Keryl Raist's Blog, page 25
August 18, 2013
Shards To A Whole: Chapter 169
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 169: But How Do You Get It Out?
The BasementThe whole crew showed up for Bootcamp. Granted, it got moved to Sunday so Tim could have an extra day of laying around and healing (and he's had strict instructions from Ducky that if he starts to feel dizzy or shaky that he is to sit his butt down and not move again) but it seemed like everyone wanted to see/be involved with how boats get moved out of the basement.
Which means this is going to go a whole lot faster than Gibbs anticipated. It's a three day job when he's on his own. This time he's got six other people helping. (With Ducky providing babysitting assistance so Jimmy and Breena can help with the teardown.)
Most of the outside of Gibbs' house is stucco and half timbers. That is, until you head down the driveway to what used to be the garage doors. There's ten foot high wood siding there, and that's the first job of the teardown.
Get the crowbars out and take off that siding. It's not particularly difficult work: set bar, apply pressure, move bar, apply pressure, siding falls off. It just takes a while. Or it would if there weren't seven people doing it.
He's a little wary about Abby helping out, but she seems to want to do it, and Tim's not bothered, and Jimmy just shrugs when he looks to him, with a question on his face, so he hands her a crowbar, and they get to it. And a job that normally takes him a full half day was done in an hour.
Gibbs makes a mental note that the next time he does this he is definitely dragging them all along to help. At this rate they'll have Shannon out by lunch, and might actually have the wall back up by dinner.
The next part is his favorite. It's true that Gibbs values and loves creating. Precision work takes him out of his own head and into the job in front of him and that's often something he needs. But just beating the ever living hell out of something and breaking it to pieces is a lot of fun.
And that's the next step. Sledge hammers out, and rip that wall down.
So, as soon as they had all of the siding tossed into dumpster, he was really grinning, holding a sledge hammer, ready for some fun. Gibbs took a good hard swing at the wall, demonstrating what they're supposed to be doing, and the rest of his crew followed.
He turned to watch them and saw something that stopped him cold and made his eyes narrow into the Gibbs stare of death. He took three steps and gently, for the first time ever, smacked Abby upside the back of the head.
"No."
Abby gives him a big, innocent smile and says, "What?"
Gibbs shook his head. Prying off siding was one thing; this was something all-together different. "No. Mudding, sanding, laying insulation, you're more than welcome to help with any of that. But I've seen those two fight, and you are not going anywhere near them swinging anything heavy around."
Abby knows bullshit when she hears it. If Tim and Jimmy's aim was really that bad, Ziva and Breena wouldn't be allowed nearby, either. Or more likely, the rest of the group wouldn't have been invited along to help, and they'd be well away from each other, beating on the wall.
"You're afraid I'm going to hurt myself."
Gibbs' expression is a very clear yes.
"I'm not going to get hurt," she says it like it's the most obvious thing ever.
"Because you're going to put that hammer down."
Abby glares at Gibbs.
He looks to Jimmy and asks, "Dr. Palmer, is Abby swinging around a sledge hammer eighteen weeks pregnant a good idea?"
"No. It's not a horrible one or anything, but it's not a great one either." Jimmy turns to Abby. "Come on, you know just as well as I do that if it's something you do regularly it's okay, but no one wants a pregnant woman suddenly adding new strenuous exercise to her routine. Hell, they don't even want you to start jogging if you don't do it regularly, and unless this is way easier than I'm expecting it to be, it's going to be a lot harder than jogging"
She glares at Jimmy and Tim, too. Tim holds up his hands placatingly and says, "I didn't say anything."
"Uh huh. You were thinking it."
"Yes. But you can't prove it." He smiles, takes the hammer from her, and says very quietly, "All your favorite guys doing sweaty, manly stuff. Breena and Ziva'll be too focused on carpentry to enjoy it, but you'll get to watch. It'll be fun."
She thinks about that for a moment, and replies, equally quietly, "True. Take your shirt off?"
He debates that. If it was just the two of them… okay, yeah it's cold out, but if it avoids pouting, he'd do it. But it's not just the two of them, seeing the others staring at them, trying to figure out what he's saying to her, he's suddenly very aware of the fact that Gibbs reads lips. "Not now. Maybe later, if I get hot enough."She pouts, very well aware of the fact that it's the first weekend of March and the expected high for today is 50. There's literally no chance at all that Tim'll feel so hot he'll take more than his jacket off.
He kisses her ear and whispers against it. "But no matter what, I'll tell you a great story about it tonight."
"Okay." She retreats to Gibbs' car and sits on the hood. "You guys want music with this?"
"We won't be able to hear it," Jimmy says.
"Stop trying to talk that wall down." Gibb picks up his hammer, swings, and starts the tear down.
There is one tricky bit of tearing this wall down. While it's true it's not load bearing, it's also true that his house doesn't exactly appreciate having one of the walls just vanish. There's supposed to be a supporting beam in what would be the space between the garage doors.
So, the last bit down is that beam. It gets ripped out really fast. Usually he hooks the boat to the hitch on his car, and pulls it out, but with this many people, since she's already on wheels, it'll be faster to just push her out by hand.
And they do.
Then a new one of those beams goes back up again, along with four others to make sure everything is nice and solid.
And they break for lunch.
Framing is when this officially becomes bootcamp for Jimmy and Tim. Sure the last three hours have been good exercise, everyone can feel they've been working and they're nicely warmed up.
The girls and Tony get sent to shop for/start on dinner (chili and cornbread) while Gibbs grabs his framing hammer, two back up ones, and a whole lot of nails. The three of them are going to do this together. He wants Tim and Jimmy to have a lot of room to work, and he wants to be able to watch and focus on what they're doing.
"Here's where precision comes in. I want both of you to sink those nails with two hits. One to set it." And Gibbs gave his nail a little tap, just enough to get the tip into the wood and let it stand up. "And one to drive it home." And then he whacked it dead on, setting it smooth into the wood. He hands both of them hammers and nails. "Show me what you've got."
And they've got the kind of skills you'd expect guys who haven't actually hammered a nail into wood since they took shop in seventh grade to have. Namely, they're bad at it. (Tim's muttering under his breath about why couldn't they be wiring something.)
But Gibbs has time, and patience, and, well, a lot of lumber. He's using a framing hammer and connecting the studs to the headers. They've got siding rescued from the dumpster. He'll secure a stud, hearing the sound of hammers hitting wood, nicking nails, quiet swearing in both Tim and Jimmy's voices, and the occasional sweet sound of a solid, dead-on hit, then circle over to see how they're doing.
Like any other precision work, it's just a matter of form and practice. So he keeps showing them the right way to do it, and letting them do it over and over. Eventually, they'll get it.
He's got the first half of the wall almost finished when he realizes he's hearing a whole lot less hammers hitting wood and a whole lot more solid hits. So he finishes with the stud he was working on, and turns to watch the guys work.
Much better. Sure, he wouldn't want to live in a house built by either of them or anything, but they're creeping up on competent, so it's time to get them working on the wall.
"Time to join the major league." They both look up, and at him, and the large wooden rectangle on the basement floor. "First thing first, we pick this one up, and screw it into the floor, nail it into the ceiling. Then we frame the second half."
It's heavy. Not insanely heavy, but not easy to move around either, and it's half a wall so it's not exactly conveniently shaped for easy maneuverability, but between the three of them getting it manhandled into place isn't a problem. Tim's keeping it steady (because he's the tallest) while Gibbs nails it to the ceiling and Jimmy screws it to the floor.
"How do you do this by yourself?" Jimmy asks Gibbs.
"Build 'em in smaller sections on my own."
"So why is Tony up with the girls? He already know how to drive a nail?" Jimmy asks as he places another screw.
"Keeping an eye on two of you is enough. Plus he and Ziva make really good chili."
"Good point," Tim says. "Also, good for us. I talked to my cousin, so I can get us last minute March Madness Tickets, and apparently they've even got a game that's being hosted by Ohio State this year, and one at UNC which is closer to us. What we can't do is get tickets to the final four games because they're April 6th and 7th and Ziva would be really pissed if we pre-empted their honeymoon for his bachelor party."
Jimmy's nodding at that. Gibbs is staring at them, still a step behind.
Jimmy sees the stare. "Breena noticed that Ohio State made March Madness this year and suggested that if we could get tickets to one of the games, preferably one they were playing in, Tony would probably like that."
"And since we're kind of out of non-sex bachelor party ideas that he'd like, I jumped on that as soon as Jimmy mentioned it."
"What dates do you have?" Jimmy asks.
"UNC and Ohio State are both on the 20th. So… it's just a matter of guessing where his team might be, if they make it, or deciding to just go for Ohio State and spend a night with Tony reliving his glory days?"
Gibbs answered that one. "No. I almost strangled him the first time he was going on and on about spring break and college. Get the North Carolina tickets."
Tim took out his phone and started texting.
"You know…" Jimmy said, "Chapel Hill is actually under our jurisdiction. If there were a fictional dead sailor down there, he'd believe it. I bet Vance would let you take the van for the night, especially if there wasn't an actual active case. I could meet you guys there. He wouldn't know what was going on until we got there. Might be a cool surprise."
Tim smiles, he likes that, but he's not sure about Gibbs. Gibbs just nods, looking satisfied. Which was when they heard the car pull back into the driveway. Tony and the girls were back with ingredients and ready to get cooking. Meanwhile, they had half a wall left to frame.
The second half of the wall went faster than the first. Even with Tim and Jimmy not being expert carpenters by any stretch of anyone's imagination, three men framing is still faster than one.
Once they got the studs up Tony and Breena joined them for putting up the particle board. Tim enjoys watching Gibbs' face as he sees that Breena actually knows what to do with a drill and is better than any of the guys with one.
Because she's so cute and traditionally feminine it's easy to miss that Breena Palmer was a tomboy. Sure she liked dresses and long hair and cute makeup and pretty nails, but she also liked spending time with her daddy hunting, building things, and eventually working the family business. And while it's true that Ed's not much fun to be around, it's also true that he has three daughters and he was bound and determined that they'd be able to do anything they ever needed to do for themselves. So his girls can do everything from sew on a button to change the oil in their cars, to cook a tasty meal to rewire a fuse box.
She's screwing the particle board to the studs, hands sure and steady, and Gibbs just watches and smiles, a very pleased look on his face. Tim realizes that Breena looks a little like Kelly might have if she had grown up, and was about the right age, a little young, but not too much. He wonders if Kelly had a similar personality to Breena.
They'd just about gotten the particle board up when Gibbs asks her, "You know how to put up drywall?"
"Yep."
"Insulation?"
"Sure. Maybe if Vance ever lets all of you out of DC again, you can come to the Outer Banks with us and see the house I helped build."
"Your dad built that house?" Tim asks, stunned.
"My dad, my mom, my grandparents, two uncles, their wives, me, my sisters Amy, Beth, and Jill, my cousins Seth, Wes, Ben, and John, whole family did it. Did the same thing with the place in Tennessee and the one in Maine. My dad and uncles bought land in their favorite vacation spots, and then they helped each other build houses on them. All three of them use the houses, but the Outer Banks one is Dad's, the Knoxville one is Uncle Todd's, and the one in Maine is Uncle Alvin's."
Gibbs nods, looking like his estimation of Ed Slater and the rest of his family just hopped up about six notches. "Good, take Tony, grab Abby and Ziva, and head in. I'll get these two finishing up out here and join you in a few minutes."
Finishing up meant tacking up Tyvek sheeting. Tim took a bit longer on it than was strictly necessary.
"It doesn't take that long to staple up insulation," Jimmy said, noticing the lack of speed on Tim's half of the job.
"I know. But have you ever put up insulation before?"
"No."
"Not fun. Unless you enjoy picking hundreds of tiny glass splinters out of your skin, take a little longer and let them do it."
"Good point."
"I think Jethro just fell in love with your wife."
Jimmy smiles. "I was noticing that. I don't think I've ever seen him look so happy as he did when he handed her the drill and didn't have to explain how to use it."
Tim laughs a little, very slowly and carefully places the staple gun, and finishes the Tyvek.
"And we've taken as long as we can on this."
So they headed inside. Inside Gibbs' house smelled great: warm, meaty, spicy. Tim doesn't even really like chili, and his mouth is watering at the smell.
"I hope they made a ton of that," Jimmy says as they head to the basement.
"Oh yeah."
Five people make really fast work of insulating a twenty foot wall. They were done with it and putting up the drywall by the time Tim and Jimmy joined them.
Gibbs and Tony are holding the drywall in place, and the girls are on screw driving duty. Gibbs looks over his shoulder at them and flashes his, took you long enough look at Tim and Jimmy. Jimmy shrugs. Tim smiles.
They both head over and get to work.
"So, once you get her done, what are you going to do with her?" Breena asks Jethro as they all sit down for dinner.
Jethro shrugs. His original plan was to use Shannon as a way to deal with retirement. Hand in his badge and get off land for a few months, but retirement starts in January, and he's fairly sure he's not going to want to be away for months at a time.
"No set plans, yet."
"Island hopping? New beach every week?" Abby asks.
"Maybe." Gibbs nods at that, beaches sound good.
"Be a good way to get out of the cold and snow," Tim adds.
He nods at that, too, he's not exactly a fan of winter these days. But finding a beach somewhere with a little shack and a cantina within easy walking distance brings back too many memories of Mike. He's good with alone, but that's not something he wants to do alone. And it's hitting him that he doesn't want to be alone, not for months or weeks at a time.
"Might look for a place on the Potomac, maybe the James, or the Chesapeake."
"Closer to home," Ducky says with a smile. His own post-retirement plans have shifted with the addition of Molly to his life.
"Yeah, Duck." He stroked Molly's cheek. She was happily tearing through the corn bread. Then he turned to Abby and gently laid his hand on her belly. "Got some girls who might want to learn to sail. And since it turns out you lot aren't hopeless with carpentry, maybe getting a place on the water is something we could do..."
Next
Chapter 169: But How Do You Get It Out?
The BasementThe whole crew showed up for Bootcamp. Granted, it got moved to Sunday so Tim could have an extra day of laying around and healing (and he's had strict instructions from Ducky that if he starts to feel dizzy or shaky that he is to sit his butt down and not move again) but it seemed like everyone wanted to see/be involved with how boats get moved out of the basement.Which means this is going to go a whole lot faster than Gibbs anticipated. It's a three day job when he's on his own. This time he's got six other people helping. (With Ducky providing babysitting assistance so Jimmy and Breena can help with the teardown.)
Most of the outside of Gibbs' house is stucco and half timbers. That is, until you head down the driveway to what used to be the garage doors. There's ten foot high wood siding there, and that's the first job of the teardown.
Get the crowbars out and take off that siding. It's not particularly difficult work: set bar, apply pressure, move bar, apply pressure, siding falls off. It just takes a while. Or it would if there weren't seven people doing it.
He's a little wary about Abby helping out, but she seems to want to do it, and Tim's not bothered, and Jimmy just shrugs when he looks to him, with a question on his face, so he hands her a crowbar, and they get to it. And a job that normally takes him a full half day was done in an hour.
Gibbs makes a mental note that the next time he does this he is definitely dragging them all along to help. At this rate they'll have Shannon out by lunch, and might actually have the wall back up by dinner.
The next part is his favorite. It's true that Gibbs values and loves creating. Precision work takes him out of his own head and into the job in front of him and that's often something he needs. But just beating the ever living hell out of something and breaking it to pieces is a lot of fun.
And that's the next step. Sledge hammers out, and rip that wall down.
So, as soon as they had all of the siding tossed into dumpster, he was really grinning, holding a sledge hammer, ready for some fun. Gibbs took a good hard swing at the wall, demonstrating what they're supposed to be doing, and the rest of his crew followed.
He turned to watch them and saw something that stopped him cold and made his eyes narrow into the Gibbs stare of death. He took three steps and gently, for the first time ever, smacked Abby upside the back of the head.
"No."
Abby gives him a big, innocent smile and says, "What?"
Gibbs shook his head. Prying off siding was one thing; this was something all-together different. "No. Mudding, sanding, laying insulation, you're more than welcome to help with any of that. But I've seen those two fight, and you are not going anywhere near them swinging anything heavy around."
Abby knows bullshit when she hears it. If Tim and Jimmy's aim was really that bad, Ziva and Breena wouldn't be allowed nearby, either. Or more likely, the rest of the group wouldn't have been invited along to help, and they'd be well away from each other, beating on the wall.
"You're afraid I'm going to hurt myself."
Gibbs' expression is a very clear yes.
"I'm not going to get hurt," she says it like it's the most obvious thing ever.
"Because you're going to put that hammer down."
Abby glares at Gibbs.
He looks to Jimmy and asks, "Dr. Palmer, is Abby swinging around a sledge hammer eighteen weeks pregnant a good idea?"
"No. It's not a horrible one or anything, but it's not a great one either." Jimmy turns to Abby. "Come on, you know just as well as I do that if it's something you do regularly it's okay, but no one wants a pregnant woman suddenly adding new strenuous exercise to her routine. Hell, they don't even want you to start jogging if you don't do it regularly, and unless this is way easier than I'm expecting it to be, it's going to be a lot harder than jogging"
She glares at Jimmy and Tim, too. Tim holds up his hands placatingly and says, "I didn't say anything."
"Uh huh. You were thinking it."
"Yes. But you can't prove it." He smiles, takes the hammer from her, and says very quietly, "All your favorite guys doing sweaty, manly stuff. Breena and Ziva'll be too focused on carpentry to enjoy it, but you'll get to watch. It'll be fun."
She thinks about that for a moment, and replies, equally quietly, "True. Take your shirt off?"
He debates that. If it was just the two of them… okay, yeah it's cold out, but if it avoids pouting, he'd do it. But it's not just the two of them, seeing the others staring at them, trying to figure out what he's saying to her, he's suddenly very aware of the fact that Gibbs reads lips. "Not now. Maybe later, if I get hot enough."She pouts, very well aware of the fact that it's the first weekend of March and the expected high for today is 50. There's literally no chance at all that Tim'll feel so hot he'll take more than his jacket off.
He kisses her ear and whispers against it. "But no matter what, I'll tell you a great story about it tonight."
"Okay." She retreats to Gibbs' car and sits on the hood. "You guys want music with this?"
"We won't be able to hear it," Jimmy says.
"Stop trying to talk that wall down." Gibb picks up his hammer, swings, and starts the tear down.
There is one tricky bit of tearing this wall down. While it's true it's not load bearing, it's also true that his house doesn't exactly appreciate having one of the walls just vanish. There's supposed to be a supporting beam in what would be the space between the garage doors.
So, the last bit down is that beam. It gets ripped out really fast. Usually he hooks the boat to the hitch on his car, and pulls it out, but with this many people, since she's already on wheels, it'll be faster to just push her out by hand.
And they do.
Then a new one of those beams goes back up again, along with four others to make sure everything is nice and solid.
And they break for lunch.
Framing is when this officially becomes bootcamp for Jimmy and Tim. Sure the last three hours have been good exercise, everyone can feel they've been working and they're nicely warmed up.
The girls and Tony get sent to shop for/start on dinner (chili and cornbread) while Gibbs grabs his framing hammer, two back up ones, and a whole lot of nails. The three of them are going to do this together. He wants Tim and Jimmy to have a lot of room to work, and he wants to be able to watch and focus on what they're doing.
"Here's where precision comes in. I want both of you to sink those nails with two hits. One to set it." And Gibbs gave his nail a little tap, just enough to get the tip into the wood and let it stand up. "And one to drive it home." And then he whacked it dead on, setting it smooth into the wood. He hands both of them hammers and nails. "Show me what you've got."
And they've got the kind of skills you'd expect guys who haven't actually hammered a nail into wood since they took shop in seventh grade to have. Namely, they're bad at it. (Tim's muttering under his breath about why couldn't they be wiring something.)
But Gibbs has time, and patience, and, well, a lot of lumber. He's using a framing hammer and connecting the studs to the headers. They've got siding rescued from the dumpster. He'll secure a stud, hearing the sound of hammers hitting wood, nicking nails, quiet swearing in both Tim and Jimmy's voices, and the occasional sweet sound of a solid, dead-on hit, then circle over to see how they're doing.
Like any other precision work, it's just a matter of form and practice. So he keeps showing them the right way to do it, and letting them do it over and over. Eventually, they'll get it.
He's got the first half of the wall almost finished when he realizes he's hearing a whole lot less hammers hitting wood and a whole lot more solid hits. So he finishes with the stud he was working on, and turns to watch the guys work.
Much better. Sure, he wouldn't want to live in a house built by either of them or anything, but they're creeping up on competent, so it's time to get them working on the wall.
"Time to join the major league." They both look up, and at him, and the large wooden rectangle on the basement floor. "First thing first, we pick this one up, and screw it into the floor, nail it into the ceiling. Then we frame the second half."
It's heavy. Not insanely heavy, but not easy to move around either, and it's half a wall so it's not exactly conveniently shaped for easy maneuverability, but between the three of them getting it manhandled into place isn't a problem. Tim's keeping it steady (because he's the tallest) while Gibbs nails it to the ceiling and Jimmy screws it to the floor.
"How do you do this by yourself?" Jimmy asks Gibbs.
"Build 'em in smaller sections on my own."
"So why is Tony up with the girls? He already know how to drive a nail?" Jimmy asks as he places another screw.
"Keeping an eye on two of you is enough. Plus he and Ziva make really good chili."
"Good point," Tim says. "Also, good for us. I talked to my cousin, so I can get us last minute March Madness Tickets, and apparently they've even got a game that's being hosted by Ohio State this year, and one at UNC which is closer to us. What we can't do is get tickets to the final four games because they're April 6th and 7th and Ziva would be really pissed if we pre-empted their honeymoon for his bachelor party."
Jimmy's nodding at that. Gibbs is staring at them, still a step behind.
Jimmy sees the stare. "Breena noticed that Ohio State made March Madness this year and suggested that if we could get tickets to one of the games, preferably one they were playing in, Tony would probably like that."
"And since we're kind of out of non-sex bachelor party ideas that he'd like, I jumped on that as soon as Jimmy mentioned it."
"What dates do you have?" Jimmy asks.
"UNC and Ohio State are both on the 20th. So… it's just a matter of guessing where his team might be, if they make it, or deciding to just go for Ohio State and spend a night with Tony reliving his glory days?"
Gibbs answered that one. "No. I almost strangled him the first time he was going on and on about spring break and college. Get the North Carolina tickets."
Tim took out his phone and started texting.
"You know…" Jimmy said, "Chapel Hill is actually under our jurisdiction. If there were a fictional dead sailor down there, he'd believe it. I bet Vance would let you take the van for the night, especially if there wasn't an actual active case. I could meet you guys there. He wouldn't know what was going on until we got there. Might be a cool surprise."
Tim smiles, he likes that, but he's not sure about Gibbs. Gibbs just nods, looking satisfied. Which was when they heard the car pull back into the driveway. Tony and the girls were back with ingredients and ready to get cooking. Meanwhile, they had half a wall left to frame.
The second half of the wall went faster than the first. Even with Tim and Jimmy not being expert carpenters by any stretch of anyone's imagination, three men framing is still faster than one.
Once they got the studs up Tony and Breena joined them for putting up the particle board. Tim enjoys watching Gibbs' face as he sees that Breena actually knows what to do with a drill and is better than any of the guys with one.
Because she's so cute and traditionally feminine it's easy to miss that Breena Palmer was a tomboy. Sure she liked dresses and long hair and cute makeup and pretty nails, but she also liked spending time with her daddy hunting, building things, and eventually working the family business. And while it's true that Ed's not much fun to be around, it's also true that he has three daughters and he was bound and determined that they'd be able to do anything they ever needed to do for themselves. So his girls can do everything from sew on a button to change the oil in their cars, to cook a tasty meal to rewire a fuse box.
She's screwing the particle board to the studs, hands sure and steady, and Gibbs just watches and smiles, a very pleased look on his face. Tim realizes that Breena looks a little like Kelly might have if she had grown up, and was about the right age, a little young, but not too much. He wonders if Kelly had a similar personality to Breena.
They'd just about gotten the particle board up when Gibbs asks her, "You know how to put up drywall?"
"Yep."
"Insulation?"
"Sure. Maybe if Vance ever lets all of you out of DC again, you can come to the Outer Banks with us and see the house I helped build."
"Your dad built that house?" Tim asks, stunned.
"My dad, my mom, my grandparents, two uncles, their wives, me, my sisters Amy, Beth, and Jill, my cousins Seth, Wes, Ben, and John, whole family did it. Did the same thing with the place in Tennessee and the one in Maine. My dad and uncles bought land in their favorite vacation spots, and then they helped each other build houses on them. All three of them use the houses, but the Outer Banks one is Dad's, the Knoxville one is Uncle Todd's, and the one in Maine is Uncle Alvin's."
Gibbs nods, looking like his estimation of Ed Slater and the rest of his family just hopped up about six notches. "Good, take Tony, grab Abby and Ziva, and head in. I'll get these two finishing up out here and join you in a few minutes."
Finishing up meant tacking up Tyvek sheeting. Tim took a bit longer on it than was strictly necessary.
"It doesn't take that long to staple up insulation," Jimmy said, noticing the lack of speed on Tim's half of the job.
"I know. But have you ever put up insulation before?"
"No."
"Not fun. Unless you enjoy picking hundreds of tiny glass splinters out of your skin, take a little longer and let them do it."
"Good point."
"I think Jethro just fell in love with your wife."
Jimmy smiles. "I was noticing that. I don't think I've ever seen him look so happy as he did when he handed her the drill and didn't have to explain how to use it."
Tim laughs a little, very slowly and carefully places the staple gun, and finishes the Tyvek.
"And we've taken as long as we can on this."
So they headed inside. Inside Gibbs' house smelled great: warm, meaty, spicy. Tim doesn't even really like chili, and his mouth is watering at the smell.
"I hope they made a ton of that," Jimmy says as they head to the basement.
"Oh yeah."
Five people make really fast work of insulating a twenty foot wall. They were done with it and putting up the drywall by the time Tim and Jimmy joined them.
Gibbs and Tony are holding the drywall in place, and the girls are on screw driving duty. Gibbs looks over his shoulder at them and flashes his, took you long enough look at Tim and Jimmy. Jimmy shrugs. Tim smiles.
They both head over and get to work.
"So, once you get her done, what are you going to do with her?" Breena asks Jethro as they all sit down for dinner.
Jethro shrugs. His original plan was to use Shannon as a way to deal with retirement. Hand in his badge and get off land for a few months, but retirement starts in January, and he's fairly sure he's not going to want to be away for months at a time.
"No set plans, yet."
"Island hopping? New beach every week?" Abby asks.
"Maybe." Gibbs nods at that, beaches sound good.
"Be a good way to get out of the cold and snow," Tim adds.
He nods at that, too, he's not exactly a fan of winter these days. But finding a beach somewhere with a little shack and a cantina within easy walking distance brings back too many memories of Mike. He's good with alone, but that's not something he wants to do alone. And it's hitting him that he doesn't want to be alone, not for months or weeks at a time.
"Might look for a place on the Potomac, maybe the James, or the Chesapeake."
"Closer to home," Ducky says with a smile. His own post-retirement plans have shifted with the addition of Molly to his life.
"Yeah, Duck." He stroked Molly's cheek. She was happily tearing through the corn bread. Then he turned to Abby and gently laid his hand on her belly. "Got some girls who might want to learn to sail. And since it turns out you lot aren't hopeless with carpentry, maybe getting a place on the water is something we could do..."
Next
Shards To A Whole: Chapter 168
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 168: Spooning
They talked for hours, and made love again, this time for both of them, and maybe things weren't different or better, but they were closer to normal, so that seemed like a good step.
Tim feels like, at least in regards to the flu, that he's pretty close to healed up.
It's fairly late, they've just had sex, and he's very pleasantly sleepy, but not completely wiped out. He's actually feeling really good, and is just waiting for her to get back to bed so he can snuggle in close and fall asleep.
For the last five days she's been spooning him, which has been nice, he likes getting cuddled, too, but he's ready to get back to their routine.
So he was a little pouty when she slid into their bed and tapped him on the shoulder, indicating she wants him to roll over, back to her.
He did, feeling a little disappointed. "I wanted to hold you."
She scooted up behind him, threading her arm under his. "You've got my arm."
"Not the same thing," he said, kissing her fingers.
"I know. But right now the curve of your back is exactly the right shape and size to support Kelly and it feels really good. Way more comfortable than the pillow." She usually sleeps hugging a pillow, and until last week it had been providing sleep support for Kelly.
He can't exactly argue with that, so he squeezes her hand, and tries to settle down, but he's missing her body against the front of his. "Feels kind of weird."
"Weird?"
"Yeah, you're supposed to be in front of me. My lips are supposed to be on your shoulder, your chest is supposed to be against my arm, I should be able to feel your breath on my hand."
He feels her shrug. "This is really comfortable." He doesn't disagree with that. That's part of why he likes being on the outside, having her to hold onto is really comfortable.
"Okay. Just isn't what I've got in my mind as sleep."
"You'll get used to it. Not like this'll work for much more than another month."
"I know. Just… I miss the way your hair smells."
She thought about that. "Lift your head."
He did, and she flipped the pillow around. "Now you've got my side of the pillow. Better?"
"Yeah." He twined his fingers with hers, pressing them against his chest, and settled into sleeping.
Almost.
He was about three quarters gone, in that stage where he wasn't quite dreaming but was very vividly imagining things when he noticed that sort of gentle rustling feeling against his back wasn't something he was imagining.
It brought him all the way back up to awake, and he just lay there, holding Abby's hand, feeling Kelly doing whatever she was doing, and suddenly it was really okay that he couldn't smell Abby's hair.
He lay there, awake, feeling Kelly… kicking? Swimming? Getting a little stretch? It's fast and fluttery, and the last two days start to slide into perspective, the past starts to ease back to where it belongs.
The past won't change, can't change, but it can't own him either. He can feel it, two lives, two insanely precious lives pressed against his back. Two lives who depend on him to be functional. Who depend on him for love and peace and home, and he's got to be able to do it.
And maybe the thing with his Dad isn't done. Maybe it'll never be done. That John didn't love him will always be there. Just like losing her parents will always be there for Abby, and losing Shannon and Kelly will always be there for Gibbs.
But just because it isn't done doesn't mean he can't leave it behind him. Doesn't mean he didn't build a life, a good, solid, strong life around that hole.
Nothing changed. Maybe he understands it better, and that's something he'll need to deal with, but when it comes down to it, nothing changed. Time to live like that.
Go forward. Be the husband and father and man his dad wasn't.
Kelly settled down, and he let his mind drift among images of playing with his girls.
Next
Chapter 168: Spooning
They talked for hours, and made love again, this time for both of them, and maybe things weren't different or better, but they were closer to normal, so that seemed like a good step.
Tim feels like, at least in regards to the flu, that he's pretty close to healed up.
It's fairly late, they've just had sex, and he's very pleasantly sleepy, but not completely wiped out. He's actually feeling really good, and is just waiting for her to get back to bed so he can snuggle in close and fall asleep.
For the last five days she's been spooning him, which has been nice, he likes getting cuddled, too, but he's ready to get back to their routine.
So he was a little pouty when she slid into their bed and tapped him on the shoulder, indicating she wants him to roll over, back to her.
He did, feeling a little disappointed. "I wanted to hold you."
She scooted up behind him, threading her arm under his. "You've got my arm."
"Not the same thing," he said, kissing her fingers.
"I know. But right now the curve of your back is exactly the right shape and size to support Kelly and it feels really good. Way more comfortable than the pillow." She usually sleeps hugging a pillow, and until last week it had been providing sleep support for Kelly.
He can't exactly argue with that, so he squeezes her hand, and tries to settle down, but he's missing her body against the front of his. "Feels kind of weird."
"Weird?"
"Yeah, you're supposed to be in front of me. My lips are supposed to be on your shoulder, your chest is supposed to be against my arm, I should be able to feel your breath on my hand."
He feels her shrug. "This is really comfortable." He doesn't disagree with that. That's part of why he likes being on the outside, having her to hold onto is really comfortable.
"Okay. Just isn't what I've got in my mind as sleep."
"You'll get used to it. Not like this'll work for much more than another month."
"I know. Just… I miss the way your hair smells."
She thought about that. "Lift your head."
He did, and she flipped the pillow around. "Now you've got my side of the pillow. Better?"
"Yeah." He twined his fingers with hers, pressing them against his chest, and settled into sleeping.
Almost.
He was about three quarters gone, in that stage where he wasn't quite dreaming but was very vividly imagining things when he noticed that sort of gentle rustling feeling against his back wasn't something he was imagining.
It brought him all the way back up to awake, and he just lay there, holding Abby's hand, feeling Kelly doing whatever she was doing, and suddenly it was really okay that he couldn't smell Abby's hair.
He lay there, awake, feeling Kelly… kicking? Swimming? Getting a little stretch? It's fast and fluttery, and the last two days start to slide into perspective, the past starts to ease back to where it belongs.
The past won't change, can't change, but it can't own him either. He can feel it, two lives, two insanely precious lives pressed against his back. Two lives who depend on him to be functional. Who depend on him for love and peace and home, and he's got to be able to do it.
And maybe the thing with his Dad isn't done. Maybe it'll never be done. That John didn't love him will always be there. Just like losing her parents will always be there for Abby, and losing Shannon and Kelly will always be there for Gibbs.
But just because it isn't done doesn't mean he can't leave it behind him. Doesn't mean he didn't build a life, a good, solid, strong life around that hole.
Nothing changed. Maybe he understands it better, and that's something he'll need to deal with, but when it comes down to it, nothing changed. Time to live like that.
Go forward. Be the husband and father and man his dad wasn't.
Kelly settled down, and he let his mind drift among images of playing with his girls.
Next
Shards To A Whole: Chapter 167
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 167: Nothing Changed
They didn't talk a whole lot while getting dinner ready. She tossed the naan into the microwave to warm it up, and he spooned up bowls of the curried chicken.
In a few minutes, they were sitting at the table in their jammies, food in front of them, Abby watching Tim expectantly, letting him start the conversation. But he didn't. He sat quietly, messing with his food, not actually eating it.
"Do you want to talk?"
He shrugged. "Maybe… I don't know… It just feels… so stupid. So ridiculously stupid. Nothing changed. At all. Not like I just suddenly remembered this. Not like yesterday I thought he deserved father of the year and today he doesn't."
"True."
He continues not eating.
"Tell me what happened?"
"You said they should have looked out for me better, Ducky said it was abuse, and then everything sort of shifted. Like the whole world is three inches to the left today. Everything's exactly the same, but not quite where I expect it to be."
Abby nods, eating her own food. "Unsettling?"
"Yeah. No one ever said the word abuse. I know I never thought it. The kid with the black eye and the broken arm, he got abused. I got yelled at."
"I got yelled at… signed at emphatically… You got terrorized and degraded."
He looks up from the chicken he's been tapping with the back of his fork. "That's always how you saw it?"
"Not always. Before you started talking in your sleep, I thought you and John were kind of like Tony and Senior or Gibbs and Jackson, just rubbed each other wrong. Then you started talking in your sleep and… and suddenly everything, including the fact that you get sea sick but not plane, car, or any other sort of motion sick made a whole lot of sense."
"I really do get sea sick. Always did. Started throwing up less than ten minutes after I got on a boat the first time."
"I know. But even if you didn't, I'd assume you would now."
"What did you hear? At first?"
Abby looks distinctly uncomfortable. He can tell she doesn't want to say the words and is trying to come up with a nicer way of saying it.
