Keryl Raist's Blog, page 28
July 14, 2013
Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 136: Help!
He went to Gibbs’ place after dinner that night.
For once, Gibbs wasn’t in the basement. He was in his dining room, with Fornell, settling in for dinner.
“Tim?” He looked up, a bit surprised to see Tim in his living room.
“I need help, Jethro.”
“He calls you Jethro now?” Fornell appeared deeply amused by that.
Gibbs shrugged a little, while Tim said, “I do for calls like this.”
Taking a seat at the table, and shaking his head at the pro-offered manicotti, Tim explained what happened that afternoon and wrapped up with, “Look, I don’t want to be the jerk who has a fit each time his wife talks to someone else. Help!”
Fornell laughed, bite of his dinner forgotten on his fork. “You want help from him? He beat the ever living shit out of me after Diane.”
Gibbs stared at Fornell long and… honestly Tim’s not entirely sure what that look means. Then he quietly said, “You got her pregnant while I was married to her.”
Fornell shrugged. “I didn’t say I didn’t deserve it. Just saying you might not be the best guy to ask about how to hold your temper.”
Tim’s eyes went wide and he stared at both of them for a very long minute. Well, that was the answer to what happened with the three of them. Abby was going to be so happy to get that information. Abby. That got him back to his own problem. “Look, I’m fine with Abby. I can see she’s completely not interested in this guy. But I can see that he is. And I don’t want to go to jail because I lose it and hit him for looking. Got it?”
“Make him throw the first punch,” Gibbs said.
“Huh?” Gibbs can see that was an idea that had literally never occurred to Tim, and without him voicing it, never would occur to Tim.
“If you can’t control it, control him. Get him to start the fight. Tony and I’ll help if need be. Then you can be the bigger man and not press charges. We’ve got your six.”
“Oh.” Gibbs watched Tim think about it for a while. And for a while, he it looked like he really liked it. Then something a bit colder dawned on him. “Abby probably wouldn’t like that.”
“Ya think, Tim?” Gibbs smiled.
“Yeah.”
“Then you’ll have to come up with something she’ll like.”
“I understand woodworking is soothing,” Fornell added with a smirk.
Tim rested his head in his hands. “How did you deal with this? You’ve both had kids. You did the pregnant wife thing. Palmer said it was insane, but...”
“The guy who is dumb enough to hit on the pregnant wife of a twenty-four-year-old Marine while he’s with her deserves what’s coming to him. Back in ‘81 and ‘82, when Shannon was pregnant, there wasn’t a cop alive who would have disagreed with that. Hell, back then most cops would have whacked the guy a few times just to make sure he understood how things worked. When I was with Shannon, everyone was properly respectful.”
“Antacids and a lot of time at the gym or firing range. Diane thrived on having guys look adoringly at her. And the more pregnant she got, the better she looked, the more attention she wanted. By the time Emily showed up, I was in the best shape of my life.”
Gibbs looked at Tim, knowing he spends at least an hour or two a week at the range, but isn’t much for the gym, and tries to come up with something useful for Tim. “That yoga stuff you’re doing with Abby and Jimmy might be good, or you can murder him in your next book.”
Tim hadn’t realized that Gibbs knew about the yoga. “I do that with Abby, was just talking with Jimmy, and it’s… just not good for this.” He was getting better at the stretching and the poses. The calm, mellow mindset, on the other hand, was already horrifically illusive and trying to add seething, insane rage to the mix wasn’t going to help. “Writing about it, though...” A really nasty smile spread across Tim’s face. “He can be the first red herring, the guy who looks promising but turns up dead in chapter five.”
“There you go.”
“Might be a lot of red herrings in the next book.”
“Write one about a serial killer who frames each victim for the murder before.”
Tim nodded, a very disturbing smile on his face.
Gibbs was looking at Tim, hoping that’ll do it. But if it didn’t... The fact that Tim probably didn’t have a lot of experience at feeling like he wanted to hurt someone just for the sake of doing it, let alone handling that feeling, hit Gibbs.
