Flight 1362

Gibbs came to the conclusion that he hated airports. All of them.

Normally, he'd just flash his badge, walk on through and couldn't give a damn about anything else that went on.

Now, however, flashing his badge got him nothing - except a reprieve from a twitchy security guard around hour three. Honestly, you'd think no one had ever sat around the waiting lounge for a delayed flight before.

Around hour four and a half, he'd had to grudgingly agree with DiNozzo. NCIS needed their own jet. He could have found an excuse to head to LA, and picked Willow up there, instead of having her fly on her own.

Not that he didn't think she could do that - she was 23 for crying out loud. But he was still allowed to worry about her. He knew the multitude of ways even the simplest of tasks could go disastrously wrong, and hoped the delay was actual 'mechanical difficulties' and not just another way of saying 'someone looked shifty so all of LAX is in lockdown'.

The Marines had taught him patience, but this place was testing it.

He'd been tempted to go back home and wait to hear that her plane was actually in the air before coming back, but every new delay was 'they'll be here in another hour', only to find out they hadn't even left the ground, or as of the last announcement 'diverted to another airport'.

Gibbs' was surprised at how much patience he had, as normally he'd be working in to a fine rage right now, demanding answers and flashing his badge, but knowing how Willow would be both embarrassed and angry pulled him back every time. Well, when dealing with the airline people. The security guards were another matter altogether. After hour four, he'd passed his time by eyeballing the obvious newbies, and staring them down whenever they grew enough balls to look in his direction. The older ones, the ones who had the look of soldiers who'd seen combat, simply nodded in his direction and let him crank up the younger ones, to Gibbs' personal amusement.

The ringing of his cell phone drew his attention away from the arrivals board, which now had Willow's plan landing in ten minutes. The same thing it had been displaying for the last forty five minutes.

"This had better be important!" he snapped into the phone, not bothering to look at the caller ID. It was his day off, and nothing short of nuclear war was going to drag him away right now.

"Agent Gibbs." came a deep voice from the other end.

"Director Morrow." answered Gibbs, checking his tone of voice in the face of his superior's obvious bad mood. "I'm off today." he reminded him, having no plans to go in to work, no matter the case. Willow's arrival was more important.

"And you decided to spend intimidating airport security?" came the reprimand.

"No, sir. That's just a bonus."

"Jethro..."

"I'm waiting for someone." Gibbs offered in the face of the warning.

"Business or personal?"

"Personal."

"How late is the flight?" Morrow asked, and Gibbs knew he was off the hook.

"Seven hours and twenty seven minutes, sir."

"Right. Well, enjoy the rest of your day off. And Agent Gibbs...?"

"Yes, sir?"

"I don't want any more calls from the head of airport security. We have enough inter-agency feuds without adding the locals in to the mix."

"Understood." replied Gibbs before hanging up, hoping that the plane would get here already.

The magazines at the newstand were starting to look interesting, and he wanted to be long gone before he had to shoot himself for giving in and spending money on that crap.

He was really craving a coffee, too, but finding a good cup of coffee in this airport had the same odds as a flight actually arriving on time. What kind of airport doesn't have a Starbucks, anyways?

Glancing at the arrivals board again, Gibbs noticed that the plane had arrived - five minutes ago. Couldn't they find competent people to work for the airlines?

Standing up, he scanned the crowd until he saw a familiar red head moving towards him.

Meeting Willow's smiling face, Gibbs decided the seven and a half hour wait was worth it.

END

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