"Just say it. Not like I haven't heard it, and it's not like prettying it up will help."
"You were talking about having your ass passed around a battleship to get the fag fucked out of you. That's the one that comes up most often."
Tim nods. "He only actually said that to me once, well twice really… It wasn't quite that the first time, but close enough. It scared the shit out of me, obviously stuck in my head harder than I thought it did." He smiles dryly at her, pulling his sarcasm into a protective shield. "And shockingly enough, it didn't do anything to make a battleship seem like a place I wanted to be, and somehow it didn't inspire me to want to sign right up to join an organization that might expect me to help gang rape some poor son of a bitch who ended up at my mercy."
She squeezes his hand. "Twice is about a thousand more times than anyone should ever say that to anyone else. How old were you?"
"Fourteen the first time, seventeen the second. He was really unhappy when I tore up the Annapolis acceptance letter."
"And what, he was only mildly displeased when he whipped it out when you were fourteen?"
"No. But I don't remember what set him off on that one… Got a B+ in History? Weighed too much?" It wasn't so much that he wanted to remember it, but talking about it brought it back, and he shuddered. "It was the summer of the boat. The summer I was going to get over being sea sick or die trying. After two weeks of it, I knew not to eat anything before getting on the damn thing, so I was just nauseous instead of puking, but I was angry, and my blood sugar was way low because I hadn't eaten anything since dinner, so massively crabby, and he was drilling me on quadratics, wanted me to do them in my head, and I could, but I didn't want to, so I stopped, told him I was going to be a surgeon and surgeons don't need to be able to do quadratic equations in their heads, and I was being sarcastic and snotty and told him if he knew any anatomy beyond ass, cock, and cunt and wanted to drill me on it, that'd actually be useful, and he went off on a rant about how men broke people and girls fixed them back up again. 'We break 'em, and girls sew 'em back up.' And then he got on me with how if I wanted to be a girl he'd let the guys on his ship cut my dick off and fuck a cunt into me, and I spent a few minutes dry heaving in terror and then did the equations."
Tim's not entirely sure what the expression on Abby's face is. It's whatever comes a step after homicidal rage. He is pretty sure it's a good thing for the Admiral that he's on a ship somewhere with a ton of sailors between him and Abby, because otherwise he'd be dead.
It took a few minutes, but finally she seemed to calm down and asked, "Did you tell Ducky you deserved what happened?"
"No. I told him I earned it."
"Baby, nothing—"
"Not like that. That was the price for being who I wanted to be."
"No one should have to pay that."
He shrugs at that, too. "It's entirely likely that's just part of how I've conceptualized it to make it easier to deal with. At least with that narrative, I'm not entirely the victim of a sadist. There's some choice and control about it. I picked me over him and got verbally beat for it. I wasn't just a passive whipping boy."
"Okay." She doesn't look like she believes that, but right now he doesn't entirely believe it either, so that's okay.
"I called Penny today. Because I was thinking about it, and trying to figure out what they knew, and I told her, all of it, and she didn't know."
That makes Abby look angry, but a different flavor of it. "She should have!"
"She said that, too. First thing she said to me, 'Yes, that was abuse.' Second, 'I should have gotten you out sooner.' But she didn't know, and I don't think my mom did, either."
Abby really doesn't believe that, at all. "How could your mom have not known?"
"It's not like he said things like that when we had people around. Not usually. Usually if there were people around he kept to sarcasm and back-handed compliments. But everyone heard the Annapolis fight. I got my acceptance letter December 15th. He got home the 23rd. I showed it to him the 24th. He yelled at me until Christmas, but after that was done, once I stepped out of his office, something changed with my mom. He was home until January 3rd, and that whole time I was never alone with him. My mom or Gran or Pop or Sarah was always there. He was gone until June 15th. I graduated on the 17th. On the 18th, I was living with Penny, and two months later my mom had left him and they were divorcing. I really don't think she knew how bad it was until then, and then she did everything she could."
"She should have known."
He shrugs at that, too. "I never said anything."
"Don't make this your fault."
"I'm not saying it was. But… they aren't psychic. You can't know what no one tells you. And obviously he's not going to say 'I called Tim a worthless cocksucker and waste of talent until he cried and the little bastard still can't hit a target with a handgun. I swear to God that little cunt's doing it just to piss me the fuck off!' That never happened."
That step beyond homicidal rage look is back, but Tim watches her take a deep breath, force herself calm, and say, gently, to him, "Baby, you aren't supposed to go out with your Dad and come home crying. Not ever. And from everything you've told me a good two thirds of times you were alone with him resulted in you crying." She got up, found her purse, and grabbed a compact, then brought it back to the table. "And, look, I know you can cry silently, but your face gets all red and puffy, the whites of your eyes go pink, and the irises get really bright green, and you stay that way for at least half an hour, longer if you were crying hard." She flicked the compact open and showed him himself in the mirror. "It's been twenty minutes since we got out of bed, and you stopped crying before then, and it's still obvious in your face. So don't tell me she didn't know something was wrong. She's not blind, so she had to know. Penny lived three thousand miles away for most of your life and you didn't tell her, fine, I'll give her a pass. But not your mom. Maybe with the Annapolis fight it got so bad she couldn't pretend it wasn't a problem. Maybe she finally got scared one of you two would snap and physically damage the other. Maybe he was doing it to her, too and she finally had enough of it, I don't know. But she had to know he wasn't treating you right."
Tim stared at himself in the mirror, and she's absolutely right, it's obvious he's been crying. There's no possible way to miss it.
"I've never looked at myself after."
Abby nods and holds his hand as he keeps staring.
He looked back up at her, if everything was three inches to the left this morning it's about a foot and a half now. He knows he'd be in the car, in the back seat, coming home from whatever it was that resulted in crying. And he'd pull himself together, force himself to stop, wipe his eyes, take deep breaths, calm down, and then walk into the house like nothing had happened. His mom would look at him, ask how it went, he'd say 'Fine,' and go to his room, hide out there until he was fully in control again.
"I don't know what to do with this. I can't hate her."
"Don't hate her. It's not good for you and wouldn't help anything, either. But it's okay to be really fucking pissed at her."
"I…" he looked at himself in the mirror again. He rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath, shoving that to the side because he can't deal with it, not now, and went to something he could handle. "I started talking in my sleep, why didn't you say anything?"
"Lots of reasons. You didn't seem to remember it. It's obviously painful. You don't talk about it. When you do talk about your dad, you'll sometimes just pause in the middle of the sentence, seem to think about what you're going to say next, and then go on without saying whatever it was. You actively edit yourself when you talk about him, and it shows. To me that says big damn wound, don't poke! You get on great with Penny and your Mom, you adored your grandparents… I figured you were as close to at peace with it as you could get, and you didn't need me dredging it back up again."
"I was. And nothing's changed. That's why this is so stupid. The whole past is still exactly the same."
"How you're thinking about it is different."
"So?"
She scooted her chair closer to his and wrapped her arm around him, her head on his shoulder. She doesn't have an answer to that, so she forks up a bite of the chicken and holds it out for him. "Eat."
He took the bite off the fork, chewing absently. "Ducky was saying talking about it might be good."
Abby nodded. "Probably."
"Would you listen?"
It's a serious question so she gives it some serious thought.
"I will always listen. I don't want you to feel like you've got things you can't tell me. I will carry your burdens with you; that's part of this whole love and married thing, right?" She smiled at him. "But I'm not a counselor, and if you need more than just to tell those stories, I might not know what to do. In fact, I probably won't know what to do, and the best answer I have, hunt down your dad and kill him slowly, probably isn't a good plan."
"Might feel good."
"Might. And if anyone could get away with it…" She's only half kidding, and part of this is making sure he knows it's safe to be as mad as he wants to around her. "But… Anyway… The point I was getting to is that I might not be the best person to talk to. But I will listen, always. Anything you ever need to say, and I will listen. And if you want someone to go with you and hold your hand while you talk to someone who does know what he's doing, I'll go with you. Dr. Wolf at work, or Father John at church, Kate's sister, Ducky even, they do know what they're doing, and you could talk to them. Or you can talk to me. Or you can not talk, and see if just letting it lie will let you get back to where you were… If that's what you want. Do you want to get back there?"
"Yes?"
She kissed him. "That sounded really unsure."
"It was. But, the day before yesterday was familiar and comfortable and functional. I had a context that worked for me. My dad was an asshole. My mom and I survived it. Penny was a lifeline. My grandparents provided me and her with a safe haven. My sister was a non-combatant. And all of it was on him for wanting me to be someone I wouldn't be."
"If it works…"
"But it's not real."
"Enough of it is. Your mom should have done a better job protecting you, but that doesn't make him any less responsible. And one thing is absolutely certain, you do not know the whole story of what was going on between them."
"That's true. Penny told me my mom miscarried three times between me and Sarah. I never knew that. Probably never knew a lot of things."
"Probably. And like I said yesterday, I don't hate your mom. I don't adore her, but… I assumed if he was doing things like that to you, he was probably doing it to her, too. Probably would have gotten into it with Sarah if your mom hadn't left and taken her."
Tim shrugs. "From what Penny's telling me, he might be a flat out sociopath."
She gestures with her fork in a tell me more sort of way while chewing, then points at his food, indicating he needs to have more than one bite of dinner.
"According to her, he always asks about me, wants updates and pictures, has signed copies of my books up on his shelf, and seems to really regret the fact that we don't speak."
"What?" That shocks Abby, too.
"Yeah. I don't want to get into what he's said about my books. We've talked about them exactly once, and it wasn't pretty. But he's got them? He asked Penny to get him copies of them? Signed copies? And I don't know if that's part of his everything has to look perfect at all times thing, or if he's just playing Penny, doing things he knows she expects, or what, but…"
"That's insane."
"That's how it feels to me. In what sort of world does he call my books a waste of time and talent and then ask my grandmother to get him signed copies of them?"
"I really don't know."
"And why ask her? Maybe for the first one, because of the penname and all, but if he wanted them... They aren't hard to find. He's got guys who's whole job it is to go do stuff for him…"
"If he wants her to think he cares, it makes sense."
"Yeah. I wonder if he's got Sarah getting him copies as well…"
"Could be. Are you going to ask her?"
"I don't know. She was barely nine when they split up. She basically never lived with him. They always seemed to get along. She loves him. He seems to love her. He even approves of Glenn. Who also seems to like him. I don't want to torpedo their relationship."
"You have no responsibility to cover for him."
"No, I don't. But I do have a responsibility to my sister to look after her and her happiness."
"Warning her your dad is a psycho seems to fall under the looking out for her umbrella."
"If he hasn't tipped her off to that in twenty-eight years, he's probably not going to. Day before yesterday, she didn't know any more than we fight whenever we get near each other. She probably doesn't need to know more than that today, either."
Abby shrugs, and he eats another bite of his dinner.
"Penny told me he does ask for pictures of us, and I am going to tell Sarah that I don't want her giving them to him. Especially not pictures of Kelly and any other babies we may have."
"Okay."
"No matter what, he doesn't ever get to be near our children."
Abby nods vehemently, agreeing with that.
He takes another bite of his food, chews, swallows. He doesn't look at her when he says, "I'm an adult. I'm successful. Beautiful wife I adore. Kid on the way. I feel like this should be done. It's been twenty years since I left his home. I told Penny I was done, and then you're holding me, telling me I'm beautiful and perfect, and it's not done… He was supposed to love me like that."
"I know."
"Penny finally admitted he didn't."
"Does it help?"
"Sort of. It's… honest at least. There's no more doing-it-for-your-own-good, deep-down-he-really-cares, doesn't-express-himself-well crap. That's refreshing… I guess. And it's not a problem with me anymore—"
"It was never a problem with you, Tim."
He deflects that with a shrug and continues on with, "And like you, she's never going to try and encourage me to get in touch with him again, or mend our relationship, so I guess that's good, too."
"But you want to be done, not good."
"Yeah. I want the day before yesterday back."
"You'll get there."
"I know. Got too much going on now to be dwelling on the past." He strokes her tummy and manages to produce a fairly limp smile. "Got too good of a present and a future to let the past ruin it."
"But it's still there because it can't not be there."
He looks at her, tired, sad, frustrated. "Yeah."
Next
Chapter 167: Nothing Changed
They didn't talk a whole lot while getting dinner ready. She tossed the naan into the microwave to warm it up, and he spooned up bowls of the curried chicken.
In a few minutes, they were sitting at the table in their jammies, food in front of them, Abby watching Tim expectantly, letting him start the conversation. But he didn't. He sat quietly, messing with his food, not actually eating it.
"Do you want to talk?"
He shrugged. "Maybe… I don't know… It just feels… so stupid. So ridiculously stupid. Nothing changed. At all. Not like I just suddenly remembered this. Not like yesterday I thought he deserved father of the year and today he doesn't."
"True."
He continues not eating.
"Tell me what happened?"
"You said they should have looked out for me better, Ducky said it was abuse, and then everything sort of shifted. Like the whole world is three inches to the left today. Everything's exactly the same, but not quite where I expect it to be."
Abby nods, eating her own food. "Unsettling?"
"Yeah. No one ever said the word abuse. I know I never thought it. The kid with the black eye and the broken arm, he got abused. I got yelled at."
"I got yelled at… signed at emphatically… You got terrorized and degraded."
He looks up from the chicken he's been tapping with the back of his fork. "That's always how you saw it?"
"Not always. Before you started talking in your sleep, I thought you and John were kind of like Tony and Senior or Gibbs and Jackson, just rubbed each other wrong. Then you started talking in your sleep and… and suddenly everything, including the fact that you get sea sick but not plane, car, or any other sort of motion sick made a whole lot of sense."
"I really do get sea sick. Always did. Started throwing up less than ten minutes after I got on a boat the first time."
"I know. But even if you didn't, I'd assume you would now."
"What did you hear? At first?"
Abby looks distinctly uncomfortable. He can tell she doesn't want to say the words and is trying to come up with a nicer way of saying it.
"Just say it. Not like I haven't heard it, and it's not like prettying it up will help."
"You were talking about having your ass passed around a battleship to get the fag fucked out of you. That's the one that comes up most often."
Tim nods. "He only actually said that to me once, well twice really… It wasn't quite that the first time, but close enough. It scared the shit out of me, obviously stuck in my head harder than I thought it did." He smiles dryly at her, pulling his sarcasm into a protective shield. "And shockingly enough, it didn't do anything to make a battleship seem like a place I wanted to be, and somehow it didn't inspire me to want to sign right up to join an organization that might expect me to help gang rape some poor son of a bitch who ended up at my mercy."
She squeezes his hand. "Twice is about a thousand more times than anyone should ever say that to anyone else. How old were you?"
"Fourteen the first time, seventeen the second. He was really unhappy when I tore up the Annapolis acceptance letter."
"And what, he was only mildly displeased when he whipped it out when you were fourteen?"
"No. But I don't remember what set him off on that one… Got a B+ in History? Weighed too much?" It wasn't so much that he wanted to remember it, but talking about it brought it back, and he shuddered. "It was the summer of the boat. The summer I was going to get over being sea sick or die trying. After two weeks of it, I knew not to eat anything before getting on the damn thing, so I was just nauseous instead of puking, but I was angry, and my blood sugar was way low because I hadn't eaten anything since dinner, so massively crabby, and he was drilling me on quadratics, wanted me to do them in my head, and I could, but I didn't want to, so I stopped, told him I was going to be a surgeon and surgeons don't need to be able to do quadratic equations in their heads, and I was being sarcastic and snotty and told him if he knew any anatomy beyond ass, cock, and cunt and wanted to drill me on it, that'd actually be useful, and he went off on a rant about how men broke people and girls fixed them back up again. 'We break 'em, and girls sew 'em back up.' And then he got on me with how if I wanted to be a girl he'd let the guys on his ship cut my dick off and fuck a cunt into me, and I spent a few minutes dry heaving in terror and then did the equations."
Tim's not entirely sure what the expression on Abby's face is. It's whatever comes a step after homicidal rage. He is pretty sure it's a good thing for the Admiral that he's on a ship somewhere with a ton of sailors between him and Abby, because otherwise he'd be dead.
It took a few minutes, but finally she seemed to calm down and asked, "Did you tell Ducky you deserved what happened?"
"No. I told him I earned it."
"Baby, nothing—"
"Not like that. That was the price for being who I wanted to be."
"No one should have to pay that."
He shrugs at that, too. "It's entirely likely that's just part of how I've conceptualized it to make it easier to deal with. At least with that narrative, I'm not entirely the victim of a sadist. There's some choice and control about it. I picked me over him and got verbally beat for it. I wasn't just a passive whipping boy."
"Okay." She doesn't look like she believes that, but right now he doesn't entirely believe it either, so that's okay.
"I called Penny today. Because I was thinking about it, and trying to figure out what they knew, and I told her, all of it, and she didn't know."
That makes Abby look angry, but a different flavor of it. "She should have!"
"She said that, too. First thing she said to me, 'Yes, that was abuse.' Second, 'I should have gotten you out sooner.' But she didn't know, and I don't think my mom did, either."
Abby really doesn't believe that, at all. "How could your mom have not known?"
"It's not like he said things like that when we had people around. Not usually. Usually if there were people around he kept to sarcasm and back-handed compliments. But everyone heard the Annapolis fight. I got my acceptance letter December 15th. He got home the 23rd. I showed it to him the 24th. He yelled at me until Christmas, but after that was done, once I stepped out of his office, something changed with my mom. He was home until January 3rd, and that whole time I was never alone with him. My mom or Gran or Pop or Sarah was always there. He was gone until June 15th. I graduated on the 17th. On the 18th, I was living with Penny, and two months later my mom had left him and they were divorcing. I really don't think she knew how bad it was until then, and then she did everything she could."
"She should have known."
He shrugs at that, too. "I never said anything."
"Don't make this your fault."
"I'm not saying it was. But… they aren't psychic. You can't know what no one tells you. And obviously he's not going to say 'I called Tim a worthless cocksucker and waste of talent until he cried and the little bastard still can't hit a target with a handgun. I swear to God that little cunt's doing it just to piss me the fuck off!' That never happened."
That step beyond homicidal rage look is back, but Tim watches her take a deep breath, force herself calm, and say, gently, to him, "Baby, you aren't supposed to go out with your Dad and come home crying. Not ever. And from everything you've told me a good two thirds of times you were alone with him resulted in you crying." She got up, found her purse, and grabbed a compact, then brought it back to the table. "And, look, I know you can cry silently, but your face gets all red and puffy, the whites of your eyes go pink, and the irises get really bright green, and you stay that way for at least half an hour, longer if you were crying hard." She flicked the compact open and showed him himself in the mirror. "It's been twenty minutes since we got out of bed, and you stopped crying before then, and it's still obvious in your face. So don't tell me she didn't know something was wrong. She's not blind, so she had to know. Penny lived three thousand miles away for most of your life and you didn't tell her, fine, I'll give her a pass. But not your mom. Maybe with the Annapolis fight it got so bad she couldn't pretend it wasn't a problem. Maybe she finally got scared one of you two would snap and physically damage the other. Maybe he was doing it to her, too and she finally had enough of it, I don't know. But she had to know he wasn't treating you right."
Tim stared at himself in the mirror, and she's absolutely right, it's obvious he's been crying. There's no possible way to miss it.
"I've never looked at myself after."
Abby nods and holds his hand as he keeps staring.
He looked back up at her, if everything was three inches to the left this morning it's about a foot and a half now. He knows he'd be in the car, in the back seat, coming home from whatever it was that resulted in crying. And he'd pull himself together, force himself to stop, wipe his eyes, take deep breaths, calm down, and then walk into the house like nothing had happened. His mom would look at him, ask how it went, he'd say 'Fine,' and go to his room, hide out there until he was fully in control again.
"I don't know what to do with this. I can't hate her."
"Don't hate her. It's not good for you and wouldn't help anything, either. But it's okay to be really fucking pissed at her."
"I…" he looked at himself in the mirror again. He rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath, shoving that to the side because he can't deal with it, not now, and went to something he could handle. "I started talking in my sleep, why didn't you say anything?"
"Lots of reasons. You didn't seem to remember it. It's obviously painful. You don't talk about it. When you do talk about your dad, you'll sometimes just pause in the middle of the sentence, seem to think about what you're going to say next, and then go on without saying whatever it was. You actively edit yourself when you talk about him, and it shows. To me that says big damn wound, don't poke! You get on great with Penny and your Mom, you adored your grandparents… I figured you were as close to at peace with it as you could get, and you didn't need me dredging it back up again."
"I was. And nothing's changed. That's why this is so stupid. The whole past is still exactly the same."
"How you're thinking about it is different."
"So?"
She scooted her chair closer to his and wrapped her arm around him, her head on his shoulder. She doesn't have an answer to that, so she forks up a bite of the chicken and holds it out for him. "Eat."
He took the bite off the fork, chewing absently. "Ducky was saying talking about it might be good."
Abby nodded. "Probably."
"Would you listen?"
It's a serious question so she gives it some serious thought.
"I will always listen. I don't want you to feel like you've got things you can't tell me. I will carry your burdens with you; that's part of this whole love and married thing, right?" She smiled at him. "But I'm not a counselor, and if you need more than just to tell those stories, I might not know what to do. In fact, I probably won't know what to do, and the best answer I have, hunt down your dad and kill him slowly, probably isn't a good plan."
"Might feel good."
"Might. And if anyone could get away with it…" She's only half kidding, and part of this is making sure he knows it's safe to be as mad as he wants to around her. "But… Anyway… The point I was getting to is that I might not be the best person to talk to. But I will listen, always. Anything you ever need to say, and I will listen. And if you want someone to go with you and hold your hand while you talk to someone who does know what he's doing, I'll go with you. Dr. Wolf at work, or Father John at church, Kate's sister, Ducky even, they do know what they're doing, and you could talk to them. Or you can talk to me. Or you can not talk, and see if just letting it lie will let you get back to where you were… If that's what you want. Do you want to get back there?"
"Yes?"
She kissed him. "That sounded really unsure."
"It was. But, the day before yesterday was familiar and comfortable and functional. I had a context that worked for me. My dad was an asshole. My mom and I survived it. Penny was a lifeline. My grandparents provided me and her with a safe haven. My sister was a non-combatant. And all of it was on him for wanting me to be someone I wouldn't be."
"If it works…"
"But it's not real."
"Enough of it is. Your mom should have done a better job protecting you, but that doesn't make him any less responsible. And one thing is absolutely certain, you do not know the whole story of what was going on between them."
"That's true. Penny told me my mom miscarried three times between me and Sarah. I never knew that. Probably never knew a lot of things."
"Probably. And like I said yesterday, I don't hate your mom. I don't adore her, but… I assumed if he was doing things like that to you, he was probably doing it to her, too. Probably would have gotten into it with Sarah if your mom hadn't left and taken her."
Tim shrugs. "From what Penny's telling me, he might be a flat out sociopath."
She gestures with her fork in a tell me more sort of way while chewing, then points at his food, indicating he needs to have more than one bite of dinner.
"According to her, he always asks about me, wants updates and pictures, has signed copies of my books up on his shelf, and seems to really regret the fact that we don't speak."
"What?" That shocks Abby, too.
"Yeah. I don't want to get into what he's said about my books. We've talked about them exactly once, and it wasn't pretty. But he's got them? He asked Penny to get him copies of them? Signed copies? And I don't know if that's part of his everything has to look perfect at all times thing, or if he's just playing Penny, doing things he knows she expects, or what, but…"
"That's insane."
"That's how it feels to me. In what sort of world does he call my books a waste of time and talent and then ask my grandmother to get him signed copies of them?"
"I really don't know."
"And why ask her? Maybe for the first one, because of the penname and all, but if he wanted them... They aren't hard to find. He's got guys who's whole job it is to go do stuff for him…"
"If he wants her to think he cares, it makes sense."
"Yeah. I wonder if he's got Sarah getting him copies as well…"
"Could be. Are you going to ask her?"
"I don't know. She was barely nine when they split up. She basically never lived with him. They always seemed to get along. She loves him. He seems to love her. He even approves of Glenn. Who also seems to like him. I don't want to torpedo their relationship."
"You have no responsibility to cover for him."
"No, I don't. But I do have a responsibility to my sister to look after her and her happiness."
"Warning her your dad is a psycho seems to fall under the looking out for her umbrella."
"If he hasn't tipped her off to that in twenty-eight years, he's probably not going to. Day before yesterday, she didn't know any more than we fight whenever we get near each other. She probably doesn't need to know more than that today, either."
Abby shrugs, and he eats another bite of his dinner.
"Penny told me he does ask for pictures of us, and I am going to tell Sarah that I don't want her giving them to him. Especially not pictures of Kelly and any other babies we may have."
"Okay."
"No matter what, he doesn't ever get to be near our children."
Abby nods vehemently, agreeing with that.
He takes another bite of his food, chews, swallows. He doesn't look at her when he says, "I'm an adult. I'm successful. Beautiful wife I adore. Kid on the way. I feel like this should be done. It's been twenty years since I left his home. I told Penny I was done, and then you're holding me, telling me I'm beautiful and perfect, and it's not done… He was supposed to love me like that."
"I know."
"Penny finally admitted he didn't."
"Does it help?"
"Sort of. It's… honest at least. There's no more doing-it-for-your-own-good, deep-down-he-really-cares, doesn't-express-himself-well crap. That's refreshing… I guess. And it's not a problem with me anymore—"
"It was never a problem with you, Tim."
He deflects that with a shrug and continues on with, "And like you, she's never going to try and encourage me to get in touch with him again, or mend our relationship, so I guess that's good, too."
"But you want to be done, not good."
"Yeah. I want the day before yesterday back."
"You'll get there."
"I know. Got too much going on now to be dwelling on the past." He strokes her tummy and manages to produce a fairly limp smile. "Got too good of a present and a future to let the past ruin it."
"But it's still there because it can't not be there."
He looks at her, tired, sad, frustrated. "Yeah."
Next
Shards To A Whole: Chapter 166
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 166: Cherish
Abby wasn't entirely sure what she was going to come home to.
Tim. That was a given.
Tim in what sort of state was what she was wondering about.
She knew he had talked to Ducky yesterday. Two reasons for that, first of all, he told her he was going to talk to him, and secondly, Ducky wandered over to her lab and had lunch with her. And while it's true that he's an excellent secret keeper, apparently when it comes to things like this he considers Tim and Abby to be one person, so he made sure that she knew everything they'd talked about.
Ducky seemed especially concerned that Tim might have thought that he deserved some of the things John had said to him. Abby was fairly sure that something got lost in translation there, because she'd never gotten that sense from Tim, but she'd also seen how blindsided he'd been by the idea that the other adults in his life had failed him, which is making her think that she understands what happened between John and Tim very differently than how Tim understands it.
And when she got home yesterday, it was pretty clear he wasn't his usual self.
Not depressed or in pain or weepy, but he was working extremely hard on not thinking about something, and she had a pretty good idea of what something was.
Apparently he talked to Ducky, got home, took a nap, made a call to see about some basketball tickets, and then watched thirteen episodes of Supernatural back to back, and yeah, he likes that show, but… But that's not Gosh-this-is-so-good-I-can't-put-it-down. That's I'm-keeping-my-brain-active-so-I-don't-have-to-deal-with-what's-really-going-on.
Though, as she thought about it, that probably wasn't all of what was going on there. Supernatural is, at its heart, two brothers surviving after years of abuse or near abuse (it's never out and out stated, but it's hinted at) by their father. Who's name is John. Who's ex-military. Who's training them to be soldiers. Who thinks they're too soft for the war at hand and need to be toughened up to be able to fight it. It's about Dean who stayed, became the man his father wanted him to be, and broke under it. It's about Sam who left, who refused to be the man his father wanted, and got sucked back into it, and broke because he wasn't strong enough for what came later. And it's about Bobby, a new father figure, who loves them no matter what, encourages them to be the men they need to be, and forgives all transgressions.
She wondered if Tim knew why he was binging on Supernatural.
As a general rule, Abby's not really great at just letting things be. She's especially not good at just letting things be when they involve people she loves dealing with things that are painful. So, yesterday, she got home, and for an hour they ate dinner and watched more Supernatural, which was all she could take without flat out asking about it, and he shook his head, not ready to talk, so even though she wanted to bombard him with questions and hugs and petting and comfort and offers to kill his dad, she didn't. She sat next to him, snuggled, and quietly watched six more episodes of Supernatural until Tim was having a hard time keeping his eyes open and they went to bed.
He was still asleep when she had to get up for work, so she let him sleep and headed in to do paperwork.
She was filling out her reports when her phone chimed to let her know she had a text from Tim. A very sexy text. And playing nurse certainly sounded good. It's been six days, and the last time they went that long without sex he was in North Carolina, so that was nice, but she was uncertain where he is mentally, and if desire for sex is genuine or just a way to push thinking about things further back.
She thought it was probably a bit of both. Since he's been sick, she's been sleeping spooned behind him, cuddling him, but if she had been in the front this morning, she certainly would have taken advantage of him. Some morning erections are more impressive than others, and this morning was extremely impressive. She had been very tempted to roll him on his back, wake him up very nicely, and go into work late, but she'd already called out one day that week, and he was out sick, so duty won and she made it work on time.
Besides, he is sick and needs all the rest he can get.
So, basically, as she walks in the door, she's not sure if he's going to be ready to pounce on her for sex, glued to Sam and Dean, in the midst of an existential crisis, or getting a nap.
She was, however, wearing a pair of scrubs she'd stolen from Autopsy on the off chance the answer is ready to pounce.
Abby didn't hear anything as she hung her jacket up, which increased the chances of nap or existential crisis, and took Sam and Dean out of the running. She did a quick circuit of the downstairs. No Tim. That took existential crisis off the list, as well, because anything along those lines happens in his office and usually is accompanied by the sound of typing. (Though she noticed there was a blank sheet of paper in his typewriter and a half filled sheet of Deep Six next to it, so something along those lines at least started…)
In the kitchen, she noticed he did have curry chicken going in the slow cooker, so that was good, and pointed toward nap or sex, both of which he'd probably want to have quick, easy food available for after.
She headed upstairs, quietly, and looked into their room.
Usually Tim sleeps on his side or stomach, but right now he's sprawled across the bed, on his back.
She's half-wondering if he heard her come in and is staging this, or if he's really asleep. He looks (position aside) really asleep: eyes closed, face relaxed, mouth a little open, breathing soft and easy.
But, the thing is, he is laying on his back, which he almost never does, and laying on his back means he's in one of the few positions where you can tell that the guy under the blankets is sporting a massive erection.
So, she's not entirely certain about nap, but sex got bumped to the top of the list.
For a few seconds, she plays with the idea that Farewell To Arms is one of his favorite books and about a nurse fooling around with one of her patients, but she can't remember the character names (hasn't read it since high school), and her sense is that it ended badly, so that's probably not a great game fodder.
She wonders if he's naked under the blankets. He's got them up to his chin. (Also suggestive of really sleeping, especially in winter. If it wasn't for the fact that he hates to have anything on his face, he'd sleep entirely under the blankets when it's cold out.) Tim usually takes all his clothing off for nighttime sleep, but both of them tend to nap in whatever they happened to be wearing when the desire to nap hit. At least, she does. He doesn't get naps all that often, so he doesn't exactly have a 'regular napping routine.' But, at least for this last week, if he's grabbing a nap, he's doing it in whatever he was wearing when he drifted off.
He's also been home alone all day, so it's entirely possible he didn't bother to get dressed at all.
Nah. It's cool enough he'd put some clothing on. He's got no issues with being naked around the house, but he also hates feeling cold, so he's usually got something on if he's not in bed or the shower.
Okay, enough dithering. He's either sleeping or not, naked or not, and there's no way to figure it out by leaning against the door.
She's in scrubs, he'd texted her about playing doctor, and no matter else is going on, his dick is very obviously interested in sex. Time to get to it.
He's got a cup of tea on the bedside table, that'd do for props.
Abby headed over to him, and gently rubbed his shoulder while saying, "Mr. McGee."
He had to be dreaming. She noticed his eyes fluttering quickly and the way he didn't stir at all when she said his name or touched him.
"Mr. McGee…" she shook his shoulder a little harder. He mumbled something disappointed sounding and rolled onto his side.
"Time to wake up, Mr. McGee. Time for your medicine."
He had a very confused and grumpy expression on his face when he opened the one eye. But confused and grumpy rapidly vanished when he saw Abby in scrubs and then he knew what was going on and didn't seem to mind getting woken up any more.
She smiled at him, seeing the realization that the sex he had been dreaming about was about to get switched out for real sex light his face.
Abby helped him sit up, noticed that he at least had a t-shirt on, and handed him the cup of tea. He drank some, just rolling with the game and the "medicine", and handed it back to her.
"Good." She said, lying her hand on his forehead. "No fever. You look like you're starting to feel better."
He nodded. "Yeah. I think I'm almost on the mend. Maybe get out of here in a day or two." For a guy who was full on asleep and dreaming two minutes ago, and judging by how hard he was, dreaming about some really good sex, Tim is phenomenally good at switching into play mode.
"Maybe. I'm glad you're feeling better, but I'll miss seeing you every day." She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead.
"You put it like that, and maybe I'll see if I can stick around longer."
"No. I wouldn't want you to be sick any longer than you have to be. But maybe you'll come back and visit me?" she made sure to sound hopeful as she said that.
"Or maybe we could see each other somewhere other than here?" Tim said, a little flirty tone to his voice.
She smiled at that. "I'd like that." She folded the blanket back. "Arms up. Might as well get you washed off if you're going home soon."
So he put his arms up and let her take his t-shirt off. He appeared to be looking forward to this sponge bath. If the smile on his face was anything to go by, really looking forward to it. She helped him scoot out of his flannel pj pants, and yeah, he'd definitely been dreaming of sex. Abby knows guys get hard-ons when they sleep, that it's just part of the body functioning. But there's everything's just working, and then there's standing at full attention, balls tight to the body, damp spot on the pants, which she knows means Tim was about a minute from coming in his sleep.
She looked up from his penis and grinned. "Looks like part of you is really looking forward to a bath."
He smiled back. "That part of me is always in favor of being handled by a beautiful woman."
She headed for their bathroom, grabbed a wash cloth, soaked it with hot water, and headed back to their bed.
He was laying on the bed in way too good of a mood to be convincingly sick, but she doesn't mind that at all.
She knelt on the bed next to him, stretched his arm to the side, and gently stroked the towel up his arm. Tim purred at that, and then he sort of jerked because she got to his armpit, which was apparently ticklish, and then suddenly he looked like he wasn't having a really great time anymore.
"Abigail." He broke the game with his safe word. "Not this."
"No?" She looked concerned, obviously something was off, this was great two seconds ago, but isn't now.
"No." He's rubbing his arm dry. "It cools off really fast and maybe in August when it's 95 out this'll be fun, but right now, not so much."
"Okay." That made a lot of sense. She put the washcloth on the bedside table, quickly shucked out of the scrubs, and lay down next to him on her side, facing him. Enough games, time to touch. "Maybe try that game again later?"
"Maybe." He rested his hand on her hip, eyes tracing over her naked body. "God, you're so beautiful." She lifted his hand to her lips and kissed his fingers. Then trailed her fingers down his chest, over his stomach, to trace over his erection.
His eyes slid almost shut, and he sighed happily, watching her hand slip up and down on him. "That feels so good."
"I bet it does."
"You know, I was reading that gentle sex is good for healing up from being sick."
"Really?" Her fingers trailed up from the base of his dick to his stomach and then across his chest, circling his nipple.
"Yep. Endorphins help you feel better, light exercise is good for you, stuff like that."
