The Things We Never Said by Firefox

Disclaimer: Not mine, but you know that. No infringement intended, no money made, but you know that, too....

Crossover fic: Mag7ATF / NCIS

Characters: Chris/Vin, Jethro/Tony

Author's Notes: It's KT's birthday and this inspirational, creative woman is the most amazing friend anyone could ever be lucky enough to have. {{{HUGS}}} - Happy Birthday my friend! Apologies for the somewhat tortuous construction of this.... It made sense when I was writing it (at 3am) so will probably be completely indecipherable in daylight.

Slash ahead, I'm an addict and I freely admit it, so if it ain't your thing - the delete key is by your right hand... Not beta'ed so I selfishly claim all mistakes as mine own. No spoilers for any Mag7 episode I can think of, but a ton for NCIS's 'SWAK' (the slashiest episode of anything ever broadcast, imho, and for which we are truly thankful...)

Chris Larabee made the guy from the very first second he saw him.

Fed

With some people - Vin or Josiah for instance - it wasn't obvious, but this guy may as well have sported a neon sign over his head. There was just something about his whole demeanour that screamed 'official'. He might be military, police, or maybe FBI, CIA or even NSA for all Chris could tell, but he was definitely carrying a badge. From the top of his severely cropped grey hair to the tip of his immaculate shoes, from the ramrod straight posture to the confident stride, he radiated assurance, confidence and a 'don't-fuck-with-me' attitude that Chris would have recognised anywhere.

Larabee watched him as he strode up the concourse to the departure gate, pausing only to buy a newspaper from the magazine stand. Now he looked more closely, he decided that he probably wasn't looking at an FBI Agent - they tended to have a slightly 'corporate' air about them that was missing from this guy - and he wasn't wearing the de riguer, much-joked-about dark suit. CIA seemed unlikely, too. Chris had no idea how many CIA Agents he had met - many more than he was aware of, he suspected, but they tended to be the archetypal 'grey men' who blended into the background. This guy stood out like a beacon. The only NSA Agent Chris had ever met had been a college kid who looked about the same age as JD, with about half of JD's abilities and twice Ezra's attitude.

This guy was dressed smartly but conservatively in a good quality tweed jacket, linen trousers with a razor-sharp crease and a dark navy, buttoned-up polo shirt. Put Vin in that outfit and he would make it look a badly made bed, put Ezra in it and he would turn it into a GQ ad, but this guy made it look smart and sharp.

Military. Probably Army or Marine Corps, but definitely military.

The man sat down in one of the few unoccupied seats at the departure gate and opened his newspaper. Then he looked up, straight into Chris's face, and smiled.

+ + + + + + +

Leroy Jethro Gibbs did not miss much when it came to observation. His years of military service, training and field operations had given him an almost innate 'radar' when it came to his surroundings, and he had been aware of being watched since he had been in sight of the departure gate.

It had taken him only a few seconds to locate the 'culprit', despite the fact that the flight was busy and the departure waiting area almost full. He stopped to buy a newspaper, his sweeping gaze dismissing the majority of the waiting passengers without a second thought, but he zeroed in on the blond guy seated at the end of the row without hesitation.

To the untrained eye, the slim man in black would probably not have warranted a second glance, but Gibbs knew better. The relaxed stance with the slight backward lean into the notoriously uncomfortable seating belied an awareness and acuity that the green gaze gave away. This man was used to observing people and used to trusting his instincts about those observations. Gibbs knew, without a shadow of doubt, that he had been 'made' from the instant he entered this guy's line of sight.

He's carrying a badge.

Gibbs would have bet on it, and he was not a man who wasted money or who was often proven wrong.

Let's see...

Selecting a vacant seat where he could observe as well as be observed, he sat down and began to open his newspaper. Before he began reading it however, he lifted his head, made eye contact and smiled, showing that he was more than aware he was being watched.

Reinforcing his instincts, he was not in the least surprised when the blond smiled right back.

+ + + + + + +

Chris hated waiting. For anything. He could tolerate it if there was a purpose to it - surveillance for example, but just waiting always made him fidgety and irritable.

