DISCLAIMER: NCIS and its characters are the property of CBS, no infringement intended.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
Boys of Summer
By Geonn
He straightened his spine, kicking his heel into the dirt of the mound as he sized up his opponent. The FBI guy was rolling his shoulders, choking up on the bat, glaring at DiNozzo from beneath the brim of his cap. "Thinks he's gonna make me look like a fool," Tony chuckled to himself. "Thinks he's gonna walk this, make an easy run." He laughed, looked over each shoulder and then rolled his own shoulders. "I almost feel bad for the guy."
Sixty-point-five feet away, however, the FBI guy was focusing on something besides the arrogant pitcher standing on the mound. The catcher was casually speaking about the history of baseball in America. "The game as we know it today wasn't even in existence in the early twentieth century. In Ty Cobb's era, the game was much more aggressive and the scores, my, they were a fraction of today's overtime 100-to-150 debacles. In fact, it was George Herman Ruth who--"
The ball smacked into Ducky's glove, causing the FBI player to slam the bat into the base. Ducky looked at the ball as if confused as to where it had come from. "Ah," he said, rising from his crouch to return the ball to DiNozzo. To the batter, he said, "Might I suggest you take out some of that aggression on the ball next time?"
The player growled and tightened his grip on the bat, most likely imagining it was a certain bespectacled catcher. Ducky merely smirked and resumed his stance. "Where was I? Oh, yes, George Herman Ruth... colloquially known as 'the Babe,' the Great Bambino..."
On second base, one of the agents was hunkered down, hands on his thighs, anticipating a steal to third. He licked his lips, looked to first base, looked at the pitcher. As the muscles in his thighs tensed, the player manning second said, "Don't."
He looked over his shoulder. NCIS Special Agent Gibbs was standing a few inches behind second base, arms crossed over his chest, squinting towards the pitcher's mound. He elaborated, "Don't do it, son."
The FBI agent relaxed and moved back a step, planting his foot back on second. Gibbs hid a smirk.
McGee moved back and forth in a shuffling dance at the shortstop position, slapping his hands together loudly. "Hey, batt-ah, hey, batt-ah, hey, batt-"
"Mah-Gee!"
"Sorry, boss!" McGee said, straightening his spine and clapping a bit more sedately. He pushed his cap higher on his forehead and lifted his voice to Gibbs. "Did Kate or Abby ever show up, boss?"
"Nope."
"You worried?"
Gibbs shrugged his shoulders. "Nah."
Kate smiled, reaching up with both hands to push the hair out of her face. She smiled, licking her lips and chuckling, "We're going to miss the entire game."
"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" Abby asked, the vibrations of her voice doing wicked things to Kate's body. They were stretched out in the back of Abby's station wagon, protected from prying eyes by quilts over the windows. Abby kissed her way up Kate's body.
"Game?" Kate replied. "What game?"
"Good answer," Abby whispered huskily. She nipped at the skin of Kate's neck and said, "How many innings are left, anyway?"
Kate lifted her head, looking towards the window and trying to listen. "I think... four."
Abby smiled evilly and started back down Kate's body. "Hey, batter, batter, batter..."
Kate looked at the ceiling and gasped when Abby reached her destination. "Oh, suh-wing, batter," she groaned, arching her back. She had a new, personal national pastime.
Both games went into overtime.
The End