"Uh huh." Abby leaned in close, her lips a few millimeters from his. "How about rough, wild sex?"
He grinned, kissed her soft and gentle. "As long as we're done in less than a minute, I think I've got the stamina for that."
She giggled. "Gentle sex, then?"
"Well, I mean, if you want to get off, too. It's been almost a week for me, so anything other than slow, soft, and gentle'll be done really fast."
Her hand stroked back down his chest and curled firmly around him, and he exhaled low and deep. "So, you're saying you haven't done anything all week?"
"Nope. Nothing at all."
"Not even this?" Her hand pulled from base to tip.
"Ohhh…" He bit his lip and watched her do it. "Nope, not even that."
"So, how bad do you want this?"
"God. Bad, so bad. If you hadn't woken me up, I would have come in my sleep like a teenager."
"Looks like I got here just in the nick of time."
"Oh yeah." He inhaled a fast, jerky little breath as she lightly scraped her fingernail over the tip as her other hand pulled up. "Ohhhh… God, baby, that's so good."
She bent her head and licked the tip. His hips jerked when she touched him, and she knew exactly what she wanted to do with him. He's too keyed up, too turned on for anything that'll take long, and she's not nearly that turned on. So this round's for him, and later, after dinner, when he's not on a hair trigger, there'll be sex for both of them.
"So, really, nothing?" She let go, rolled over, and headed to their toybox.
He propped himself on his left elbow, watching her, not approving of her letting go of his dick and getting up, so he sounds a little testy when he said, "Been kind of sick lately. Maybe you noticed?"
"And distracted?" Abby asked, looking over her shoulder, a somewhat serious expression on her face. She knows now isn't the time, but she does want him to know she's aware of what's going on.
"And distracted," he agreed.
She found what she was looking for and turned back to him, showing him the wrist cuffs, and suddenly he decided her getting up was a good thing. She opened the drawer to her bedside table and got the lube as well, and the expression on his face was certainly indicating he was all in favor of whatever was going to come next, even if she did have to let go of him to do it.
"When you're ready, I want to talk to you about distracted."
"I know, and it'll be soon, probably dinner. But, please, not right now!"
"No." She grinned. "Not right now. Right now…" She nudged him to let him know to lie down on his back, straddled his chest, threaded the cuffs between the slats on their headboard, and then cuffed his wrists to each other over his head. He groaned while she did it, looking very pleased. He let his head fall back and just relaxed into her taking over.
"Head up."
He did as she asked, and she tucked an extra pillow under his head. "I want you to watch."
"Yes."
She flicked open the cap of the lube and drizzled a long stream into her palm.
"So, nothing at all for almost a week means you're really eager, right?" She slowly rubbed the lube between her hands, letting him watch them slip over each other, enjoying the intense concentration on his face and how his eyes were glued to her hands.
"Oh yes!"
"Good. I want to watch you come. And I want you to watch me do it for you."
"Oh yeah," he breathed.
"I thought you'd like that."
"Yes."
She knelt between his legs. "I'm going to do you nice and slow and steady. Only one rule for you, lay back and watch me do it."
"God, yes."
And she did. She used both hands, kept them fairly tight, slipping over him nice and slow.
He groaned at the pleasure of wet, slick skin on his. His eyelids settled into that three-quarters closed droop they go to when he wants to see what she's doing, but also wants to close them because it feels so good.
His jaw clenched as she pulled both hands all the way up and off him, and then all the way back down again, head of his cock slipping tight through each finger, in one long and slow slide. He rolled his hips in counterpoint, getting a little more friction, and she let him. She's not trying to draw this out, not much at least. Just slow enough so there's some build up and he can really feel it.
He inhaled fast, head back, almost pained expression on his face, as everything shrunk down to her hands and his cock and how good it felt.
"You're so beautiful, Tim." She shifted her position so she could lay on her side next to him. She kept up the long, slow strokes with her right hand, and twined her left in his hair, as she gazed into his eyes. "So beautiful." She lowered her mouth to kiss him, and he exhaled a soft ohhh against her lips.
He inhaled with a hiss, mouth open, body growing tense as he did it. "Keep looking at me, baby."
And he did, eyes glazed, lips wet and open, cheeks and throat flushed, jaw, neck, and shoulders tight.
"I love you, Tim. You look so incredible, baby, so sexy, and I want to make you feel so good. Wanna watch your face as you come." She moved her hand just a hair faster and his body tensed just a little further, not moving, not breathing, just teetering on the edge of orgasm. "God, baby, you're so beautiful, just come for me, please?"
He exhaled a long, silent, shaking breath as his orgasm slipped through him in hot, wet, wracking pulses that pulled his leg and arms tight as his head fell back.
She gently pumped a few more times, pulling every second of pleasure out of him, then grabbed the wash cloth, used it to clean him up, and uncuffed his wrists.
He was laying on his back when she uncuffed him, but he rolled onto his side quickly after that, and she curled into his back, snuggling in close, wrapping her arm under his, letting her hand rest against his chest.
At first, she thought the little shake that went through him was just an orgasmic aftershock. The second time it happened it was a little harder than the first, and that's not how aftershocks work. By the third one, she knew what was happening. She cuddled in closer, kissing the back of his neck.
"I love you, Tim." He shook again, and she knew he was crying.
When she'd been getting him off, she was talking because it was just right. It was that moment and he was so gloriously beautiful falling apart under her hands, and she wanted to say it to him. But now she's a little more focused on the whole picture, and so right now she knows there are things she needs to say, things he needs to hear, so she says them. "I love you for exactly who you are, and who you're going to be."
And she knows that he needs to hear it, and she knows that she's not the person he needs to hear it from, but the person he needs to hear it from won't say it, so she will, over and over and as often as he needs. And it's not the same thing, and it won't, can't fix things, but it doesn't need to.
"I love you. You are an amazing man. You're brilliant and gentle and kind and you are going to be a great father, and I love you so much."
She felt his hand close around hers, holding tight as he inhaled fast, and hard, soft, quiet sobs broke the exhale.
"You're my life, Tim. You're my home. You're the first person I want to see in the morning and the last at night and the person I want to see most through the rest of the day. I love you, baby." She lay there behind him, whispering soft words, holding him while he cried, trying to fill him up with all the praise and adoration he didn't get as kid, knowing she can't do it, but it doesn't matter that she can't fill that hole, he still deserves to hear it.
Until that moment, Abby had thought love and cherish were synonyms. Thought they more or less meant the same thing. But they don't. And this beautiful man in her arms deserves to be cherished every single day of the rest of his life.
She added a silent vow to their marriage, to the list of promises she will keep for him. I will cherish you.
After a few more minutes he quieted down, relaxing against her. Finally, he rolled over to face her and said, voice rough, "Looks like I'm not as done as I thought I was."
She flashed him a curious expression, because that didn't make sense to her. He closed his eyes, touched her face gently, kissed her, and said, "Dinner. I'll tell you all about it while we eat."
"Okay."
She kissed him, lips light and encouraging, holding the hand he has cupped on her face.
"I love you, Tim."
"I know."
"Good. Because if anyone ever deserved to be loved fully, madly, passionately, every cell of my body adores every one of yours, it's you."
He smiled a little at that and then sat up. "Dinner?"
"Yeah, I'm starving."
Next
Chapter 166: Cherish
Abby wasn't entirely sure what she was going to come home to.
Tim. That was a given.
Tim in what sort of state was what she was wondering about.
She knew he had talked to Ducky yesterday. Two reasons for that, first of all, he told her he was going to talk to him, and secondly, Ducky wandered over to her lab and had lunch with her. And while it's true that he's an excellent secret keeper, apparently when it comes to things like this he considers Tim and Abby to be one person, so he made sure that she knew everything they'd talked about.
Ducky seemed especially concerned that Tim might have thought that he deserved some of the things John had said to him. Abby was fairly sure that something got lost in translation there, because she'd never gotten that sense from Tim, but she'd also seen how blindsided he'd been by the idea that the other adults in his life had failed him, which is making her think that she understands what happened between John and Tim very differently than how Tim understands it.
And when she got home yesterday, it was pretty clear he wasn't his usual self.
Not depressed or in pain or weepy, but he was working extremely hard on not thinking about something, and she had a pretty good idea of what something was.
Apparently he talked to Ducky, got home, took a nap, made a call to see about some basketball tickets, and then watched thirteen episodes of Supernatural back to back, and yeah, he likes that show, but… But that's not Gosh-this-is-so-good-I-can't-put-it-down. That's I'm-keeping-my-brain-active-so-I-don't-have-to-deal-with-what's-really-going-on.
Though, as she thought about it, that probably wasn't all of what was going on there. Supernatural is, at its heart, two brothers surviving after years of abuse or near abuse (it's never out and out stated, but it's hinted at) by their father. Who's name is John. Who's ex-military. Who's training them to be soldiers. Who thinks they're too soft for the war at hand and need to be toughened up to be able to fight it. It's about Dean who stayed, became the man his father wanted him to be, and broke under it. It's about Sam who left, who refused to be the man his father wanted, and got sucked back into it, and broke because he wasn't strong enough for what came later. And it's about Bobby, a new father figure, who loves them no matter what, encourages them to be the men they need to be, and forgives all transgressions.
She wondered if Tim knew why he was binging on Supernatural.
As a general rule, Abby's not really great at just letting things be. She's especially not good at just letting things be when they involve people she loves dealing with things that are painful. So, yesterday, she got home, and for an hour they ate dinner and watched more Supernatural, which was all she could take without flat out asking about it, and he shook his head, not ready to talk, so even though she wanted to bombard him with questions and hugs and petting and comfort and offers to kill his dad, she didn't. She sat next to him, snuggled, and quietly watched six more episodes of Supernatural until Tim was having a hard time keeping his eyes open and they went to bed.
He was still asleep when she had to get up for work, so she let him sleep and headed in to do paperwork.
She was filling out her reports when her phone chimed to let her know she had a text from Tim. A very sexy text. And playing nurse certainly sounded good. It's been six days, and the last time they went that long without sex he was in North Carolina, so that was nice, but she was uncertain where he is mentally, and if desire for sex is genuine or just a way to push thinking about things further back.
She thought it was probably a bit of both. Since he's been sick, she's been sleeping spooned behind him, cuddling him, but if she had been in the front this morning, she certainly would have taken advantage of him. Some morning erections are more impressive than others, and this morning was extremely impressive. She had been very tempted to roll him on his back, wake him up very nicely, and go into work late, but she'd already called out one day that week, and he was out sick, so duty won and she made it work on time.
Besides, he is sick and needs all the rest he can get.
So, basically, as she walks in the door, she's not sure if he's going to be ready to pounce on her for sex, glued to Sam and Dean, in the midst of an existential crisis, or getting a nap.
She was, however, wearing a pair of scrubs she'd stolen from Autopsy on the off chance the answer is ready to pounce.
Abby didn't hear anything as she hung her jacket up, which increased the chances of nap or existential crisis, and took Sam and Dean out of the running. She did a quick circuit of the downstairs. No Tim. That took existential crisis off the list, as well, because anything along those lines happens in his office and usually is accompanied by the sound of typing. (Though she noticed there was a blank sheet of paper in his typewriter and a half filled sheet of Deep Six next to it, so something along those lines at least started…)
In the kitchen, she noticed he did have curry chicken going in the slow cooker, so that was good, and pointed toward nap or sex, both of which he'd probably want to have quick, easy food available for after.
She headed upstairs, quietly, and looked into their room.
Usually Tim sleeps on his side or stomach, but right now he's sprawled across the bed, on his back.
She's half-wondering if he heard her come in and is staging this, or if he's really asleep. He looks (position aside) really asleep: eyes closed, face relaxed, mouth a little open, breathing soft and easy.
But, the thing is, he is laying on his back, which he almost never does, and laying on his back means he's in one of the few positions where you can tell that the guy under the blankets is sporting a massive erection.
So, she's not entirely certain about nap, but sex got bumped to the top of the list.
For a few seconds, she plays with the idea that Farewell To Arms is one of his favorite books and about a nurse fooling around with one of her patients, but she can't remember the character names (hasn't read it since high school), and her sense is that it ended badly, so that's probably not a great game fodder.
She wonders if he's naked under the blankets. He's got them up to his chin. (Also suggestive of really sleeping, especially in winter. If it wasn't for the fact that he hates to have anything on his face, he'd sleep entirely under the blankets when it's cold out.) Tim usually takes all his clothing off for nighttime sleep, but both of them tend to nap in whatever they happened to be wearing when the desire to nap hit. At least, she does. He doesn't get naps all that often, so he doesn't exactly have a 'regular napping routine.' But, at least for this last week, if he's grabbing a nap, he's doing it in whatever he was wearing when he drifted off.
He's also been home alone all day, so it's entirely possible he didn't bother to get dressed at all.
Nah. It's cool enough he'd put some clothing on. He's got no issues with being naked around the house, but he also hates feeling cold, so he's usually got something on if he's not in bed or the shower.
Okay, enough dithering. He's either sleeping or not, naked or not, and there's no way to figure it out by leaning against the door.
She's in scrubs, he'd texted her about playing doctor, and no matter else is going on, his dick is very obviously interested in sex. Time to get to it.
He's got a cup of tea on the bedside table, that'd do for props.
Abby headed over to him, and gently rubbed his shoulder while saying, "Mr. McGee."
He had to be dreaming. She noticed his eyes fluttering quickly and the way he didn't stir at all when she said his name or touched him.
"Mr. McGee…" she shook his shoulder a little harder. He mumbled something disappointed sounding and rolled onto his side.
"Time to wake up, Mr. McGee. Time for your medicine."
He had a very confused and grumpy expression on his face when he opened the one eye. But confused and grumpy rapidly vanished when he saw Abby in scrubs and then he knew what was going on and didn't seem to mind getting woken up any more.
She smiled at him, seeing the realization that the sex he had been dreaming about was about to get switched out for real sex light his face.
Abby helped him sit up, noticed that he at least had a t-shirt on, and handed him the cup of tea. He drank some, just rolling with the game and the "medicine", and handed it back to her.
"Good." She said, lying her hand on his forehead. "No fever. You look like you're starting to feel better."
He nodded. "Yeah. I think I'm almost on the mend. Maybe get out of here in a day or two." For a guy who was full on asleep and dreaming two minutes ago, and judging by how hard he was, dreaming about some really good sex, Tim is phenomenally good at switching into play mode.
"Maybe. I'm glad you're feeling better, but I'll miss seeing you every day." She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead.
"You put it like that, and maybe I'll see if I can stick around longer."
"No. I wouldn't want you to be sick any longer than you have to be. But maybe you'll come back and visit me?" she made sure to sound hopeful as she said that.
"Or maybe we could see each other somewhere other than here?" Tim said, a little flirty tone to his voice.
She smiled at that. "I'd like that." She folded the blanket back. "Arms up. Might as well get you washed off if you're going home soon."
So he put his arms up and let her take his t-shirt off. He appeared to be looking forward to this sponge bath. If the smile on his face was anything to go by, really looking forward to it. She helped him scoot out of his flannel pj pants, and yeah, he'd definitely been dreaming of sex. Abby knows guys get hard-ons when they sleep, that it's just part of the body functioning. But there's everything's just working, and then there's standing at full attention, balls tight to the body, damp spot on the pants, which she knows means Tim was about a minute from coming in his sleep.
She looked up from his penis and grinned. "Looks like part of you is really looking forward to a bath."
He smiled back. "That part of me is always in favor of being handled by a beautiful woman."
She headed for their bathroom, grabbed a wash cloth, soaked it with hot water, and headed back to their bed.
He was laying on the bed in way too good of a mood to be convincingly sick, but she doesn't mind that at all.
She knelt on the bed next to him, stretched his arm to the side, and gently stroked the towel up his arm. Tim purred at that, and then he sort of jerked because she got to his armpit, which was apparently ticklish, and then suddenly he looked like he wasn't having a really great time anymore.
"Abigail." He broke the game with his safe word. "Not this."
"No?" She looked concerned, obviously something was off, this was great two seconds ago, but isn't now.
"No." He's rubbing his arm dry. "It cools off really fast and maybe in August when it's 95 out this'll be fun, but right now, not so much."
"Okay." That made a lot of sense. She put the washcloth on the bedside table, quickly shucked out of the scrubs, and lay down next to him on her side, facing him. Enough games, time to touch. "Maybe try that game again later?"
"Maybe." He rested his hand on her hip, eyes tracing over her naked body. "God, you're so beautiful." She lifted his hand to her lips and kissed his fingers. Then trailed her fingers down his chest, over his stomach, to trace over his erection.
His eyes slid almost shut, and he sighed happily, watching her hand slip up and down on him. "That feels so good."
"I bet it does."
"You know, I was reading that gentle sex is good for healing up from being sick."
"Really?" Her fingers trailed up from the base of his dick to his stomach and then across his chest, circling his nipple.
"Yep. Endorphins help you feel better, light exercise is good for you, stuff like that."
"Uh huh." Abby leaned in close, her lips a few millimeters from his. "How about rough, wild sex?"
He grinned, kissed her soft and gentle. "As long as we're done in less than a minute, I think I've got the stamina for that."
She giggled. "Gentle sex, then?"
"Well, I mean, if you want to get off, too. It's been almost a week for me, so anything other than slow, soft, and gentle'll be done really fast."
Her hand stroked back down his chest and curled firmly around him, and he exhaled low and deep. "So, you're saying you haven't done anything all week?"
"Nope. Nothing at all."
"Not even this?" Her hand pulled from base to tip.
"Ohhh…" He bit his lip and watched her do it. "Nope, not even that."
"So, how bad do you want this?"
"God. Bad, so bad. If you hadn't woken me up, I would have come in my sleep like a teenager."
"Looks like I got here just in the nick of time."
"Oh yeah." He inhaled a fast, jerky little breath as she lightly scraped her fingernail over the tip as her other hand pulled up. "Ohhhh… God, baby, that's so good."
She bent her head and licked the tip. His hips jerked when she touched him, and she knew exactly what she wanted to do with him. He's too keyed up, too turned on for anything that'll take long, and she's not nearly that turned on. So this round's for him, and later, after dinner, when he's not on a hair trigger, there'll be sex for both of them.
"So, really, nothing?" She let go, rolled over, and headed to their toybox.
He propped himself on his left elbow, watching her, not approving of her letting go of his dick and getting up, so he sounds a little testy when he said, "Been kind of sick lately. Maybe you noticed?"
"And distracted?" Abby asked, looking over her shoulder, a somewhat serious expression on her face. She knows now isn't the time, but she does want him to know she's aware of what's going on.
"And distracted," he agreed.
She found what she was looking for and turned back to him, showing him the wrist cuffs, and suddenly he decided her getting up was a good thing. She opened the drawer to her bedside table and got the lube as well, and the expression on his face was certainly indicating he was all in favor of whatever was going to come next, even if she did have to let go of him to do it.
"When you're ready, I want to talk to you about distracted."
"I know, and it'll be soon, probably dinner. But, please, not right now!"
"No." She grinned. "Not right now. Right now…" She nudged him to let him know to lie down on his back, straddled his chest, threaded the cuffs between the slats on their headboard, and then cuffed his wrists to each other over his head. He groaned while she did it, looking very pleased. He let his head fall back and just relaxed into her taking over.
"Head up."
He did as she asked, and she tucked an extra pillow under his head. "I want you to watch."
"Yes."
She flicked open the cap of the lube and drizzled a long stream into her palm.
"So, nothing at all for almost a week means you're really eager, right?" She slowly rubbed the lube between her hands, letting him watch them slip over each other, enjoying the intense concentration on his face and how his eyes were glued to her hands.
"Oh yes!"
"Good. I want to watch you come. And I want you to watch me do it for you."
"Oh yeah," he breathed.
"I thought you'd like that."
"Yes."
She knelt between his legs. "I'm going to do you nice and slow and steady. Only one rule for you, lay back and watch me do it."
"God, yes."
And she did. She used both hands, kept them fairly tight, slipping over him nice and slow.
He groaned at the pleasure of wet, slick skin on his. His eyelids settled into that three-quarters closed droop they go to when he wants to see what she's doing, but also wants to close them because it feels so good.
His jaw clenched as she pulled both hands all the way up and off him, and then all the way back down again, head of his cock slipping tight through each finger, in one long and slow slide. He rolled his hips in counterpoint, getting a little more friction, and she let him. She's not trying to draw this out, not much at least. Just slow enough so there's some build up and he can really feel it.
He inhaled fast, head back, almost pained expression on his face, as everything shrunk down to her hands and his cock and how good it felt.
"You're so beautiful, Tim." She shifted her position so she could lay on her side next to him. She kept up the long, slow strokes with her right hand, and twined her left in his hair, as she gazed into his eyes. "So beautiful." She lowered her mouth to kiss him, and he exhaled a soft ohhh against her lips.
He inhaled with a hiss, mouth open, body growing tense as he did it. "Keep looking at me, baby."
And he did, eyes glazed, lips wet and open, cheeks and throat flushed, jaw, neck, and shoulders tight.
"I love you, Tim. You look so incredible, baby, so sexy, and I want to make you feel so good. Wanna watch your face as you come." She moved her hand just a hair faster and his body tensed just a little further, not moving, not breathing, just teetering on the edge of orgasm. "God, baby, you're so beautiful, just come for me, please?"
He exhaled a long, silent, shaking breath as his orgasm slipped through him in hot, wet, wracking pulses that pulled his leg and arms tight as his head fell back.
She gently pumped a few more times, pulling every second of pleasure out of him, then grabbed the wash cloth, used it to clean him up, and uncuffed his wrists.
He was laying on his back when she uncuffed him, but he rolled onto his side quickly after that, and she curled into his back, snuggling in close, wrapping her arm under his, letting her hand rest against his chest.
At first, she thought the little shake that went through him was just an orgasmic aftershock. The second time it happened it was a little harder than the first, and that's not how aftershocks work. By the third one, she knew what was happening. She cuddled in closer, kissing the back of his neck.
"I love you, Tim." He shook again, and she knew he was crying.
When she'd been getting him off, she was talking because it was just right. It was that moment and he was so gloriously beautiful falling apart under her hands, and she wanted to say it to him. But now she's a little more focused on the whole picture, and so right now she knows there are things she needs to say, things he needs to hear, so she says them. "I love you for exactly who you are, and who you're going to be."
And she knows that he needs to hear it, and she knows that she's not the person he needs to hear it from, but the person he needs to hear it from won't say it, so she will, over and over and as often as he needs. And it's not the same thing, and it won't, can't fix things, but it doesn't need to.
"I love you. You are an amazing man. You're brilliant and gentle and kind and you are going to be a great father, and I love you so much."
She felt his hand close around hers, holding tight as he inhaled fast, and hard, soft, quiet sobs broke the exhale.
"You're my life, Tim. You're my home. You're the first person I want to see in the morning and the last at night and the person I want to see most through the rest of the day. I love you, baby." She lay there behind him, whispering soft words, holding him while he cried, trying to fill him up with all the praise and adoration he didn't get as kid, knowing she can't do it, but it doesn't matter that she can't fill that hole, he still deserves to hear it.
Until that moment, Abby had thought love and cherish were synonyms. Thought they more or less meant the same thing. But they don't. And this beautiful man in her arms deserves to be cherished every single day of the rest of his life.
She added a silent vow to their marriage, to the list of promises she will keep for him. I will cherish you.
After a few more minutes he quieted down, relaxing against her. Finally, he rolled over to face her and said, voice rough, "Looks like I'm not as done as I thought I was."
She flashed him a curious expression, because that didn't make sense to her. He closed his eyes, touched her face gently, kissed her, and said, "Dinner. I'll tell you all about it while we eat."
"Okay."
She kissed him, lips light and encouraging, holding the hand he has cupped on her face.
"I love you, Tim."
"I know."
"Good. Because if anyone ever deserved to be loved fully, madly, passionately, every cell of my body adores every one of yours, it's you."
He smiled a little at that and then sat up. "Dinner?"
"Yeah, I'm starving."
Next
Shards To A Whole: Chapter 165
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 165: Friday
On Friday he was bored.
Bored, bored, bored.
Tim's rarely bored. Best he can remember, the last time he was bored he was on a stakeout. Best he can remember, the only time he gets bored is on stakeout. So, for about, oh, nine seconds it was a kind of novel sensation, and then it was, well, boring.
Between cases, writing, gaming, TV, and reading, he almost never has time where he's got nothing to do when he's on his own. But, while he's feeling mostly better at this point, really, he's just tired, and sore, and okay, he's still coughing a little, which is why he's sore, his brain's not all back yet.
And he knows it. He sat at his typewriter, spent another hour working on Deep Six, looked at what he had, and it was crap.
He played Call of Duty for ten minutes and got his ass handed to him so fast so many times he knew it was time to bow out.
Minecraft didn't hold his attention for more than twenty minutes. Modding for Minecraft didn't last for more than seven minutes.
He read three pages of his book before he lost interest.
Tim thought about jerking off, but he's not that horny and Abby'll probably be home a little early, so might as well hold off and see if she's interested in helping him "recuperate." Okay, some fun ideas on that front held his attention for a good ten minutes, and he's wondering if they've got anything that looks even vaguely like a nurse's outfit. Abby could probably bring some scrubs home from work. He sends her a text about that, and that ate up a pleasant half hour, but eventually she had to get back to work, leaving him, once again, bored.
What he really wants is another season of Supernatural. He's not with it enough to work or write. But something fun and snarky and sexy would be really good about now, alas he caught up with the live show yesterday, so no new episodes for a few more days.
He flipped around Amazon and Netflix, watched half an episode of The Dresden Files, which he's fairly sure he'd normally like (he liked the books), but it's not keeping his interest, either.
Bored, bored, bored.
Bored Tim thinks. That's just how he is. His brain never really goes quiet. It just hops from one thing to the next, processing away. When he's not bored, he has an easy time staying on one thing for a long time. Bored Tim skips from issue to issue, looking for something to catch his interest.
And it lands on Penny, and the Admiral, and some really nasty words, and the fact that trying to not think about that is probably a good half of why he can't focus on anything. Because, when there's something niggling around in the back of his mind, something he's trying to ignore, his brain will try to bring him back to it, and short circuiting his ability to focus on things is one of the ways it does that.
So, he can let it go, keep bouncing from thing to thing, keep blaming the lack of focus on recovering from the flu, or he actually face what's going on back there in his head.
He makes himself a cup of tea, heads to his office, and sits down in front of his typewriter. He's not sure if he'll write about it or not. Sometimes just thinking is enough. Sometimes he's got to get it on paper.
Maybe paper. He pulls the sheet of Deep Six: Shadow Force (It's probably a good thing there are marketing people to help him come up with titles for these things. He's fairly sure they won't be keeping this one.) out and slides a blank one in, and then stares at it.
The thing is, it never occurred to him that his mom or Penny or his grandparents should have done anything more than they did. Sailors curse, it's just who and what they are. Though, as he thinks about it, not wanting to be a guy who said things like that was a big part of not wanting to be a sailor. He's mildly surprised that he's never made that connection before.
Dads yell at their kids when they don't live up to their expectations. Everyone does that, right? That's part of how you let them know you're serious about being disappointed. Sure, he's got no intention of being that guy himself, but the list of things he's intending to do differently with Kelly is about six miles long, so the fact that's on there isn't a surprise. In fact, the only play out of his father's book that he's intending to use (and really, he's taking it out of Gibbs' playbook) is have high standards.
But there's a line between yelling and degrading. And there's a line between having expectations for your kid's own good and wanting to control every aspect of her life.
There's a line between pushing them to do their best and abuse.
He had friends, acquaintances really, who got slapped around. That was over the line. That was considered base and shameful and doing that was the sign of a man who couldn't control himself. And the Admiral never did that.
But he wouldn't have. Because it would have looked bad. He almost never yelled when there were other people around, because that looked bad, too. Technically, he rarely yelled, at least not in the sense of being angry. Loud and scary, yeah, he did that a lot, but he was usually pretty calm about it. He certainly knew what he was doing, and it was intentional.
The only time Tim thinks the Admiral was actually angry, the only time he fully lost it, was when Tim showed him the Annapolis acceptance, handed it to him, waited for the smile, and it happened, wide, bright, happy smile, really, genuinely pleased for once, one of the few times he can remember his dad smiling at him once he was a teen, and then he took that letter back and ripped it, very carefully and deliberately, into shreds and said, "I'm going to Johns Hopkins."
He replayed the words that came next, ran them through his mind. They're far enough back in his personal history and he's done it often enough now that he can just about do it without feeling like he wants to hit someone, hide, or cry.
Until Ducky said it, the word abuse never entered his mind. He hadn't been lying; no one ever said it, no one ever thought it. But once Ducky said it, it clicked, and obviously that's how Abby has to think about it, otherwise she wouldn't be upset with his mom or grandmother…
He was a kid who wanted his dad to pay attention. He wanted his dad home. He wanted hugs and smiles and petting and soft words and laughter and encouragement and time. But his dad wasn't home, and his Dad only smiled when he got everything perfect, and once he regularly got everything perfect his dad stopped smiling because perfect wasn't enough and he needed to do more and better and do it the way his Dad liked it and only the way he liked it.
He was a teen who fought with his dad. More or less constantly when the Admiral was home, but he wasn't home a lot. By the time he was fourteen, fighting was their default setting. Tim's pretty sure he started a lot of those fights, well, some of them anyway. He definitely started the Annapolis one. But… but even if your fifteen-year-old is pushing all of your buttons as hard as he can, because he's sure he can't get you to pet him, so he'll make you yell instead, you still don't call him fat or ugly or stupid or clumsy, you really don't call him a worthless failure, and you certainly don't call him an weak little faggot who needs to be raped by a whole battleship of sailors to learn some respect for the lessons he's being taught in how to be tough, you just don't.
The idea that stuff like that might actually happen on battleships was also part of why Tim didn't want to be a sailor, and is also something he's just putting together right now. (The fact that he gets seasick when he sees a battleship, usually before he actually sets foot on it, let alone can feel it moving, probably also has something to do with this, and is, yet again, something he's putting together for the first time right now.)
He was a kid who was abused by his dad.
He lets that sit in his mind for a few minutes. There's a sort of… uncomfortable peace to that, and he's not sure what to do with that emotion. It feels right, but he doesn't want it to.
If it was abuse, then the other adults in his life had a duty to protect him.
If it was just two guys butting heads, then they didn't.
How much did they really know? Everyone knew they fought… but he was good at making sure no one really heard what he said…
He pulled out his phone and brought up Penny's number.
"Tim?"
"Hey, Penny, do you have time to talk?"
"Officially, I've got office hours right now, but no one's here, and I don't have another lecture for three hours. What's going on?"
"That'll do." He doesn't say anything for a few seconds. "Penny, why do you think my Dad loves me?"
"Timothy…" He can hear concern and confusion in her voice.
"Just lay it out for me, like it's a proof."
"Honey, can you back up a little, give me an idea of why you're asking and what's going on?"
"It's a long story."
"I've got time." He hears her stand up and a door click shut. "Just closed my door. Office hours are now officially booked. You've got me 'til four. Start at the beginning."
So he did. And he didn't pull any punches or censor himself. He told her everything starting with getting sick, every phrase he could remember of what he said to Abby and Ducky, as well as a bunch of others he was pretty sure (really hoped) he didn't say to them, and he told her about hearing them in the first place, and then told her about talking with Ducky, and how he said just because it wasn't physical didn't mean it wasn't abuse. He finished with, "So, why do you think he loves me? What do you see that I don't?"
Originally Posted ByShe was silent on the other end for a long time, thinking about what he said, probably looking very distressed. He's not going to press her to respond, but he can tell by the way this silence feels that he just dropped a ton of stuff she hadn't known on her, (which was a relief for him) and that right now one of her major paradigms is shifting, as well.
Finally, after what was probably three solid minutes of silence, she says, "First off, Tim, Ducky's right, that's over the line. It's never okay to do that to someone else. He is my son, and I love him, and it's still abuse, and it's still wrong, and…" her voice cracked and she sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly before continuing, "I'm so sorry I didn't do more for you. All I can say is I didn't know it was that bad. I knew you fought, and I knew he was angry, but… not that, but I should have, and I should have gotten you out of there a whole lot sooner."
"Why do you think he loves me, Penny? Past can't change, but… I want some more context."
She took another deep breath and tried to answer calmly. "I was there the first time he held you, Tim. You were six days old when he got home. I remember the way his hands shook and the smile on his face. I was there two months ago when we got together for lunch and he asked to see your wedding pictures. I saw the way he looked at them. I gave him the signed copies of your books that he asked for."
"The books he's told me were 'a massive fucking waste of time and talent.' My 'faggy' little mysteries that I needed to 'stop dicking around with and commit to some real work?'"
"When…"
"After that case… You told me he loved me. I called him. We talked for like, eight minutes, and it seemed like it was going okay until I mentioned I was a best-selling author and he went ballistic on my books."
"Oh."
"And it went downhill from there on my career. He was yelling about how I needed to commit to one thing and really do it, and then I mentioned the whole chose not to be in charge of Cybercrime thing, you know committing to my team, and well, a minute into that harangue I hung up. Dereliction of duty was the nicest thing he had to say, and I decided I didn't want or need any of the rest of his comments on my life choices."
"I'm sorry."
"Yeah. I'm hearing that a lot these days. So, he likes pictures of me and wants my books on his shelf. He actually read them?"
"I don't know. We don't talk about that."
"Sounds like he wants trophies so he can keep the image of me in his life without having to actually have me in his life."
"Maybe." She doesn't sound convinced about that, but he gets the sense she's not sure about anything in regards to John right now. "One thing I know is that when he doesn't care about something, he can't get angry about it."
"That's not comforting. Anything else?"
"He always asks about you. He asks Sarah for updates, too."
"Still seems like window dressing to me. People know he has two kids, and he wants to be able to give some sort of information on both of them rather than admit that he's not in contact with me. He probably thinks it looks bad if my books aren't on his shelf, especially since Sarah's are. Did he ask for copies of the wedding pictures?"
"He wanted a few, and of the sonogram."
"Let me guess, he's got them up in his office?"
"I think that's true. Last time I was there, your and Sarah's books were on a shelf up behind Nelson and Connor's medals and flags. I don't know if he has the pictures up, but he probably does."
"I called him the night before our wedding, wanting to know why he married mom, what it meant to him, and I mentioned that Abby was pregnant, and all he had to say about it to me was, 'Already?'"
"Look, honey, I'm not going to be the person who says, 'But he really loves you deep down and that makes it okay,' because nothing ever makes this okay. But, it feels like he loves you to me. He seems genuine when he asks about you. He looks interested, and like he wants to know. He appears to really regret the fact that he's never met your wife and is never going to meet your children."
"Damn right he's never meeting my kids! He's not getting within a mile of them! And I don't want you or Sarah giving him pictures of them."
"I don't blame you for that, and I won't give him any again."
"Penny, is this how men who love each other act in your world? Did Grandpa treat him like that?"
"No honey, he didn't."
"Does Ducky treat you like that?"
"No, he doesn't. And Nelson didn't, either."
"I was sick, and Jethro came over, brought me soup, helped me take my pills and kissed my forehead. I'm not a child, and I'm not his, but he still did it."
"Timothy, you are most certainly his. I barely know him, but I know that."
"Did he ever did that for me? I can't remember it."
"You were four, and your mom was pregnant, not too far along, but sick with it, and you had… strep throat I think."
"My mom was pregnant?"
"Tim, she miscarried three times between you and Sarah."
"I didn't know that."