Waiting for a meeting to start, waiting for the rush-hour traffic to clear, waiting for the interminable line at the checkout to move, waiting because someone else, somewhere else, hadn't managed to get their act together and as a consequence, were inconveniencing him. This was no different. Waiting at the airport was almost worse than waiting in the freeway queues, because the damned airport seemed to have built it in to their operating procedures. Check in what felt like 3 weeks in advance to sit in some torture rack of a chair, or wander around the terminal buying over-priced coffee that tasted worse than Tanner's, eat yourself into nausea with junk food, or choose from a never-ending variety of newspapers and magazines that all seemed to say exactly the same things.

If Vin had been here, he would have grinned at him and called him grumpy, or 'the Grinch' or some other bait-laden word guaranteed to rack his blood pressure up a notch. Then Tanner would smile, lean against the nearest object that would support his weight, and give Chris a look that would send his blood pressure completely off the scale.

But Vin wasn't here. Vin was back at the ranch, probably stretched out on the sofa eating some vile concoction out of a plastic container and watching the Cowboys lose (again) or Captain Kirk take on the Klingons (again). Chris smiled almost unconsciously at that particular mental image. Watching Vin watching tv was a sight he would never tire of. Now he thought of it, watching Vin do just about anything was something he could never imagine getting tired of.

He would much rather have been sitting on the sofa alongside Vin, than sitting here alongside the bleached blonde with the voice like a cheese grater, who seemed to have been crowing into her cell phone for the last half hour, giving a blow-by-blow account of her sister's latest relationship disaster.

The sooner he could get on the damned plane and get on with this, the sooner the 3 day sojourn to Washington would be over and he could get back home to Vin.

At this moment, sitting in a crowded airport, that seemed like a long way into the future.

He would simply have to wait. And Lord alone knew how he loved to wait...

+ + + + + + +

Jethro's cellphone vibrated against ribcage from its location in his inside pocket. Resisting the urge to smile, he put down his newspaper and retrieved it. Pressing the button - why did they make these things with buttons for people with matchsticks for fingers - he wondered for the thousandth time - the text message flashed up on the small screen.

"Fire dept say damage not bad considering amount of wood/accelerants in basement. Saved your favourite shirt (of mine). Miss you. On time? T"

Jethro couldn't help it - now he did smile, broadly.

Tony could drive a Quaker to murder, but he was the living proof of that old adage 'never judge a book by its cover'. Do that with DiNozzo, and all you would see was a vain, shallow womaniser, with the sense of humour of a 17 year old and the depth of rain puddle in the sun. Which was exactly what he wanted you to see.

Jethro however, knew better. He knew that Tony had spent years cultivating this particular persona, with the single intention of radiating "Keep Off" signs to anyone and everyone who threatened to get too close. And getting close to Tony had been one of the most difficult things Jethro had ever achieved.

Tony was one hell of a good agent - instinctive, capable, thorough, with an ability to smooth-talk his way into and out of most situations with ease. What he lacked was trust, and Jethro had long suspected that this had something to do with a part of Tony's life that he kept hidden from everyone - his past. It was much easier to convince people that you were untrustworthy than to risk betrayal. The more Tony liked you, the harder he worked at pushing you away. Tim McGee was the prime example of this particular DiNozzo personality quirk - McGee was polar opposite of DiNozzo - shy, introspective and quiet, with little self-confidence and a brain the size of a planet. To anyone outside of the NCIS team dynamic, Tony appeared to be hell-bent on making Tim's life a misery - endless teasing, constant pranks and continuous put-downs. Jethro knew better. He also knew that if Tim ever needed it, Tony would happily jump in front of a bullet for him. And, Jethro strongly suspected, Tim McGee knew it too.

Jethro began to reply to the text message just as the tannoy announced that the flight to Washington was open for passengers to board.

+ + + + + + +

The petite redheaded stewardess beamed as she welcomed the passengers on board, despite her aching feet and pounding head. All she really wanted was to get all these people on board and get to Washington as fast as possible, then she could go home to a hot bath and a very long sleep. Some days she loved her job and some days she hated it, and today had fallen very firmly into the latter category. Every screaming baby, fractious toddler, air sick child, paranoid mother and snapping executive seemed to have been on her flights today, and she simply wanted her shift to finish before her temper ran out. The smile was automatic now, as reflex to her as breathing, so she was taken aback when a tall, slim blond with astonishing eyes and cheekbones that should have been illegal smiled at her as if he actually meant it, followed less than a couple of passengers later by very good looking guy with a disasterous haircut but gorgeous blue eyes, who beamed at her and actually said "Good evening."

