Work Text:
Prompt #1: Gen-While out on assignment the team come across an abandoned baby. Having no choice they take it back to their headquarters. The case they were working was finished up on the outing when they found the infant and their schedule is clear for the rest of the day. So who gets to take care of the baby? Do they take turns? Do the team members find paperwork to file just to avoid babysitting? And what lengths will they go to trying to avoid diaper duty?
Author Note: This winter, the DC area saw historic snowfall totals. From the first storm in early December, to the one, two, three punch of February’s snowstorms, many people were snowbound, some for days. Washington Dulles airport, some 30 miles from the center of DC, saw 75.0 inches (191 cm) of snow this last winter. As this was an event I’d lived through, I couldn’t resist using it for the basis of the story.
I’m playing with the timeline to keep it in very early Season 3. Plot wise, this takes place between Mind Games and Silver War. Just pretend this historic snowstorm happened during Season 3. Kate has been dead only a short while, Tony is a recent plague survivor and McGee has been an official member of the team only a little over a year.
~*~
Gibbs sighed and clenched his hands on the steering wheel, looking over at DiNozzo before refocusing his attention on the road ahead. They’d been interviewing the family of a missing Petty Officer—Shane Lincoln—when the call had come in. Shane’s body had been found two days ago in Tijuana, an autopsy had confirmed he’d died of alcohol poisoning. His DNA had just been matched as Gibbs and Tony were questioning the family. Gibbs and Tony had broken the news to his shocked, but resigned, family and had started back to NCIS a few minutes ago.
The fifty-mile drive from Fredericksburg usually took anywhere from forty five minutes to two hours, depending on traffic and if Gibbs was driving. Today traffic wasn’t the primary issue. Weather was. Snowflakes had started falling on the drive down, but Gibbs hadn’t spared them much attention. They were actually having a winter this year and he liked watching the snow falling from the picture window of his living room. It reminded him of winters when he was a child, when he was so excited by the prospect of a snow day.
In the couple hours since they’d left the Navy Yard to interview the Lincolns, the road conditions had deteriorated, drivers scrabbling for purchase on the icy pavement. At least Interstate 95 would be better than the slick secondary roads. There was so much traffic on the highway, and the road stayed so warm that ice wouldn’t form easily. Gibbs flipped the radio on, but all-news channel WTOP was just broadcasting static. They were probably at the edge of the broadcast area anyway.
“Tony, call McGee. Get an update.” It’d be better to know if they needed to pull off and find a hotel now rather than later. The third member of their team had been chasing down financial leads on Petty Officer Lincoln, and Gibbs was glad that they had someone back at the Yard who could run interference for them and get them updated weather reports.
“Oh it,” Tony said quietly. A few moments later, he slammed his phone closed. “Can’t get a signal, Boss.”
Gibbs’ hands tightened on the steering wheel as they pulled into a 7-11 parking lot. There was a young man in the familiar brightly colored uniform shaking his head, but Gibbs waved him over and held out his badge. He was gonna get some supplies for the drive and was gonna get in contact with the Yard on a land line.
“We’re closing, man. Look at this snow!”
“Five minutes,” Tony protesting, shifting from foot to foot. Gibbs rolled his eyes at his younger agent. Looked like Tony had more than one thing to get done.
“Federal agents,” Gibbs added, tapping his shield. “Need some food and to use a phone.”
The guy—barely more than a kid—looked nervous and jittery, but he nodded reluctantly. “Five minutes, man.”
“All we need,” Gibbs assured. “DiNozzo, dial. I’ll get some coffee.” Gibbs strode into the convenience market, jabbing his finger toward the store’s office area. He got two coffees—wrinkling his nose as he dumped sugar and hazelnut creamer into Tony’s—and scooped up a couple of sandwiches and some chips for the road. When he was at the counter, he picked up some antifreeze and a new ice scraper. The fleet cars didn’t have the equipment he had in his pickup, and he’d feel a hell of a lot more comfortable outfitting the car before they ran into any potential problems.
When Tony plunked a huge bag of kitty litter on the counter, Gibbs arched a brow. “Works like sand. Put it in the trunk and we’ll have better traction.”
“Good work,” Gibbs allowed, handing his credit card over and watching as the man hurriedly bagged their food. “What’d McGee say?” Gibbs asked, slanting a gaze to Tony.