"You were three the first time, four the second, and six the third. She never got past ten weeks. They never got to the point of telling you about it because you were so little. But you were sick, and she was too, and I was staying with you to help out, and I remember him lying on the sofa, letting you nap on him because you were feeling so awful."
Tim tried, really tried, but he couldn't come up with it.
"I don't remember it."
"No. You wouldn't. You were little and sleeping. But he really did used to do things like that. He was home most of the year you were three and a half of four, things like that happened a lot then."
"Back when he still saw me as his little sailor."
"Yes."
"Back when he could love a fantasy of who I was going to be."
Penny sighed. "Yes."
He sat there quietly, looking around his office. "You know, it doesn't hurt nearly as bad as it feels like it should. Mostly I'm just tired, done with this."
"Are you done with it, really?"
"I want to be. Besides Sarah's wedding and your funeral, I'll probably never have to see him again."
"No, you don't."
"So, call it six, maybe eight more hours of my life, and he could always be relied on to behave in public. I don't ever have to do more than make small talk with him again."
"You don't even have to do that if you don't want to."
"I guess not."
"So what happens now?"
"Nap, I think. I'm really tired. I'm feeling a lot better, but still get tired really easily."
"Then go get that nap."
Bed is sounding awfully good, but he's not quite ready to put his phone down, yet. "You going to talk to him?"
"Eventually. He calls every few weeks. You want me to bring this up?"
Tim shrugs, genuinely unsure. But she can't see that. "I really don't know. Nothing changed, you know? The past is still exactly the same; it's just got a new label, and some things are making a bit more sense now." He puzzles that for a bit, and Penny lets him. Eventually he says, "I'm sure he still thinks he was getting me ready for the real world, trying to make me as strong and as good as I could be, at least, I think that was true when I was little. Eventually, by the end, he was smacking me for not being who he wanted me to be. I'm sure he's got miles of justifications. I was soft, and clumsy, and fat, and liked girly things, and got the answer wrong sometimes, and wasn't first string on any team, and—"
"And there was nothing wrong with any of that."
"Not to you. Not to Mom or Gran or Pop."
"Not to anyone who loves you." Penny seems to hear what she's just said. Tim can imagine the expression on her face right now, and he's fairly sure her next conversation with her son will be very interesting.
"Yeah. That's what I thought, Penny. If you want to talk to him about it for you, because he's your son and you're horrified at what he said, and what it says about how he feels about women and gays, have at it, it's fine. But not for me. I'm done with this."
"Okay. Go rest up."
"Thanks. You coming down to visit anytime soon?"
"Spring break is next week, and I'm Ducky's plus one for Tony and Ziva's wedding."
"Should I tell Ziva to expect you for Shabbos next Friday?"
"Yes, I'd like that."
"Good. See you then."
Chapter 165: Friday
On Friday he was bored.
Bored, bored, bored.
Tim's rarely bored. Best he can remember, the last time he was bored he was on a stakeout. Best he can remember, the only time he gets bored is on stakeout. So, for about, oh, nine seconds it was a kind of novel sensation, and then it was, well, boring.
Between cases, writing, gaming, TV, and reading, he almost never has time where he's got nothing to do when he's on his own. But, while he's feeling mostly better at this point, really, he's just tired, and sore, and okay, he's still coughing a little, which is why he's sore, his brain's not all back yet.
And he knows it. He sat at his typewriter, spent another hour working on Deep Six, looked at what he had, and it was crap.
He played Call of Duty for ten minutes and got his ass handed to him so fast so many times he knew it was time to bow out.
Minecraft didn't hold his attention for more than twenty minutes. Modding for Minecraft didn't last for more than seven minutes.
He read three pages of his book before he lost interest.
Tim thought about jerking off, but he's not that horny and Abby'll probably be home a little early, so might as well hold off and see if she's interested in helping him "recuperate." Okay, some fun ideas on that front held his attention for a good ten minutes, and he's wondering if they've got anything that looks even vaguely like a nurse's outfit. Abby could probably bring some scrubs home from work. He sends her a text about that, and that ate up a pleasant half hour, but eventually she had to get back to work, leaving him, once again, bored.
What he really wants is another season of Supernatural. He's not with it enough to work or write. But something fun and snarky and sexy would be really good about now, alas he caught up with the live show yesterday, so no new episodes for a few more days.
He flipped around Amazon and Netflix, watched half an episode of The Dresden Files, which he's fairly sure he'd normally like (he liked the books), but it's not keeping his interest, either.
Bored, bored, bored.
Bored Tim thinks. That's just how he is. His brain never really goes quiet. It just hops from one thing to the next, processing away. When he's not bored, he has an easy time staying on one thing for a long time. Bored Tim skips from issue to issue, looking for something to catch his interest.
And it lands on Penny, and the Admiral, and some really nasty words, and the fact that trying to not think about that is probably a good half of why he can't focus on anything. Because, when there's something niggling around in the back of his mind, something he's trying to ignore, his brain will try to bring him back to it, and short circuiting his ability to focus on things is one of the ways it does that.
So, he can let it go, keep bouncing from thing to thing, keep blaming the lack of focus on recovering from the flu, or he actually face what's going on back there in his head.
He makes himself a cup of tea, heads to his office, and sits down in front of his typewriter. He's not sure if he'll write about it or not. Sometimes just thinking is enough. Sometimes he's got to get it on paper.
Maybe paper. He pulls the sheet of Deep Six: Shadow Force (It's probably a good thing there are marketing people to help him come up with titles for these things. He's fairly sure they won't be keeping this one.) out and slides a blank one in, and then stares at it.
The thing is, it never occurred to him that his mom or Penny or his grandparents should have done anything more than they did. Sailors curse, it's just who and what they are. Though, as he thinks about it, not wanting to be a guy who said things like that was a big part of not wanting to be a sailor. He's mildly surprised that he's never made that connection before.
Dads yell at their kids when they don't live up to their expectations. Everyone does that, right? That's part of how you let them know you're serious about being disappointed. Sure, he's got no intention of being that guy himself, but the list of things he's intending to do differently with Kelly is about six miles long, so the fact that's on there isn't a surprise. In fact, the only play out of his father's book that he's intending to use (and really, he's taking it out of Gibbs' playbook) is have high standards.
But there's a line between yelling and degrading. And there's a line between having expectations for your kid's own good and wanting to control every aspect of her life.
There's a line between pushing them to do their best and abuse.
He had friends, acquaintances really, who got slapped around. That was over the line. That was considered base and shameful and doing that was the sign of a man who couldn't control himself. And the Admiral never did that.
But he wouldn't have. Because it would have looked bad. He almost never yelled when there were other people around, because that looked bad, too. Technically, he rarely yelled, at least not in the sense of being angry. Loud and scary, yeah, he did that a lot, but he was usually pretty calm about it. He certainly knew what he was doing, and it was intentional.
The only time Tim thinks the Admiral was actually angry, the only time he fully lost it, was when Tim showed him the Annapolis acceptance, handed it to him, waited for the smile, and it happened, wide, bright, happy smile, really, genuinely pleased for once, one of the few times he can remember his dad smiling at him once he was a teen, and then he took that letter back and ripped it, very carefully and deliberately, into shreds and said, "I'm going to Johns Hopkins."
He replayed the words that came next, ran them through his mind. They're far enough back in his personal history and he's done it often enough now that he can just about do it without feeling like he wants to hit someone, hide, or cry.
Until Ducky said it, the word abuse never entered his mind. He hadn't been lying; no one ever said it, no one ever thought it. But once Ducky said it, it clicked, and obviously that's how Abby has to think about it, otherwise she wouldn't be upset with his mom or grandmother…
He was a kid who wanted his dad to pay attention. He wanted his dad home. He wanted hugs and smiles and petting and soft words and laughter and encouragement and time. But his dad wasn't home, and his Dad only smiled when he got everything perfect, and once he regularly got everything perfect his dad stopped smiling because perfect wasn't enough and he needed to do more and better and do it the way his Dad liked it and only the way he liked it.
He was a teen who fought with his dad. More or less constantly when the Admiral was home, but he wasn't home a lot. By the time he was fourteen, fighting was their default setting. Tim's pretty sure he started a lot of those fights, well, some of them anyway. He definitely started the Annapolis one. But… but even if your fifteen-year-old is pushing all of your buttons as hard as he can, because he's sure he can't get you to pet him, so he'll make you yell instead, you still don't call him fat or ugly or stupid or clumsy, you really don't call him a worthless failure, and you certainly don't call him an weak little faggot who needs to be raped by a whole battleship of sailors to learn some respect for the lessons he's being taught in how to be tough, you just don't.
The idea that stuff like that might actually happen on battleships was also part of why Tim didn't want to be a sailor, and is also something he's just putting together right now. (The fact that he gets seasick when he sees a battleship, usually before he actually sets foot on it, let alone can feel it moving, probably also has something to do with this, and is, yet again, something he's putting together for the first time right now.)
He was a kid who was abused by his dad.
He lets that sit in his mind for a few minutes. There's a sort of… uncomfortable peace to that, and he's not sure what to do with that emotion. It feels right, but he doesn't want it to.
If it was abuse, then the other adults in his life had a duty to protect him.
If it was just two guys butting heads, then they didn't.
How much did they really know? Everyone knew they fought… but he was good at making sure no one really heard what he said…
He pulled out his phone and brought up Penny's number.
"Tim?"
"Hey, Penny, do you have time to talk?"
"Officially, I've got office hours right now, but no one's here, and I don't have another lecture for three hours. What's going on?"
"That'll do." He doesn't say anything for a few seconds. "Penny, why do you think my Dad loves me?"
"Timothy…" He can hear concern and confusion in her voice.
"Just lay it out for me, like it's a proof."
"Honey, can you back up a little, give me an idea of why you're asking and what's going on?"
"It's a long story."
"I've got time." He hears her stand up and a door click shut. "Just closed my door. Office hours are now officially booked. You've got me 'til four. Start at the beginning."
So he did. And he didn't pull any punches or censor himself. He told her everything starting with getting sick, every phrase he could remember of what he said to Abby and Ducky, as well as a bunch of others he was pretty sure (really hoped) he didn't say to them, and he told her about hearing them in the first place, and then told her about talking with Ducky, and how he said just because it wasn't physical didn't mean it wasn't abuse. He finished with, "So, why do you think he loves me? What do you see that I don't?"
Originally Posted ByShe was silent on the other end for a long time, thinking about what he said, probably looking very distressed. He's not going to press her to respond, but he can tell by the way this silence feels that he just dropped a ton of stuff she hadn't known on her, (which was a relief for him) and that right now one of her major paradigms is shifting, as well.Finally, after what was probably three solid minutes of silence, she says, "First off, Tim, Ducky's right, that's over the line. It's never okay to do that to someone else. He is my son, and I love him, and it's still abuse, and it's still wrong, and…" her voice cracked and she sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly before continuing, "I'm so sorry I didn't do more for you. All I can say is I didn't know it was that bad. I knew you fought, and I knew he was angry, but… not that, but I should have, and I should have gotten you out of there a whole lot sooner."
"Why do you think he loves me, Penny? Past can't change, but… I want some more context."
She took another deep breath and tried to answer calmly. "I was there the first time he held you, Tim. You were six days old when he got home. I remember the way his hands shook and the smile on his face. I was there two months ago when we got together for lunch and he asked to see your wedding pictures. I saw the way he looked at them. I gave him the signed copies of your books that he asked for."
"The books he's told me were 'a massive fucking waste of time and talent.' My 'faggy' little mysteries that I needed to 'stop dicking around with and commit to some real work?'"
"When…"
"After that case… You told me he loved me. I called him. We talked for like, eight minutes, and it seemed like it was going okay until I mentioned I was a best-selling author and he went ballistic on my books."
"Oh."
"And it went downhill from there on my career. He was yelling about how I needed to commit to one thing and really do it, and then I mentioned the whole chose not to be in charge of Cybercrime thing, you know committing to my team, and well, a minute into that harangue I hung up. Dereliction of duty was the nicest thing he had to say, and I decided I didn't want or need any of the rest of his comments on my life choices."
"I'm sorry."
"Yeah. I'm hearing that a lot these days. So, he likes pictures of me and wants my books on his shelf. He actually read them?"
"I don't know. We don't talk about that."
"Sounds like he wants trophies so he can keep the image of me in his life without having to actually have me in his life."
"Maybe." She doesn't sound convinced about that, but he gets the sense she's not sure about anything in regards to John right now. "One thing I know is that when he doesn't care about something, he can't get angry about it."
"That's not comforting. Anything else?"
"He always asks about you. He asks Sarah for updates, too."
"Still seems like window dressing to me. People know he has two kids, and he wants to be able to give some sort of information on both of them rather than admit that he's not in contact with me. He probably thinks it looks bad if my books aren't on his shelf, especially since Sarah's are. Did he ask for copies of the wedding pictures?"
"He wanted a few, and of the sonogram."
"Let me guess, he's got them up in his office?"
"I think that's true. Last time I was there, your and Sarah's books were on a shelf up behind Nelson and Connor's medals and flags. I don't know if he has the pictures up, but he probably does."
"I called him the night before our wedding, wanting to know why he married mom, what it meant to him, and I mentioned that Abby was pregnant, and all he had to say about it to me was, 'Already?'"
"Look, honey, I'm not going to be the person who says, 'But he really loves you deep down and that makes it okay,' because nothing ever makes this okay. But, it feels like he loves you to me. He seems genuine when he asks about you. He looks interested, and like he wants to know. He appears to really regret the fact that he's never met your wife and is never going to meet your children."
"Damn right he's never meeting my kids! He's not getting within a mile of them! And I don't want you or Sarah giving him pictures of them."
"I don't blame you for that, and I won't give him any again."
"Penny, is this how men who love each other act in your world? Did Grandpa treat him like that?"
"No honey, he didn't."
"Does Ducky treat you like that?"
"No, he doesn't. And Nelson didn't, either."
"I was sick, and Jethro came over, brought me soup, helped me take my pills and kissed my forehead. I'm not a child, and I'm not his, but he still did it."
"Timothy, you are most certainly his. I barely know him, but I know that."
"Did he ever did that for me? I can't remember it."
"You were four, and your mom was pregnant, not too far along, but sick with it, and you had… strep throat I think."
"My mom was pregnant?"
"Tim, she miscarried three times between you and Sarah."
"I didn't know that."
"You were three the first time, four the second, and six the third. She never got past ten weeks. They never got to the point of telling you about it because you were so little. But you were sick, and she was too, and I was staying with you to help out, and I remember him lying on the sofa, letting you nap on him because you were feeling so awful."
Tim tried, really tried, but he couldn't come up with it.
"I don't remember it."
"No. You wouldn't. You were little and sleeping. But he really did used to do things like that. He was home most of the year you were three and a half of four, things like that happened a lot then."
"Back when he still saw me as his little sailor."
"Yes."
"Back when he could love a fantasy of who I was going to be."
Penny sighed. "Yes."
He sat there quietly, looking around his office. "You know, it doesn't hurt nearly as bad as it feels like it should. Mostly I'm just tired, done with this."
"Are you done with it, really?"
"I want to be. Besides Sarah's wedding and your funeral, I'll probably never have to see him again."
"No, you don't."
"So, call it six, maybe eight more hours of my life, and he could always be relied on to behave in public. I don't ever have to do more than make small talk with him again."
"You don't even have to do that if you don't want to."
"I guess not."
"So what happens now?"
"Nap, I think. I'm really tired. I'm feeling a lot better, but still get tired really easily."
"Then go get that nap."
Bed is sounding awfully good, but he's not quite ready to put his phone down, yet. "You going to talk to him?"
"Eventually. He calls every few weeks. You want me to bring this up?"
Tim shrugs, genuinely unsure. But she can't see that. "I really don't know. Nothing changed, you know? The past is still exactly the same; it's just got a new label, and some things are making a bit more sense now." He puzzles that for a bit, and Penny lets him. Eventually he says, "I'm sure he still thinks he was getting me ready for the real world, trying to make me as strong and as good as I could be, at least, I think that was true when I was little. Eventually, by the end, he was smacking me for not being who he wanted me to be. I'm sure he's got miles of justifications. I was soft, and clumsy, and fat, and liked girly things, and got the answer wrong sometimes, and wasn't first string on any team, and—"
"And there was nothing wrong with any of that."
"Not to you. Not to Mom or Gran or Pop."
"Not to anyone who loves you." Penny seems to hear what she's just said. Tim can imagine the expression on her face right now, and he's fairly sure her next conversation with her son will be very interesting.
"Yeah. That's what I thought, Penny. If you want to talk to him about it for you, because he's your son and you're horrified at what he said, and what it says about how he feels about women and gays, have at it, it's fine. But not for me. I'm done with this."
"Okay. Go rest up."
"Thanks. You coming down to visit anytime soon?"
"Spring break is next week, and I'm Ducky's plus one for Tony and Ziva's wedding."
"Should I tell Ziva to expect you for Shabbos next Friday?"
"Yes, I'd like that."
"Good. See you then."
August 16, 2013
Shards To A Whole: Chapter 161
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 161: I Meant To
Tim usually wakes up pretty easily. There's a sort of moment where he switches from dreaming to just lying in bed, and from there a fairly gentle slide into fully awake. And for the most part it's a pretty quick transition, usually a matter of two or three minutes.
Some mornings, and those are mornings he very much appreciates, Abby gives him a hand on sliding from dreaming into fully awake. Occasionally he returns the favor, but most of the time she wakes up before he does, so she's in charge of morning sex. However it happens, making love is definitely his favorite way to go from asleep to awake.
Other mornings, his phone or Gibbs jerks him from dreaming into full on awake. Those mornings he transitions in a matter of seconds. He's significantly less happy about those mornings, but well, it's all part of the job.
So, for the most part, he's pretty good at not getting stuck between dreaming and awake.
But today he can't shake it. The little awake part of his mind knows he's at home, in bed, but the sleeping part of his mind is stuck in the freezer again. He's cold. So cold. Somehow colder than he was when he was there for real, and like when it really happened every single part of his body aches. And to make it worse, Abby's there too, and he's clinging to her, trying to keep her warm, but she's already icy cold, and he can't warm her up, can't warm up at all. He's shivering, hurting, and panicking because he can't get out of it.
"God, Tim…" Abby's trying to shove him off of her, and he's gripping onto her tighter. She had been sleeping pretty comfortably, but suddenly Tim turned into a scalding hot boa constrictor, and she feels like she's going to suffocate or possibly drown in sweat. "Tim! Wake up." She shakes him while trying to scoot further away. "God, baby, you're on fire. Come, on wake up."
That finally brakes through the dream, and he's fully back in bed. But he's still bone-deep cold, hurts all over, tired, weak, and wet.
"Tim?" Abby feels him loosen his grip and assumes that means he's awake. She carefully gets up, tucking the blankets around him tighter while rejoicing at no longer being two seconds away from over-heating.
"Mrgh."
His eyes are glassy and not tracking well. His skin is flushed and sweaty. And she's not sure why she asked, because it's obvious he's sick, but she did anyway. "Are you feeling okay?"
"No." He starts shivering and begins to cough.
"Did you get a flu shot this year?"
He coughs, hard. "I meant to." More coughing. He thinks about it and comes to the conclusion that he'd planned on doing it and ended up getting wedding rings instead, and from there it pretty much slipped his mind.
She heads off for a second and comes back with more blankets, tucking him in further, stroking his shoulders. He curls into a ball, hugging his knees to his chest, and tries to get warm.
"What's your doctor's name?" He opens his eyes. She has his phone in hand.
He thinks about that for a good long minute. He hasn't seen the guy since Jethro tried to eat him alive, and right now he can't come up with his name. "I don't know."
"How can you not know?"
"Besides going to the emergency room, I haven't needed one in years."
"Great." She taps the screen of his phone, and a minute later he hears, "Hey Ducky, sorry to get you up on a Sunday morning… Oh good… Look, I think Tim has the flu, and he's in no condition to get out of bed to go to a doctor's office. Would you be willing to make a house call? Thanks, Ducky."
Time goes wonky for Tim after that, but eventually he notices that she's gotten dressed, a shower, and is snuggled up behind him on the outside of the blankets. And with that, something else occurs to him. "If I have the flu, you should get out of here."
"I got my shot this year."
"Doesn't always work. Don't want you getting sick, too."
"I'll risk it."
He tries to roll over to face her, and manages to get, well, his head turned in her general direction, the rest of his body had no interest whatsoever in getting out of the fetal position it was wrapped into. "Get the fuck out of here, now! I do not want you getting sick!"
She smiles in a gently condescending way, pets his hair, and says, "That would have been way more impressive if your teeth hadn't been chattering." He groans, coughs, and shivers some more. She kisses the top of his head. "But it's good to know your fever is so high you've lost the ability to think clearly. I can add that to the list of symptoms to tell Ducky about. Tim, you spent the last…" she checks the clock… "eleven hours breathing on me. And last night I had your tongue, fingers, and cock in my mouth. (Turns out make up sex was a whole lot of fun.) And you spent a good twenty minutes licking all of me, too. Either the vaccine'll work or it won't, but the me-not-getting-sick-from-you ship sailed the day before yesterday." She pets him again, hoping gentle stroking feels good on aching muscles, and finishes with, "Ducky'll be here soon, and if you've got the flu, he can give you, and maybe me, I'll have to go look that up, some Tamiflu, and that will help. I'm going to go make some breakfast, do you want to eat anything?"
Yes, that's rational. But that doesn't mean he has to like it. So he sounds a little sulky when he says, "No."
"Drink?"
That gets his attention. A drink means he can get something hot into him, maybe warm up a little. "Hot. Don't care what it is. Hot."
"One steaming hot something will be up in a minute."
It may have been a minute. Could have been an hour. He's got no idea. The only thing he's paying attention to is the way muscles he didn't even know he had were aching and how much he absolutely loathes being cold. When she came back with the cup of… hot chocolate he thinks, (It smells sweet and chocolate-y.) he doesn't want to get out from under the blankets enough to drink it, but he also doesn't want to have something so wonderfully hot sitting so close to him, and not drink it.
It's likely he's sort of pouting at the drink.
He's kind of aware of the fact that Abby must have brought it up, because he can see it on his bedside table, but she didn't appear to be in their room.
Then he feels the bed dip, (which is when it occurs to him that his eyes are probably closed, which brought up another troubling thought, namely, how is he looking at the hot chocolate if his eyes are closed?) and a straw presses against his lips, and then glorious hot, hot, hot liquid slips into his body, and no it doesn't help the shivers, and he's still bone deep cold, but at least there's a little warmth in the world, and by that point nothing else in the universe mattered.
She's petting his forehead and cheek, and he really wants to rest against her hand, take comfort in her skin on his, but right now her hand feels like ice.
"Abby, you're so cold."
She jerks her hand back. "It doesn't feel good?"
"Not right now."
"Sorry." She gets up, and he hears the sound of water running. A minute later, she's back. "Here."
It's a hot water bottle wrapped in a towel; it's snuggly and warm, so it's beyond brilliant right this second. He purrs at it and unclenches from the little ball he's curled into just enough to be able to hug it, and from there he pretty much checks out.
"Timothy." A soft and once again, really cold, hand on his forehead went with his name. Tim opened an eye, saw Ducky looking at Abby. "Abigail, do you have a thermometer?"
"Yeah." She headed over to her side of the bed and got it. Ducky looked at it curiously. Tim's vaguely amused by the idea that Ducky probably hasn't seen one jerry-rigged with duct tape and electronics the way theirs is. Abby saw the way Ducky was looking at it. "We were using it for getting pregnant. Tim modified it so it automatically uploads my temperatures to a program that keeps track of everything."
"Ah. Let's get your temperature, Timothy." He more or less just let Ducky manhandle him. A few seconds later Ducky said, "104.2, that's awfully high. Can you sit up?"
He managed it. He really didn't want to do it, most of his body was sending him, What the hell is wrong with you? Do not try to move. Just lay here and shiver signals, but he eventually got his arms unlocked from around his legs, his legs away from his chest, and his body into a somewhat upright position, but once he did that, waves of scalding cold hit him because getting upright meant the blankets were no longer wrapped around him.
So, he was sitting up (noticing that Abby's keeping him upright, and he was suddenly suspicious that without her help he'd be lying down again) and utterly miserable, shaking, flushed, cursing quietly, and wishing he was dead.
And yeah, he did shriek and jump when Ducky pressed the stethoscope against this chest. There is no way he doesn't keep that thing stored in a vat of liquid nitrogen. It's so cold he's expecting to see his skin come off, stuck to it, when Ducky pulled it away. But once he pulled it away, Abby gently eased him back to lying down, Ducky wrapped two of the blankets around him, and took the other ones away.
That involved cursing on Tim's part, as well. At least, he thought he was cursing. Ducky and Abby were talking to each other, not really paying attention to him. In retrospect, he may have been moaning in a pitiful manner.
Then Ducky knelt down on the floor in front of their bed, making sure he was eye to eye with Tim and said, slowly and carefully, "Timothy, you have a very high fever. I know you don't like the way this feels, but bundling you up further just exacerbates the problem. You're at 104.2 and 104 is when I usually suggest people go to the emergency room. I believe Abigail is right, and that you do have the flu. My hope is that in an effort to avoid chill, you've bundled yourself up so thoroughly that you're cooking yourself. So we are going to see if we can get your temperature down here at home. Which means there will be regular doses of Tylenol or Advil, no more huddling under every blanket in the house, and Abby's going to rub you down with a lukewarm wash cloth."
"No." And sure, he may not have been cursing out loud, but he was awfully sure that came out loud and clear. Just the idea of a cold, wet wash cloth made him want to curl into a defensive ball and die.
"Look at me, Timothy. If your temperature isn't at under 103.5 in an hour, you are going to the hospital. If it's not under 103 in two hours, you are going to the hospital. Because if you stay as hot as you are for much longer than that the proteins in your body will start to unravel in response to the heat. That will cripple or kill you."
Tim moaned, which wasn't exactly ascent, but was about all the response he could muster. Then Abby was holding two pills for him, and he took them. He thought he said something about just seeing if the fewer blankets and Tylenol would do the trick but next thing he knew she was rubbing something cold and wet down his arm and he was expressing monumental displeasure at that, because right that second, he'd rather have his brain melt than be wiped down with a cool washcloth.
He wasn't sure if Ducky stuck around for the sponge bath. He does know it took about seventeen weeks, and that Abby was way more thorough than she needed to be. For example, he really didn't need the area between his toes wiped, let alone any other part of his body. Let alone twice. Or maybe three times. It felt like three times. Whatever it was, it was god awful cold and wet and took forever and he hated every second of it.
It's true that as a general principal Tim's all in favor of nice, new, crisp, clean sheets, but not today. He thought the cold, wet torture was over, (Abby blotted him dry with a towel) and then next thing he knew he was being rolled around a bit and found himself, slightly damp, on cool, clean sheets.
But it was also true that his head felt a little clearer, and while he wanted to pout about being cold, he at least now understood why they were doing it to him, which meant there was significantly less cursing coming out of him as Abby draped a light blanket over him, so he supposed that was a step in the right direction.
She took his temperature again, and Ducky appeared out of nowhere (maybe he had stuck around for the sponge bath?) and declared him at 103.6, which pleased both of them, and probably would have pleased Tim, but in that getting sponged off and yelling about it had completely exhausted him, he fell asleep before she got the read out.
He woke up again, cold, shivery, aching, miserable in every possible definition of the word. It took him a minute to figure out why he was awake, but then it registered that Abby was trying to get him to sit up some to take more pills.
He pulled himself up, thought about taking the cup from her, but decided he'd just slosh whatever was in it all over the place, and let her feed him the pills and orange juice.
And then he went back to sleep again.
The next time he woke up, he woke on his own. The light was on the other side of the room, so it had to be afternoon. He just lay there for a while. One of the weird things about being sick is that it completely fries his time sense. He had no idea how long he lay there.
He was still awfully cold, and was working up the energy to lift up his head and look for another blanket when he remembered why he only had two of them. The thermometer was still on his bedside table, so he very carefully reached for it, keeping as much of his arm under the blankets for as long as he could, and checked for himself. 102.9. That's still higher than any fever he remembers having before, but it's lower than it was, and he's not feeling so horrendously loopy.
No, not loopy. Embarrassed as hell, because he was starting to remember what he thinks he might have been saying when he was getting wiped down, and well, he might not like his dad by any stretch of the imagination, but years of living with the man meant that when he put his mind to it, he can really curse up a blue streak.
"Hey."
"Abby." This was when he noticed she was lying on her side of the bed, on top of the blankets, reading, and he reassessed how loopy he was. Obviously, he still wasn't all there if he missed that.
"You feeling any better?"
"I think so." Talking was a bad plan, that made him cough. She saw the thermometer in his hand and checked his temperature.
"It's down, good. You had Ducky and I pretty scared for a little while there. What do you remember?"
"Cold, wet," cough, cough, "saying terrible things," cough, "really cold," cough, "still cold," cough.
"Okay, you've got to stop talking. Ducky's still here, he wanted to talk to you once you were awake enough to follow a conversation. Think you can do that?"
Tim nodded.
She headed out and a bit later Ducky was back.
He smiled at Tim, touched his head, and nodded a bit. "Better. Not good, but better. I want you to listen to me."
Tim nodded again.
"I believe Abby is right and that you have the flu. You've already gotten your first dose of Tamiflu. In an effort to keep your fever down, she's giving you Tylenol every four hours, and making sure you don't burrow under every blanket in the house. Your job is to take your pills, lie in this bed, drink plenty of fluids, and rest.
"If I see you at NCIS at any time in the next week, I will not only tell the Director that you are unfit to work, I will also personally slap you upside the head for going in, and Jethro for not immediately sending you home. If you get up too soon, you risk coming down with pneumonia. If you get pneumonia, you can give that to Abby. We can treat the flu and keep her from getting sick with it. If you come down with pneumonia, the only way to keep her from getting it is to have her go stay with Jimmy and Breena. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Are you going to stay in bed and rest?"
"Yes."
"Good." Ducky stood back up and faced Abby, which was when Tim checked out again. He was vaguely aware of the fact that Ducky was still talking to Abby, but he missed most of it. Actually, he missed most of the rest of Sunday. The main thing he remembers are periods of being very cold and shivery interspersed with taking more Tylenol and sleeping.
Chapter 161: I Meant To
Tim usually wakes up pretty easily. There's a sort of moment where he switches from dreaming to just lying in bed, and from there a fairly gentle slide into fully awake. And for the most part it's a pretty quick transition, usually a matter of two or three minutes.
Some mornings, and those are mornings he very much appreciates, Abby gives him a hand on sliding from dreaming into fully awake. Occasionally he returns the favor, but most of the time she wakes up before he does, so she's in charge of morning sex. However it happens, making love is definitely his favorite way to go from asleep to awake.
Other mornings, his phone or Gibbs jerks him from dreaming into full on awake. Those mornings he transitions in a matter of seconds. He's significantly less happy about those mornings, but well, it's all part of the job.
So, for the most part, he's pretty good at not getting stuck between dreaming and awake.
But today he can't shake it. The little awake part of his mind knows he's at home, in bed, but the sleeping part of his mind is stuck in the freezer again. He's cold. So cold. Somehow colder than he was when he was there for real, and like when it really happened every single part of his body aches. And to make it worse, Abby's there too, and he's clinging to her, trying to keep her warm, but she's already icy cold, and he can't warm her up, can't warm up at all. He's shivering, hurting, and panicking because he can't get out of it.
"God, Tim…" Abby's trying to shove him off of her, and he's gripping onto her tighter. She had been sleeping pretty comfortably, but suddenly Tim turned into a scalding hot boa constrictor, and she feels like she's going to suffocate or possibly drown in sweat. "Tim! Wake up." She shakes him while trying to scoot further away. "God, baby, you're on fire. Come, on wake up."
That finally brakes through the dream, and he's fully back in bed. But he's still bone-deep cold, hurts all over, tired, weak, and wet.
"Tim?" Abby feels him loosen his grip and assumes that means he's awake. She carefully gets up, tucking the blankets around him tighter while rejoicing at no longer being two seconds away from over-heating.
"Mrgh."
His eyes are glassy and not tracking well. His skin is flushed and sweaty. And she's not sure why she asked, because it's obvious he's sick, but she did anyway. "Are you feeling okay?"
"No." He starts shivering and begins to cough.
"Did you get a flu shot this year?"
He coughs, hard. "I meant to." More coughing. He thinks about it and comes to the conclusion that he'd planned on doing it and ended up getting wedding rings instead, and from there it pretty much slipped his mind.
She heads off for a second and comes back with more blankets, tucking him in further, stroking his shoulders. He curls into a ball, hugging his knees to his chest, and tries to get warm.
"What's your doctor's name?" He opens his eyes. She has his phone in hand.
He thinks about that for a good long minute. He hasn't seen the guy since Jethro tried to eat him alive, and right now he can't come up with his name. "I don't know."
"How can you not know?"
"Besides going to the emergency room, I haven't needed one in years."
"Great." She taps the screen of his phone, and a minute later he hears, "Hey Ducky, sorry to get you up on a Sunday morning… Oh good… Look, I think Tim has the flu, and he's in no condition to get out of bed to go to a doctor's office. Would you be willing to make a house call? Thanks, Ducky."
Time goes wonky for Tim after that, but eventually he notices that she's gotten dressed, a shower, and is snuggled up behind him on the outside of the blankets. And with that, something else occurs to him. "If I have the flu, you should get out of here."
"I got my shot this year."
"Doesn't always work. Don't want you getting sick, too."
"I'll risk it."
He tries to roll over to face her, and manages to get, well, his head turned in her general direction, the rest of his body had no interest whatsoever in getting out of the fetal position it was wrapped into. "Get the fuck out of here, now! I do not want you getting sick!"
She smiles in a gently condescending way, pets his hair, and says, "That would have been way more impressive if your teeth hadn't been chattering." He groans, coughs, and shivers some more. She kisses the top of his head. "But it's good to know your fever is so high you've lost the ability to think clearly. I can add that to the list of symptoms to tell Ducky about. Tim, you spent the last…" she checks the clock… "eleven hours breathing on me. And last night I had your tongue, fingers, and cock in my mouth. (Turns out make up sex was a whole lot of fun.) And you spent a good twenty minutes licking all of me, too. Either the vaccine'll work or it won't, but the me-not-getting-sick-from-you ship sailed the day before yesterday." She pets him again, hoping gentle stroking feels good on aching muscles, and finishes with, "Ducky'll be here soon, and if you've got the flu, he can give you, and maybe me, I'll have to go look that up, some Tamiflu, and that will help. I'm going to go make some breakfast, do you want to eat anything?"
Yes, that's rational. But that doesn't mean he has to like it. So he sounds a little sulky when he says, "No."
"Drink?"
That gets his attention. A drink means he can get something hot into him, maybe warm up a little. "Hot. Don't care what it is. Hot."
"One steaming hot something will be up in a minute."
It may have been a minute. Could have been an hour. He's got no idea. The only thing he's paying attention to is the way muscles he didn't even know he had were aching and how much he absolutely loathes being cold. When she came back with the cup of… hot chocolate he thinks, (It smells sweet and chocolate-y.) he doesn't want to get out from under the blankets enough to drink it, but he also doesn't want to have something so wonderfully hot sitting so close to him, and not drink it.
It's likely he's sort of pouting at the drink.
He's kind of aware of the fact that Abby must have brought it up, because he can see it on his bedside table, but she didn't appear to be in their room.
