Establishing Rank

The good Dr. Ducky Mallard stood firmly after rendering his decision, his arms crossed over his chest and his feet planted decisively on the floor, determined to stare down his friend.

NCIS Team Leader and Special Agent Jethro Gibbs, seated on a vacant autopsy table and evidently displeased, grasped the table's edge so tightly with both fists that the veins stood out on his hands.

Nearly thirty seconds passed before Gibbs angrily resigned himself to Dr. Mallard's orders. Scowling, he slid off of the table with ill grace and narrowed eyes.

"You win, but I hope you realize that thanks to your mollycoddling in refusing to let me work, criminals have been given a free day."

With that pronouncement and a glare for good measure, he stalked angrily towards the elevator.

Not deterred, nor guilt ridden in the least, Ducky followed, and reached over to push the elevator button for the bullpen.

In his best no- nonsense tone he warned, "You have exactly one hour to tie up loose ends. I will meet you at home and plan to give you the sedative and pain killer there. Past experience proves that you will succumb quite thoroughly."

Gibbs frowned as he stepped into the open elevator, "Exactly, which means you are clear that you are keeping me from my job."

Refusing to accept blame, Ducky responded, "You have a competent team who can weather your absence, my Dear Man."

Jethro did not bother to waste energy contradicting that conclusion, but used the time in the elevator to solidify his plans instead. Bad luck had gotten him injured at a crime scene a little over an hour before, and not satisfied with merely a band aid treatment, Dr. Mallard had given him the choice of going home and resting with a sedative, or having the doctor pronounce him not medically fit for work for a few days.

Gibbs rubbed his chin. Despite his grandfatherly, sympathetic bearing, Dr. Donald Ducky Mallard possessed a will of iron which he exhibited upon occasion.

This, then, proved one of those.

Departing from the lift he glanced over at his team. Tony and Kate huddled at Tony's desk, pretending to read something on the computer screen. At his own desk, McGee leaned almost doubled out of his rolling chair, focused on his left shoe. Abby, who should have been in the forensics lab, had evidently come to Tim's aid, because she leaned over his desk and offered support, "Yank a bit harder, Tim."

Without breaking stride Gibbs pivoted to his desk, grabbed his belongings, and strode back the way he had come, calling over his shoulder, "Kate and Tony, get over there right now and help get the glue off the bottom of McGee's shoes. There had better be none on that carpet, either. Then finish up the Murray case before you leave here today. I am heading out of the building."

All four looked up in surprise, while four shocked voices called out questions simultaneously. He ignored all of them and made his way to his car and home without pausing.

When Ducky arrived an hour later Jethro had actually sat down on the couch, though he had done so by moving gingerly to not upset his bruised ribs. In addition, he had propped his leg on the coffee table, trying to ease some of the cramps radiating fiercely through it.

He shook his head thoughtfully. The fall he had suffered at the crime site arose only after he had both chased and tackled a suspect.

He was getting too old to run down the bad guys.

It would have been wiser to allow Tony, Tim, or Kate the bad guy takedown.

His twisted knee and banged up ribs and body illustrated that.

Nevertheless, he had no intention of allowing the good doctor to think he agreed with Ducky's medical decision. Scowling, he prodded, "Hurry up then, Duck, because you know that I have a team to supervise."

Smiling sympathetically, Ducky contradicted him. "Jethro, the troops will survive without you for a single afternoon. You have trained them to function as investigative agents."

For once, Ducky gave him instructions and handed him the bottle of pills to address future pain without too much of a lecture.

Seeing his friend wince when he eased onto the couch beside him he spoke seriously. "Pills are for tomorrow and the days after that. Today you need an injection first."

Swabbing Jethro's arm with alcohol he warned, "This injection will knock you out. It is very potent, my friend. I will check on you later in the evening and see if you need anything."

Gibbs nodded in resignation and leaned his head back against the sofa's back. They had been down that road before.

"Who used this glue without my permission?" Gunny Gibbs demanded in his someone- is- in- big- trouble tone as he entered the kitchen, eyeing all four of his children.