“Getting bad. Take it slow, Boss. They’re saying this could be as bad as that blizzard back in ’03. And you know what happened then…”
How could Gibbs forget? He’d been trapped in the office with Tony and Blackadder for three days. DiNozzo’d barely made it out alive. Three days of sniping and movie references and vending-machine coffee. It’d been hell. “Didya tell McGee to—“
“Get us off call?” Tony finished, grabbing one of the coffees, the scraper, and hefting the litter onto his shoulder as Gibbs signed the receipt. “Yeah, but Madame Director isn’t falling for his charms. Ya gotta tell me some day about Jenny and… Oof! Thank you, Boss.”
Gibbs smirked as Tony rubbed the back of his head, the guy at the counter shaking his head. He grabbed the bag of food, the antifreeze, and his own coffee. Gibbs took a few minutes to make sure the antifreeze was topped up and that the tire pressure was good before pulling onto the road leading to the interstate.
“Sitrep,” Gibbs muttered, taking a long sip of his coffee. He slipped it into the cup holder, his hands flexing once before they tightened on the steering wheel. He was going to need every bit of his intensity and concentration for the drive.
“Not good, Boss,” Tony said, his voice tense, his mannerisms and normal exuberance toned down. Gibbs risked a glance over, noting the set lines of Tony’s face and his stiff posture. “Madame Director wants us back. We’re on call throughout the storm. But…”
“Yeah?” Gibbs urged, pulling onto the entrance ramp of I-95, the major north-south artery for the East Coast.
“It’s bad, Boss. Historic bad. They’re predicting up to three feet of snow, blizzard conditions, the wind and drifts high. Worse than ’03, worse than what we had in December.” Tony swallowed hard. “McGee said they’re um…”
“Spit it out.”
“Snowmageddon,” Tony said, a little laugh in his voice. While it wasn’t quite shrill enough to be an issue, it was tense and brittle, and very un-Dinozzo-like.
“Snowmageddon?” Gibbs repeated, shaking his head. This was probably all hype. DC had been expected to get a big storm for a few years now, but the predictions and worry—and bread, milk, and TP store runs—always outweighed the amount of white stuff that fell from the sky. “Don’t worry, DiNozzo. False alarm.”
“Yeah, Boss.”
Gibbs fell silent, one eye on the grey, ominous sky and the other on the road ahead. When Tony started coughing shallowly, Gibbs jerked the wheel before quickly regaining control. They’d only traveled fifteen miles in the last forty-five minutes, but with the road conditions deteriorating and breakdowns and hazard lights littering the highway, he didn’t dare push it.
“Ya okay, DiNozzo?”
“Yeah…yeah…”Tony replied, gasping a little for air. He took a healthy gulp of what had to be cool coffee. “They said when the barometric pressure changes, I’m going to feel it for the rest of my life.”
Gibbs winced. Dammit, this was Tony’s first winter as a pneumonic plague survivor. As team leader, he needed to be more careful. “Button your jacket up.”
“Boss…” Tony whined, but Gibbs shot him a stern look, risking pulling his eyes away from the road. “Fine. I’m okay, though.”
“Let Duck be the judge of that.” Tony didn’t answer, his hands busy doing up the buttons on his coat. Gibbs was relieved that they’d be riding the storm out at the Yard, where Duck could keep an eye on Tony, rather than down here, or even at their own homes.
It took another two hours for them to get through the worsening conditions and into DC. Even though neither man admitted it, Gibbs knew they both suspected this was a big one and the hype was paying off.
“McGee must be freaking out,” Tony remarked as they barely held traction on slushy roads. At least the Navy Yard was less than a mile away.
“Mmm,” Gibbs replied. The younger member of his team was inside a warm building and the least of his worries right now. They still had a few blocks to go, and the snow was coming down so hard and fast that Gibbs could barely see.
He pulled up to the weekend gate at 6th & M and nodded to the enlisted men inside. Most of the personnel knew him on sight and would wave him through with barely a glance. But this time Petty Officer Gallows rushed out, a small bundle of blankets in his arms. Gibbs activated the electric window, staring at the young man.
“Special Agent Gibbs. A woman…she…” He gestured to the small bundle in his arms.
“What is it?” Tony asked, just as the small bundle let out a shrill cry.
“Baby,” Gibbs replied, stepping out of the car and inside with the guard. Petty Officer Kali was there as well, and McGee was sitting in a chair, reviewing some tapes.
“Hi, Boss,” McGee said softly, looking over his shoulder.
“McGee,” Gibbs drawled. He saw Tony starting to get out of the car and waved him in. “What the hell’s going on?”
“Someone dropped the baby off, asked the Petty Officers to watch him while she moved her car off the snow emergency routes. They said fine. That was almost four hours ago. No sign of her.”