Then he feels the bed dip, (which is when it occurs to him that his eyes are probably closed, which brought up another troubling thought, namely, how is he looking at the hot chocolate if his eyes are closed?) and a straw presses against his lips, and then glorious hot, hot, hot liquid slips into his body, and no it doesn't help the shivers, and he's still bone deep cold, but at least there's a little warmth in the world, and by that point nothing else in the universe mattered.
She's petting his forehead and cheek, and he really wants to rest against her hand, take comfort in her skin on his, but right now her hand feels like ice.
"Abby, you're so cold."
She jerks her hand back. "It doesn't feel good?"
"Not right now."
"Sorry." She gets up, and he hears the sound of water running. A minute later, she's back. "Here."
It's a hot water bottle wrapped in a towel; it's snuggly and warm, so it's beyond brilliant right this second. He purrs at it and unclenches from the little ball he's curled into just enough to be able to hug it, and from there he pretty much checks out.
"Timothy." A soft and once again, really cold, hand on his forehead went with his name. Tim opened an eye, saw Ducky looking at Abby. "Abigail, do you have a thermometer?"
"Yeah." She headed over to her side of the bed and got it. Ducky looked at it curiously. Tim's vaguely amused by the idea that Ducky probably hasn't seen one jerry-rigged with duct tape and electronics the way theirs is. Abby saw the way Ducky was looking at it. "We were using it for getting pregnant. Tim modified it so it automatically uploads my temperatures to a program that keeps track of everything."
"Ah. Let's get your temperature, Timothy." He more or less just let Ducky manhandle him. A few seconds later Ducky said, "104.2, that's awfully high. Can you sit up?"
He managed it. He really didn't want to do it, most of his body was sending him, What the hell is wrong with you? Do not try to move. Just lay here and shiver signals, but he eventually got his arms unlocked from around his legs, his legs away from his chest, and his body into a somewhat upright position, but once he did that, waves of scalding cold hit him because getting upright meant the blankets were no longer wrapped around him.
So, he was sitting up (noticing that Abby's keeping him upright, and he was suddenly suspicious that without her help he'd be lying down again) and utterly miserable, shaking, flushed, cursing quietly, and wishing he was dead.
And yeah, he did shriek and jump when Ducky pressed the stethoscope against this chest. There is no way he doesn't keep that thing stored in a vat of liquid nitrogen. It's so cold he's expecting to see his skin come off, stuck to it, when Ducky pulled it away. But once he pulled it away, Abby gently eased him back to lying down, Ducky wrapped two of the blankets around him, and took the other ones away.
That involved cursing on Tim's part, as well. At least, he thought he was cursing. Ducky and Abby were talking to each other, not really paying attention to him. In retrospect, he may have been moaning in a pitiful manner.
Then Ducky knelt down on the floor in front of their bed, making sure he was eye to eye with Tim and said, slowly and carefully, "Timothy, you have a very high fever. I know you don't like the way this feels, but bundling you up further just exacerbates the problem. You're at 104.2 and 104 is when I usually suggest people go to the emergency room. I believe Abigail is right, and that you do have the flu. My hope is that in an effort to avoid chill, you've bundled yourself up so thoroughly that you're cooking yourself. So we are going to see if we can get your temperature down here at home. Which means there will be regular doses of Tylenol or Advil, no more huddling under every blanket in the house, and Abby's going to rub you down with a lukewarm wash cloth."
"No." And sure, he may not have been cursing out loud, but he was awfully sure that came out loud and clear. Just the idea of a cold, wet wash cloth made him want to curl into a defensive ball and die.
"Look at me, Timothy. If your temperature isn't at under 103.5 in an hour, you are going to the hospital. If it's not under 103 in two hours, you are going to the hospital. Because if you stay as hot as you are for much longer than that the proteins in your body will start to unravel in response to the heat. That will cripple or kill you."
Tim moaned, which wasn't exactly ascent, but was about all the response he could muster. Then Abby was holding two pills for him, and he took them. He thought he said something about just seeing if the fewer blankets and Tylenol would do the trick but next thing he knew she was rubbing something cold and wet down his arm and he was expressing monumental displeasure at that, because right that second, he'd rather have his brain melt than be wiped down with a cool washcloth.
He wasn't sure if Ducky stuck around for the sponge bath. He does know it took about seventeen weeks, and that Abby was way more thorough than she needed to be. For example, he really didn't need the area between his toes wiped, let alone any other part of his body. Let alone twice. Or maybe three times. It felt like three times. Whatever it was, it was god awful cold and wet and took forever and he hated every second of it.
It's true that as a general principal Tim's all in favor of nice, new, crisp, clean sheets, but not today. He thought the cold, wet torture was over, (Abby blotted him dry with a towel) and then next thing he knew he was being rolled around a bit and found himself, slightly damp, on cool, clean sheets.
But it was also true that his head felt a little clearer, and while he wanted to pout about being cold, he at least now understood why they were doing it to him, which meant there was significantly less cursing coming out of him as Abby draped a light blanket over him, so he supposed that was a step in the right direction.
She took his temperature again, and Ducky appeared out of nowhere (maybe he had stuck around for the sponge bath?) and declared him at 103.6, which pleased both of them, and probably would have pleased Tim, but in that getting sponged off and yelling about it had completely exhausted him, he fell asleep before she got the read out.
He woke up again, cold, shivery, aching, miserable in every possible definition of the word. It took him a minute to figure out why he was awake, but then it registered that Abby was trying to get him to sit up some to take more pills.
He pulled himself up, thought about taking the cup from her, but decided he'd just slosh whatever was in it all over the place, and let her feed him the pills and orange juice.
And then he went back to sleep again.
The next time he woke up, he woke on his own. The light was on the other side of the room, so it had to be afternoon. He just lay there for a while. One of the weird things about being sick is that it completely fries his time sense. He had no idea how long he lay there.
He was still awfully cold, and was working up the energy to lift up his head and look for another blanket when he remembered why he only had two of them. The thermometer was still on his bedside table, so he very carefully reached for it, keeping as much of his arm under the blankets for as long as he could, and checked for himself. 102.9. That's still higher than any fever he remembers having before, but it's lower than it was, and he's not feeling so horrendously loopy.
No, not loopy. Embarrassed as hell, because he was starting to remember what he thinks he might have been saying when he was getting wiped down, and well, he might not like his dad by any stretch of the imagination, but years of living with the man meant that when he put his mind to it, he can really curse up a blue streak.
"Hey."
"Abby." This was when he noticed she was lying on her side of the bed, on top of the blankets, reading, and he reassessed how loopy he was. Obviously, he still wasn't all there if he missed that.
"You feeling any better?"
"I think so." Talking was a bad plan, that made him cough. She saw the thermometer in his hand and checked his temperature.
"It's down, good. You had Ducky and I pretty scared for a little while there. What do you remember?"
"Cold, wet," cough, cough, "saying terrible things," cough, "really cold," cough, "still cold," cough.
"Okay, you've got to stop talking. Ducky's still here, he wanted to talk to you once you were awake enough to follow a conversation. Think you can do that?"
Tim nodded.
She headed out and a bit later Ducky was back.
He smiled at Tim, touched his head, and nodded a bit. "Better. Not good, but better. I want you to listen to me."
Tim nodded again.
"I believe Abby is right and that you have the flu. You've already gotten your first dose of Tamiflu. In an effort to keep your fever down, she's giving you Tylenol every four hours, and making sure you don't burrow under every blanket in the house. Your job is to take your pills, lie in this bed, drink plenty of fluids, and rest.
"If I see you at NCIS at any time in the next week, I will not only tell the Director that you are unfit to work, I will also personally slap you upside the head for going in, and Jethro for not immediately sending you home. If you get up too soon, you risk coming down with pneumonia. If you get pneumonia, you can give that to Abby. We can treat the flu and keep her from getting sick with it. If you come down with pneumonia, the only way to keep her from getting it is to have her go stay with Jimmy and Breena. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Are you going to stay in bed and rest?"
"Yes."
"Good." Ducky stood back up and faced Abby, which was when Tim checked out again. He was vaguely aware of the fact that Ducky was still talking to Abby, but he missed most of it. Actually, he missed most of the rest of Sunday. The main thing he remembers are periods of being very cold and shivery interspersed with taking more Tylenol and sleeping.
Shards To A Whole: Chapter 160
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 160: The Basement
Jimmy's never been in Gibbs' basement. Of course he's heard about the boats. Who hasn't? But he always sort of figured that, well, they were some sort of exaggeration. Like, he builds model boats and they leave the word model out. Or they're the little two seat kind you go fishing in. You know, the kind of joke Tony would tell, mild hazing for the credulous.
He didn't really expect to see a full-sized boat sitting in the basement.
And, like with anything else that takes him by surprise, he asked about it.
"How do you get it out?"
"Palmer?" Gibbs sounds a little surprised to see Jimmy so soon, and honestly Jimmy's a little surprised to be here so soon as well. But Gibbs invited him, Molly's asleep, Ziva and Abby are no longer at his place, Breena told him to go, and he needs to talk.
Gibbs climbs off of the Shannon. He's just about got the temporary decking done. Another week and she'll be ready for outside.
"It's a boat. And you've got no doors."
"She. Boats are girls. This one's name is Shannon." Though really, he's stalling, debating on whether it's time to give up that secret, not that he was going to hold it all that much longer, but... Tell him. It'll be a good sign that Jimmy's really welcome down here. He points behind himself. "That wall was originally designed with garage doors, so it's not load bearing. Garage doors aren't good for wood working, too drafty, the wood gets too damp or too dry. So I ripped them out and replaced them with drywall. When the boat's done, I rip it out again, take her out, and then put it back up. Only takes about three days, but it keeps my shop in good shape."
"Oh." He looks at the boat and gently traces his fingers over her hull. "Who's Shannon?"
That shocks Gibbs, he thought everyone at NCIS knew that by now. "First wife."
LinkJimmy nods. He knows that story; he just didn't know her name. Gibbs watches him make a connection in his mind, and then he remembers the boat that came in after Mike got into that gun fight. "The Kelly, that was named after your daughter."
"Yeah."
"How long ago did it happen?"
"Twenty-four years yesterday."
"Oh. Do you… do anything?"
"Not for a long time." Which isn't entirely true. He talks to what he's fairly sure is an imaginary Shannon on the anniversary of their death. But like the version of Mike that shows up from time to time, he's not entirely certain if she's in his head or if he's talking to a ghost. And honestly, at this point, he doesn't care, seeing her makes him feel better, helps to clear his head, and gives him hope. "But I always know when February 28th is. It never sneaks up on me."
Jimmy nods, fairly sure that January 8th will never sneak up on him. "I can deal with the sorrow, and Tim's right, though I thought it was insane, but fighting helps with the anger, but I can't shake the fear. I want them near me all the time. I've practically bubble-wrapped every surface in our house since Molly's started walking. And I'm just so scared for them all the time."
Gibbs nods back at him.
"Will it get better?"
"Sure. If you let it. But you've got to control it, because otherwise they'll feel smothered by it."
Jimmy nods at that. Breena's starting to get annoyed with the way he's constantly hovering. She understands, she feels that constant fear too, but him underfoot is starting to wear on her, which was a pretty big chunk of her tossing him out of the house, telling him to go talk to Gibbs. "How do you control it?"
Gibbs drags the two stools out from under his work bench and offers one to Jimmy. He also gestures to the bottles on the workbench, but Jimmy shakes his head as he sits, so he doesn't pour for either of them. "Best I can tell, you can't make it go away or tame it, only time does that. Every day you come home and find everything normal and everyone okay, gets you back in the habit of expecting okay, and that'll eventually tame the fear. Right now, all you can do is not let it own you. Right now, all you can control is how you act.
"Being a parent isn't for cowards. Nothing else will ever hurt like this, and nobody who hasn't been there will ever have a clue. And it's normal to want to protect yourself from ever feeling this way again."
Gibbs looks at the bourbon and the coffee cup next to it. Having a drink to go with this is really tempting. But if Jimmy's coping without drinking, supporting that is probably a good thing. So once again, he doesn't pour himself a shot.
"I didn't let myself love anyone for a decade after they died. Intentionally did not have any more children, and stayed away from women who had them. Abby was the first person I let in."
Jimmy just stares at him, and Gibbs is half expecting him to make some off color comment, but all he does is wait, and it occurs to him, that after more than a decade of working with Ducky, Jimmy is probably a pretty good listener.
"And that was dumb as hell. The fear won. It owned me, shaped my actions, and made sure that I and all three of my ex-wives were miserable. I didn't lose anyone during that decade, but besides Mike, I didn't gain anyone, either."
"You met Ducky then, right?"
"Yeah. And we were friends. But I never told him about my girls, never let him into my life until years later. Everyone knew I was a Marine, a sniper, a good cop, dependable in a tight situation, would marry any red-head that crossed my path for about ten minutes, and that was it."
Jimmy looks at Gibbs' left hand.
"You're still scared."
Gibbs rubs his thumb over his wedding ring. "Yeah. It doesn't go away. It never goes away. It does get better. Not letting it own you gets easier, too. But it's always going to be there."
"That's not encouraging."
"If you wanted feel good bullshit, you're in the wrong place."
"I know. I know the everything'll be all right, sparkly unicorns frolicking in meadows under double rainbows is crap. But I want it!" Jimmy looks away from Gibbs and sighs, then looks back at him. "I had as close to it as anyone ever gets, you know? And now it's gone."
"Yeah." Gibbs nods, smiles a little, not happy, but understanding where Jimmy's coming from. "I know. I had it, too, and then it was gone, and you can't go back, but you remember it, dream about it, and you feel like you're still there, and you wake up, and you aren't."
"Exactly."
"You can't go back, and the future you wanted with Jon is gone, but your wife is still here, and Molly is still here, and you're still here. You're never going to be the same man; you'll be scarred for the rest of your life, but you're doing what you need to do to move forward. You're grieving but still being the man your wife and daughter need. You're never going to be the same, but eventually you are going to be all right."
"That's more encouraging."
Gibbs smiles at him. "Give Tim a call. Tell him to take Molly for a long weekend. Go away with your wife and remember why you married her, let her remember why she married you."
"How did you even know about that?"
Gibbs smiles again, giving him the I know everything look.
"I'll end up texting every two hours to see how she is."
"You think Tim and Abby will mind? He'll set up that security camera he got you for your wedding at his place if you ask him to. Go. Do something nice for Breena. Don't let the fear own you. I'm never going to tell you to take off work again, so take advantage of it."
Jimmy doesn't look convinced by this.
"You'll go, you'll worry, but you'll also have time where you enjoy yourself and Breena, and you won't be thinking about anything other than enjoying her. You'll feel bad about it when you realize it's happening, but that's normal. Go and enjoy it anyway. And when you come home everything will be fine. Molly will be okay. And you'll have an easier time with her out of your sight because it will be fine when you get home."
Jimmy pulls his phone out of his pocket, stares at it and was just about to hit Tim's contact button when Gibbs adds, "But not next weekend, because Shannon's almost ready to move outside, and on Saturday bootcamp is over here, and you, Tim, and Tony are helping me rip down that wall."
Jimmy nods, still looking up from the phone as he realizes something. "When did you start calling him Tony?"
"When he asked permission to marry Ziva."
"Oh. I prefer Jimmy to Palmer. Especially when I'm not at work."
"Okay, Jimmy. When we're not at work, Jethro is fine."
Jimmy hit Tim's contact button on his phone. "Hey, Tim…"
Next
Chapter 160: The Basement
Jimmy's never been in Gibbs' basement. Of course he's heard about the boats. Who hasn't? But he always sort of figured that, well, they were some sort of exaggeration. Like, he builds model boats and they leave the word model out. Or they're the little two seat kind you go fishing in. You know, the kind of joke Tony would tell, mild hazing for the credulous.
He didn't really expect to see a full-sized boat sitting in the basement.
And, like with anything else that takes him by surprise, he asked about it.
"How do you get it out?"
"Palmer?" Gibbs sounds a little surprised to see Jimmy so soon, and honestly Jimmy's a little surprised to be here so soon as well. But Gibbs invited him, Molly's asleep, Ziva and Abby are no longer at his place, Breena told him to go, and he needs to talk.
Gibbs climbs off of the Shannon. He's just about got the temporary decking done. Another week and she'll be ready for outside.
"It's a boat. And you've got no doors."
"She. Boats are girls. This one's name is Shannon." Though really, he's stalling, debating on whether it's time to give up that secret, not that he was going to hold it all that much longer, but... Tell him. It'll be a good sign that Jimmy's really welcome down here. He points behind himself. "That wall was originally designed with garage doors, so it's not load bearing. Garage doors aren't good for wood working, too drafty, the wood gets too damp or too dry. So I ripped them out and replaced them with drywall. When the boat's done, I rip it out again, take her out, and then put it back up. Only takes about three days, but it keeps my shop in good shape."
"Oh." He looks at the boat and gently traces his fingers over her hull. "Who's Shannon?"
That shocks Gibbs, he thought everyone at NCIS knew that by now. "First wife."
LinkJimmy nods. He knows that story; he just didn't know her name. Gibbs watches him make a connection in his mind, and then he remembers the boat that came in after Mike got into that gun fight. "The Kelly, that was named after your daughter.""Yeah."
"How long ago did it happen?"
"Twenty-four years yesterday."
"Oh. Do you… do anything?"
"Not for a long time." Which isn't entirely true. He talks to what he's fairly sure is an imaginary Shannon on the anniversary of their death. But like the version of Mike that shows up from time to time, he's not entirely certain if she's in his head or if he's talking to a ghost. And honestly, at this point, he doesn't care, seeing her makes him feel better, helps to clear his head, and gives him hope. "But I always know when February 28th is. It never sneaks up on me."
Jimmy nods, fairly sure that January 8th will never sneak up on him. "I can deal with the sorrow, and Tim's right, though I thought it was insane, but fighting helps with the anger, but I can't shake the fear. I want them near me all the time. I've practically bubble-wrapped every surface in our house since Molly's started walking. And I'm just so scared for them all the time."
Gibbs nods back at him.
"Will it get better?"
"Sure. If you let it. But you've got to control it, because otherwise they'll feel smothered by it."
Jimmy nods at that. Breena's starting to get annoyed with the way he's constantly hovering. She understands, she feels that constant fear too, but him underfoot is starting to wear on her, which was a pretty big chunk of her tossing him out of the house, telling him to go talk to Gibbs. "How do you control it?"
Gibbs drags the two stools out from under his work bench and offers one to Jimmy. He also gestures to the bottles on the workbench, but Jimmy shakes his head as he sits, so he doesn't pour for either of them. "Best I can tell, you can't make it go away or tame it, only time does that. Every day you come home and find everything normal and everyone okay, gets you back in the habit of expecting okay, and that'll eventually tame the fear. Right now, all you can do is not let it own you. Right now, all you can control is how you act.
"Being a parent isn't for cowards. Nothing else will ever hurt like this, and nobody who hasn't been there will ever have a clue. And it's normal to want to protect yourself from ever feeling this way again."
Gibbs looks at the bourbon and the coffee cup next to it. Having a drink to go with this is really tempting. But if Jimmy's coping without drinking, supporting that is probably a good thing. So once again, he doesn't pour himself a shot.
"I didn't let myself love anyone for a decade after they died. Intentionally did not have any more children, and stayed away from women who had them. Abby was the first person I let in."
Jimmy just stares at him, and Gibbs is half expecting him to make some off color comment, but all he does is wait, and it occurs to him, that after more than a decade of working with Ducky, Jimmy is probably a pretty good listener.
"And that was dumb as hell. The fear won. It owned me, shaped my actions, and made sure that I and all three of my ex-wives were miserable. I didn't lose anyone during that decade, but besides Mike, I didn't gain anyone, either."
"You met Ducky then, right?"
"Yeah. And we were friends. But I never told him about my girls, never let him into my life until years later. Everyone knew I was a Marine, a sniper, a good cop, dependable in a tight situation, would marry any red-head that crossed my path for about ten minutes, and that was it."
Jimmy looks at Gibbs' left hand.
"You're still scared."
Gibbs rubs his thumb over his wedding ring. "Yeah. It doesn't go away. It never goes away. It does get better. Not letting it own you gets easier, too. But it's always going to be there."
"That's not encouraging."
"If you wanted feel good bullshit, you're in the wrong place."
"I know. I know the everything'll be all right, sparkly unicorns frolicking in meadows under double rainbows is crap. But I want it!" Jimmy looks away from Gibbs and sighs, then looks back at him. "I had as close to it as anyone ever gets, you know? And now it's gone."
"Yeah." Gibbs nods, smiles a little, not happy, but understanding where Jimmy's coming from. "I know. I had it, too, and then it was gone, and you can't go back, but you remember it, dream about it, and you feel like you're still there, and you wake up, and you aren't."
"Exactly."
"You can't go back, and the future you wanted with Jon is gone, but your wife is still here, and Molly is still here, and you're still here. You're never going to be the same man; you'll be scarred for the rest of your life, but you're doing what you need to do to move forward. You're grieving but still being the man your wife and daughter need. You're never going to be the same, but eventually you are going to be all right."
"That's more encouraging."
Gibbs smiles at him. "Give Tim a call. Tell him to take Molly for a long weekend. Go away with your wife and remember why you married her, let her remember why she married you."
"How did you even know about that?"
Gibbs smiles again, giving him the I know everything look.
"I'll end up texting every two hours to see how she is."
"You think Tim and Abby will mind? He'll set up that security camera he got you for your wedding at his place if you ask him to. Go. Do something nice for Breena. Don't let the fear own you. I'm never going to tell you to take off work again, so take advantage of it."
Jimmy doesn't look convinced by this.
"You'll go, you'll worry, but you'll also have time where you enjoy yourself and Breena, and you won't be thinking about anything other than enjoying her. You'll feel bad about it when you realize it's happening, but that's normal. Go and enjoy it anyway. And when you come home everything will be fine. Molly will be okay. And you'll have an easier time with her out of your sight because it will be fine when you get home."
Jimmy pulls his phone out of his pocket, stares at it and was just about to hit Tim's contact button when Gibbs adds, "But not next weekend, because Shannon's almost ready to move outside, and on Saturday bootcamp is over here, and you, Tim, and Tony are helping me rip down that wall."
Jimmy nods, still looking up from the phone as he realizes something. "When did you start calling him Tony?"
"When he asked permission to marry Ziva."
"Oh. I prefer Jimmy to Palmer. Especially when I'm not at work."
"Okay, Jimmy. When we're not at work, Jethro is fine."
Jimmy hit Tim's contact button on his phone. "Hey, Tim…"
Next
Shards To A Whole: Chapter 159
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 159: Toothpaste
It was a blisteringly stupid argument.
The single stupidest argument of his life, and, having grown up with John McGee, that's saying a whole lot.
Tim decided, as he was driving, that the far edges of Mood Swing Abby, happy and sad, he can deal with pretty easily. Both of them just involve being available for lots of hugs, and possibly humor if it's appropriate. It's irritable, which leads to angry, where the landmines lay.
And currently he feels like he's had both legs blown off at the knee.
He was half way to Jimmy's when he realized that right now Jimmy probably isn't the guy to go complain to about his pregnant wife.
Sure, Jimmy's made it clear that he finds being treated like he's made out of glass annoying, and Tim gets that, he really does, but he's still not going to go over there and bitch to Jimmy about Abby being insane because she's pregnant.
Not until Jimmy's got at least one more healthy baby in his house is Tim going to say anything negative about a pregnant wife to him, and possibly not even after that.
So he swings through a highly illegal u-turn that would make Ziva proud, and heads toward Gibbs' house.
One of the great things about Gibbs is that he just raises his eyebrows when Tim walks straight over to the workbench, pours himself a scotch, (Shortly after the Shannon conversation, Tim noticed that a bottle of decent scotch ended up in the basement next to the bourbon.) at 8:45 in the morning, and shoots it back.
And for twenty minutes Tim just sat there on the second from the bottom step and calmed down.
And Gibbs let him, not saying anything, just quietly working on the boat, and occasionally looking at Tim to see if smoke was still pouring out of his ears.
After it was clear that he had calmed back down, (Sort of. Okay, no not really, but he at least had gotten from furious to ready to vent.) Gibbs leaned against the back of the boat and said, "So…"
"Toothpaste. I used up her toothpaste last night. By accident. I don't like hers, she doesn't like mine, but they're in almost identical tubes because they're just different flavors of the same brand and sometimes she puts hers on the left of the sink, next to mine. I was half asleep while I brushed my teeth and finished hers.
"And we've got a whole tube of mine. Because last week I noticed I was getting low and got more, but she wanted to wait to get more of hers until she was closer to out. But today, at five in the morning, when she decided she had to brush her teeth right that second, she won't use mine, even though she has like nine hundred times before, but today mine is apparently beyond revolting. So at five fucking thirty in the morning I'm at goddamn Target getting more fucking toothpaste because she's got to brush her teeth right this fucking second and can't use mine."
Gibbs knows where this is going. He's doing a very good job of not laughing, and the smile on his face is kind, if vastly amused.
"And of course I get the wrong damn toothpaste, because as I said, it's five goddamn thirty in the morning, and we worked past midnight last night, and I can barely see straight let alone tell the difference between peppermint and spearmint. She's lucky it actually was toothpaste and not hair gel.
"I get home, and now she's asleep. Which is what I want to be. Which is what I told her to do instead of brushing her teeth, which she told me she couldn't possibly do because her mouth tasted horrible. And I told her that if she went back to sleep for three more hours, I would go out and buy her, with a smile on my face and a spring in my step, all the goddamned toothpaste in entire the fucking store. But, no, she had to have toothpaste right that second. So, even though she was awake, and up, and in possession of not only a driver's license but two vehicles, I'm the one who has to get up and get the fucking toothpaste. So off I went, leaving our nice warm bed and go buy her more of it, slamming the door behind me.
"So, I'm home, with toothpaste, in peppermint, and she's taking up the whole damn bed and has already given me the wake-me-up-and-die warning, so I do not get into our nice, soft, comfortable, and warm bed. I go sleep on the couch, which is not nearly so comfy for sleeping if you haven't just had sex on it, and I'm pissed off, so it takes an hour to get settled, and I finally drop off, and two fucking minutes later she's awake and screeching about how I got the wrong damn toothpaste, and obviously I don't love her because I can't keep track of what sort of toothpaste she likes.
"So I take a deep breath, turn the other cheek, let her yell at me some more, but she was getting really screechy and mean, and look, no sleep, I'd had enough. I'm so angry I could feel my heartbeat in my eyes. So I go into my office and shut the door. And look, she has never, ever just walked into my office without knocking. She always asks permission to go in there, because that's where I go when I need to cool off. And me shutting the door on her should be a loud and clear I-need-my-space-because-I'm-about-to-lose-it signal.
"But she just barged right in, waving the toothpaste around, and I decided what she wanted to do was fight, just kicking me wasn't doing it for her, because who needs to spend more than half an hour yelling at someone else over toothpaste? So I had at her, said some really sarcastic things about how I got her a house, two rings, and had her lip print tattooed on my body, but yeah, toothpaste was the real sign of my everlasting devotion and obviously I was just in this for the sex, an as soon as she got old I was out of there, because otherwise I'd be happy and able to fetch precisely the right sort of toothpaste at five fucking thirty in the morning on no sleep, and she stared at me, dropped to her knees, I mean collapsed like a bag of wet oatmeal dropped from two stories up, and started bawling."
Gibbs winced. "Oh, God, Tim."
"Which was when I realized I had my foot so far down my throat I was kicking myself in the ass with it. And no, what she wanted to do was just yell me some more, not actually fight. I rushed over, apologizing like crazy, and she's sobbing, yelling at me to get out, so I got out."
Gibbs raised his hand to smack Tim upside the back of his head, looked at it, looked at him, shook his head, let it drop, and poured him another drink. "When you fuck up, you really fuck up."
"Yeah. Thanks. That was the part of this I didn't need a second opinion on."
"When you go back, make sure you've got the right damn toothpaste."
"That part I figured out on my own, too."
"What do you want a second opinion on?"
"How long do I hide out over here, and what the hell do I bring home besides Tom's Of Maine Spearmint Toothpaste?"
"Do you think I'd have three ex-wives if I knew the answer to that?"
Tim shrugged. "I was going to talk to Palmer, but…"
"Give him a call. Abby probably called him two minutes after you left, and he can give you a better idea of how much trouble you're in."
"But…" Tim's expression gets across why he's wary about doing that, but Gibbs flashes him a little dismissive gesture.
"Being useful is part of healing, part of what keeps you going. Let him be useful to you."
"Good point. Shannon ever completely flip out on you?"
"Yeah, but she had a good reason for it. She was five months pregnant when I got stationed in Nicaragua."
"Ugh."
"Yeah, I wasn't happy about that, either."
"What did you do?"
"Not much I could. They'd throw me in jail if I didn't report. It was only sixty days, but we didn't know that at the time. I was never really great about writing her. So I made sure she got a letter every single day I was away. Sure, some days I wrote more than one, so I had some back up, 'miss you, very busy, home soon' letters that I could send if I was too busy to write, but the only thing that helped was getting home while Kelly was still on the inside."
Tim got his phone out and hit Jimmy's contact button.
"You're fucked." Gibbs snorts back a quick laugh when he hears Jimmy's greeting.
"Good morning to you, too. Abby called, then?"
"No. Oh no, not called. She's here, crying on Breena, and Ziva should be here with six gallons of ice cream in about five minutes."
"Oh God."
Jimmy's quiet on the other end for about half a minute, then he says, "Okay, I'm out of the girls' earshot. What the hell is wrong with you? There is exactly one thing you never, ever, ever, EVER! say to a pregnant woman and that's any variation on the theme of 'I'm leaving.' You tell her that yes, she looks fat in those pants because she is fat, you tell her her butt is the size of the iceberg that took down the Titanic before you say that!"
"I was being sarcastic."
More silence on Jimmy's side. Tim's fairly sure he's rolling his eyes so hard they're about to fall out of his head.
"I'm at Gibbs' place. Feel like coming over and joining the how to get me the hell out of this confab?"
"As long as I can bring Molly, it's no problem."
Tim raises an eyebrow at Gibbs, and Gibbs smiles. Little girls are always welcome at his house.
"See you here in half an hour."
Gibbs and Tim head upstairs. While the basement may be the official gathering spot for heart to hearts, it's a really bad place for a twelve month old who is just learning how to walk.
Gibbs spends a few minutes shuffling about, finding some blocks and a few other simple toys he's got on hand for family gatherings. (He's been building little toys when he's looking for a side project since Tim and Abby got engaged, fairly sure that having things for babies to play with at his house would be a good thing. And so far, Molly Palmer seems to have enjoyed them. At least as much as an infant can enjoy wooden toys. She's mostly chewed on them.) He shoves the coffee table to the side, spreads a blanket on the floor, and puts the toys out.
"She's not actually walking yet, is she?" She hadn't been at the birthday party, but he knows little ones can go from crawling to walking awfully fast, and it's been two weeks.
"Not more than three steps at a go. But she's a lightning fast crawler."
Gibbs nods, picks up the coffee table, and puts it on its side, walling off the kitchen. Then he took two of his kitchen chairs and blocked off the stairs. He surveys the room, and yeah, it's not exactly baby proof, but there are three of them and one little girl, it'll do.
"Coffee?" Gibbs asks Tim.
"You have decaf?"
Gibbs flashes him an are you insane or just really stupid look.
Tim sighs. "I think it's abundantly clear that today the answer is stupid."
Gibbs laughs at that and heads to the kitchen. "How does Palmer like his?"
"One third milk, two thirds coffee, no sugar." Tim follows him in, and sees Gibbs set up his coffeemaker with coffee from a new, full-sized bag of Black Death.
"I take it you liked it?"
Gibbs nods. "Stuff from Seattle was good, too."
"Make Jimmy's half and half then."
Thinking about Jimmy reminds Gibbs of something. "They gonna get the testing soon?"
"Yeah. Blood test on Tuesday." There are two kinds of Trisomy 13, and one of them is just random, and one you can carry a gene for. The blood test will tell them which kind Jonathon had. Trisomy 13 was something no one in their family ever wanted to know much about, but they're all well versed in it now.
"If they're carriers?"
"They're talking adopting. They want more kids. If adoption isn't an option, because they already have a child or Jimmy's diabetic or whatever, they can do in vitro and test the embryos to see if they've got the trisomy before implanting them. But I don't think they want to do that."
Gibbs nods again.
Twenty minutes later, Jimmy was heading into Gibbs' house, Molly in his arms.
He just looked at Tim, shook his head, and put Molly down, unbundling her from her winter gear. Once Molly had been properly hugged and kissed hello by Uncle Tim and Uncle Jethro, Jimmy kissed her head, put her on the blanket, stacked some blocks up, and said, "Look, Uncle Jethro has toys for you!"
Then he stood up and smacked Tim, hard, upside the back of the head.
"You know what? When you piss your wife off, she comes to my house and cries on mine. You know what happens then? Breena gets pissed at me on Abby's behalf because I've got a y chromosome, too. On Monday, Tony's going to slap you, too, because Ziva's over there now, and all three of them are having a men-suck-and-here's-all-nineteen-million-reasons-why party."
Gibbs smiled and handed Jimmy his coffee.
"Thanks." He took a deep drink and practically choked on it. "What do you brew this out of? Roofing tar?" Jimmy headed into the kitchen, poured half of the coffee out and replaced it with more milk. "That'll pry your eyes open in the morning."
"That's the idea," Gibbs said.
Jimmy sat on the floor next to Molly, restacking the blocks she was very enthusiastically knocking down. "So the version of the story we got, between whimpering and hysterical sobbing, is that Abby went sort of insane, picked a fight with you about toothpaste, and then you blew up at her, told her you were just in it for the sex, couldn't stand being with someone as flakey as her, and that you were leaving, for someone younger and hotter, and then you left."
"She ordered me out of the house."
"I think you were supposed to stay."
"Great." Tim gritted his teeth, getting yelled at even more was not on the list of things he wanted to do. "I never said she was flakey."
"Subtext?" Jimmy asked. "Something about her thinking toothpaste was way too important?"
Tim cringed.
"And were you really dumb enough to actually say, 'I'm leaving' let alone 'younger' or 'hotter'?'"
Tim sat down on the sofa. Gibbs took the armchair, watching them.
Tim sighed, rolled his eyes, and hunched a little, making sure his body language let them know that he was convinced he'd behaved badly and was embarrassed about it. "I think I actually said… and remember, no sleep, and she's been yelling at me for at least half an hour at this point about toothpaste and how I must not love her because I got the wrong kind…" and he sighed, closed his eyes, rested his head in his hand, rubbing his forehead, and said, "The house, the rings, the marriage, the tattoos, the two fucking tattoos, one of which is your lips branded onto my arm, forever, the love poems, the being here every goddamn day, rearranging my entire career so I can be here with you and our child, that's all meaningless shit, I'm really just here for the kinky sex and as soon as your ass gets droopy and your tits saggy I'm trading up for a younger model and getting the hell away from this insanity. And God knows, when I knock her up, and she's being crazy, I'll get her the right fucking toothpaste!"
Both of them just stared at him, eyes very wide.
Jimmy looked at Gibbs and said, "Well, at least you know a good divorce lawyer, right? God! Tim… just…" Then Jimmy just sat there staring at him, looking like he was coming up with different ideas of things to say, but not saying them. "Remind me not to piss you off when you haven't had any sleep. Damn."
"Thank you, Jimmy, that's wildly helpful."
"Look, I've said some dumb things to Breena over the years, but there's dumb and then there's disemboweling yourself with your own tongue and then lighting your own not-quite-dead-body on fire."Gibbs was still staring at him. Then he stood up and hit him. This time he did smack Tim upside the back of the head, hard, really hard, like minor whiplash, hard.