Things were looking up, she decided, glancing down at the passenger manifest to see if they had any spare seats in business class. It wasn't a long flight to Washington, but most people appreciated a free upgrade given the opportunity. There were 3 spare seats she noticed - one empty and two no-shows, probably a couple still enjoying the delights of Denver. They would have to sit together, but hey, that was better than being shoehorned into economy. She might even manage a free glass of wine. She grinned. Give a little, get a little, as her grandmother used to say. Sometimes a smile and a kind word went a long way.

The grin widened. All this power could go to a girl's head.

+ + + + + + +

Chris turned off his cellphone before he sat down, knowing from experience that if he didn't he would forget to do it, then have to perform the contortions of retrieving it when everyone was in their seats.

He winced as he settled into the seat, remembering how he hated flying almost as much as he hated waiting. Chris was slim but tall, and all aircraft seats seemed to be manufactured and positioned for people under four feet with the musculature of a stick insect.

He shifted a few times, but his knees were still rammed uncomfortably against the back of the seat in front - they simply didn't make these things for people who thigh bones were normal length, he decided, grabbing the two halves of the seat belt before his fellow passengers sat on them. At least he had a window seat, which meant he could look out. Not that there would be much to see on a late evening flight from Denver to Washington, but it beat reading the airline magazine.

As always, Chris experienced a sense of mounting dread as the passengers continued to board, wondering who would end up sitting next to him. In fairness, he had met some very pleasant people on planes, but he had also had his share of total disasters. It was the talkers he hated the most - those people who make it their duty to inform you of every minute detail of their lives whether you show the slightest interest or not. They were nearly always middle-aged women, who seemed to take one look at him and decide that he needed conversation to brighten his journey. Vin always said it was a side effect of being too thin and looking grumpy all the time. "Ya just look as if ya need motherin' Cowboy. Yer irresistible t'all these women."

Sometimes Chris could cheerfully have throttled Tanner.

Chris almost groaned audibly when the bleached-blonde-cheese-grater-voice huffed and puffed as she settled into the seat next to him with a noise like an expiring airbag. Just his luck. "Hi!" she shouted at him, and Chris realised that she obviously couldn't talk at anything less than 120 decibels, "looks like we're gonna be buddies for a while."

Chris found himself trying to be grateful that he was only flying to Washington, rather than Paris or Hong Kong.

After less than thirty seconds of the cheese-grater in his left ear, he realised that he wasn't going to make it. Air rage was looking like a distinct possibility.

Suddenly, like an answer to a prayer, the redheaded stewardess appeared in the aisle beside their seats. "Mr Larabee?" she smiled at him. Unable to speak, Chris simply nodded. "Would you like to come with me, sir?" and she winked, quickly and conspiratorially at him.

"Of course!" Chris answered quickly, feigning an apologetic smile at cheese-grater, who spent the next thirty seconds trying to disentangle herself from her seatbelt, then her seat, to allow Chris to stand up.

Chris followed the stewardess up the aisle towards the front of the plane. "We have a couple of spare seats in business class, and the Captain thought you might like one?"

For the first time he was quite glad that Vin wasn't with him, because at that precise moment, Chris Larabee was sorely tempted to kiss her. "You have no idea," he said with genuine gratitude, "I think you may just have saved my life!"

She smiled at him. "All part of the service, sir." She indicated what suddenly looked like a truly enormous, leather armchair of a seat. "Hope you'll enjoy the flight, sir."

With a sigh of genuine contentment, Chris settled into the really comfortable seat, and stretched his legs out in front of him.

A few moments later the redhead reappeared, this time with the guy that Chris had spotted at the departure gate in tow.

The guy extended his hand to Chris. "Jethro Gibbs."

Chris returned the warm handshake and the smile. "Chris Larabee."

Gibbs sat down and fastened his seatbelt. "Wonder what we did to deserve this?"

Chris shrugged. "Believe me - if I had any idea, I'd do it on every flight!"