“And the snow was falling so hard that there’s no hope of an image on the tapes. Special Agent McGee and Abby have been trying for the last hour. He came up here to see if we had any backup footage he could check.”
Gibbs sighed, reaching for the child. “What direction did she go in?” he asked, staring at both of the Petty Officers, first one, then the other.
“No idea. She kind of…melted away,” Kali said.
“White out conditions, Special Agent Gibbs.”
Gibbs swore under his breath, settling the baby in his arms. “ She leave any supplies?”
“Just a plastic bag. Diapers, formula, teething stuff, a change of clothes, all with tags on them.”
“Receipt?”
“None, we checked.”
“Prints?”
“Should we run everything as evidence?” Tony asked softly. “Boss, I don’t know if we’ll have that stuff inside and if we’re stuck here…”
Gibbs waved a hand; he knew and understood what Tony was saying. While he considered their choices, he rocked the baby gently, thankful for the fact that the child seemed to be bundled up well against the weather.
“McGee, take the tapes. You two, get some of your buddies to go at least fifty yards in every direction. Get a description of the mother out, email it to McGee. You two,” he said, pointing to McGee and Tony. “Get the bag to Abby. Tell her we need the contents kept intact. Tony, you’re driving.”
Gibbs cuddled the baby close, slipping into the back seat of the car and easing the child onto the seat. The blanket fell away and he got his first look at a little brown haired child with big expressive gray eyes. He undressed the baby just enough to learn the sex and bundled the child back up. The little boy was maybe four or five months old, certainly not on consistent solids yet, but old enough to have some muscle coordination and support the weight of his own head.
“It’s okay, Sport,” Gibbs said, keeping his voice quiet and gentle as McGee and DiNozzo got in the car. “Ducky’s gonna look at ya and then we’re gonna get ya fed.” Gibbs made a nest for the baby right beside him, holding the child gently but securely against his side for the short drive to the NCIS building at the back of the complex.
As DiNozzo pulled the car away from the guards, Gibbs could read the relief in their body language. This was NCIS’ problem now.
“Boss, what are we gonna do with it?”
“Him,” Gibbs emphasized, wishing he knew the little guy’s name. “Whatcha think we’re gonna do with him, DiNozzo?” His hand itched to deliver a headslap, but he didn’t want to startle the little guy.
Tony shrugged, looking into the rearview mirror. “Social Services will be closed. McProbie said all the government offices have shut down. You’re good with him, Boss. You have a lot of experience with kids.”
Gibbs glanced down at the little guy, supporting his tiny body as best he could. He didn’t want to meet DiNozzo’s eyes right now. “Yeah,” he allowed.
“So what do we do?”
“Find his mother,” Gibbs shot back. “And watch him ‘til then.” Even though NCIS had only a skeleton staff at times like these, there’d be enough people to take shifts with the baby. Not that Gibbs was so sure he wanted the kid to have to deal with a bunch of strangers. It would be better if the baby got used to the sound of one person’s voice and smells and touch. His.
Tony pulled into the underground garage and they all got out. “Evidence to Abbs and then report to Duck, DiNozzo,” Gibbs reminded, striding to the retina scanner. The baby looked healthy enough to Gibbs’ eyes, but he’d only seen the child’s face and a brief glimpse of his body. And just because he looked okay, that didn’t mean anything. The child could be sick.
“Not on my watch,” Gibbs muttered, looking down at the little face. “Ya understand me? Not on my watch.”
Autopsy was quiet, Ducky sipping a cup of tea and working on his report, and Palmer studying some medical texts. “Patient for ya, Duck,” Gibbs said, placing the child down gently on Ducky’s desk. It seemed wrong to put the child on one of the autopsy tables.
“What have we here? Is this the little boy from up at the guard station?”
“Yeah,” Gibbs replied, tamping down his annoyance. “Ya think of going up and checking him out?” he asked, barely keeping his temper leashed.
“I-I did, a couple of hours ago,” Palmer stammered.
“And his blood pressure, temperature, pulse rate, and all vital signs were perfectly normal, Jethro. In your absence, we decided to let the child stay in the heated guard station in case the mother came back for him.” Ducky heaved out a huge sigh. “Terrible business, this. And on such a cold day.”
“Yeah.” Gibbs unbuttoned his overcoat as Ducky thoroughly examined the baby, wrinkling his nose when he pulled the little feet out of the blue sleeper he was wearing. “I’m afraid he needs a change. Are his nappies with Abby?”
