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We all knew Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Granite-faced, stoic, and ruled by Number 5, “Always have an exit.” He was a legend, a force of nature, and a walking, talking embodiment of naval discipline. Smiles? They were rarer than hen’s teeth. So, when it happened… well, let’s just say it was an event of seismic proportions at NCIS headquarters. That one time Gibbs actually smiled… it melted all of us.
The Case of the Purloined Puppy
The case itself was ridiculous. A prized poodle, owned by a rather influential Senator, had been dognapped. Usually, we’d pawn this off on a local PD, but political pressure (and the Senator’s considerable clout) landed it squarely on our desks. DiNozzo, naturally, was ecstatic, imagining himself rescuing a fluffy damsel and becoming a national hero. McGee, as always, dove into the technical aspects, tracing the ransom email to a (very) small-time crook operating out of a dilapidated bowling alley. Bishop, bless her heart, tried to find some sort of deeper conspiracy, while Torres just looked bored.
Gibbs, characteristically, was silent, observing. He assigned tasks, offered cryptic guidance (“Head slap the obvious”), and generally radiated an aura of simmering impatience. Days turned into a week, and the case was going nowhere. The poodle, Princess Fluffybutt the Third (I swear, that was her name), remained missing. The Senator was threatening congressional inquiries. Morale was low.
Then, Ducky made a breakthrough. During the (required) autopsy of a roadkill squirrel (don’t ask), he discovered traces of an expensive dog biscuit, the kind only available at a certain high-end pet boutique. McGee tracked the biscuit back to the bowling alley. Bingo.
The raid was swift and uneventful. The crook was a complete amateur, Princess Fluffybutt was unharmed, and the Senator was overjoyed. We returned to NCIS, relieved to have escaped the wrath of powerful people and fluffy dogs. Gibbs, however, remained unusually quiet.
The Unfolding
We were all gathered in the bullpen, winding down from the ordeal. DiNozzo was recounting the “epic” battle with the dognapper (he tripped over a bowling ball), McGee was nervously cleaning his desk, and Bishop and Torres were already arguing about the next case file. Gibbs stood at his desk, staring out the window.
Suddenly, a small yelp echoed through the office. Gibbs turned around, holding a tiny, white ball of fluff. Princess Fluffybutt the Third. Apparently, she had been so traumatized by the experience that she had attached herself to the first authority figure she saw. Gibbs.
He looked down at the trembling poodle, his face unreadable. Then, he did something that none of us could have predicted. He gently stroked her head.
The Smile
And then it happened. A slight upturn of the corners of his mouth. A crinkling around his eyes. A genuine, honest-to-goodness smile. It wasn’t a smirk, or a grimace, or a sardonic twist. It was a warm, soft, almost… tender smile.
The entire bullpen went silent. We were all staring, mouths agape. DiNozzo almost choked on his coffee. McGee dropped his keyboard. Bishop and Torres stopped arguing and looked at each other in stunned disbelief. It was like witnessing a solar eclipse, or the discovery of a new planet. An event of unparalleled rarity.
The smile lasted only a few seconds, but the impact was profound. The tension that had been building for days dissipated in an instant. The air felt lighter, warmer. Even the fluorescent lights seemed to shine a little brighter. It was as if the ice around Gibbs’s heart had momentarily thawed, revealing the warmth that he usually kept so carefully hidden.
He handed Princess Fluffybutt to the Senator’s awaiting staff, his expression returning to its usual stoicism. But the memory of that smile remained, a secret treasure shared by all who had witnessed it.
- It reminded us that even the toughest exterior could conceal a soft heart.
- It showed us that even the most disciplined individual could experience genuine joy.
- Most importantly, it reinforced the idea that even in the darkest of times, there is always room for a little bit of light.
We never spoke of it again, of course. But we all knew. We had seen the impossible. We had seen Gibbs smile… and it had melted all of us.
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