Challenge 11 - Picture Prompt Fanfiction
May. 14th, 2012 06:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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the_navy_yardTitle: Support
Author: sondheimmcgeek
Summary: A look through the eyes of an OC who provides much needed support to the team
Genre: General/Character Study
Word Count: 871
Picture:
People I know assume that my job is somehow more exciting because I work in the Navy Yard. They seem to think that every day brings a threat for catastrophe, with constant bomb threats, psychotic gunmen, and heroes crashing in to save the day. The truth, though, always disappoints them: the job is about as mundane as it gets. The men and women working in the Navy Yard order their coffee and I give it to them. The basic exchange of cash for goods is as dull here as it is anywhere. There have been a couple of bomb threats during my time working there, but that usually just results in everyone being ushered off the grounds and standing there until further notice. Unless you’re an agent, you aren’t likely to see much action.
The MCRT – unanimously dubbed Team Gibbs – comes in often, wanting to get their caffeine fix as they work. Sometimes they come together, sometimes they don’t. Sometimes they grab their order and rush out, sometimes they take a moment to sit and enjoy it. Sometimes Agent Gibbs is with them, though he usually isn’t. We don’t take this personally. Gibbs’ high standards for coffee are well known and he has a preferred source for getting it each morning. Our shop is generally a last resort when he can’t get to his usual place.
It’s an early Thursday morning as I am setting up to start my shift. The bell above the door jingles and I see them enter. McGee steps to the side, holding the door open for the others. Ziva gives him a polite smile for his efforts and enters first, followed by Tony and, surprisingly, Gibbs. I am already putting in their orders as they approach.
“One medium chamomile tea with honey, one large cappuccino with an extra shot of espresso, one large black coffee, and one medium latte with no foam and a shot of vanilla.”
McGee raises his eyebrows. “Not bad.”
“Well, it only took about a year for me to memorize your usual orders. Am I missing anything?”
“We’ll also need a medium caramel macchiato, a big gulp Caf-Pow since the machine is out, a large cup of hot water for Ducky’s tea,” says Tony, ticking the items off his list without missing a beat, “and about a dozen of those little brownie-looking things.” He points to a small pile of mini dark chocolate cakes in our pastry display case.
“Long night?” I ask after I send the orders down to my co-workers and begin putting together a box of their pastries.
“It was and it looks like it’s going to be again,” says Gibbs. Behind him I can see McGee rubbing his red eyes. The imprint on Tony’s cheek indicates that he probably slept atop his keyboard last night.
“Well, I’ll be here until 3:00,” I tell them as I grab the chamomile tea and hand it to Ziva. She accepts it with a smile of thanks. “If you need anything, just give me a call. I can deliver so you don’t have to make more trips down here.”
McGee takes his no-foam vanilla latte and requests one of the spinach and feta croissants as his stomach grumbles. He takes gentle sips, scrunching his eyes closed with each one as though willing the coffee to wake him up.
Gibbs accepts his black coffee and, with no additives, begins drinking it in large gulps. I’ve already got another one there waiting for him before the rest of their drink orders have arrived. You only need to suffer under his look once to know Gibbs doesn’t like it when he has no coffee on hand, especially after a particularly strenuous night.
I hand Tony his cappuccino, watching with amusement as he snatches up the nearby sugar canister and pours what looks like half of it into his cup. He also sneaks one of the mini cakes from the box, biting into it as though he hasn’t eaten in a day. Granted, it’s quite possible he hasn’t.
“If you’d like, I can have another round of drinks brought over around lunch, along with some salads and sandwiches,” I offered as I rang up the total. The MCRT had an open tab in our system, along with many of the other teams. Often times NCIS footed the bill for their purchases, a way of thanking their employees for going above and beyond in their work.
“You are a life saver,” Ziva says before taking a long sip of her drink.
“Nah, you guys save lives; I just provide the coffee.” I say this modestly, though inside I’m beaming with joy by the comment, as hyperbolic as it may have been. Despite the lack of excitement in my job, I like to think that I am a part of their work, however indirectly. I may not hold a gun or chase down bad guys, but I provide a kind of support to the people who do. I give them the sustenance to keep going when they feel ready to drop. I am one of the unseen and unacknowledged, my smallest tasks possibly having the greatest effects.
