Appointment Time

Gibbs got home from NCIS at five, and noted Tony and Dylan in the backyard enthusiastically practicing some intricate soccer moves. He grinned at the two through the window as he hung up his coat and grabbed the stack of mail delivered earlier in the day, then made his way into the kitchen. Rarely did Tony miss an opportunity to get outside and play, or to participate in some type of physical game or sport.

He started a pot of coffee to brew in the overworked coffee pot and looked around him. Tony had evidently followed instructions and put the chicken in the oven to cook. Gibbs could smell it roasting. After a cursory examination he set down the mail and gathered the other supper items. His son had completed the prep work Gibbs had assigned him as an after school duty, so he didn't need to peel the potatoes or chop vegetables for the salad himself. Pleased, he leaned against the counter, enjoying the silence and the fact that Tony appeared to be maturing. He had not had to remind him about supper preparations for nearly a week.

The boys burst in as he mashed the potatoes, and he exchanged greetings with Dylan, Tony's best friend in D.C. The two had been fast buddies since their toddler days, and lived a few houses away from each other. Now, as high school juniors, that bond had strengthened and forged over the years. Dylan excused himself for his own home and dinner, and Tony washed up and joined his father for their meal.

"Daddy," Tony announced, flinging himself into his chair with a sheaf of papers in his hand. "You have to check out this letter from my homeroom teacher about my conference and make sure that you can make the assigned date and time."

Gibbs took the papers and pulled his reading glasses out of his pocket. Tony's high school scheduled regular parent conferences twice a year, once in the fall, and again in the spring.

Until Tony entered high school, Tony's abuela had always attended meetings at the school during the actual school day, while Gibbs had gone to the evening ones. Maria, Tony's abuela, had returned to Mexico to live permanently when her baby began high school, however. Gibbs sighed. He would simply reschedule work if it created a conflict. More crucial to his own well being was staying on top of Tony's academics and school behaviour.

He scanned the teacher's letter. "Six o'clock on the twelfth- that's next Tuesday, right?" He turned to consult Tony, who nodded in agreement. "Ok, then that will suit me fine. Go mark it on the calendar."

Tony jumped up and made his way to the niche beside the refrigerator where the calendar always hung. "Got it, Dad, and I made the letters really big so you wouldn't have to squint to read."

Smirking, he came back brandishing a pen and held it out to Jethro.

Gibbs scowled, "Why are you handing me that thing?"

"You have to sign the paper, say that the time is convenient and that you will be there." Tony smiled one of his megawatt smiles at his parent.

"Oh," Gibbs peered back at the paper and found the line he needed. He signed quickly, then handed the papers back to his son, shaking his head and pointing at them. "Go put these forms in your bookbag right now, before you lose them."

He watched as the teen left the kitchen.

Tony finally had some height on him after years of sporting a small frame. Now he actually stood an inch taller than his father's six feet. He had also filled out with defined muscles. His eyes, green and expressive, were framed with long eyelashes, while his hair, usually brown, would be laced with blond highlights after only a couple of days of any stay in Mexico.

Jethro shook his head proudly. Tony was, without question, one good looking boy.

When Tony returned he sat silently several seconds before he resumed eating. Finally, he spoke. "Dad, if you get a good report on me at the parent -teacher conference, will you let me go somewhere?"

Swallowing a bite of chicken, Jethro responded cautiously, "Somewhere means where, Son?"

"A concert," Tony answered, leaning towards his father.

"A concert?" Jethro clarified.

"Yes, a show- one that I really, really want to see next month," Tony elaborated.

"Just who sings in this concert that you really, really want to see?" Gibbs settled back in his chair and sipped carefully at his coffee.

"Springsteen, Dad," Tony practically bubbled with excitement as he provided the answer.

"Hmmm...who is she?" Jehtro took a bite of his salad.

"Springsteen is a he, Dad, not a she," Tony corrected. "He's Bruce Springsteen, the Boss, and he only plays for one night."

Gibbs lapsed into a reflective silence. Earning the concert because of a good school conference seemed too over valued. He had permitted Tony to attend a couple of concerts over the years, and he had usually granted permission because of good conduct at home. So, why would Tony assume his father would automatically refuse consent to this one?

"What's the catch, Tony?" He stood up to start cleaning the supper dishes and his son hurried out of his own chair and began to help.

Tony started loading the dishwasher before he turned an innocent face to his father. "Why do you think it has a catch?"

"I don't think, I know." Jethro turned and regarded him.