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Not Your Problem
Disclaimer: Don't own or claim rights to Buffy or NCIS
Notes: Written for 365 Drabbles, Prompt - The need to hit something
Oz cocked his head, but didn't smile. Somehow, he doubted it would be taken well. The older man looked rigidly furious, and Oz knew he was pissing the man off simply by his existence, let alone any ill-timed facial expressions. It wasn't his fault he was stuck in the middle of this brouhaha, but he didn't think that it would really matter to the senior investigator. He had a serious case of 'pissed off and needing to hit something.'
The fact that his case had a severe case of the supernaturals wasn't helping at all.
“It's not going to work,” Oz offered calmly.
Gibbs glared at him, and Oz knew it for a good glare. Giles, on occasion, could work up a good glare, usually when Xander had just made the mood-breaking quip, and just before everyone relaxed. He didn't think anyone would be relaxing just yet.
“Then what will?” Gibbs demanded.
“Nothing you have will work,” Oz explained simply. “It's not a problem you're equipped to deal with.”
Gibbs scowled. “So what are you? CIA? NSA?”
Oz shook his head. “I'm not from any agency you'd know about.” He smiled sweetly. “I'm just a guitarist with a fur problem. And cool friends, who've just fixed you're problem,” he added, turning to see a tall dark-haired man and a small red-haired woman wave to him.
“Fixed?” Gibbs growled.
“Yeah,” Oz smiled again. “Uh, nothing that you'll be able to take to court, sorry, but you won't have any more of those problems you've been having.”
“What. Are. You?” Gibbs snarled as he loomed over the smaller man.
Oz let his smile grow cold and his eyes change colour. He let his mouth drop open to show the lengthening canines. “Nothing you want to know about,” he growled softly. “Leave it at that.”
Gibbs stilled, then backed away. His need to do something, hit something, had drained away. He glanced at the couple approaching, now frowning at him. He looked back to the young … man in front of him, and nodded once before turning back to his team. With a peremptory gesture, he gathered them together and led them away.
“Oz, man,” Xander greeted. “Everything cool?”
“We're copacetic,” the werewolf nodded. “Let's motor.”
Notes: Written for 365 Drabbles, Prompt - The need to hit something
Oz cocked his head, but didn't smile. Somehow, he doubted it would be taken well. The older man looked rigidly furious, and Oz knew he was pissing the man off simply by his existence, let alone any ill-timed facial expressions. It wasn't his fault he was stuck in the middle of this brouhaha, but he didn't think that it would really matter to the senior investigator. He had a serious case of 'pissed off and needing to hit something.'
The fact that his case had a severe case of the supernaturals wasn't helping at all.
“It's not going to work,” Oz offered calmly.
Gibbs glared at him, and Oz knew it for a good glare. Giles, on occasion, could work up a good glare, usually when Xander had just made the mood-breaking quip, and just before everyone relaxed. He didn't think anyone would be relaxing just yet.
“Then what will?” Gibbs demanded.
“Nothing you have will work,” Oz explained simply. “It's not a problem you're equipped to deal with.”
Gibbs scowled. “So what are you? CIA? NSA?”
Oz shook his head. “I'm not from any agency you'd know about.” He smiled sweetly. “I'm just a guitarist with a fur problem. And cool friends, who've just fixed you're problem,” he added, turning to see a tall dark-haired man and a small red-haired woman wave to him.
“Fixed?” Gibbs growled.
“Yeah,” Oz smiled again. “Uh, nothing that you'll be able to take to court, sorry, but you won't have any more of those problems you've been having.”
“What. Are. You?” Gibbs snarled as he loomed over the smaller man.
Oz let his smile grow cold and his eyes change colour. He let his mouth drop open to show the lengthening canines. “Nothing you want to know about,” he growled softly. “Leave it at that.”
Gibbs stilled, then backed away. His need to do something, hit something, had drained away. He glanced at the couple approaching, now frowning at him. He looked back to the young … man in front of him, and nodded once before turning back to his team. With a peremptory gesture, he gathered them together and led them away.
“Oz, man,” Xander greeted. “Everything cool?”
“We're copacetic,” the werewolf nodded. “Let's motor.”