Jethro sat down and fastened his seat belt, just as his cell phone began vibrating again in his pocket. Frowning, he reached in his jacket and pressed the 'off' button. "Damned things," he grimaced at Chris, "I always forget to turn them off."

Chris nodded. "Me too. Can't decide if they're a blessing or a curse."

"Couldn't do my job these days without it."

Larabee grinned. "Me neither, but I still don't know if it's a blessing or a curse."

Gibbs nodded in agreement, but privately thought that as much as he and technology were not on the best of terms for the majority of the time, his cell phone did allow him to be in contact with Tony, even when he couldn't be with Tony.

"....Sir?"

The voice brought him back sharply into the moment, and he was a little startled to see the red-headed stewardess standing alongside him holding a coffee pot.

"Would you care for some coffee?"

He nodded, and she handed him a good quality cup and saucer, brimming with wonderfully scented coffee.

"Real china?" Chris said with an arched eyebrow, "who knew?"

"Welcome to Business Class," Jethro replied, sipping the brew and expecting it to taste like mud. It didn't, it tasted fresh and aromatic.

"My team are always telling me I drink too much coffee," he said to Chris.

"My team are always telling me I drink too much," was the sardonic response.

Suddenly, they looked at each other, both aware at the very same instant that they had both used the word 'team' and it had not been lost on either of them.

Chris grinned. Time to fess up. "Chris Larabee, ATF."

"Only three letters?" Gibbs quipped, "Jethro Gibbs, formerly US Marine, but nowadays NCIS."

Chris looked pleased with himself - his instincts were still pretty sharp, he decided.

Jethro thought that for an old guy, he still had it. "On a case?" he asked.

Chris shook his head. "I wish! No, strategic conference on inter-agency co-operation."

Jethro grimaced. "I'd rather be working 18 hour straight shifts, I think."

"So would I!"

"You run a big team?" Jethro said, genuinely interested. There was something about this guy that reminded him of himself, he decided. Something direct about his manner that Jethro found challenging, but strangely familiar.

"Six, plus me. You?"

"Three of them, though it sometimes feels more like thirty three."

"Been there, done that," Chris said knowingly, "some days I wonder whether I'm dealing with trained Federal Agents or the remedial class at High School."

"You should try handling McGee when there's any new piece of technology within striking distance."

"Oh, I've got my own one of those - I swear J D could make a computer out of a bag of beans and a Q tip, and half the time I don't understand one word in fifty of what he says."

"One in fifty? Hell, most of the time I think McGee is talking in a different language!"

"I wish I could work out why, in a team of six, I manage to get six totally different personalities. JD's thing is technology, most days I think Ezra ought to be in a Wall Street office, Josiah looks and sounds like something out of the Old Testament, why the hell Nate isn't running some Hollywood plastic surgery money machine I've never worked out, Buck's got the concentration span of a gnat if there's a woman within a mile radius, and Vin gets tongue-tied if a grandmother smiles at him, but can shoot a flea off a hound at a hundred yards." Chris shook his head. "If I haven't got an ulcer, it isn't for want of trying!"

"You get all that, and I'm the one with the grey hair?" Jethro laughed.

"Doesn't leave much time for anything else," Chris admitted.

But I don't need anything else - as long as I have Vin. Though explaining that to an arrow-straight ex-Marine is not something I intend doing.

"You're talking to a guy with three ex-wives!"

But only one real soulmate. Though explaining that to an ATF Team Leader with what sounds like the Magnificent Seven under his command is not something I intend doing.

"That I can believe," Chris said wryly, "carrying a badge is the same as being married - to the job - and finding someone who understands that is almost impossible."

I'm just the luckiest sonofabitch that ever drew breath, because I have that someone.

"I'm obviously a slow learner," Gibbs said with a grin, "took me a long time, three divorces and an acquired aversion to lawyers to come to that conclusion."

Then a half-Italian ex-cop with an attitude came along and I realised I had been looking in the wrong place, all that time.

"Ever wished you'd done something else? My mother always wanted me to be a lawyer!" Chris raised an eyebrow.

Just like she always wanted me to be happy, settled and loved. And neither of us could have imagined that a scrawny Texan with long hair and an attitude would come along and give me all of that, and so much more.