Simultaneously, they looked up from their bowls of cereal, shook their heads, and with four voices, immediately denied culpability.

He narrowed his eyes and regarded them shrewdly, attempting to narrow the focus of the suspect list quickly so that he could deal with the transgressor.

Glue- or its misuse, ranked as a big deal in this household. Necessity demanded his vigilance. If he had told them once, he had told them a thousand times that the use of glue, scissors, markers, crayons, pens of any type and colored pencils required his direct supervision and prior permission!

Tony, his eight year old, studied him cannily. When his dad returned the same speculative look, the child slowly grinned. Cute as he was with long lashes framing shimmery green eyes and brown hair streaked with blond, Tony, the older brother, had a penchant as a ringleader.

Gibbs gave him a quick second look and licked his lips thoughtfully. He sometimes jumped to conclusions unfairly and held Tony accountable more often than he did with the other children.

For example, just weeks before he had ordered him not to speak during a car ride because of name calling, for labeling Tim a snuffleupagus and Kate stupid.

Reflecting upon the incident hours later, though, Jethro realized that Kate had called Tony stupid first, but he had neglected to address that.

He had failed to treat his son fairly then, and did not want a repeat.

It was difficult to not automatically look the boy's way the second he suspected trouble in his ranks, Gibbs knew.

His vision lit on his little Abby next, his chatterbox and baby girl. At five, she oozed self confidence and charmed everyone she met. Blessed with a sunny disposition, she spent most of her days laughing or dancing, though she did posses a strong will and fiery temper.

Currently she sat on her legs in her booster seat, leaning her tummy onto the table to reach over her cereal bowl. She used one hand to arrange the pieces of cereal in the milk.

Gibbs snapped his fingers and she guiltily snatched her hand from the bowl, looking up in surprise. He raised his eyebrows and she slid back down to sit correctly in her seat.

In return, she puffed out her lip and narrowed her green eyes in displeasure at the ending of her fun. Swishing her head from side to side, she caused her black pigtails to swing. "I want to go to Grandpa's today. Grandpa's sweet."

"Not until next week," Kate responded sensibly from across the table. "We have to wait for the vacation time."

Tony sat back in his seat and added excitedly, "So we will have lots of snow, and it will be Christmas break and we can play outside all day long." Tony loved any type of outdoor play.

The patient father massaged his temples and returned to his examination of Abby.

Did she look any guiltier or likelier to be the culprit than the other three?

Tim upset his juice glass at that moment and slid out of his seat to grab it, nearly knocking over the chair. Luckily, he had nearly drained the liquid, so just a flew drops flew, but the accident clearly upset him. "Daddy, I am sorry! I knocked it over without looking and then I tried to grab it and…"

Kate interrupted in her rudest tone, "Be quiet, Timmy. He saw the whole thing anyway. Just stop jabbering a minute so we can finish eating."

Tim stood indecisively, empty glass in hand, and glanced uncertainly between his big sister and his father. His eyes began to fill with tears.

"Not nice, Katie," Tony frowned her way, pointing towards Tim.

Sighing heavily, Gibbs motioned to his youngest son, and Tim hurried over and threw himself at his father, burying his head in his Jethro's stomach and wrapping his little arms around his dad's legs. Face hidden, he began to cry in the safety of his father's embrace and protection.

Of his four children, Tim had been born the most easygoing, yet he possessed a very sensitive streak and a steady, serious nature. He tended to step aside to allow the spotlight to focus on Abby, Kate, or Tony, and rarely sought recognition.

Gibbs stroked his hair, which appeared determined to remain a dark, sandy blond, and then leaned down and lifted the six year old into his arms. Holding his little boy against his chest, Jethro patted the child's back and whispered soothingly, assuring him that the spilled glass was just an accident.

When the tears finally began to slow, Gibbs shifted Tim to one hip, and mentally dismissed the little fellow from the roster of possible glue troublemakers. He felt pretty confident that Tim would have confessed at once when the question was asked had he been the guilty party.