Gibbs nodded and Ducky waved his hand to Palmer. “We took the liberty of scavenging throughout the departments and Mister Palmer even created an inventoried list of our procurements. Eight nappies and one package of wet wipes from Cassandra in HR, A packet of Pull-Ups from Joe, the janitor, though I don’t imagine this little one will have need of those for a good long time. Two onesies, one in yellow and the other in pink, poor boy. Why, when I was a lad, my mother dressed me in—“
“DUCK!” As Gibbs barked the word, he smoothed a hand over the baby’s hair, soothing him.
“Ah, yes. The onsies are from Madame Director, who had purchased them for a baby shower she’s attending. Mister Palmer, what else do we have?”
When Palmer didn’t immediately answer, Ducky consulted the inventory again. “Three pacifiers from Enrique, night security over at the Navy Museum—word travels fast. His darling wife just had a baby, beautiful little girl they named Morning. Can you imagine—”
“Duck!”
“Ah, yes. Four jars of baby food from Dorothea, who runs the Middle East desk. She has no idea where they came from, but they’re unexpired. There is some expressed breast milk in the refrigerator on Abby’s level.”
“No.” They were not feeding the baby just anyone’s milk. He’d take formula. It was much safer, since Gibbs had no idea where the milk came from.
“Ah, very well then. Mister Palmer, please get the nappies and wipes.” Ducky shot Gibbs a sly look. “Am I to assume you’ll be handling this?”
“Yeah,” Gibbs replied as Tony came in. “DiNozzo. Get over here. You too, Palmer.” These two needed to know how to change the baby. If he or Ducky were busy, one of them might need to do it.
Gibbs patiently explained the process, step by step, wishing he had some powder. The little guy’s rear end was red and splotchy. “Find some powder soon,” he instructed as he finished fastening the sides of the diaper.
“He needs a name, Jethro, no matter how temporary,” Ducky said when the baby was re-diapered, redressed and back where he belonged in Gibbs’ arms. He bounced the child slightly as he walked in slow circles.
Gibbs nodded, arching a brow at Ducky as the doors behind him hissed open.
“Baby names? My favorite part. I’m so glad you’re back, Gibbs. I was getting worried. Well, about the snow, but you and Tony stuck in a car together for so long. I didn’t think you’d both make it out alive, and then there’s this poor baby and…oooh! Can I hold him?”
Gibbs’ first instinct was to say no, but he passed the baby over to Abby, who settled him in her arms. “Duck, check out DiNozzo. He was coughing. Make sure his lungs are clear.”
Gibbs leaned in to kiss Abby on the cheek, listening to her babble to the baby. “You trust McGee working your evidence?”
“Oh. Come on, Gibbs, it can wait a couple of minutes. I love baby cuddles.”
“Abby…” he warned and she eased the baby back into his arms.
“Names! I vote for Percival, or Spike, because, you know, Spike from Buffy was the coolest. And his hair kind of sticks up and…”
“Abbs!”
“Fine,” she said, pulling her face into an exaggerated pout.
“Put a rush on it, Abbs. We need answers.”
“I will,” she promised, blowing the baby a kiss and clomping out on her platform boots.
“Names,” Ducky reminded, his stethoscope against Tony’s chest. “Have you any ideas?”
“What about Adam?” Palmer ventured, his voice tentative.
“Adam,” Gibbs repeated, mulling the word over. The sound of it didn’t seem to startle the baby, who was cuddling in closer every moment. They had a lot of work to do and couldn’t be distracted naming the baby for hours. “Yeah…Adam.”
“Sounds like Adam it may be, then,” Ducky said. “You had better get upstairs and settled in your chair before he drifts off.”
Gibbs nodded. “DiNozzo okay, Duck?”
“No congestion, he’ll be fine. Don’t work him too hard out in the cold, Jethro. He’s vulnerable to—”
“Won’t,” he promised. Since Kate…McGee and Tony were his team. Paula had gone on an afloat assignment after working with the team for a few weeks, and Cassie, who was helping out, had moved to the Pentagon just last week. Gibbs liked being a three-man team. It was working well for now. But he had to make sure DiNozzo stayed healthy.
“When ya get upstairs, Tony, call Social Services. Then ya can get started on your report. And drink some soup or something.”
“Where will you be?”
“With Adam. Not gonna talk too much, might wake him.”
As Gibbs walked toward the elevator, he thought he heard Tony say something about him being whipped.
“Not whipped,” Gibbs assured the sleepy baby. “Just bringing ya in from the cold.”