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rainbowfic2020-01-29 09:30 am
ilthit) wrote in rainbowfic2020-01-29 09:30 am
Entry tags:
Canary Yellow #9: Gibbs (The Quality of Mercy)
Name: Gibbs
Story: The Quality of Mercy (Peccadillo Parlour)
Colors: Canary Yellow #9: The peculiarity of prudery is to multiply sentinels, in proportion as the fortress is less threatened.
Supplies and Styles: n/a
Word Count: 350
Rating: general
Warnings: None.
Summary: Pru asks for leave.
"You haven't taken vacation in all the time you've been with us, have you?"
"About time, then."
Pru had gone to Gibbs for this. Who else? She was tired of allowing Violet's fury to shred her, and Gordon was in Hawaii for the month.
Gibbs' white hair shivered in the dim light as he took off his spectacles and wiped them on his tie. If Gordon was an 80s relic, Gibbs was an antique. "Look," he grunted, "I don't like faff." That was one of his favourite words, picked up sometime overseas and used as casually as if everybody spoke dialectic British. "Stuff and nonsense. You always struck me as the kinda girl who sticks to getting the job done. I guess I was wrong."
Pru nodded slowly. "I suppose I did get caught up in the drama. I need to clear my head."
"Mm." Gibbs placed his glasses carefully back on his nose. What a fucking power move. Pru felt a desperate twitch of affection, though the always-watching part of her suspected she was simply desperate for anyone to not hate her guts. "And Boston's got a bit hot for you, hasn't it?"
Pru shifted. "Faces need saving--"
"Go. Take it. Fuck 'em. It's your life." His voice wheezed on the curse. "They'll make you think the job is everything, like it's your only friend. It's not your friend. It's nothing." Gibbs leveled her with a watery gaze, and Pru suddenly saw the weight of his age. Even giants wore down with time.
She nodded. "I will. Thanks."
"Pour me a whisky before you go."
Pru did, without feeling the sting of resentment she might have if it had been Gordon, with his winks and swagger and fingers clearly itching to tickle. She might even have kissed him on the top of that fuzzy white head, but her courage had been thoroughly spent in the past few weeks, and she contented herself with placing the glass in front of him with special reverence.
The rest was all email, and most of it to HR. And then...
And then what?
Story: The Quality of Mercy (Peccadillo Parlour)
Colors: Canary Yellow #9: The peculiarity of prudery is to multiply sentinels, in proportion as the fortress is less threatened.
Supplies and Styles: n/a
Word Count: 350
Rating: general
Warnings: None.
Summary: Pru asks for leave.
"You haven't taken vacation in all the time you've been with us, have you?"
"About time, then."
Pru had gone to Gibbs for this. Who else? She was tired of allowing Violet's fury to shred her, and Gordon was in Hawaii for the month.
Gibbs' white hair shivered in the dim light as he took off his spectacles and wiped them on his tie. If Gordon was an 80s relic, Gibbs was an antique. "Look," he grunted, "I don't like faff." That was one of his favourite words, picked up sometime overseas and used as casually as if everybody spoke dialectic British. "Stuff and nonsense. You always struck me as the kinda girl who sticks to getting the job done. I guess I was wrong."
Pru nodded slowly. "I suppose I did get caught up in the drama. I need to clear my head."
"Mm." Gibbs placed his glasses carefully back on his nose. What a fucking power move. Pru felt a desperate twitch of affection, though the always-watching part of her suspected she was simply desperate for anyone to not hate her guts. "And Boston's got a bit hot for you, hasn't it?"
Pru shifted. "Faces need saving--"
"Go. Take it. Fuck 'em. It's your life." His voice wheezed on the curse. "They'll make you think the job is everything, like it's your only friend. It's not your friend. It's nothing." Gibbs leveled her with a watery gaze, and Pru suddenly saw the weight of his age. Even giants wore down with time.
She nodded. "I will. Thanks."
"Pour me a whisky before you go."
Pru did, without feeling the sting of resentment she might have if it had been Gordon, with his winks and swagger and fingers clearly itching to tickle. She might even have kissed him on the top of that fuzzy white head, but her courage had been thoroughly spent in the past few weeks, and she contented herself with placing the glass in front of him with special reverence.
The rest was all email, and most of it to HR. And then...
And then what?
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Also, Pru felt a desperate twitch of affection, though the always-watching part of her suspected she was simply desperate for anyone to not hate her guts. This line is WAY too relatable.
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