"Ow!"
"Two years ago, I would have beaten the hell out of you for that."
Tim nodded, wincing, rubbing his neck. "How do I fix this?"
Gibbs shrugged. Sure, he's had some awful fights with women, but he's utterly useless at something like this. Granted he's never said anything mean to any of his wives, because saying something mean would have require him to talk when he was angry, and that just didn't happen. So, even if he was good at working out a fight with a woman, which he isn't, this particular version of making up isn't in his wheelhouse.
Jimmy nodded at Gibbs, flashed him an I've got this look, and said, "Okay, the only good thing on this is that Abby knows she went insane and picked a fight with you. She's still with it enough that she sort of thinks this is her fault and you went bonkers on the overreacting side of it. But, look, you can't buy your way out of this, no flowers or jewelry on earth is going to help."
"Yeah, I know."
"Good. You want my advice, get a nap! Get a long damn nap because you aren't going to bed anytime soon and you need your brain functional for this. Then you call her and beg her to talk to her, and you explain to her how angry the idea that you might not love her made you, and you explain why the idea that you might not love her makes you angry, and you lay down on the floor at her feet and explain to her how she's your sun and the only thing that keeps you alive is being able to revolve around her, and remember when we were talking about your vows and you didn't want to get too sappy?"
Tim nods.
"Time to channel your inner maple tree, Tim. She likes cute and fluffy bunnies, so it's time for you to be the cutest, fluffiest damn bunny anyone has ever seen.
"And then you're going to deal with the fact that she is going to be mad at you, probably for a while, because, honestly that's the worst thing I've ever heard of a guy saying to his wife—"
"Jimmy, you pick up the bodies of wives who get killed by their husbands."
"Let me finish—who isn't a complete and total asshole. And after that you are going to sincerely apologize for ever saying it, let alone thinking it, and make it abundantly clear that you know no matter how sarcastic you were being there are some things you cannot ever say, and that is one of them."
"And then give her the right toothpaste," Gibbs added. "And make sure she stays stocked with it."
"Good point. And tomorrow, or the day after, better yet next week, once you are both fully calmed down, you are going to pull out all the stops and do something insanely nice for her. Preferably something you don't particularly like doing but she does. With Breena this would be the point where I'd call in sick for both of us, take Molly to daycare, whip out half a dozen chick flicks, that chocolate covered caramel popcorn stuff she loves that just looking at jerks my blood sugar up fifty points, and we watch lame movies in bed all day." Jimmy shifted his gaze to Gibbs, "And that doesn't leave this room. Ducky does not need to know I haven't actually been sick in three years."
Gibbs shrugged. If Palmer thought he was pulling one over on Ducky, it didn't hurt anything.
An hour later, as Tim was laying on Gibbs' sofa, ready for some sack time, Gibbs walked Jimmy and Molly to his car.
Once Jimmy had her strapped in, Gibbs said to him, "You're a good husband, Jimmy. Good father. If you ever want to talk, my basement's always open."
"Uh… thanks. You're doing a good job as a father-in-law, too."
Gibbs nodded. "Always hoped I would."
And that's when what Gibbs meant by his invitation hit Jimmy.
"Oh."
Gibbs nodded again, seeing Jimmy get it. "Breena's welcome, too. Sometimes it's good to have someone who's been through it around."
Tim woke up four hours later feeling mostly just tired. But it was getting onto three, and no matter how much hiding at Gibbs place appealed to him, it was time to bite the bullet, call Abby, and talk to her. So he rolled over, took his phone off the coffee table, and punched her contact button.
A second later he heard her voice. "Tim."
"Can I come home?"
"Why are you asking?" She mostly sounded tired, too, though there was the rasp in her voice that went with hard crying.
"You told me to leave. I want to come back, but I won't until I know it's okay."
"You left!" There's a hint of crying about to begin again in her voice.
"You told me to. You told me to get the hell out of our house. Told me you didn't want to see me. But I want to be home, with you. Can I come home?"
"Yes."
Abby was sitting on the floor, in front of the sofa, looking in the direction of the TV, but he didn't think she was watching it.
He sat down next to her, and she looked at the Target bag in his hand.
"What's that?"
"Tom's of Maine, spearmint, whole mouth care, about a year's worth. And a bag of organic frozen wild blueberries. I know you're low on them. You want me to put them in the freezer?"
She shook her head, took the bag, and opened it, popping one in her mouth. "Not low, out."
He watched her chew, seeing the purple-blue stains starting on her fingers.
"I'm sorry. Really sorry."
She shrugged. "Why should you be sorry? You aren't the one who went insane over toothpaste."
"I promised to spend the rest of my life putting you first, and I didn't. I was tired and angry and took it out on you."
She shrugged again and offered him a blueberry. He ate it from her fingers, considering the offer a very good sign. "I was completely bat-shit crazy and you took it longer than you should have had to. I promised to be kind and treat you with respect, and I didn't. You left the room and closed the door behind you to avoid snapping at me, and I kept yelling at you. The worst part was, I knew I was doing it. I knew that it was insane, I mean, it's toothpaste, but I couldn't make myself stop. And I know, everything you went through with your dad, and how you'd try to get away from him and he'd just follow, egging you on. I know that. And I just couldn't make myself stop. I was so angry, stupidly angry, and I wanted you that angry, too."
"Why? Why were you even up at 5:00?"
"Nightmare."
"Oh." He knows she's been having really intense dreams since she's been pregnant. He stood up. "Let me get you a spoon." Eating frozen blueberries with your fingers isn't very comfortable after a few bites. A minute later he was back with a big bowl and a spoon and sat next to her again.
She poured the blueberries into the bowl and ate a few more bites.
"Want to tell me about it?"
She's staring at the TV again. Very determinedly not looking at him as she says this. "You left. She was young and pretty and normal and you left."
Tim's head dropped back onto the sofa cushion as he said, "Shit."
"I was so angry when I woke up. You'd been hiding her, fooling around behind my back, and we were fighting, screaming fighting because you were leaving. And my mouth really tasted bad, and all I could think about was maybe if I could brush my teeth I could get anchored back in reality, but no toothpaste. And dream you and real you were too similar, and I just… I couldn't sort it out. I couldn't block out how angry I was.
"And this little voice in the back of my head was yelling at me, too, telling me it's not your fault that I was dreaming about you leaving, that real you isn't going anywhere, but I was still so angry, and then…"
"I said the worst possible thing at the worst possible time in the history of worst possible things."
"Yeah. And then you walked out."
"You told me to leave. Screamed it."
"I know. You still left."
He nodded. "Sometimes I have to leave. But I'm always going to come back, you know that, right? As long as I'm alive, I'm always going to come back. I'll be here to get old and saggy with you. Every single day for the rest of my life, I'm coming back to you. You're my one and only."
"I'm your Shannon."
"No." He looked her straight in the eyes. "Shannon is Gibbs' Abby."
She smiled at that and offered him a spoon full of blueberries. He chewed them for a moment, swallowed, and kissed her gently. She sighed, closed her eyes, and leaned into him.
They sat there, quietly, resting against each other for a moment before another thought hit him.
"Are Ziva and Breena going to beat the hell out of me the next time they see me?"
"Yeah." She nodded. That was a foregone conclusion.
"When I finally told them what I said, Gibbs hit me so hard upside the back of the head I think I've got whiplash."
"You actually told them?"
"I wanted help on how to fix it. Can't fix the problem if you don't know what it is."
"Can't believe you told them."
"Just the last bit. Jimmy wanted to know if the words 'I'm leaving, younger, or hotter' actually came out of my mouth."
"Oh." She ate another bite of blueberries. "I'm sorry I was yelling at you. Sorry I picked a fight. Sorry I didn't let you be alone."
"I'm sorry I didn't hold it together better."
"No." She shook her head at that. "You can be sorry for being mean, or sorry for not just getting in your car and driving off, but no, you shouldn't have to deal with someone yelling at you when you've done nothing wrong. It's not okay for me to take my anger out on you."
"I'm sorry I was mean. I'm sorry I was sarcastic. And I'm sorry I didn't ask why you were angry in the first place. Really sorry I didn't do that."
"That probably would have helped."
He nodded. "Are we okay?"
"Yeah."
He put his arm around her shoulder, and she snuggled into him, offering him another bite of the blueberries. They sat there quietly, for a few minutes.
"You know, I've heard good things about make-up sex," Abby said.
Tim rose one eyebrow, mostly he just felt tired and emotionally battered. "You want to have sex?"
"No. Not really. Just want to sit here."
"Me, too." He thought about that for a moment and checked the clock. It was still only four in the afternoon. "Later?"
"Yes."
Next
Chapter 159: Toothpaste
It was a blisteringly stupid argument.
The single stupidest argument of his life, and, having grown up with John McGee, that's saying a whole lot.
Tim decided, as he was driving, that the far edges of Mood Swing Abby, happy and sad, he can deal with pretty easily. Both of them just involve being available for lots of hugs, and possibly humor if it's appropriate. It's irritable, which leads to angry, where the landmines lay.
And currently he feels like he's had both legs blown off at the knee.
He was half way to Jimmy's when he realized that right now Jimmy probably isn't the guy to go complain to about his pregnant wife.
Sure, Jimmy's made it clear that he finds being treated like he's made out of glass annoying, and Tim gets that, he really does, but he's still not going to go over there and bitch to Jimmy about Abby being insane because she's pregnant.
Not until Jimmy's got at least one more healthy baby in his house is Tim going to say anything negative about a pregnant wife to him, and possibly not even after that.
So he swings through a highly illegal u-turn that would make Ziva proud, and heads toward Gibbs' house.
One of the great things about Gibbs is that he just raises his eyebrows when Tim walks straight over to the workbench, pours himself a scotch, (Shortly after the Shannon conversation, Tim noticed that a bottle of decent scotch ended up in the basement next to the bourbon.) at 8:45 in the morning, and shoots it back.
And for twenty minutes Tim just sat there on the second from the bottom step and calmed down.
And Gibbs let him, not saying anything, just quietly working on the boat, and occasionally looking at Tim to see if smoke was still pouring out of his ears.
After it was clear that he had calmed back down, (Sort of. Okay, no not really, but he at least had gotten from furious to ready to vent.) Gibbs leaned against the back of the boat and said, "So…"
"Toothpaste. I used up her toothpaste last night. By accident. I don't like hers, she doesn't like mine, but they're in almost identical tubes because they're just different flavors of the same brand and sometimes she puts hers on the left of the sink, next to mine. I was half asleep while I brushed my teeth and finished hers.
"And we've got a whole tube of mine. Because last week I noticed I was getting low and got more, but she wanted to wait to get more of hers until she was closer to out. But today, at five in the morning, when she decided she had to brush her teeth right that second, she won't use mine, even though she has like nine hundred times before, but today mine is apparently beyond revolting. So at five fucking thirty in the morning I'm at goddamn Target getting more fucking toothpaste because she's got to brush her teeth right this fucking second and can't use mine."Gibbs knows where this is going. He's doing a very good job of not laughing, and the smile on his face is kind, if vastly amused.
"And of course I get the wrong damn toothpaste, because as I said, it's five goddamn thirty in the morning, and we worked past midnight last night, and I can barely see straight let alone tell the difference between peppermint and spearmint. She's lucky it actually was toothpaste and not hair gel.
"I get home, and now she's asleep. Which is what I want to be. Which is what I told her to do instead of brushing her teeth, which she told me she couldn't possibly do because her mouth tasted horrible. And I told her that if she went back to sleep for three more hours, I would go out and buy her, with a smile on my face and a spring in my step, all the goddamned toothpaste in entire the fucking store. But, no, she had to have toothpaste right that second. So, even though she was awake, and up, and in possession of not only a driver's license but two vehicles, I'm the one who has to get up and get the fucking toothpaste. So off I went, leaving our nice warm bed and go buy her more of it, slamming the door behind me.
"So, I'm home, with toothpaste, in peppermint, and she's taking up the whole damn bed and has already given me the wake-me-up-and-die warning, so I do not get into our nice, soft, comfortable, and warm bed. I go sleep on the couch, which is not nearly so comfy for sleeping if you haven't just had sex on it, and I'm pissed off, so it takes an hour to get settled, and I finally drop off, and two fucking minutes later she's awake and screeching about how I got the wrong damn toothpaste, and obviously I don't love her because I can't keep track of what sort of toothpaste she likes.
"So I take a deep breath, turn the other cheek, let her yell at me some more, but she was getting really screechy and mean, and look, no sleep, I'd had enough. I'm so angry I could feel my heartbeat in my eyes. So I go into my office and shut the door. And look, she has never, ever just walked into my office without knocking. She always asks permission to go in there, because that's where I go when I need to cool off. And me shutting the door on her should be a loud and clear I-need-my-space-because-I'm-about-to-lose-it signal.
"But she just barged right in, waving the toothpaste around, and I decided what she wanted to do was fight, just kicking me wasn't doing it for her, because who needs to spend more than half an hour yelling at someone else over toothpaste? So I had at her, said some really sarcastic things about how I got her a house, two rings, and had her lip print tattooed on my body, but yeah, toothpaste was the real sign of my everlasting devotion and obviously I was just in this for the sex, an as soon as she got old I was out of there, because otherwise I'd be happy and able to fetch precisely the right sort of toothpaste at five fucking thirty in the morning on no sleep, and she stared at me, dropped to her knees, I mean collapsed like a bag of wet oatmeal dropped from two stories up, and started bawling."
Gibbs winced. "Oh, God, Tim."
"Which was when I realized I had my foot so far down my throat I was kicking myself in the ass with it. And no, what she wanted to do was just yell me some more, not actually fight. I rushed over, apologizing like crazy, and she's sobbing, yelling at me to get out, so I got out."
Gibbs raised his hand to smack Tim upside the back of his head, looked at it, looked at him, shook his head, let it drop, and poured him another drink. "When you fuck up, you really fuck up."
"Yeah. Thanks. That was the part of this I didn't need a second opinion on."
"When you go back, make sure you've got the right damn toothpaste."
"That part I figured out on my own, too."
"What do you want a second opinion on?"
"How long do I hide out over here, and what the hell do I bring home besides Tom's Of Maine Spearmint Toothpaste?""Do you think I'd have three ex-wives if I knew the answer to that?"
Tim shrugged. "I was going to talk to Palmer, but…"
"Give him a call. Abby probably called him two minutes after you left, and he can give you a better idea of how much trouble you're in."
"But…" Tim's expression gets across why he's wary about doing that, but Gibbs flashes him a little dismissive gesture.
"Being useful is part of healing, part of what keeps you going. Let him be useful to you."
"Good point. Shannon ever completely flip out on you?"
"Yeah, but she had a good reason for it. She was five months pregnant when I got stationed in Nicaragua."
"Ugh."
"Yeah, I wasn't happy about that, either."
"What did you do?"
"Not much I could. They'd throw me in jail if I didn't report. It was only sixty days, but we didn't know that at the time. I was never really great about writing her. So I made sure she got a letter every single day I was away. Sure, some days I wrote more than one, so I had some back up, 'miss you, very busy, home soon' letters that I could send if I was too busy to write, but the only thing that helped was getting home while Kelly was still on the inside."
Tim got his phone out and hit Jimmy's contact button.
"You're fucked." Gibbs snorts back a quick laugh when he hears Jimmy's greeting.
"Good morning to you, too. Abby called, then?"
"No. Oh no, not called. She's here, crying on Breena, and Ziva should be here with six gallons of ice cream in about five minutes."
"Oh God."
Jimmy's quiet on the other end for about half a minute, then he says, "Okay, I'm out of the girls' earshot. What the hell is wrong with you? There is exactly one thing you never, ever, ever, EVER! say to a pregnant woman and that's any variation on the theme of 'I'm leaving.' You tell her that yes, she looks fat in those pants because she is fat, you tell her her butt is the size of the iceberg that took down the Titanic before you say that!"
"I was being sarcastic."
More silence on Jimmy's side. Tim's fairly sure he's rolling his eyes so hard they're about to fall out of his head.
"I'm at Gibbs' place. Feel like coming over and joining the how to get me the hell out of this confab?"
"As long as I can bring Molly, it's no problem."
Tim raises an eyebrow at Gibbs, and Gibbs smiles. Little girls are always welcome at his house.
"See you here in half an hour."
Gibbs and Tim head upstairs. While the basement may be the official gathering spot for heart to hearts, it's a really bad place for a twelve month old who is just learning how to walk.
Gibbs spends a few minutes shuffling about, finding some blocks and a few other simple toys he's got on hand for family gatherings. (He's been building little toys when he's looking for a side project since Tim and Abby got engaged, fairly sure that having things for babies to play with at his house would be a good thing. And so far, Molly Palmer seems to have enjoyed them. At least as much as an infant can enjoy wooden toys. She's mostly chewed on them.) He shoves the coffee table to the side, spreads a blanket on the floor, and puts the toys out.
"She's not actually walking yet, is she?" She hadn't been at the birthday party, but he knows little ones can go from crawling to walking awfully fast, and it's been two weeks.
"Not more than three steps at a go. But she's a lightning fast crawler."
Gibbs nods, picks up the coffee table, and puts it on its side, walling off the kitchen. Then he took two of his kitchen chairs and blocked off the stairs. He surveys the room, and yeah, it's not exactly baby proof, but there are three of them and one little girl, it'll do.
"Coffee?" Gibbs asks Tim.
"You have decaf?"
Gibbs flashes him an are you insane or just really stupid look.
Tim sighs. "I think it's abundantly clear that today the answer is stupid."
Gibbs laughs at that and heads to the kitchen. "How does Palmer like his?"
"One third milk, two thirds coffee, no sugar." Tim follows him in, and sees Gibbs set up his coffeemaker with coffee from a new, full-sized bag of Black Death.
"I take it you liked it?"
Gibbs nods. "Stuff from Seattle was good, too."
"Make Jimmy's half and half then."
Thinking about Jimmy reminds Gibbs of something. "They gonna get the testing soon?"
"Yeah. Blood test on Tuesday." There are two kinds of Trisomy 13, and one of them is just random, and one you can carry a gene for. The blood test will tell them which kind Jonathon had. Trisomy 13 was something no one in their family ever wanted to know much about, but they're all well versed in it now.
"If they're carriers?"
"They're talking adopting. They want more kids. If adoption isn't an option, because they already have a child or Jimmy's diabetic or whatever, they can do in vitro and test the embryos to see if they've got the trisomy before implanting them. But I don't think they want to do that."
Gibbs nods again.
Twenty minutes later, Jimmy was heading into Gibbs' house, Molly in his arms.
He just looked at Tim, shook his head, and put Molly down, unbundling her from her winter gear. Once Molly had been properly hugged and kissed hello by Uncle Tim and Uncle Jethro, Jimmy kissed her head, put her on the blanket, stacked some blocks up, and said, "Look, Uncle Jethro has toys for you!"
Then he stood up and smacked Tim, hard, upside the back of the head.
"You know what? When you piss your wife off, she comes to my house and cries on mine. You know what happens then? Breena gets pissed at me on Abby's behalf because I've got a y chromosome, too. On Monday, Tony's going to slap you, too, because Ziva's over there now, and all three of them are having a men-suck-and-here's-all-nineteen-million-reasons-why party."
Gibbs smiled and handed Jimmy his coffee.
"Thanks." He took a deep drink and practically choked on it. "What do you brew this out of? Roofing tar?" Jimmy headed into the kitchen, poured half of the coffee out and replaced it with more milk. "That'll pry your eyes open in the morning."
"That's the idea," Gibbs said.
Jimmy sat on the floor next to Molly, restacking the blocks she was very enthusiastically knocking down. "So the version of the story we got, between whimpering and hysterical sobbing, is that Abby went sort of insane, picked a fight with you about toothpaste, and then you blew up at her, told her you were just in it for the sex, couldn't stand being with someone as flakey as her, and that you were leaving, for someone younger and hotter, and then you left."
"She ordered me out of the house."
"I think you were supposed to stay."
"Great." Tim gritted his teeth, getting yelled at even more was not on the list of things he wanted to do. "I never said she was flakey."
"Subtext?" Jimmy asked. "Something about her thinking toothpaste was way too important?"
Tim cringed.
"And were you really dumb enough to actually say, 'I'm leaving' let alone 'younger' or 'hotter'?'"
Tim sat down on the sofa. Gibbs took the armchair, watching them.
Tim sighed, rolled his eyes, and hunched a little, making sure his body language let them know that he was convinced he'd behaved badly and was embarrassed about it. "I think I actually said… and remember, no sleep, and she's been yelling at me for at least half an hour at this point about toothpaste and how I must not love her because I got the wrong kind…" and he sighed, closed his eyes, rested his head in his hand, rubbing his forehead, and said, "The house, the rings, the marriage, the tattoos, the two fucking tattoos, one of which is your lips branded onto my arm, forever, the love poems, the being here every goddamn day, rearranging my entire career so I can be here with you and our child, that's all meaningless shit, I'm really just here for the kinky sex and as soon as your ass gets droopy and your tits saggy I'm trading up for a younger model and getting the hell away from this insanity. And God knows, when I knock her up, and she's being crazy, I'll get her the right fucking toothpaste!"
Both of them just stared at him, eyes very wide.
Jimmy looked at Gibbs and said, "Well, at least you know a good divorce lawyer, right? God! Tim… just…" Then Jimmy just sat there staring at him, looking like he was coming up with different ideas of things to say, but not saying them. "Remind me not to piss you off when you haven't had any sleep. Damn."
"Thank you, Jimmy, that's wildly helpful."
"Look, I've said some dumb things to Breena over the years, but there's dumb and then there's disemboweling yourself with your own tongue and then lighting your own not-quite-dead-body on fire."Gibbs was still staring at him. Then he stood up and hit him. This time he did smack Tim upside the back of the head, hard, really hard, like minor whiplash, hard.
"Ow!"
"Two years ago, I would have beaten the hell out of you for that."
Tim nodded, wincing, rubbing his neck. "How do I fix this?"
Gibbs shrugged. Sure, he's had some awful fights with women, but he's utterly useless at something like this. Granted he's never said anything mean to any of his wives, because saying something mean would have require him to talk when he was angry, and that just didn't happen. So, even if he was good at working out a fight with a woman, which he isn't, this particular version of making up isn't in his wheelhouse.
Jimmy nodded at Gibbs, flashed him an I've got this look, and said, "Okay, the only good thing on this is that Abby knows she went insane and picked a fight with you. She's still with it enough that she sort of thinks this is her fault and you went bonkers on the overreacting side of it. But, look, you can't buy your way out of this, no flowers or jewelry on earth is going to help."
"Yeah, I know."
"Good. You want my advice, get a nap! Get a long damn nap because you aren't going to bed anytime soon and you need your brain functional for this. Then you call her and beg her to talk to her, and you explain to her how angry the idea that you might not love her made you, and you explain why the idea that you might not love her makes you angry, and you lay down on the floor at her feet and explain to her how she's your sun and the only thing that keeps you alive is being able to revolve around her, and remember when we were talking about your vows and you didn't want to get too sappy?"
Tim nods.
"Time to channel your inner maple tree, Tim. She likes cute and fluffy bunnies, so it's time for you to be the cutest, fluffiest damn bunny anyone has ever seen.
"And then you're going to deal with the fact that she is going to be mad at you, probably for a while, because, honestly that's the worst thing I've ever heard of a guy saying to his wife—"
"Jimmy, you pick up the bodies of wives who get killed by their husbands."
"Let me finish—who isn't a complete and total asshole. And after that you are going to sincerely apologize for ever saying it, let alone thinking it, and make it abundantly clear that you know no matter how sarcastic you were being there are some things you cannot ever say, and that is one of them."
"And then give her the right toothpaste," Gibbs added. "And make sure she stays stocked with it."
"Good point. And tomorrow, or the day after, better yet next week, once you are both fully calmed down, you are going to pull out all the stops and do something insanely nice for her. Preferably something you don't particularly like doing but she does. With Breena this would be the point where I'd call in sick for both of us, take Molly to daycare, whip out half a dozen chick flicks, that chocolate covered caramel popcorn stuff she loves that just looking at jerks my blood sugar up fifty points, and we watch lame movies in bed all day." Jimmy shifted his gaze to Gibbs, "And that doesn't leave this room. Ducky does not need to know I haven't actually been sick in three years."
Gibbs shrugged. If Palmer thought he was pulling one over on Ducky, it didn't hurt anything.
An hour later, as Tim was laying on Gibbs' sofa, ready for some sack time, Gibbs walked Jimmy and Molly to his car.
Once Jimmy had her strapped in, Gibbs said to him, "You're a good husband, Jimmy. Good father. If you ever want to talk, my basement's always open."
"Uh… thanks. You're doing a good job as a father-in-law, too."
Gibbs nodded. "Always hoped I would."
And that's when what Gibbs meant by his invitation hit Jimmy.
"Oh."
Gibbs nodded again, seeing Jimmy get it. "Breena's welcome, too. Sometimes it's good to have someone who's been through it around."
Tim woke up four hours later feeling mostly just tired. But it was getting onto three, and no matter how much hiding at Gibbs place appealed to him, it was time to bite the bullet, call Abby, and talk to her. So he rolled over, took his phone off the coffee table, and punched her contact button.
A second later he heard her voice. "Tim."
"Can I come home?"
"Why are you asking?" She mostly sounded tired, too, though there was the rasp in her voice that went with hard crying.
"You told me to leave. I want to come back, but I won't until I know it's okay."
"You left!" There's a hint of crying about to begin again in her voice.
"You told me to. You told me to get the hell out of our house. Told me you didn't want to see me. But I want to be home, with you. Can I come home?"
"Yes."
Abby was sitting on the floor, in front of the sofa, looking in the direction of the TV, but he didn't think she was watching it.
He sat down next to her, and she looked at the Target bag in his hand.
"What's that?"
"Tom's of Maine, spearmint, whole mouth care, about a year's worth. And a bag of organic frozen wild blueberries. I know you're low on them. You want me to put them in the freezer?"
She shook her head, took the bag, and opened it, popping one in her mouth. "Not low, out."
He watched her chew, seeing the purple-blue stains starting on her fingers.
"I'm sorry. Really sorry."
She shrugged. "Why should you be sorry? You aren't the one who went insane over toothpaste."
"I promised to spend the rest of my life putting you first, and I didn't. I was tired and angry and took it out on you."
She shrugged again and offered him a blueberry. He ate it from her fingers, considering the offer a very good sign. "I was completely bat-shit crazy and you took it longer than you should have had to. I promised to be kind and treat you with respect, and I didn't. You left the room and closed the door behind you to avoid snapping at me, and I kept yelling at you. The worst part was, I knew I was doing it. I knew that it was insane, I mean, it's toothpaste, but I couldn't make myself stop. And I know, everything you went through with your dad, and how you'd try to get away from him and he'd just follow, egging you on. I know that. And I just couldn't make myself stop. I was so angry, stupidly angry, and I wanted you that angry, too."
"Why? Why were you even up at 5:00?"
"Nightmare."
"Oh." He knows she's been having really intense dreams since she's been pregnant. He stood up. "Let me get you a spoon." Eating frozen blueberries with your fingers isn't very comfortable after a few bites. A minute later he was back with a big bowl and a spoon and sat next to her again.
She poured the blueberries into the bowl and ate a few more bites.
"Want to tell me about it?"
She's staring at the TV again. Very determinedly not looking at him as she says this. "You left. She was young and pretty and normal and you left."
Tim's head dropped back onto the sofa cushion as he said, "Shit."
"I was so angry when I woke up. You'd been hiding her, fooling around behind my back, and we were fighting, screaming fighting because you were leaving. And my mouth really tasted bad, and all I could think about was maybe if I could brush my teeth I could get anchored back in reality, but no toothpaste. And dream you and real you were too similar, and I just… I couldn't sort it out. I couldn't block out how angry I was.
"And this little voice in the back of my head was yelling at me, too, telling me it's not your fault that I was dreaming about you leaving, that real you isn't going anywhere, but I was still so angry, and then…"
"I said the worst possible thing at the worst possible time in the history of worst possible things."
"Yeah. And then you walked out."
"You told me to leave. Screamed it."
"I know. You still left."
He nodded. "Sometimes I have to leave. But I'm always going to come back, you know that, right? As long as I'm alive, I'm always going to come back. I'll be here to get old and saggy with you. Every single day for the rest of my life, I'm coming back to you. You're my one and only."
"I'm your Shannon."
"No." He looked her straight in the eyes. "Shannon is Gibbs' Abby."
She smiled at that and offered him a spoon full of blueberries. He chewed them for a moment, swallowed, and kissed her gently. She sighed, closed her eyes, and leaned into him.
They sat there, quietly, resting against each other for a moment before another thought hit him.
"Are Ziva and Breena going to beat the hell out of me the next time they see me?"
"Yeah." She nodded. That was a foregone conclusion.
"When I finally told them what I said, Gibbs hit me so hard upside the back of the head I think I've got whiplash."
"You actually told them?"
"I wanted help on how to fix it. Can't fix the problem if you don't know what it is."
"Can't believe you told them."
"Just the last bit. Jimmy wanted to know if the words 'I'm leaving, younger, or hotter' actually came out of my mouth."
"Oh." She ate another bite of blueberries. "I'm sorry I was yelling at you. Sorry I picked a fight. Sorry I didn't let you be alone."
"I'm sorry I didn't hold it together better."
"No." She shook her head at that. "You can be sorry for being mean, or sorry for not just getting in your car and driving off, but no, you shouldn't have to deal with someone yelling at you when you've done nothing wrong. It's not okay for me to take my anger out on you."
"I'm sorry I was mean. I'm sorry I was sarcastic. And I'm sorry I didn't ask why you were angry in the first place. Really sorry I didn't do that."
"That probably would have helped."
He nodded. "Are we okay?"
"Yeah."
He put his arm around her shoulder, and she snuggled into him, offering him another bite of the blueberries. They sat there quietly, for a few minutes.
"You know, I've heard good things about make-up sex," Abby said.
Tim rose one eyebrow, mostly he just felt tired and emotionally battered. "You want to have sex?"
"No. Not really. Just want to sit here."
"Me, too." He thought about that for a moment and checked the clock. It was still only four in the afternoon. "Later?"
"Yes."
Next
August 15, 2013
Shards To A Whole: Chapter 158
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 158: Valentine's Day 2015
"Breena's really ready for this?" Tim asked as he slipped on his kilt. (New one. Jimmy and Breena got it for him as a combined Christmas/birthday present. Apparently there is a McGee plaid. Ducky was enlisted to hunt it down. Back in the dark ages, before they decided to try the next island to the west, the MacGhees were Scottish, and as such, there is a McGee tartan. It's hunter, black, navy, and gray, and he really likes it.)
"She says she is," Abby answered. "Molly's a year old today, and she's bound and determined to have a birthday party for her."
Tim nodded and began buttoning up his shirt. Abby has mentioned liking the somewhat dressier kilt look, so he's getting into a white button-down, plaid kilt, and in a few minutes boots, tie, and jacket.
"She's put a lot of effort into this," Abby said as she pulled a knee high sock up one leg.
"What's a lot of effort?"
"She was telling me about the hand-made cupcakes decorated with all of Molly's favorite characters."
"Molly has favorite characters?" He'd spent a good five days with her straight, and hadn't noticed anything he'd call a preference for anything on the television or in books.
Link"She really likes the Muppets."
"Huh. Wish I had known that. I like them, too."
"Really?" That takes Abby by surprise. She didn't know that about him.
"Not like I've seen them anytime recently. But my first TV memories are watching the Muppet Show with my grandfather and mom. Loved Kermit."
"Apparently her favorite is Kermit, too."
"Next time we babysit, there will be Muppet bonding."
Abby laughed at that. "Anyway, I don't know how 'ready' she is for this, but I do know she's decorated every inch of the house, made cupcakes with Muppets on them, and invited the whole clan, so we're going, we're going to have a good time, and we'll do everything we can to make sure everyone else does, too."
"We'll party or die trying?"
She looked up from her sock and said, "Yes."
"Well, that's not going to be awkward, at all."
"You need to watch a little less Supernatural. You're starting to sound like Dean."
He flashed her a playful look. "Awesome!"
"Way less."
He smiled at her and winked. "Get some pie on the way home?"
"Okay, you're cut off."
"No! I'm half way through season seven. You can't cut me off."
"Then behave." She grinned at him. "Zip me up?"
He knelt down and got the zipper on her boots. At sixteen weeks along, Abby's definitely pregnant. There is an unmistakable baby bump there. And yes, she can still bend well enough to zip knee high boots, but it's also a lot easier to have Tim do it.
So he does, because it's not like an opportunity to rub his hands over her legs is something he minds.
Once booted up, she pulled on a green baby-doll dress with a wide black collar.
And while it's true the McGees might not be fashionable in any traditional sense, they're definitely stylish.
It wasn't as awkward as Tim was afraid it was going to be. Probably because if there was ever a group of people who needed a good time, it was them.
So, yeah, Molly couldn't have cared less about the decorations or the presents. (Though everyone else, including Gibbs, told Breena how great of a job she had done. Okay, he smiled at her in a congratulatory manner and kissed her cheek, but Breena understood what it meant.) But she did enjoy being the center of attention, and people cooing over her crawling around and babbling. And she was extremely enthusiastic about ripping into her Kermit cupcake and utterly demolishing it. (How much of it she actually ate as opposed to scattered over the kitchen is open for debate.)
Even Ed was on his best behavior. Though he did stare at Tim, looking really uncomfortable with the kilt for a good five minutes, and when he found out the idea for it was Breena's he just stared at her, too. (Tim wasn't sure what disturbed Ed more: him in a kilt or Breena buying one for him.) But Breena started telling him about going to the range with Jimmy and Tim and Abby, and that got them talking guns, which turned out to be actually fairly pleasant. Ziva and Tony got into it, too. And toward the end, even Gibbs was chatting with them, talking a little about distance shooting, and how back when he started you had to be able to do the math in your head, which got Ducky talking about the history of projectile weapons, and okay, yeah, it's not a traditional topic of conversation for a birthday party, let alone a birthday party for a one-year-old girl, but since by that point, the birthday girl was sleeping in Ducky's arms, (She drifted off when he got talking about ballistae. Apparently his voice is awfully hypnotic if you're a baby.) it worked.
The party broke up not too long after that. It's Valentine's, after all, and granted, Tim and Abby don't have any fancy plans (Quiet night in was a winner last year, and it's likely to be a winner this year, as well.) but Tony and Ziva do, and he knows that Ducky has offered to watch Molly so Jimmy and Breena can go out for dinner tonight.
They stick around to help clean up and make a date for the range the next day, before Jimmy and Tim join Gibbs for bootcamp and then head home.
Khao Phat Pu/Thai Crab Fried RiceThey grab a light dinner on the way home. It's early enough the restaurants aren't packed, and they are dressed up enough that going out seems like fun to him. Plus, he's been craving khoa phat pu all afternoon. Sure he's the dad half of the team, but apparently this has not rendered him immune to food cravings.
They're seated and eating when something occurs to him. "You realize, this time next year, Gibbs might be watching Kelly for us so we can go out."
Abby grins at that, a really clear image of Gibbs holding their baby in her mind. Then another very clear image: Gibbs playing with Molly, nibbling on her tummy, doing an astonishingly good Cookie Monster impersonation, while she shrieked with laughter, and then suddenly stopping and giving her to Breena sprang to mind. "You think he's ever changed a diaper?"
