Work Text:
“Hey, D-man.” Gibbs redialed the number when he got home.
“Jethro.” Dwayne’s drawl echoed through the phone. “We miss somethin’?”
“Nope.” Gibbs sat on his couch with a beer, changed into a hoodie and comfortable jeans. He lifted his sock feet to rest on the coffee table, and leaned back into a slouch.
“Thinkin’ again?” As usual, his friend was right on the money.
“Yeah. Hell of a thing.” He sighed.
“You ever know anybody like the Scuitos?” Jethro smiled at Dwayne’s question.
“Shan was kinda like that. Not as much as Luca, but she could see the bright in anything.”
“Yeah.” They sat silently for a moment, then Dwayne spoke again. “First beer?”
Gibbs grunted. “You?”
“Second. Been a damn long day. Damn long two days, Jay.”
“Has been.” He snorted, the enigmatic smile on his face. “Was also thinkin’ more about the Miami op.”
“Figured.” Gibbs could hear the clink of a fork. “Which part?”
Gibbs just waited, knowing that Dwayne would catch on.
“Would not kill you to say somethin’, brother.” Dwayne chided.
“Might.” Gibbs chuckled, but sighed. He ran a hand down his face. “You know, it’s been a hell of a long time since Miami. Still can’t figure a damn thing out.”
“Ain’t much to figure out, unless it’s still naggin’ ya.” Dwayne sighed. “Though, I wouldn’t blame you if it was. Times definitely are not the same.”
“Still bugs me.”
“The one that got away.” Dwayne sounded somewhat wistful.
“Sounds like you’ve got your own damn story now.” Gibbs grinned, knowing it would needle his friend.
“Couple actually. As you say, it’s been a long damn time.” Dwayne must have stepped outside, because he could hear the door shut behind him, and the sounds of the city around him. “But that ain’t why you called.”
“Nope.” He drained his beer and set it down, and let the buzz of the alcohol warm his insides. “You notice somethin’ about Eva?”
“Was doin’ my damndest not to, honestly, but …” Dwayne paused. “Yeah. You figure the time is right?”
“Roughly, yeah.” Gibbs’ gut ached with the thought. “And the hair, of course.”
Now it was Dwayne’s turn to grunt assent. “Coulda been a bottle.”
“Coulda. Don’t think it was, though.” Gibbs rubbed at his chin, considering the possibility.
“Yeah.” Dwayne agreed.
“So, maybe, she wasn’t lyin?” Gibbs didn’t want to consider the ramifications of that.
“About that, maybe. The rest of it? Couldn’t tell ya. My meter for that’s as bad as it ever was.” Dwayne sounded rueful.
“Well you heard about the shit around Budd.”
“Hell yeah, I did. You got your damn fool self shot.” Gibbs rolled his eyes at Dwayne’s exclamation.
“You did too, asshole.”
“Brother, we are gettin’ too damn old for this shit.” His accent thickened, and Gibbs knew he was probably on a third beer. He was in the house, and it was after hours. The kids would watch his ass.
“Ain’t that the truth.” He stood to get another beer for himself. “I worry about you,” he offered quietly.
“Somethin’ else we got in common, Jarhead.”
“I’m gonna head downstairs and sand for awhile. Those screens go both ways, Dwayne. So does the damn phone.”
“Oui, oui,” Dwayne muttered. “You get some time off, you come down here. Make you up somma my gumbo.”
“When I do, yeah.” He frowned. With Jack gone, it’d be nice to find a place to go for time away. Strangely enough, he liked New Orleans. “Night, brother.”
“Au revoir, brother mine.”
Gibbs shut his phone, picked up his beer, and traipsed down the stairs, thinking about Russians, Miami, and Abby and her brother.