Jethro shook his head. "No, not for a minute. I guess service is in my blood - just about every generation of Gibbs' since the Civil War have been in the military, so the Marines was a done deal. When the opportunity to join NCIS came up, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world."

Just like Tony. When I finally admitted how I felt, when I finally told him and myself the truth, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

"Guess that makes us both gluttons for punishment," Chris said with a laugh.

"Absolutely. Doesn't matter what letters are on their jackets, running a team of agents would try the patience of a Saint."

"And when they aren't trying your patience, they're trying to give you a breakdown," Chris said knowingly, "I swear I know the inside of every ER in Denver better than my own office..."

And every time, every single time, I go through hell. God knows it's bad enough if it's any of them, but with the knack that Tanner has for getting his sorry ass shot, beaten, crushed, battered, busted and broken, I've worried more years off my life in waiting rooms than I want to think about.

I see him lying there, and my heart damned nearly freezes inside me. How do you keep going when the very thing that's keeping you alive might not?

"First name terms with the trauma teams?" Gibbs asked without a trace of irony, "Oh, I know...believe it or not we have a doctor at Bethesda whose name is Brad Pitt!"

And whenever I hear that name now, all I can see is Tony, bathed in that hideous ultraviolet light, his eyes sunken and his lips cracked and bloody. Dear God, I've never been so scared in my whole life as when I thought I might lose him. I've never wanted to kill anyone out of sheer spite until then, but I came closer than I've ever been to simply shooting that squirming little microbiologist, that bastard who was responsible for dragging Tony's life from him, breath by painful breath.

"You've gotta be joking! Brad Pitt? Poor bastard... Most of the interns in Denver go pale at the gills and start running when they hear that any of us are in their building."

Because, God help me, they always end up taking the flak for my fear. I can be an ornery bastard at the best of times, but if it's Vin in the ambulance... then I get truly evil.

"I sometimes think my team do it on purpose," Gibbs said, "put me through hell and high water, just to see if I drown!"

I can barely remembered the drive back to the hospital that night, but I remember striding into that containment unit, standing there looking down at Tony, wanting so desperately to believe that he would survive, but I didn't - not really. I told him that he wasn't going to die and gave him that new cellphone, but that touch alone almost tipped me over the edge. I went home, got drunk as hell in my basement, and finally, finally, wept with relief. It took all that for me to admit to him that I loved him. That's how brave I am - I had to damned nearly lose him before I found the courage to be with him.

"If Josiah were sitting here, he'd give us a look like something out of a history book, raise an eyebrow, and suggest perhaps we were paying for past lives."

And if that's true, then I must have been a saint or a martyr because God knows I didn't do anything this time around to deserve Vin. He makes everything - all the shit the job throws at us, all the pain and the death and the sheer heartache of it - he makes it all worthwhile. As long as I have him, I'll take whatever life feels like dishing out.

"Doesn't say much for us, does it? If that theory stands up, it means I was the Marquis de Sade, or Attila the Hun!"

Or, if I were being truthful here, I must have been a saint or a martyr. Whatever I did, it must have been something pretty damned good, because Tony is one hell of a reward.

Chris laughed. "Explains why the feelgood factor is sometimes a little lacking!"

Except for the times I can't tell you about. The times when all I can see, hear and feel is Vin. When he fills my senses, my heart, my very soul. When there's just us, together, in each other's arms.

"The feelgood factor? I'll have to look that up in a dictionary!"

Because I can't tell you about what it feels like to hear Tony whispering in Italian when we're making love. When all I can think about, feel, see and hear is him. When there's nowhere else I'd rather be in the entire world.

The redhead appeared again, this time proferring a complimentary glass of surprisingly good red wine, and it seemed only a few moments later that the captain's voice sounded clearly over the tannoy in perfect, clipped English. "Ladies and gentlemen we shall shortly be making our final approach into Dulles International, and expect to disembark on schedule.."

Jethro looked at Chris with surprise. "That's gotta be some kind of record - I've flown this route dozens of times and it never went that quickly before!"

"Perhaps you're keeping better company than usual," Chris offered with a grin, "and don't forget that you are going home, whereas I have 3 days of 'inter-agency co-operation' waiting for me!"

Jethro grinned back. "I'd be a liar if I said I wasn't looking forward to getting home. Nothing quite like your own bed.."