Tim thinks about that. Kelly was born in '82, so after guys were expected to do some of the messy work of being a parent, but not all that far after, and he's got no idea how long it took for that idea to filter into the world of Marines. He does know that in '86, when his sister was born, most of the guys on the Navy base they lived on would have rather cut an arm off than change a diaper. And he knows that if his dad ever changed a diaper, it was his, because he certainly never did it for Sarah. But Gibbs never struck him as the kind of guy who was so uncertain in his masculinity that doing 'women's work' would freak him out.
"I'm gonna say yes, but with a lot of doubt."
"Yeah. Did you ever think Ducky would take to being a grandfather the way he has?"
"Nope. Never thought he'd melt into a pile of goo over a baby."
"I was telling him that she's never going to learn to walk if he doesn't occasionally let be her on the floor."
Tim chuckles at that. "He looked ready to wrestle Ed for snuggling rights."
"Ed did really well today. I don't think he said anything that pissed anyone off."
"Yeah, he did do well. Maybe he's finally learning some tact."
"We can hope. It'd be nice to not dread going to family gatherings with him."
"Yeah, it would."
When they got home, Tim unbuckled his seat belt but left the keys in the ignition. "Out you go, for at least the next two hours."
"Two hours?"
"More if you like. But not less than two hours."
"What are you doing?"
"Last Valentine's Night without kids. I'm preparing for it."
"Okay." Abby grinned. "Hot and dirty?"
"Oh yes!" He flashed her a sexy smile. "With a side of kink, and an extra helping of erotic."
"All right, then! Anything you want me to bring home?"
"You in a submissive mood."
"Ohhh…" Her eyes lit with pleasure.
"Yeah." He flashed his eyebrows at her and got out of the car. "See you after seven thirty."
Two hours is a lot of time to be imagining what Tim could have been planning. All sorts of good things might be in the offing. So, it was with a spring in her step and a smile on her face that Abby headed to his office door. (Music from inside let her know he was in there.)
"Well?" She was grinning and looking around curiously. So far all she could see was that Tim was still in the kilt, though he'd taken off the jacket, boots, and socks, rolled up his sleeves, and loosened his tie.
He stood up, smiled, and pointed up. "Upstairs."
She skipped up the stairs, holding his hands, and dragging him behind her. She flung open the door to their bedroom and…
"Huh?" The expression on her face was really confused.
He just grinned at her. Wide, happy smile on his face, he was really enjoying this.
She walked in and looked up, eyebrows furrowing, obviously there's something going on here, but she's not getting it. Then looked around, and looked back to him. "You got me a plant and rearranged our furniture."
"Yep!" He beamed at her.
She stared around the room again, utterly perplexed. He just grinned like this was the best joke on earth.
She walked beneath the plant and looked up at it. It was a very attractive… something. Abby's not good with live plants. If she had to identify it by its pollen or spores or whatever, it'd be no problem, but a living plant hanging from the ceiling over her head… Nope. No idea.
"Did the words hot, dirty, or kinky get redefined while I was out?"
"If they did, I didn't get the memo."
"Uh huh..." Maybe it was some sort of special aphrodisiac plant. "What kind of plant is it?"
He trailed his fingers down her neck and back as she stared up at it. "Some sort of fern. It's green. It doesn't need a lot of sun, and supposedly it's pretty forgiving if you forget to water it. The lady at the plant store said they were practically impossible to kill, so that sounded like a good choice."
"Okay. So, you got me a random plant."
"Yes. But if you look up a little higher, you'll see something else I got you."
She looked up further, and then looked at the rearranged furniture. Abby crossed their room and closed the door to their bathroom. The door with the full length mirror on it. And suddenly this all made a whole lot of sense, and yes, hot, kinky, and erotic did not get redefined anytime recently.
"Oh."
He grinned even wider. "Exactly. Go open your closet door."
She did, and found both a new mirror on the back of her door, and a nicely wrapped box sitting on the floor of her closet.
"May I open it?"
"In a moment. You can take it out and put it on the bed, though. Leave the closet door open." Tim headed over to the plant and took it off the hook.
The hook was the real present. Well, part of it. Most plant holders are made of plastic or cheap metal, something that'll hold a few pounds easily, but can't take any real weight. The hook Tim's sunk into the joist in their ceiling will hold his weight bouncing around on it. (He checked.) He moved his dresser. His is waist high on him, and very handy for certain positions. Now, it's under that hook. And by moving his dresser, it's now in front of the mirror on the back of their bathroom door, so, if say, someone were to tie you up and put you on the dresser, all you'd have to do is look to your left, and you'd have a great view of what was going on. And if you wanted to see it from a different angle, there was always the new mirror on the back of Abby's closet door, which would be in front of you. And of course, there's the original mirror that goes with that dresser, behind you.
So, basically, anything you might want to do in that general area had been set so you can see it from any angle really easily.
Abby noticed something else. Tim's dresser was now on those little coaster things that make furniture easy to slide. She smiled at that. So, if they wanted to do something with the hook, but not on the dresser, that'd be easily arranged, too.
He watched her look around, notice everything he did, and kissed her throat, right on his lip tattoo.
"I was thinking that pretty soon we're going to have kids in this house. And probably a nanny. Eventually kids' friends. After Kelly comes, we might have visitors in our room. So, if the sex gear was subtle, that might be a good thing." He moved the present to the center of their bed. "Plus rearranging the mirrors means," he patted the bed letting her know he wanted her to sit, "we can get a good view of everything that goes on in our bed as well."
Abby sat on the bed next to the present, noticing that yep, she could see herself in all three mirrors. He nodded at her in a way she took to mean go ahead, open it, and then pulled the long, black satin ribbon off the box. "For tonight?"
"Maybe." He grinned.
She slit the paper carefully, unwrapping the box slowly, remembering him saying something about enjoying being teased by the slow reveal. Granted he knew what's in the box, but she hoped he's enjoying her finding out what's in it.
She lifted the lid, whistles softly, and says, "Oh."
This time the grin on his face was pure sex. "Yeah."
Padded wrist cuffs and from the look of them, they could be used one on each wrist, or strapped to each other, and if the metal rings on them are anything to go by they're designed to be attached to a rope or chain and hung from that hook.
And under them was a collection of glass dilators. Abby saw them and looked up at Tim, pleased expression on her face.
"Want to see if you can get off with straight anal?"
She looked back down at them. "Just anal?"
"Maybe not just… How about tied up from the ceiling, spun out like crazy, slowly stretched as I suck every inch of your body, and then fucked as hard as you like until you're coming on my cock."
Abby licked her lips. "Yes, sir."
"Good. Go get a shower. I'll be out here getting ready for you."
"Getting ready for you" meant pushing the dresser over a bit. He wants her standing for this, so it's got to be out of the way.
It also meant finding the right pair of boots for her, and stockings to go with them. He wanted ones that would make her the same height he is, if not a little taller, and preferably platforms as opposed to a high heel. She needed to be comfortable standing in them for as long as this will take, and these days high heels don't agree with her low back. Fortunately she had a wide selection of boots to pick from.
He headed to his bedside table and fetched the lube, his folding knife, and the black silk rope.
The folding knife neatly sliced the ribbon in half. He's going to tie one ankle to the leg of his dresser and the other to the leg of their bed, so he needed two ropes for that.
He draped the rope over the hook and decided to tie each wrist individually tonight.
He finished up the scene by laying out the dilators on his dresser, where she'll be able to see them. There are six of them, short, three inch long plugs with a ring-shaped base (for easy insertion and removal, even if your fingers are coated with lube) ranging from a little less than an inch around (smaller than one of his fingers) to five and a half inches (slightly smaller than his dick). They're clear glass and almost shine in the light from the lamp on his bedside table.
He liked the idea of the anticipation of seeing them all there. Of knowing that a long, slow, steady build up was coming.
Tim heard the water in the bathroom shut off, followed a few seconds later by a dripping wet Abby standing in front of him, holding a towel.
"Sometimes I forget how good you are at this." When she subs, she really subs. He didn't tell her to dry off, so she didn't. "Go ahead and dry off. Get your hair dry enough so it isn't dripping down your back, but don't worry about getting it completely dry."
He sat on the bed and watched her do it, enjoying the play of her hands on her skin, the towel rubbing gently over her, and the way the water glistened on her.
As he was watching a new idea occurred to him, and he liked that one even better than the one he had before.
Six dilators. Two arms, two legs, mouth and pussy. One part to play with for each size. Yeah, that idea worked.
She was almost dry. "When you get done with that, I want you to come stand in front of me."
She nodded.
"You can speak or make any noises you like."
"Yes." She stood in front of him.
He picked up one of the stockings and patted the bed between his legs. "Your foot here."
"Okay. You going to tell me what you're going to do?"
He cupped her ankle in his hand, lifting it a few inches. "Hold it." And she did. He slipped the stocking up her leg, stroking over her skin as he inched it upward. "Maybe. Do you want me to tell you, or do you want to be surprised?"
She thought about it as he repeated the gesture with her left leg.
"Little of both?"
"I can do that." He put her leg back down and looked at the boots. "Put them on."
She did so, but didn't fasten them. He knelt at her feet and did up the zipper and buckles.
"I want you to stand here." He showed her the spot in front of the dresser and next to the bed. "Right ankle here, left on there." As she got into position, facing the bathroom door mirror (he wanted her to be able to see everything), standing with her legs wide apart, he said, "I'm going to tie your ankles to the bed and the dresser. Keep you nicely open for me. Then we're going to play."
He knelt on the floor in front of her again, slowly dragging the ribbon off the bed, twining it between his fingers, then pulling gently, letting it slip through them. He wrapped it around her thigh, and once again, gently tugged, letting it slither over her skin in a silk-smooth embrace, and then tied that ankle. Same thing for the other leg, drawing out the experience of tying her, playing with the satin a little, kissing her inner thigh before standing up and circling behind her.
He pressed against her back, kissing her shoulders and the nape of her neck, and then gently turned her head to look at the dilators, keeping his fingers on her throat. He pitched his voice low, because his mouth is less than an inch from her ear, caressing her with hot breath as well as soft words. "Each one of them will go with a part of your body." His fingers trace from her left hand to breast. "Arms first."
She purred quietly at that.
He ghosts them over her lips. "Then mouth."
That got a smile.
His fingers settle just below her hips, scribing small circles. "Legs."
"Mmmm…" she looked very pleased.
His left hand slips over, first two fingers grazing her labia. "Then pussy."
She shivered a little at that, arching her back and rubbing against him. "Then what?"
He let go of her, and took one step over to the bed, grabbed the lube, and circled around to the front of her so she could see what he was doing easily. He flicked open the cap and squirted a bit into his fingers, stepping close to her, kissing her lips soft and light as his hand slid between her legs, smoothing the lube over her. She pressed into his touch, arms wrapping around the small of his back as his fingers stroked slickly over her skin.
He broke their kiss, keeping his lips less than an inch from hers, making sure she could feel his words, breath against wet, sensitized lips. "Then your arms will be tied over your head, legs spread wide, pussy so wet it'll be dripping down them. Then I'll stand in front of you, undress slowly, tease you with it. Then I'll slip my cock into your pussy, fuck you for a minute or two, while I kiss you senseless, getting myself really good and slick. Then I'll circle back around you, lean you into the ropes, slide the dilator out, and slam my cock into you until you see stars."
"Yes." She was grinning and her eyes had that heavy, dark look that went with arousal.
"Good." He kissed her one last time, then stepped away, grabbing the smallest of the toys, coating it with lube as she watched him.
"Pretty small."
"That's the idea. Slow and easy, one little step at a time." He kissed down her spine, licking the outlines of her tattoos, nibbling along the crest of her hip, then slowly worked the toy into her. Just because it's small doesn't mean he's going to rush this. Part of the whole point of this is to go slow, so that when he's done with the last one he can rush.
"Good?"
"Yeah, it's fine."
He smiled, took her hand in his, and began to kiss her fingers. He started at the tip of each one, a soft, wet kiss. Then he brought his tongue into the game with long, slow strokes, the sort of touch he likes when it's his dick on the receiving end of things. That got a soft moan.
He massaged her hand, stretching her fingers, pressing into the muscles, knowing exactly how good it feels to have someone hold your hand and really work on it when using your hands all the time is your job. That got a louder moan, one he recognized as more a signal of that-feels-good than rip-my-clothes- off-and-ravish-me.
Tim eased his way down to her wrist, kissing it softly, scraping his teeth over the pale white skin where her pulse thrummed. He took the first of the cuffs, fastened it around her wrist, and tied her hand high above her head. "Still good?"
She nodded. "Yeah, not too high up."
He smiled, and drug his fingers down her arm. She squirmed when he got to her armpit; that was a bit on the ticklish side, but the squirming got less defensive and a lot happier as he cupped his hand over her shoulder, gently squeezing those muscles, and a very happy moan joined the squirming as he ran his tongue over her upper arm and shoulder, while his hand found her breast.
Tim kept his fingers light and slow, soft, feathery touches that made Abby try to arch and push against him for more friction. He kissed her nipple, wrapping his lips around it in a wet embrace, then pulled back to blow on it.
Her skin lit with goosebumps.
"So pretty." He scraped his fingernails from her wrist to her nipple, and watched them get harder. He licked her arm, once again blowing on wet skin, enjoying the way her skin responded, reveling in the way she moaned when he did it.
Then a thought hit. Room temperature glass feels cold against warm skin. He picked up the second smallest dilator, it's about the size of his thumb.
"So soon?"
"Not quite. I want to make sure it's nice and warm." He traced it over her nipple and she jerked a little at the touch. "Not warm enough, yet?"
"It's pretty cool."
"Feel good?" He rolled it over her skin, following it with his tongue.
"Yeah."
"Good. How about this?" He slipped it into his mouth, holding it in place, while his fingers stroked over her nipples, pulling along them, after a minute, when it didn't feel cold on his tongue anymore, he took it out and traced it over her skin again, drawing complicated patterns down the inside of her arm. "Nice and warm?"
"Yeah. That feels really good."
"Feel better inside you?"
"I'd think so."
He reached for the lube and slicked it up, circling around behind her, kissing the back of her neck while he slid the first one out, and eased the second in.
She groaned as it slid home, and he smiled, taking her right hand in his and starting to kiss her fingers.
The second hand followed the first one pretty closely. But once both of her arms were tied, Tim decided to change things up a little. He kissed her shoulder and said, "Back in a sec."
"Tim!" She was not looking thrilled about that. He winked and sprinted downstairs to get his phone. He hadn't intended to take pictures, though for the life of him he can't figure out why he didn't think of it. Three seconds later he was back, with his phone in hand.
"You're so beautiful, I can't not get pictures." He got a few distance ones, her whole body spread out in front of him, and several close ups. His fingers trailed over her arm as he shot that. "So amazingly beautiful."
The curve of her shoulder and back caught his eye. He shot that with his fingers ghosting along her flesh.
He kissed her belly and made sure to get a picture of the dual curve of her belly and breast. "So soft and round." He nibbled around her hip and low back, shooting the concave curve of the small of her back and the lush convex of her tush. "Mmmmm…" he hummed as his lips slid over the top of her thigh.
He stood back up, saw the look on her face, and quickly kissed the tip of her nose. The expression on her face was mostly amused. She could take or leave the photographs of herself, but she knew he adored them, and his kiss was a gesture of thanks for humoring me.
"Head back, eyes closed." She followed his directions, and he shot her from both sides. Front shot focusing on her face, breasts, and neck, back shot focusing on her hair dangling over her back. Then he licked her throat, from collarbone to jaw, fisted his hand in her hair, and got a shot of that, light gleaming on wet skin as he held her by her hair.
"God, you are so gloriously hot, Abby."
She opened her eyes and grinned at him. "Damn right, baby!"
"Next size up?"
"Please."
That was the one that went with mouth. Once he had eased it into place, he was left with a very pleasant dilemma, kiss Abby from a step back, focusing all attention on her lips and tongue, or step in close and rub his whole body against hers?
Just lips meant maintaining his own control would be significantly easier. As of this point, only his eyes, mouth, and fingers had been involved in the game, and he's got very good control when it comes to that level of stimulation. But once he stepped in close against her, his whole body would be pressed against hers, and his dick, which has been very aware of what's going on, will get into the game, and it's always in favor of getting to the sex part as fast as possible.
Of course, if he steps in close, that meant the sensation of lips, tongue, heat, pressure, the texture of his shirt, tie, and kilt on her skin. It meant her whole body got into the game, as well, and her whole body ramps things up pretty fast for her.
Yes, of all the dilemmas in the world, this was a very good one to have.
He stepped in close and kissed her. His lips and tongue soft and gentle on hers, but he pressed in tight, grinding his hips into hers, rubbing his chest against her breasts, and she gasped into his mouth as he did it.
His hands settled on her ass, anchoring her against him as he rocked against her, nubby wool kilt rubbing her mound, soft cotton of his shirt sliding over her nipples, and of course, as it does that for her, it does for him as well, and, God, it feels so good to have her tight against his body.
And yes, right now his dick was sending him very happy, let's skip the rest of this, hot, wet pussy right here, right now, come on, go get it,signals, and he was doing his best to ignore them, but the fact that he could feel her wet through the kilt was making his breath come fast and his hips roll in a very deliberate sort of way.
It was when he felt his hand head down to the edge of his kilt to pull it up that he broke the kiss and stepped back. Because he knew that if he didn't, this wasn't going to end the way he was hoping it would.
She made a soft, needy, half-whimper, half-moan sort of sound when he pulled away, and it was fairly likely he made a sound pretty similar to that, as well. Her eyes trailed down his body. She seemed to be just enjoying the view; he was pretty disheveled looking, rumpled, flushed, very prominent erection tenting the kilt. A smile lit her face. "You get to explain that to the dry cleaner."
He looked down, saw the large wet spot on the wool, and laughed. "Mental note, only fool around in the black one."
"Yep. We can't wash wool here."
That helped turn his arousal down a few notches. Got him back into full control of himself. Three down, three to go.
He snagged the fourth one from the dresser and held it against her lips. "Wanna see you suck it." And as she did, as her lips wrapped snugly around it, pulling it gently into her mouth, he eased the third one out, putting it back on the dresser.
He got a quick picture of that as well. "That's so hot it shouldn't be legal. Your mouth, all wet and pouty wrapped around anything like that. Makes me want to see your lips around me. Makes me want to cut you down, have you kneel, and blow me." He spread more lube over her, using his fingers to gently coat her inside and out, and seeing her sucking it while he could feel her tight on his fingers was almost too much. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and then took the dilator from her, and inched it in, slow and teasing as she moaned, low and steady. "But this is just too good to miss out on."
"Left leg next." He sat on the floor in front of her and pulled her stocking down to the top of her boot with his teeth, fingers following in its wake, scraping delicately over her skin with his nails.
That left his mouth about the middle of her calf, which seemed like a good place to start back up. He trailed open-mouthed, wet, sucking kisses up her leg, circling around to nibble the back of her knee, and continued up her inner thigh.
He got to the top of her thigh and feasted. She was so wet the inside of her leg was slick and tasted fabulous and smelled better, so he went to town on her, long, wet, lapping strokes with his tongue as he made sure to get every drop. When her leg was done he looked over at her pussy, wet, shiny, pink, open, begging him for touch. He very carefully took just the left outer lip into his mouth to suck lightly. He stayed away from her clit, from the inner lips, and made sure that his tongue slipped up and down along it as he sucked.
Abby panted, high-pitched almost whines of sound slipping out of her with each new suck.
"That's not my leg!" she finally got out.
He stopped and sat back on his heels. "Are you complaining?"
"Not exactly. But if you're not going to play with my leg, I've got some other parts that want the attention even more."
"Soon enough baby, soon enough. But how's this for a compromise?" He reached for the fifth one, four and a half inches around, wide enough it probably wouldn't slip out, and slid it between her legs, over her thigh, rolling it against the outer lip, then grazing it over the inner one before slowly nudging it into her vagina.
She whined at that too, a needy, you've-almost-hit-it, so-close, not-quite-there, this-is-torture sort of noise.
"Want me to touch here?" he asked and pressed his tongue to her clit, holding it there, firm pressure, no motion.
"Yes!" Her hips started to rock, and he took them in his hands, keeping her still.
"Nope. Not yet." She groaned at that, feeling his lips move against her as he spoke. "Two more."
Tim pulled the fourth one out, and slipped five in. Too fast. She tensed a little on five, which meant he hadn't spent enough time letting her body stretch and adjust, so for her right leg, he slowed even further down. He took his time removing the stocking, meandered slowly back up her leg again, took a few minutes to trace the outline of Kate's memorial tattoo on her hip with his tongue before settling back down between her legs to lick ever drop of her juice off her skin.
By the time he got to her right lip, she was trying to rock against him, and begging him to fuck her, and the long steady litany of "Please, I want you, feels so good, please, let me come, please!" just egged him on, made him go slower, focus his attention more carefully. One thing he was sure of was that when he reached for the sixth one, she would be more than ready for it.
He twisted the fifth one, wiggling it a little. She sucked in a fast breath and exhaled a long,"Tim, please!"
And that was enough teasing. He reached for the sixth dilator.
One thing he had been doing was inserting them by feel. He's a guy. Guys are visually oriented. He's an especially visually oriented guy, so he didn't watch it. Because he knows how it'll look. And he knows how watching it will feel. And he really didn't want to get too excited too fast and lose his control.
But for the last one, he was already kneeling between her legs, and he was so hard he can feel his pulse in his cock, and all he wanted to do was fuck, so he was going to watch.
And God, it looked amazing. No matter what it was, he loved watching her body take it in. Wet, flushed, pink skin, grasping the toy tight, slowly giving around it, drawing it into her, that sight killed him every time.He didn't think he could get harder, but he'd been wrong.
"One rule for this part. Don't come." Okay, it was true he's telling her that, but he was also sort of reminding himself, as well. Don't come.
"Tim!" She looked genuinely concerned at that, not sure she can do it.
"You do this to me all the time."
"You're used to it."
He smiled up at her and winked. "Just don't. It'll be worth it."
She whimpered again as he licked one of her lips from top to bottom, and licked back up from bottom to top.
"Have I told you how much I love this?" He sucked gently on her clit, pulling back a second later to talk some more, as his finger barely slipped into her, circling the entrance to her vagina. "You're so wet, and pink, and swollen." He blew on her clit. "And it's standing straight up." He licked it very lightly, and gave it another soft suck, feeling her pussy clench around him as he did it. "You close, baby?"
"Yes!"
"Don't come." He retreated from her pussy, licking her thighs, gently massaging her hips and ass, trying to get them to relax a little.
And when they did, when he felt the tension melt a bit, he went back to her clit with very soft, very light, barest-hints-of-touch flicks with the tip of his tongue. He kept at it, feeling her get tighter and squirm, breathing hard and loud, reciting the periodic table out-loud.
"Tim!"
He pulled back, stopping dead. "Too much?"
"Yeah, just, give me a minute to calm down, okay?"
He stood up, smiling, lips wet and shiny, and stepped close. "Kiss me."
"This is your idea of 'calm down?'"
"Yep. I want you to taste yourself on my lips and tongue. Then you're going to watch me get naked."
She inhaled long and slow, forcing herself to calm down. "This really isn't easy, you know?"
This time his smile was wicked. "Yeah, I'm vaguely familiar with how hard this is."
"Next time I'm in charge, I'm going to kill you."
"And I'll enjoy every second of it. Kiss me." And she did, lips on his hot and hard, licking and sucking his mouth, moaning into him, feeling the smooth cotton of his shirt against her nipples and the rougher wool of his kilt against her legs and pussy.
When he couldn't taste her anymore, he stepped back, and loosened his tie further, slipping the knot, untying it, and draping it over her neck, so the silk rested against her breasts, over her nipples.
"I can feel it every time I breathe."
"That was the idea." He popped the third button on his shirt (one and two had been undone since he got home). It wasn't much of a strip tease. He's a guy after all, so the extent of a strip tease he's willing to do is mostly just taking his clothing off slowly, and he's also, eager is probably the best word, to get to the main event. Plus, there just isn't a slow, teasing way to take a kilt off when every drop of blood your body can spare from keeping you alive is in your dick. Though, when it comes down to it, he'd probably have had the same issue with pants, as well.
He snagged the bottom of his tie, yanking down, so it slipped over both nipples before falling to the floor. Then he stepped next to her, wrapping his hand in her hair, pulling her head back, kissing her mouth and the curve of her neck as his cock rubbed gently against her pussy.
"You feel so good. So soft and wet." He rubbed the shaft against her clit in long, lazy thrusts. She was whimpering again, eyes closed, so he whispered against her jaw as he kissed and nibbled along it. "Don't come, baby, hold on just a little longer." He shifted his angle, thrusting into her, hissing at the heat and slick wetness.
And it was true that he's teasing her almost beyond what she can endure, but right this second he's got himself on the edge of losing control, too. He wanted to just thrust like crazy, go full out, burying himself into her over and over until they're both screaming and coming.
Tim slowed himself down, thrusting slow, shallow, and deliberate.
She's flushed from her cheeks to her stomach, nipples hard and swollen, and he can actually feel her clit trailing over his dick as he eased in.
Enough teasing.
He circled behind her, adding even more lube to his dick as he slipped the dilator out. Less than one second passed between putting it down and thrusting into her as hard and fast as he could. Hot and slick and tight and fast and friction stole his breath, and for the first time he could remember he was totally silent as pleasure so intense it's practically pain washed through him.
His hands clenched on her hips, pulling her back onto him, thrusting as fast as his body can manage as she keened with pleasure, body almost breaking point tight on his.
He finally managed to suck in a breath, letting him speak again. "God, baby, fuck, you feel so good, come for me, God, want to feel you wrapped around my cock, coming so hard you can't see." He was reaching for her clit when he felt her body tighten further, pull in, and then release with a short scream.
And that first wave did it for him, sent him tumbling over the edge into throbbing, nerve-searing pleasure, as she clenched around him, crying his name.
She was sagging against him when he came down enough to be aware of the real world. For a minute, he was awfully content to just stand pressed against her, holding her up as they both rode the oxytocin high. But after a few minutes the idea that this probably wasn't terribly comfortable for any long bit of time hit him.
"Can your legs hold you?"
She nodded. So he stepped back, pulling out slowly, and reached up to undo each wrist. He found the knife and just slit through the ribbon at her ankles, and quickly undid the boots.
That, and grabbing a tissue to wipe himself off, exhausted what was left of his energy. He collapsed onto their bed, while she headed to the bathroom to clean up.
A minute later she was curled on her side, he was spooned up behind her, and they were both asleep.
Chapter 158: Valentine's Day 2015
"Breena's really ready for this?" Tim asked as he slipped on his kilt. (New one. Jimmy and Breena got it for him as a combined Christmas/birthday present. Apparently there is a McGee plaid. Ducky was enlisted to hunt it down. Back in the dark ages, before they decided to try the next island to the west, the MacGhees were Scottish, and as such, there is a McGee tartan. It's hunter, black, navy, and gray, and he really likes it.)
"She says she is," Abby answered. "Molly's a year old today, and she's bound and determined to have a birthday party for her."
Tim nodded and began buttoning up his shirt. Abby has mentioned liking the somewhat dressier kilt look, so he's getting into a white button-down, plaid kilt, and in a few minutes boots, tie, and jacket.
"She's put a lot of effort into this," Abby said as she pulled a knee high sock up one leg.
"What's a lot of effort?"
"She was telling me about the hand-made cupcakes decorated with all of Molly's favorite characters."
"Molly has favorite characters?" He'd spent a good five days with her straight, and hadn't noticed anything he'd call a preference for anything on the television or in books.
Link"She really likes the Muppets.""Huh. Wish I had known that. I like them, too."
"Really?" That takes Abby by surprise. She didn't know that about him.
"Not like I've seen them anytime recently. But my first TV memories are watching the Muppet Show with my grandfather and mom. Loved Kermit."
"Apparently her favorite is Kermit, too."
"Next time we babysit, there will be Muppet bonding."
Abby laughed at that. "Anyway, I don't know how 'ready' she is for this, but I do know she's decorated every inch of the house, made cupcakes with Muppets on them, and invited the whole clan, so we're going, we're going to have a good time, and we'll do everything we can to make sure everyone else does, too."
"We'll party or die trying?"
She looked up from her sock and said, "Yes."
"Well, that's not going to be awkward, at all."
"You need to watch a little less Supernatural. You're starting to sound like Dean."
He flashed her a playful look. "Awesome!"
"Way less."
He smiled at her and winked. "Get some pie on the way home?"
"Okay, you're cut off."
"No! I'm half way through season seven. You can't cut me off."
"Then behave." She grinned at him. "Zip me up?"
He knelt down and got the zipper on her boots. At sixteen weeks along, Abby's definitely pregnant. There is an unmistakable baby bump there. And yes, she can still bend well enough to zip knee high boots, but it's also a lot easier to have Tim do it.
So he does, because it's not like an opportunity to rub his hands over her legs is something he minds.
Once booted up, she pulled on a green baby-doll dress with a wide black collar.
And while it's true the McGees might not be fashionable in any traditional sense, they're definitely stylish.
It wasn't as awkward as Tim was afraid it was going to be. Probably because if there was ever a group of people who needed a good time, it was them.
So, yeah, Molly couldn't have cared less about the decorations or the presents. (Though everyone else, including Gibbs, told Breena how great of a job she had done. Okay, he smiled at her in a congratulatory manner and kissed her cheek, but Breena understood what it meant.) But she did enjoy being the center of attention, and people cooing over her crawling around and babbling. And she was extremely enthusiastic about ripping into her Kermit cupcake and utterly demolishing it. (How much of it she actually ate as opposed to scattered over the kitchen is open for debate.)
Even Ed was on his best behavior. Though he did stare at Tim, looking really uncomfortable with the kilt for a good five minutes, and when he found out the idea for it was Breena's he just stared at her, too. (Tim wasn't sure what disturbed Ed more: him in a kilt or Breena buying one for him.) But Breena started telling him about going to the range with Jimmy and Tim and Abby, and that got them talking guns, which turned out to be actually fairly pleasant. Ziva and Tony got into it, too. And toward the end, even Gibbs was chatting with them, talking a little about distance shooting, and how back when he started you had to be able to do the math in your head, which got Ducky talking about the history of projectile weapons, and okay, yeah, it's not a traditional topic of conversation for a birthday party, let alone a birthday party for a one-year-old girl, but since by that point, the birthday girl was sleeping in Ducky's arms, (She drifted off when he got talking about ballistae. Apparently his voice is awfully hypnotic if you're a baby.) it worked.
The party broke up not too long after that. It's Valentine's, after all, and granted, Tim and Abby don't have any fancy plans (Quiet night in was a winner last year, and it's likely to be a winner this year, as well.) but Tony and Ziva do, and he knows that Ducky has offered to watch Molly so Jimmy and Breena can go out for dinner tonight.
They stick around to help clean up and make a date for the range the next day, before Jimmy and Tim join Gibbs for bootcamp and then head home.
Khao Phat Pu/Thai Crab Fried RiceThey grab a light dinner on the way home. It's early enough the restaurants aren't packed, and they are dressed up enough that going out seems like fun to him. Plus, he's been craving khoa phat pu all afternoon. Sure he's the dad half of the team, but apparently this has not rendered him immune to food cravings.They're seated and eating when something occurs to him. "You realize, this time next year, Gibbs might be watching Kelly for us so we can go out."
Abby grins at that, a really clear image of Gibbs holding their baby in her mind. Then another very clear image: Gibbs playing with Molly, nibbling on her tummy, doing an astonishingly good Cookie Monster impersonation, while she shrieked with laughter, and then suddenly stopping and giving her to Breena sprang to mind. "You think he's ever changed a diaper?"
Tim thinks about that. Kelly was born in '82, so after guys were expected to do some of the messy work of being a parent, but not all that far after, and he's got no idea how long it took for that idea to filter into the world of Marines. He does know that in '86, when his sister was born, most of the guys on the Navy base they lived on would have rather cut an arm off than change a diaper. And he knows that if his dad ever changed a diaper, it was his, because he certainly never did it for Sarah. But Gibbs never struck him as the kind of guy who was so uncertain in his masculinity that doing 'women's work' would freak him out.
"I'm gonna say yes, but with a lot of doubt."
"Yeah. Did you ever think Ducky would take to being a grandfather the way he has?"
"Nope. Never thought he'd melt into a pile of goo over a baby."
"I was telling him that she's never going to learn to walk if he doesn't occasionally let be her on the floor."
Tim chuckles at that. "He looked ready to wrestle Ed for snuggling rights."
"Ed did really well today. I don't think he said anything that pissed anyone off."
"Yeah, he did do well. Maybe he's finally learning some tact."
"We can hope. It'd be nice to not dread going to family gatherings with him."
"Yeah, it would."
When they got home, Tim unbuckled his seat belt but left the keys in the ignition. "Out you go, for at least the next two hours."
"Two hours?"
"More if you like. But not less than two hours."
"What are you doing?"
"Last Valentine's Night without kids. I'm preparing for it."
"Okay." Abby grinned. "Hot and dirty?"
"Oh yes!" He flashed her a sexy smile. "With a side of kink, and an extra helping of erotic."
"All right, then! Anything you want me to bring home?"
"You in a submissive mood."
"Ohhh…" Her eyes lit with pleasure.
"Yeah." He flashed his eyebrows at her and got out of the car. "See you after seven thirty."
Two hours is a lot of time to be imagining what Tim could have been planning. All sorts of good things might be in the offing. So, it was with a spring in her step and a smile on her face that Abby headed to his office door. (Music from inside let her know he was in there.)
"Well?" She was grinning and looking around curiously. So far all she could see was that Tim was still in the kilt, though he'd taken off the jacket, boots, and socks, rolled up his sleeves, and loosened his tie.
He stood up, smiled, and pointed up. "Upstairs."
She skipped up the stairs, holding his hands, and dragging him behind her. She flung open the door to their bedroom and…
"Huh?" The expression on her face was really confused.
He just grinned at her. Wide, happy smile on his face, he was really enjoying this.
She walked in and looked up, eyebrows furrowing, obviously there's something going on here, but she's not getting it. Then looked around, and looked back to him. "You got me a plant and rearranged our furniture."
"Yep!" He beamed at her.
She stared around the room again, utterly perplexed. He just grinned like this was the best joke on earth.
She walked beneath the plant and looked up at it. It was a very attractive… something. Abby's not good with live plants. If she had to identify it by its pollen or spores or whatever, it'd be no problem, but a living plant hanging from the ceiling over her head… Nope. No idea.
"Did the words hot, dirty, or kinky get redefined while I was out?"
"If they did, I didn't get the memo."
"Uh huh..." Maybe it was some sort of special aphrodisiac plant. "What kind of plant is it?"
He trailed his fingers down her neck and back as she stared up at it. "Some sort of fern. It's green. It doesn't need a lot of sun, and supposedly it's pretty forgiving if you forget to water it. The lady at the plant store said they were practically impossible to kill, so that sounded like a good choice."
"Okay. So, you got me a random plant."
"Yes. But if you look up a little higher, you'll see something else I got you."
She looked up further, and then looked at the rearranged furniture. Abby crossed their room and closed the door to their bathroom. The door with the full length mirror on it. And suddenly this all made a whole lot of sense, and yes, hot, kinky, and erotic did not get redefined anytime recently.
"Oh."
He grinned even wider. "Exactly. Go open your closet door."
She did, and found both a new mirror on the back of her door, and a nicely wrapped box sitting on the floor of her closet.
"May I open it?"
"In a moment. You can take it out and put it on the bed, though. Leave the closet door open." Tim headed over to the plant and took it off the hook.