And, truth be told, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Author: sondheimmcgeek
Summary: A look through the eyes of an OC who provides much needed support to the team
Genre: General/Character Study
Word Count: 871
Picture:
People I know assume that my job is somehow more exciting because I work in the Navy Yard. They seem to think that every day brings a threat for catastrophe, with constant bomb threats, psychotic gunmen, and heroes crashing in to save the day. The truth, though, always disappoints them: the job is about as mundane as it gets. The men and women working in the Navy Yard order their coffee and I give it to them. The basic exchange of cash for goods is as dull here as it is anywhere. There have been a couple of bomb threats during my time working there, but that usually just results in everyone being ushered off the grounds and standing there until further notice. Unless you’re an agent, you aren’t likely to see much action.
The MCRT – unanimously dubbed Team Gibbs – comes in often, wanting to get their caffeine fix as they work. Sometimes they come together, sometimes they don’t. Sometimes they grab their order and rush out, sometimes they take a moment to sit and enjoy it. Sometimes Agent Gibbs is with them, though he usually isn’t. We don’t take this personally. Gibbs’ high standards for coffee are well known and he has a preferred source for getting it each morning. Our shop is generally a last resort when he can’t get to his usual place.
It’s an early Thursday morning as I am setting up to start my shift. The bell above the door jingles and I see them enter. McGee steps to the side, holding the door open for the others. Ziva gives him a polite smile for his efforts and enters first, followed by Tony and, surprisingly, Gibbs. I am already putting in their orders as they approach.
“One medium chamomile tea with honey, one large cappuccino with an extra shot of espresso, one large black coffee, and one medium latte with no foam and a shot of vanilla.”
McGee raises his eyebrows. “Not bad.”
“Well, it only took about a year for me to memorize your usual orders. Am I missing anything?”
“We’ll also need a medium caramel macchiato, a big gulp Caf-Pow since the machine is out, a large cup of hot water for Ducky’s tea,” says Tony, ticking the items off his list without missing a beat, “and about a dozen of those little brownie-looking things.” He points to a small pile of mini dark chocolate cakes in our pastry display case.
“Long night?” I ask after I send the orders down to my co-workers and begin putting together a box of their pastries.
“It was and it looks like it’s going to be again,” says Gibbs. Behind him I can see McGee rubbing his red eyes. The imprint on Tony’s cheek indicates that he probably slept atop his keyboard last night.
“Well, I’ll be here until 3:00,” I tell them as I grab the chamomile tea and hand it to Ziva. She accepts it with a smile of thanks. “If you need anything, just give me a call. I can deliver so you don’t have to make more trips down here.”
McGee takes his no-foam vanilla latte and requests one of the spinach and feta croissants as his stomach grumbles. He takes gentle sips, scrunching his eyes closed with each one as though willing the coffee to wake him up.
Gibbs accepts his black coffee and, with no additives, begins drinking it in large gulps. I’ve already got another one there waiting for him before the rest of their drink orders have arrived. You only need to suffer under his look once to know Gibbs doesn’t like it when he has no coffee on hand, especially after a particularly strenuous night.
I hand Tony his cappuccino, watching with amusement as he snatches up the nearby sugar canister and pours what looks like half of it into his cup. He also sneaks one of the mini cakes from the box, biting into it as though he hasn’t eaten in a day. Granted, it’s quite possible he hasn’t.
“If you’d like, I can have another round of drinks brought over around lunch, along with some salads and sandwiches,” I offered as I rang up the total. The MCRT had an open tab in our system, along with many of the other teams. Often times NCIS footed the bill for their purchases, a way of thanking their employees for going above and beyond in their work.
“You are a life saver,” Ziva says before taking a long sip of her drink.
“Nah, you guys save lives; I just provide the coffee.” I say this modestly, though inside I’m beaming with joy by the comment, as hyperbolic as it may have been. Despite the lack of excitement in my job, I like to think that I am a part of their work, however indirectly. I may not hold a gun or chase down bad guys, but I provide a kind of support to the people who do. I give them the sustenance to keep going when they feel ready to drop. I am one of the unseen and unacknowledged, my smallest tasks possibly having the greatest effects.
And, truth be told, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
no subject
Date: 2012-05-15 01:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-05-15 04:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-05-15 04:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-05-15 11:33 am (UTC)And the idea of "team" that reaches beyond the obvious team to the "support" people who work at the Navy Yard.
no subject
Date: 2012-05-15 04:33 pm (UTC)