#naval aviator!reader

The bar is loud behind you, it’s almost nine now, but the sun’s only just set and the whole squad was inside, everyone covered in salt and sand from the day spent at the beach. It had been a good day, but somehow, you knew the good was about to end.

“I’m really sorry,” he says again and your breath catches.

You’d met Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo during your station at Norfolk. You’d been sent there while on medical reserve. You worked on the Navy Yard, and when you think back, it’s probably because of your mom. She’d been close with a retired Marine Gunny turned Supervisory Special Agent in Charge, all because of your grandpa. The Gunny had a team there, and somehow, you’d gotten roped into spending some time with them while you recuperated. Physically able enough to be in the field, but not yet able to withstand sustained Gs. You’d enjoyed the stint, made friends with the team. You’d left NCIS better than you’d arrived, in more ways than one.

You’d bonded with Tony over pop culture references, and a quiet reverence for the Gunny. A new level to the respect you’d always had since you’d met him as a toddler.

“Tell me,” you force out.

Please don’t say it’s Gunny.

“It’s Franks,” he finally admits, and your knees go weak. “He’s dead, kid.”

“Oh shit, oh, fuck,” you huff out, trying to reign everything in.

That’s worse.

“Did anyone call my mom?” you ask, as your legs give out.

There’s a rolling wave of grief.

You grip tight to the railing as you try not to topple.

“Gibbs is calling her now,” he says quietly.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs had been in your life as long as you can remember. He’d filled the dad role often after your own had passed. You’d never really known him as a Gunny, but you did as Pop’s probie. You can’t imagine the silence that must’ve fallen over the NCIS building. But your thoughts are focused on Mike Franks. Your grandfather. There’d always been something about him, all old school, with his own sense of justice, too patriotic for his own good, it turned out. You hadn’t understood it then, but you saw how he changed after 9/11, and that was when you realized there was still so much to do. That was the reason you enlisted, he was.

You finally sit, as the grief rolls over you. You were not new to grief, you’d lived with it as a cloud almost your whole life, but this felt different. It wasn’t like when you’d lost your dad. You’d been too young, you think. All you really knew back then was you missed him, you were sad he was gone, disappointed that he’d never come home again.

You were okay though. You had your mom, you had pop, and you had Gibbs.

Gibbs who took you to the father daughter dance after pop got hurt on a case, and couldn’t take you like he’d promised. Gibbs who taught you how to drive manual when your mom decided she was not built to be the one to contend with you and the road. Makes sense, given you elected to pursue a career involving flying jets.

You’re struck with the realization that underneath the grief is an overwhelming sense of relief. It’s not Gunny, it’s not Tim, it’s not any of them. You want to puke as soon as you think it. Guilt gnawing at your insides. You loved your grandfather, but you’d been anticipating his death for a while now. So sure that all the cigarettes would finally catch up to him.

“Gadget?” His voice is strained, thank god it wasn’t Tony, either.

“Yeah,” you manage to choke out, from where you’re now sitting, one hand still grasping tight to the railing.

“It was the P2P,” and then there was anger.

“Son of a bitch,” you huff, and now there’s tears in your eyes. “He was supposed to be in Mexico,” you add on, because you’d just talked to him. “He was supposed to be done with this!”

You’d spoken with your grandfather just a few days ago, making plans to come down to Mexico when you had a short leave in a few weeks. You’d already booked your ticket.

“He only got here this morning, Gibbs called,” Tony adds on.

it goes quiet then. As if Tony’s not sure how to continue. and you become stuck in a contemplative silence.

…

“He picked my call sign,” you eventually say softly.

“What?” Tony asks, and you can imagine the frown.

“Pop, he.. uh… I loved cars, and taking things apart to learn how they worked. He was the one who called me inspector gadget as a kid. One of my instructors heard him call me Gadget during training on family weekend, and.. and then it was my official callsign.”

You don’t know why you’re telling him. You’d never told anybody that your grandfather was the one who coined Gadget, everyone who needed to know, did.

“I didn’t know that,” Tony admits, and you can hear the sad chuckle in his voice.

“I’ve never told anyone before,” you admit, sniffing.

“I’m really sorry, (y/n),” is all he offers.

You sniff and force yourself back to your feet. “Yeah,” you say in the absence of anything else. “Tell Gunny to call me when he can,” you decide.

“Yeah, but-” you don’t listen to the rest, ending the call.

You’re not sure how long you stayed like that, but it must’ve been too long because eventually someone came looking for you.

“Gadget?” it’s Hangman who calls your name. “You drink too much or something?” he muses coming closer.

It’s not until he can see your face that he realizes you’re crying, and the smirk is gone in a second. He drops down to be eye level and you continue to look past him and at the ocean.

“Gadget? Gadget, talk to me, what happened?” his voice had gone soft, one hand gently landing on your shoulder

“My grandfather’s dead,” you say, and god it hurts.

...

everything tags: @butterfly-skinnylegend