfway down the block.
"On my way, boss!" Even if he hurried, it would be at least half an hour before he could be back.
Tony wanted to drop his head on his desk, but doing so would surely call attention to himself. Not only from Cait, who was apparently engrossed in her work, but from Gibbs. Gibbs, who was always engrossed in whatever he was doing never failed to miss a chance to call Tony on a moment of laxitude.
Not that banging his head on the desk was laxitude, exactly. It was more of a need to expression his frustration, and possibly even a chance to get out of the rest of the day's work due to head injury. Well -- Gibbs would just give him a smirk and point out it was self-inflicted, and get back to work, DiNozzo.
He tried not to glance over at the clock, but found himself looking anyway. Three ten. Dear god, was there no mercy in the world? It had been 2:55 p.m. two hours ago. Tony fidgeted, then caught himself before anyone could look over.
He dreaded the words "if you have nothing to do" as much now as he ever had when he'd been a kid.
He racked his brain again for something. Any excuse to get out of his chair and go someplace. He'd just come back from the bathroom, so that was a no go. He had no reports to or from Forensics, Autopsy, Accounting, HR... In short, he had no reason to be doing anything except sitting at his desk typing away.
He was going to go mad.
Tony wished he could risk surfing the web for just a few minutes. But he knew that somehow as soon as he did, Gibbs would magically appear at his desk. He picked up a pen, tapped it silently against his fingers for a moment, considered stabbing himself in the eye. Commiting suicide would not only get him out of this endless afternoon, but would give Cait and Tim something more interesting to do as well. They'd thank him.
Gibbs, of course, never needed something more interesting to do. He'd haul Tony back from the grave, prop him up at his computer, and say get back to work, DiNozzo. And don't think you get paid overtime if you're dead.
Tony stifled a whimper as the clock read 3:12 p.m. Going to die. There was no way out of it. His brain would melt and dribble out of his ears and his skull would turn into plaster, one solid hit and it would be nothing but dust. They'd vaccum him up out of his keyboard, and Gibbs would find a way to tell him he still had to finish his reports.
"DiNozzo!"
Tony's head snapped up, afraid and confused -- how the hell had he known? "Yes, boss?" he managed, quickly and guiltlessly.
He blinked as he saw Gibbs holding up his cup of coffee. Then he was on his feet, grabbing his jacket and practically running. Gibbs' empty cup, which needed to be refilled. From the Starbucks, halfway down the block.
"On my way, boss!" Even if he hurried, it would be at least half an hour before he could be back.