The hook was the real present. Well, part of it. Most plant holders are made of plastic or cheap metal, something that'll hold a few pounds easily, but can't take any real weight. The hook Tim's sunk into the joist in their ceiling will hold his weight bouncing around on it. (He checked.) He moved his dresser. His is waist high on him, and very handy for certain positions. Now, it's under that hook. And by moving his dresser, it's now in front of the mirror on the back of their bathroom door, so, if say, someone were to tie you up and put you on the dresser, all you'd have to do is look to your left, and you'd have a great view of what was going on. And if you wanted to see it from a different angle, there was always the new mirror on the back of Abby's closet door, which would be in front of you. And of course, there's the original mirror that goes with that dresser, behind you.
So, basically, anything you might want to do in that general area had been set so you can see it from any angle really easily.
Abby noticed something else. Tim's dresser was now on those little coaster things that make furniture easy to slide. She smiled at that. So, if they wanted to do something with the hook, but not on the dresser, that'd be easily arranged, too.
He watched her look around, notice everything he did, and kissed her throat, right on his lip tattoo.
"I was thinking that pretty soon we're going to have kids in this house. And probably a nanny. Eventually kids' friends. After Kelly comes, we might have visitors in our room. So, if the sex gear was subtle, that might be a good thing." He moved the present to the center of their bed. "Plus rearranging the mirrors means," he patted the bed letting her know he wanted her to sit, "we can get a good view of everything that goes on in our bed as well."
Abby sat on the bed next to the present, noticing that yep, she could see herself in all three mirrors. He nodded at her in a way she took to mean go ahead, open it, and then pulled the long, black satin ribbon off the box. "For tonight?"
"Maybe." He grinned.
She slit the paper carefully, unwrapping the box slowly, remembering him saying something about enjoying being teased by the slow reveal. Granted he knew what's in the box, but she hoped he's enjoying her finding out what's in it.
She lifted the lid, whistles softly, and says, "Oh."
This time the grin on his face was pure sex. "Yeah."
Padded wrist cuffs and from the look of them, they could be used one on each wrist, or strapped to each other, and if the metal rings on them are anything to go by they're designed to be attached to a rope or chain and hung from that hook.And under them was a collection of glass dilators. Abby saw them and looked up at Tim, pleased expression on her face.
"Want to see if you can get off with straight anal?"
She looked back down at them. "Just anal?"
"Maybe not just… How about tied up from the ceiling, spun out like crazy, slowly stretched as I suck every inch of your body, and then fucked as hard as you like until you're coming on my cock."
Abby licked her lips. "Yes, sir."
"Good. Go get a shower. I'll be out here getting ready for you."
"Getting ready for you" meant pushing the dresser over a bit. He wants her standing for this, so it's got to be out of the way.
It also meant finding the right pair of boots for her, and stockings to go with them. He wanted ones that would make her the same height he is, if not a little taller, and preferably platforms as opposed to a high heel. She needed to be comfortable standing in them for as long as this will take, and these days high heels don't agree with her low back. Fortunately she had a wide selection of boots to pick from.
He headed to his bedside table and fetched the lube, his folding knife, and the black silk rope.
The folding knife neatly sliced the ribbon in half. He's going to tie one ankle to the leg of his dresser and the other to the leg of their bed, so he needed two ropes for that.
He draped the rope over the hook and decided to tie each wrist individually tonight.
He finished up the scene by laying out the dilators on his dresser, where she'll be able to see them. There are six of them, short, three inch long plugs with a ring-shaped base (for easy insertion and removal, even if your fingers are coated with lube) ranging from a little less than an inch around (smaller than one of his fingers) to five and a half inches (slightly smaller than his dick). They're clear glass and almost shine in the light from the lamp on his bedside table.
He liked the idea of the anticipation of seeing them all there. Of knowing that a long, slow, steady build up was coming.
Tim heard the water in the bathroom shut off, followed a few seconds later by a dripping wet Abby standing in front of him, holding a towel.
"Sometimes I forget how good you are at this." When she subs, she really subs. He didn't tell her to dry off, so she didn't. "Go ahead and dry off. Get your hair dry enough so it isn't dripping down your back, but don't worry about getting it completely dry."
He sat on the bed and watched her do it, enjoying the play of her hands on her skin, the towel rubbing gently over her, and the way the water glistened on her.
As he was watching a new idea occurred to him, and he liked that one even better than the one he had before.
Six dilators. Two arms, two legs, mouth and pussy. One part to play with for each size. Yeah, that idea worked.
She was almost dry. "When you get done with that, I want you to come stand in front of me."
She nodded.
"You can speak or make any noises you like."
"Yes." She stood in front of him.
He picked up one of the stockings and patted the bed between his legs. "Your foot here."
"Okay. You going to tell me what you're going to do?"
He cupped her ankle in his hand, lifting it a few inches. "Hold it." And she did. He slipped the stocking up her leg, stroking over her skin as he inched it upward. "Maybe. Do you want me to tell you, or do you want to be surprised?"
She thought about it as he repeated the gesture with her left leg.
"Little of both?"
"I can do that." He put her leg back down and looked at the boots. "Put them on."
She did so, but didn't fasten them. He knelt at her feet and did up the zipper and buckles.
"I want you to stand here." He showed her the spot in front of the dresser and next to the bed. "Right ankle here, left on there." As she got into position, facing the bathroom door mirror (he wanted her to be able to see everything), standing with her legs wide apart, he said, "I'm going to tie your ankles to the bed and the dresser. Keep you nicely open for me. Then we're going to play."
He knelt on the floor in front of her again, slowly dragging the ribbon off the bed, twining it between his fingers, then pulling gently, letting it slip through them. He wrapped it around her thigh, and once again, gently tugged, letting it slither over her skin in a silk-smooth embrace, and then tied that ankle. Same thing for the other leg, drawing out the experience of tying her, playing with the satin a little, kissing her inner thigh before standing up and circling behind her.
He pressed against her back, kissing her shoulders and the nape of her neck, and then gently turned her head to look at the dilators, keeping his fingers on her throat. He pitched his voice low, because his mouth is less than an inch from her ear, caressing her with hot breath as well as soft words. "Each one of them will go with a part of your body." His fingers trace from her left hand to breast. "Arms first."
She purred quietly at that.
He ghosts them over her lips. "Then mouth."
That got a smile.
His fingers settle just below her hips, scribing small circles. "Legs."
"Mmmm…" she looked very pleased.
His left hand slips over, first two fingers grazing her labia. "Then pussy."
She shivered a little at that, arching her back and rubbing against him. "Then what?"
He let go of her, and took one step over to the bed, grabbed the lube, and circled around to the front of her so she could see what he was doing easily. He flicked open the cap and squirted a bit into his fingers, stepping close to her, kissing her lips soft and light as his hand slid between her legs, smoothing the lube over her. She pressed into his touch, arms wrapping around the small of his back as his fingers stroked slickly over her skin.
He broke their kiss, keeping his lips less than an inch from hers, making sure she could feel his words, breath against wet, sensitized lips. "Then your arms will be tied over your head, legs spread wide, pussy so wet it'll be dripping down them. Then I'll stand in front of you, undress slowly, tease you with it. Then I'll slip my cock into your pussy, fuck you for a minute or two, while I kiss you senseless, getting myself really good and slick. Then I'll circle back around you, lean you into the ropes, slide the dilator out, and slam my cock into you until you see stars."
"Yes." She was grinning and her eyes had that heavy, dark look that went with arousal.
"Good." He kissed her one last time, then stepped away, grabbing the smallest of the toys, coating it with lube as she watched him.
"Pretty small."
"That's the idea. Slow and easy, one little step at a time." He kissed down her spine, licking the outlines of her tattoos, nibbling along the crest of her hip, then slowly worked the toy into her. Just because it's small doesn't mean he's going to rush this. Part of the whole point of this is to go slow, so that when he's done with the last one he can rush.
"Good?"
"Yeah, it's fine."
He smiled, took her hand in his, and began to kiss her fingers. He started at the tip of each one, a soft, wet kiss. Then he brought his tongue into the game with long, slow strokes, the sort of touch he likes when it's his dick on the receiving end of things. That got a soft moan.
He massaged her hand, stretching her fingers, pressing into the muscles, knowing exactly how good it feels to have someone hold your hand and really work on it when using your hands all the time is your job. That got a louder moan, one he recognized as more a signal of that-feels-good than rip-my-clothes- off-and-ravish-me.
Tim eased his way down to her wrist, kissing it softly, scraping his teeth over the pale white skin where her pulse thrummed. He took the first of the cuffs, fastened it around her wrist, and tied her hand high above her head. "Still good?"
She nodded. "Yeah, not too high up."
He smiled, and drug his fingers down her arm. She squirmed when he got to her armpit; that was a bit on the ticklish side, but the squirming got less defensive and a lot happier as he cupped his hand over her shoulder, gently squeezing those muscles, and a very happy moan joined the squirming as he ran his tongue over her upper arm and shoulder, while his hand found her breast.
Tim kept his fingers light and slow, soft, feathery touches that made Abby try to arch and push against him for more friction. He kissed her nipple, wrapping his lips around it in a wet embrace, then pulled back to blow on it.
Her skin lit with goosebumps.
"So pretty." He scraped his fingernails from her wrist to her nipple, and watched them get harder. He licked her arm, once again blowing on wet skin, enjoying the way her skin responded, reveling in the way she moaned when he did it.
Then a thought hit. Room temperature glass feels cold against warm skin. He picked up the second smallest dilator, it's about the size of his thumb.
"So soon?"
"Not quite. I want to make sure it's nice and warm." He traced it over her nipple and she jerked a little at the touch. "Not warm enough, yet?"
"It's pretty cool."
"Feel good?" He rolled it over her skin, following it with his tongue.
"Yeah."
"Good. How about this?" He slipped it into his mouth, holding it in place, while his fingers stroked over her nipples, pulling along them, after a minute, when it didn't feel cold on his tongue anymore, he took it out and traced it over her skin again, drawing complicated patterns down the inside of her arm. "Nice and warm?"
"Yeah. That feels really good."
"Feel better inside you?"
"I'd think so."
He reached for the lube and slicked it up, circling around behind her, kissing the back of her neck while he slid the first one out, and eased the second in.
She groaned as it slid home, and he smiled, taking her right hand in his and starting to kiss her fingers.
The second hand followed the first one pretty closely. But once both of her arms were tied, Tim decided to change things up a little. He kissed her shoulder and said, "Back in a sec."
"Tim!" She was not looking thrilled about that. He winked and sprinted downstairs to get his phone. He hadn't intended to take pictures, though for the life of him he can't figure out why he didn't think of it. Three seconds later he was back, with his phone in hand.
"You're so beautiful, I can't not get pictures." He got a few distance ones, her whole body spread out in front of him, and several close ups. His fingers trailed over her arm as he shot that. "So amazingly beautiful."
The curve of her shoulder and back caught his eye. He shot that with his fingers ghosting along her flesh.
He kissed her belly and made sure to get a picture of the dual curve of her belly and breast. "So soft and round." He nibbled around her hip and low back, shooting the concave curve of the small of her back and the lush convex of her tush. "Mmmmm…" he hummed as his lips slid over the top of her thigh.
He stood back up, saw the look on her face, and quickly kissed the tip of her nose. The expression on her face was mostly amused. She could take or leave the photographs of herself, but she knew he adored them, and his kiss was a gesture of thanks for humoring me.
"Head back, eyes closed." She followed his directions, and he shot her from both sides. Front shot focusing on her face, breasts, and neck, back shot focusing on her hair dangling over her back. Then he licked her throat, from collarbone to jaw, fisted his hand in her hair, and got a shot of that, light gleaming on wet skin as he held her by her hair.
"God, you are so gloriously hot, Abby."
She opened her eyes and grinned at him. "Damn right, baby!"
"Next size up?"
"Please."
That was the one that went with mouth. Once he had eased it into place, he was left with a very pleasant dilemma, kiss Abby from a step back, focusing all attention on her lips and tongue, or step in close and rub his whole body against hers?
Just lips meant maintaining his own control would be significantly easier. As of this point, only his eyes, mouth, and fingers had been involved in the game, and he's got very good control when it comes to that level of stimulation. But once he stepped in close against her, his whole body would be pressed against hers, and his dick, which has been very aware of what's going on, will get into the game, and it's always in favor of getting to the sex part as fast as possible.
Of course, if he steps in close, that meant the sensation of lips, tongue, heat, pressure, the texture of his shirt, tie, and kilt on her skin. It meant her whole body got into the game, as well, and her whole body ramps things up pretty fast for her.
Yes, of all the dilemmas in the world, this was a very good one to have.
He stepped in close and kissed her. His lips and tongue soft and gentle on hers, but he pressed in tight, grinding his hips into hers, rubbing his chest against her breasts, and she gasped into his mouth as he did it.
His hands settled on her ass, anchoring her against him as he rocked against her, nubby wool kilt rubbing her mound, soft cotton of his shirt sliding over her nipples, and of course, as it does that for her, it does for him as well, and, God, it feels so good to have her tight against his body.
And yes, right now his dick was sending him very happy, let's skip the rest of this, hot, wet pussy right here, right now, come on, go get it,signals, and he was doing his best to ignore them, but the fact that he could feel her wet through the kilt was making his breath come fast and his hips roll in a very deliberate sort of way.
It was when he felt his hand head down to the edge of his kilt to pull it up that he broke the kiss and stepped back. Because he knew that if he didn't, this wasn't going to end the way he was hoping it would.
She made a soft, needy, half-whimper, half-moan sort of sound when he pulled away, and it was fairly likely he made a sound pretty similar to that, as well. Her eyes trailed down his body. She seemed to be just enjoying the view; he was pretty disheveled looking, rumpled, flushed, very prominent erection tenting the kilt. A smile lit her face. "You get to explain that to the dry cleaner."
He looked down, saw the large wet spot on the wool, and laughed. "Mental note, only fool around in the black one."
"Yep. We can't wash wool here."
That helped turn his arousal down a few notches. Got him back into full control of himself. Three down, three to go.
He snagged the fourth one from the dresser and held it against her lips. "Wanna see you suck it." And as she did, as her lips wrapped snugly around it, pulling it gently into her mouth, he eased the third one out, putting it back on the dresser.
He got a quick picture of that as well. "That's so hot it shouldn't be legal. Your mouth, all wet and pouty wrapped around anything like that. Makes me want to see your lips around me. Makes me want to cut you down, have you kneel, and blow me." He spread more lube over her, using his fingers to gently coat her inside and out, and seeing her sucking it while he could feel her tight on his fingers was almost too much. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and then took the dilator from her, and inched it in, slow and teasing as she moaned, low and steady. "But this is just too good to miss out on."
"Left leg next." He sat on the floor in front of her and pulled her stocking down to the top of her boot with his teeth, fingers following in its wake, scraping delicately over her skin with his nails.
That left his mouth about the middle of her calf, which seemed like a good place to start back up. He trailed open-mouthed, wet, sucking kisses up her leg, circling around to nibble the back of her knee, and continued up her inner thigh.
He got to the top of her thigh and feasted. She was so wet the inside of her leg was slick and tasted fabulous and smelled better, so he went to town on her, long, wet, lapping strokes with his tongue as he made sure to get every drop. When her leg was done he looked over at her pussy, wet, shiny, pink, open, begging him for touch. He very carefully took just the left outer lip into his mouth to suck lightly. He stayed away from her clit, from the inner lips, and made sure that his tongue slipped up and down along it as he sucked.
Abby panted, high-pitched almost whines of sound slipping out of her with each new suck.
"That's not my leg!" she finally got out.
He stopped and sat back on his heels. "Are you complaining?"
"Not exactly. But if you're not going to play with my leg, I've got some other parts that want the attention even more."
"Soon enough baby, soon enough. But how's this for a compromise?" He reached for the fifth one, four and a half inches around, wide enough it probably wouldn't slip out, and slid it between her legs, over her thigh, rolling it against the outer lip, then grazing it over the inner one before slowly nudging it into her vagina.
She whined at that too, a needy, you've-almost-hit-it, so-close, not-quite-there, this-is-torture sort of noise.
"Want me to touch here?" he asked and pressed his tongue to her clit, holding it there, firm pressure, no motion.
"Yes!" Her hips started to rock, and he took them in his hands, keeping her still.
"Nope. Not yet." She groaned at that, feeling his lips move against her as he spoke. "Two more."
Tim pulled the fourth one out, and slipped five in. Too fast. She tensed a little on five, which meant he hadn't spent enough time letting her body stretch and adjust, so for her right leg, he slowed even further down. He took his time removing the stocking, meandered slowly back up her leg again, took a few minutes to trace the outline of Kate's memorial tattoo on her hip with his tongue before settling back down between her legs to lick ever drop of her juice off her skin.
By the time he got to her right lip, she was trying to rock against him, and begging him to fuck her, and the long steady litany of "Please, I want you, feels so good, please, let me come, please!" just egged him on, made him go slower, focus his attention more carefully. One thing he was sure of was that when he reached for the sixth one, she would be more than ready for it.
He twisted the fifth one, wiggling it a little. She sucked in a fast breath and exhaled a long,"Tim, please!"
And that was enough teasing. He reached for the sixth dilator.
One thing he had been doing was inserting them by feel. He's a guy. Guys are visually oriented. He's an especially visually oriented guy, so he didn't watch it. Because he knows how it'll look. And he knows how watching it will feel. And he really didn't want to get too excited too fast and lose his control.
But for the last one, he was already kneeling between her legs, and he was so hard he can feel his pulse in his cock, and all he wanted to do was fuck, so he was going to watch.
And God, it looked amazing. No matter what it was, he loved watching her body take it in. Wet, flushed, pink skin, grasping the toy tight, slowly giving around it, drawing it into her, that sight killed him every time.He didn't think he could get harder, but he'd been wrong.
"One rule for this part. Don't come." Okay, it was true he's telling her that, but he was also sort of reminding himself, as well. Don't come.
"Tim!" She looked genuinely concerned at that, not sure she can do it.
"You do this to me all the time."
"You're used to it."
He smiled up at her and winked. "Just don't. It'll be worth it."
She whimpered again as he licked one of her lips from top to bottom, and licked back up from bottom to top.
"Have I told you how much I love this?" He sucked gently on her clit, pulling back a second later to talk some more, as his finger barely slipped into her, circling the entrance to her vagina. "You're so wet, and pink, and swollen." He blew on her clit. "And it's standing straight up." He licked it very lightly, and gave it another soft suck, feeling her pussy clench around him as he did it. "You close, baby?"
"Yes!"
"Don't come." He retreated from her pussy, licking her thighs, gently massaging her hips and ass, trying to get them to relax a little.
And when they did, when he felt the tension melt a bit, he went back to her clit with very soft, very light, barest-hints-of-touch flicks with the tip of his tongue. He kept at it, feeling her get tighter and squirm, breathing hard and loud, reciting the periodic table out-loud.
"Tim!"
He pulled back, stopping dead. "Too much?"
"Yeah, just, give me a minute to calm down, okay?"
He stood up, smiling, lips wet and shiny, and stepped close. "Kiss me."
"This is your idea of 'calm down?'"
"Yep. I want you to taste yourself on my lips and tongue. Then you're going to watch me get naked."
She inhaled long and slow, forcing herself to calm down. "This really isn't easy, you know?"
This time his smile was wicked. "Yeah, I'm vaguely familiar with how hard this is."
"Next time I'm in charge, I'm going to kill you."
"And I'll enjoy every second of it. Kiss me." And she did, lips on his hot and hard, licking and sucking his mouth, moaning into him, feeling the smooth cotton of his shirt against her nipples and the rougher wool of his kilt against her legs and pussy.
When he couldn't taste her anymore, he stepped back, and loosened his tie further, slipping the knot, untying it, and draping it over her neck, so the silk rested against her breasts, over her nipples.
"I can feel it every time I breathe."
"That was the idea." He popped the third button on his shirt (one and two had been undone since he got home). It wasn't much of a strip tease. He's a guy after all, so the extent of a strip tease he's willing to do is mostly just taking his clothing off slowly, and he's also, eager is probably the best word, to get to the main event. Plus, there just isn't a slow, teasing way to take a kilt off when every drop of blood your body can spare from keeping you alive is in your dick. Though, when it comes down to it, he'd probably have had the same issue with pants, as well.
He snagged the bottom of his tie, yanking down, so it slipped over both nipples before falling to the floor. Then he stepped next to her, wrapping his hand in her hair, pulling her head back, kissing her mouth and the curve of her neck as his cock rubbed gently against her pussy.
"You feel so good. So soft and wet." He rubbed the shaft against her clit in long, lazy thrusts. She was whimpering again, eyes closed, so he whispered against her jaw as he kissed and nibbled along it. "Don't come, baby, hold on just a little longer." He shifted his angle, thrusting into her, hissing at the heat and slick wetness.
And it was true that he's teasing her almost beyond what she can endure, but right this second he's got himself on the edge of losing control, too. He wanted to just thrust like crazy, go full out, burying himself into her over and over until they're both screaming and coming.
Tim slowed himself down, thrusting slow, shallow, and deliberate.
She's flushed from her cheeks to her stomach, nipples hard and swollen, and he can actually feel her clit trailing over his dick as he eased in.
Enough teasing.
He circled behind her, adding even more lube to his dick as he slipped the dilator out. Less than one second passed between putting it down and thrusting into her as hard and fast as he could. Hot and slick and tight and fast and friction stole his breath, and for the first time he could remember he was totally silent as pleasure so intense it's practically pain washed through him.
His hands clenched on her hips, pulling her back onto him, thrusting as fast as his body can manage as she keened with pleasure, body almost breaking point tight on his.
He finally managed to suck in a breath, letting him speak again. "God, baby, fuck, you feel so good, come for me, God, want to feel you wrapped around my cock, coming so hard you can't see." He was reaching for her clit when he felt her body tighten further, pull in, and then release with a short scream.
And that first wave did it for him, sent him tumbling over the edge into throbbing, nerve-searing pleasure, as she clenched around him, crying his name.
She was sagging against him when he came down enough to be aware of the real world. For a minute, he was awfully content to just stand pressed against her, holding her up as they both rode the oxytocin high. But after a few minutes the idea that this probably wasn't terribly comfortable for any long bit of time hit him.
"Can your legs hold you?"
She nodded. So he stepped back, pulling out slowly, and reached up to undo each wrist. He found the knife and just slit through the ribbon at her ankles, and quickly undid the boots.
That, and grabbing a tissue to wipe himself off, exhausted what was left of his energy. He collapsed onto their bed, while she headed to the bathroom to clean up.
A minute later she was curled on her side, he was spooned up behind her, and they were both asleep.
Shards To A Whole: Chapter 157
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 157: Tears and Guns
Tim noticed two things when he stepped into the house. First off, it smelled great. Something really yummy was cooking away. Secondly, Abby was crying.
From the front door you can see the living room, and the area in front of the TV so, his first hope, that she was just watching something sad on TV, was very rapidly dashed.
Unfortunately, these days crying Abby is a much more common occurrence than he'd really like. Even if what had happened with Jon hadn't happened, she'd probably be pretty weepy. He had figured there were going to be mood swings, and yeah there were.
But then Jon died and whatever emotional reserves Abby had got eaten alive. The ability to say, 'yep, not a big deal, no need to burst into tears,' which had been rendered pretty tenuous by the onslaught of pregnancy hormones, completely vanished.
So, not only is she crying, a lot, which he hates, because if you love a woman, watching her collapse into harsh sobs is torture, but he can't do anything about it. As of this point in time, he's been able to fix precisely zero percent of the issues that have sent her into a crying jag. And to make it worse, these emotional melt-downs are half his fault, because he'd certainly been involved in the whole, let's get you pregnant thing.
The best he can do is be there, get cried on, and provide her with something solid to hold onto.
And he still hates it because he feels so ridiculously useless.
But it's what he can do. So he does. Tim hangs up his coat, takes off his boots, secures his gun, and follows the sound of crying into the kitchen.
She's sitting at the kitchen table, arms folded in front of her, face resting on her forearms, crying.
He rests his hands on her shoulders, and kisses the nape of her neck. "Hey."
She stands up and snuggles in against him. He kisses her forehead.
"I forgot the garlic."
Finally, a problem he can fix! Something he can do. He can go out and get garlic like nobody's business. If garlic will make her stop crying, he'll buy every clove of it in the store. "I can go get some."
She looks up at him with red rimmed eyes. "It's Forty Clove Chicken! How do you forget the garlic for Forty Clove Chicken?"
Which is when he rapidly came to the conclusion that the garlic is a symptom, not the problem, and they are once again in things he can't fix territory. "Everyone forgets things."
"I wrote it down, on the list." There is a list on the table, next to her phone. "I went to the store, got everything else, came home, browned up the chicken, put the whole thing together, wine, tarragon, onions, bay leaf, everything, stuck it in the oven—"
"It smells really good."
She glares at him. Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. Minimizing the impact of forgotten garlic was not the right tactic.
"With no garlic in it," she finishes, ignoring his interruption. "It's like my mind decided there would be no garlic in the world. It was on my list. It's in the recipe. It's the name of the damn dish."
"It's okay."
She's looking angry in addition to sad now, and he's feeling really uncertain of what to do next. Not talking at all is starting to seem like a really good idea.
"No it's not! Tim, I forgot. I don't forget. I remember. I do things right. I follow directions and make the right choices and produce the right results. I don't forget!"
"Oh." He thought fast. "It's normal. The books said it happens. That the hormones—"
"Don't tell me it's the hormones!" And sad vanished, replaced by all angry. "I know it's the hormones! I'm forgetting things and crying about it. Of course it's the hormones! That doesn't mean it's not real, and that it isn't happening, or that I don't hate it! I'd rather throw up every day for the entire rest of my pregnancy than forget things."
"I'm not trying to dismiss it. Just… it'll get better. Your system'll go back to normal, and you'll go back to being you again."
"What if I don't?"
His eyes went wide, and he really doesn't know what to say about that.
"Lots of women don't go back. They keep forgetting things, and they change."
"We're both going to change. We can't not change. We'll be parents."
She smiles at him a little, and it's clear that's a I know you're trying to cheer me up, and I appreciate it, but it's not going to work gesture. "It's my mind, Tim. I can handle fat and saggy and varicose veins and crabby and tired, but… I can't lose my mind. I can't start forgetting things. That's who I am, not what I am."
He smiles a little back at her, because there's nothing he can say about it, and kisses her again.
"It'll get better."
"You don't know that."
"No, I don't. But I can hope. And you can pray. And you and I will become different people, but we'll do it together, and in the end, it'll be okay. Whatever's coming, we'll figure it out."
She didn't look too impressed with that, either. But he can tell she's giving him points for trying, even if he's not succeeding at making her feel better.
She sighs, wipes her eyes, kisses him, and then pulls back and asks, "So, how did shooting go?"
And he's all in favor of changing the subject, because maybe that'll at least provide a decent distraction and work on getting her mood better. "Really well. Jimmy said it was like yoga with explosions. He's talking about bringing Breena next time, and if the OB says it's okay, you're invited, too."
"Why wouldn't it be okay?"
"Shockwaves? Remember the episodes of Mythbusters where Kerri's pregnant?"
She nods.
"She went nowhere near any of the explosions or gunfire then."
"Really? That's what's making you think it might not be okay."
"Just making me cautious."
She snorted at him, looking mildly amused by that.
"Think of it this way, it'll probably be the first time Dr. Draz has ever gotten that question."
"That's probably true."
"And it's good to keep her on her toes. Wouldn't want her getting bored."
"Yes, our primary job as patients is to keep her entertained."
"Precisely." He headed to the sink to get himself a glass of water. "I was thinking about something else on the ride home." He poured one, held the glass out to her, and she nodded her head, so he grabbed another one and filled it for him. "We've got four guns in this house, and very soon, at least one child."
She nods, that's true. He sits down at the table next to her and hands her one of the glasses. "You want more security for them?" They have two gun safes, one built into the wall near the front door. That's where his service pistol goes. And one in the bedroom where his backup gun and both of Abby's live. And at all times when there's a gun in them, those safes are locked.
"Debating trigger locks."
She thought about that. "You want one for your service pistol, and that's fine. But if I'm going for the guns in our room, it's because something's gone very wrong, and I don't want anything slowing me down."
"Okay. Good point."
"And I do want all of our kids knowing how to shoot."
He nods. That was something he'd been planning on.
"And I know you don't hunt, but… At least for me, going hunting with my dad and seeing what those bullets did to the animals they hit, that made me respect what a gun could do. Paper targets don't bleed, so you shoot them, and it's a game. You shoot an animal, and you know you've killed something. You know that this is important and dangerous and not a game at all."
"That makes sense. Does Gibbs hunt? I know Tony doesn't, and I know there's more to it than just being able to hit a target." If it was just about accuracy, then he'd be great at it, and taking their kids would be no problem, but he's fairly sure there's some sort of skill involved in making sure you don't scare the deer or turkey or whatever it is off before it gets into place for you to shoot it.
"He used to. I don't think he has in a long time."
"Maybe one of these years, we won't buy the Christmas turkey."
"That would probably work."
Chapter 157: Tears and Guns
Tim noticed two things when he stepped into the house. First off, it smelled great. Something really yummy was cooking away. Secondly, Abby was crying.
From the front door you can see the living room, and the area in front of the TV so, his first hope, that she was just watching something sad on TV, was very rapidly dashed.
Unfortunately, these days crying Abby is a much more common occurrence than he'd really like. Even if what had happened with Jon hadn't happened, she'd probably be pretty weepy. He had figured there were going to be mood swings, and yeah there were.
But then Jon died and whatever emotional reserves Abby had got eaten alive. The ability to say, 'yep, not a big deal, no need to burst into tears,' which had been rendered pretty tenuous by the onslaught of pregnancy hormones, completely vanished.
So, not only is she crying, a lot, which he hates, because if you love a woman, watching her collapse into harsh sobs is torture, but he can't do anything about it. As of this point in time, he's been able to fix precisely zero percent of the issues that have sent her into a crying jag. And to make it worse, these emotional melt-downs are half his fault, because he'd certainly been involved in the whole, let's get you pregnant thing.
The best he can do is be there, get cried on, and provide her with something solid to hold onto.
And he still hates it because he feels so ridiculously useless.
But it's what he can do. So he does. Tim hangs up his coat, takes off his boots, secures his gun, and follows the sound of crying into the kitchen.
She's sitting at the kitchen table, arms folded in front of her, face resting on her forearms, crying.
He rests his hands on her shoulders, and kisses the nape of her neck. "Hey."
She stands up and snuggles in against him. He kisses her forehead.
"I forgot the garlic."
Finally, a problem he can fix! Something he can do. He can go out and get garlic like nobody's business. If garlic will make her stop crying, he'll buy every clove of it in the store. "I can go get some."
She looks up at him with red rimmed eyes. "It's Forty Clove Chicken! How do you forget the garlic for Forty Clove Chicken?"
Which is when he rapidly came to the conclusion that the garlic is a symptom, not the problem, and they are once again in things he can't fix territory. "Everyone forgets things."
"I wrote it down, on the list." There is a list on the table, next to her phone. "I went to the store, got everything else, came home, browned up the chicken, put the whole thing together, wine, tarragon, onions, bay leaf, everything, stuck it in the oven—"
"It smells really good."
She glares at him. Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. Minimizing the impact of forgotten garlic was not the right tactic.
"With no garlic in it," she finishes, ignoring his interruption. "It's like my mind decided there would be no garlic in the world. It was on my list. It's in the recipe. It's the name of the damn dish."
"It's okay."
She's looking angry in addition to sad now, and he's feeling really uncertain of what to do next. Not talking at all is starting to seem like a really good idea.
"No it's not! Tim, I forgot. I don't forget. I remember. I do things right. I follow directions and make the right choices and produce the right results. I don't forget!"
"Oh." He thought fast. "It's normal. The books said it happens. That the hormones—"
"Don't tell me it's the hormones!" And sad vanished, replaced by all angry. "I know it's the hormones! I'm forgetting things and crying about it. Of course it's the hormones! That doesn't mean it's not real, and that it isn't happening, or that I don't hate it! I'd rather throw up every day for the entire rest of my pregnancy than forget things."
"I'm not trying to dismiss it. Just… it'll get better. Your system'll go back to normal, and you'll go back to being you again."
"What if I don't?"
His eyes went wide, and he really doesn't know what to say about that.
"Lots of women don't go back. They keep forgetting things, and they change."
"We're both going to change. We can't not change. We'll be parents."
She smiles at him a little, and it's clear that's a I know you're trying to cheer me up, and I appreciate it, but it's not going to work gesture. "It's my mind, Tim. I can handle fat and saggy and varicose veins and crabby and tired, but… I can't lose my mind. I can't start forgetting things. That's who I am, not what I am."
He smiles a little back at her, because there's nothing he can say about it, and kisses her again.
"It'll get better."
"You don't know that."
"No, I don't. But I can hope. And you can pray. And you and I will become different people, but we'll do it together, and in the end, it'll be okay. Whatever's coming, we'll figure it out."
She didn't look too impressed with that, either. But he can tell she's giving him points for trying, even if he's not succeeding at making her feel better.
She sighs, wipes her eyes, kisses him, and then pulls back and asks, "So, how did shooting go?"
And he's all in favor of changing the subject, because maybe that'll at least provide a decent distraction and work on getting her mood better. "Really well. Jimmy said it was like yoga with explosions. He's talking about bringing Breena next time, and if the OB says it's okay, you're invited, too."
"Why wouldn't it be okay?"
"Shockwaves? Remember the episodes of Mythbusters where Kerri's pregnant?"
She nods.
"She went nowhere near any of the explosions or gunfire then."
"Really? That's what's making you think it might not be okay."
"Just making me cautious."
She snorted at him, looking mildly amused by that.
"Think of it this way, it'll probably be the first time Dr. Draz has ever gotten that question."
"That's probably true."
"And it's good to keep her on her toes. Wouldn't want her getting bored."
"Yes, our primary job as patients is to keep her entertained."
"Precisely." He headed to the sink to get himself a glass of water. "I was thinking about something else on the ride home." He poured one, held the glass out to her, and she nodded her head, so he grabbed another one and filled it for him. "We've got four guns in this house, and very soon, at least one child."
She nods, that's true. He sits down at the table next to her and hands her one of the glasses. "You want more security for them?" They have two gun safes, one built into the wall near the front door. That's where his service pistol goes. And one in the bedroom where his backup gun and both of Abby's live. And at all times when there's a gun in them, those safes are locked.
"Debating trigger locks."
She thought about that. "You want one for your service pistol, and that's fine. But if I'm going for the guns in our room, it's because something's gone very wrong, and I don't want anything slowing me down."
"Okay. Good point."
"And I do want all of our kids knowing how to shoot."
He nods. That was something he'd been planning on.
"And I know you don't hunt, but… At least for me, going hunting with my dad and seeing what those bullets did to the animals they hit, that made me respect what a gun could do. Paper targets don't bleed, so you shoot them, and it's a game. You shoot an animal, and you know you've killed something. You know that this is important and dangerous and not a game at all."
"That makes sense. Does Gibbs hunt? I know Tony doesn't, and I know there's more to it than just being able to hit a target." If it was just about accuracy, then he'd be great at it, and taking their kids would be no problem, but he's fairly sure there's some sort of skill involved in making sure you don't scare the deer or turkey or whatever it is off before it gets into place for you to shoot it.
"He used to. I don't think he has in a long time."
"Maybe one of these years, we won't buy the Christmas turkey."
"That would probably work."