Especially when there's six feet plus of young, sassy, sexy, half-Italian waiting in it. Stop it Jethro, or Larabee is going to wonder why you're grinning like a half-wit, with a face like a teenager....

"Absolutely right. And thanks for reminding me that it's going to be 4 long nights before I get to sleep in mine again."

Four nights without a Texas accent in my ear that sounds like smoke on velvet, and can ratchet my blood pressure straight into the danger zone in a minute. Four nights without Vin's hands on me, four nights without Vin. Stop it Chris, or Gibbs is going to wonder why you've got a face like a wounded bulldog, and an attitude to match...

+ + + + + + +

The aircraft doors opened and Chris and Jethro discovered another advantage to business class - disembarking first, with far less of the normal crush and trample than was usually involved.

Their stewardess was waiting to bid them goodnight.

"Thank you," Jethro said with a tone that made her heart do a little flip in her ribs, "we really appreciated the service."

"Yes, thank you," Chris added with a smile, "it's been a really enjoyable flight."

She beamed at them. "You're very welcome Sirs. Have a safe journey now, and a pleasant evening." Lord, how much easier those corporate platitudes were to say if you actually meant them! She even indulged herself for a few very enjoyable moments watching them as they strode away down the air ramp to the terminal building, wondering if either of them had any idea just how good they looked from behind, before turning her attention back to the rest of her passengers.

At baggage reclaim, Jethro grabbed his holdall from the carousel and extended his hand to Chris.

"Nice to have met you, Agent Larabee," he said, shaking Chris's hand in a firm grip. "If you're ever in the neighbourhood, I'd be glad to show you around NCIS."

Chris returned the handshake. "Thanks, Agent Gibbs. Likewise, next time you're in Denver, drop in at the ATF."

"Be glad to."

Jethro strode away with a wave of his hand, just as his cell phone began vibrating again in his pocket. He grabbed it with a scowl. "What?"

"You got any idea how good you look when you're angry, Boss?"

"Tony?"

"I can see you - I've got you under observation.... Who was the guy you were talking to?"

"An ATF agent from Denver - we sat together on the plane."

"He's cute. Nice ass."

"DiNozzo......"

Tony laughed. "Only kidding with you, Boss. But you'd better keep walking, and fast, otherwise I just might have to jump you here in the terminal, and I wonder what Mr ATF agent would make of that?"

"He'd probably shoot us both for bringing the Federal Government into disrepute."

"Probably."

+ + + + + + +

Chris's cell phone chirped. "Larabee."

"Well I sure hope so, otherwise I'm gonna feel pretty damned pissed."

"Vin?"

"Who were you expecting?"

Chris laughed. "Fair question. You okay?"

"Missing you."

"Vin - I've only been gone a couple of hours."

"It's not the couple of hours, it's the next 3 days that are gonna wind me up, Cowboy. Good flight?"

"Yeah, it was. Met an NCIS Agent from Washington."

Vin snorted. "Uptight Navy dude no doubt."

"No, he was okay, actually."

"Bet he wasn't 'okay' enough for you to tell him about us," Vin teased.

Chris giggled. "Thought I'd better keep quiet about that, in the interests of inter agency co-operation."

"He'd probably have shot you for bringing the Feds into disrepute."

"Probably."

+ + + + + + +

"Easy Tony...", Gibbs gasped, pulling away from Tony in the front seat of the SUV. Jesus, he was glad to be home.

DiNozzo grinned lasciviously. "What's the problem, Boss? It's only a little kiss! It's dark, no-one can see us..."

"We're wasting time Di Nozzo. Start the damned car, and let's get the hell outta here."

Tony leaned in again. "I missed you. Come on Boss, just one more... or are you worried someone who knows you might spot us?"

"In a parking lot, in an international airport, in the dark? The probability of that is pretty low, whereas the probability me of me shooting you if you don't start the damned car is looking more likely every second."

Tony just grinned, and grabbed Jethro to him.

The taxi swung around to the right, its headlights cutting a swathe across the row of cars parked in the lot.

In the back seat, Chris's attention was momentarily caught by what he was a black Dodge Ram, and then he realised almost instantly that it wasn't.

He didn't even notice the two figures in the front seat; both locked in a passionate embrace.

The End

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