“You need us, we’ve got you. Me and Tony, anytime, just call.”
“Thanks. Okay. I should get home.”
Fornell watched him leave, and then asked, “How did he ever become a cop?”
“You know, I don’t know that.” And Gibbs realized he didn’t. He’d never asked why Tim became a cop, let alone a field agent. Probably a good question for the next time they’re on a stakeout.
“I know he’s good at it, but that’s the gentlest kid I’ve ever seen.”
“Yeah. Tim and killer instinct don’t exactly go hand in hand.”
Fornell stared at Gibbs for a moment. “You actually behave when Shannon was pregnant?”
Gibbs shook his head. “The MP who got called in was one of my buddies. He slapped that idiot upside the head, too. You?”
“After I beat the snot out of the first guy for ogling Diane when she was pregnant, I joined the gym.” Fornell remembered that for a moment. “You should have told her you’d had a vasectomy.”
“Didn’t see a need to. She would have asked why, and I would have had to go into how difficult Kelly’s birth was...” Gibbs shook his head. “I would have had to tell her who Kelly was. She knew I didn’t want any more kids when we got married. That should have been enough.”
“It wasn’t. I didn’t know she was pregnant when she wrote you.”
“You weren’t supposed to. I think she thought a baby might have saved our marriage.” Gibbs shrugged, and Fornell knew him well enough to know that if he hadn’t had that vasectomy, if there had been any chance at all that Emily was his, he would have stayed. And he knew that because Fornell was the guy he called after he got that letter, and the guy who suggested he made sure that his vasectomy still worked before doing anything rash, and Fornell was the guy who heard the excitement in Gibbs’ voice when he recognized that it might have healed was a possibility. And Fornell was the guy who wanted to shoot himself in the head after he hung up, knowing he’d just, literally, fucked things up beyond all belief.
“And I was around and convenient.”
“Yeah.”
Fornell shook his head. “Lord, that woman is a piece of work.”
“You got a beautiful daughter out of it, Tobias.”
“Yeah, and I don’t regret that at all. But you were right, I shouldn’t have married her. Not sure how I would have done as a single dad with a newborn, but...”
“Water under a lot of bridges there.”
“Yeah.”
Chapter 136: Help!
He went to Gibbs’ place after dinner that night.
For once, Gibbs wasn’t in the basement. He was in his dining room, with Fornell, settling in for dinner.
“Tim?” He looked up, a bit surprised to see Tim in his living room.
“I need help, Jethro.”
“He calls you Jethro now?” Fornell appeared deeply amused by that.
Gibbs shrugged a little, while Tim said, “I do for calls like this.”
Taking a seat at the table, and shaking his head at the pro-offered manicotti, Tim explained what happened that afternoon and wrapped up with, “Look, I don’t want to be the jerk who has a fit each time his wife talks to someone else. Help!”
Fornell laughed, bite of his dinner forgotten on his fork. “You want help from him? He beat the ever living shit out of me after Diane.”
Gibbs stared at Fornell long and… honestly Tim’s not entirely sure what that look means. Then he quietly said, “You got her pregnant while I was married to her.”
Fornell shrugged. “I didn’t say I didn’t deserve it. Just saying you might not be the best guy to ask about how to hold your temper.”
Tim’s eyes went wide and he stared at both of them for a very long minute. Well, that was the answer to what happened with the three of them. Abby was going to be so happy to get that information. Abby. That got him back to his own problem. “Look, I’m fine with Abby. I can see she’s completely not interested in this guy. But I can see that he is. And I don’t want to go to jail because I lose it and hit him for looking. Got it?”
“Make him throw the first punch,” Gibbs said.
“Huh?” Gibbs can see that was an idea that had literally never occurred to Tim, and without him voicing it, never would occur to Tim.
“If you can’t control it, control him. Get him to start the fight. Tony and I’ll help if need be. Then you can be the bigger man and not press charges. We’ve got your six.”
“Oh.” Gibbs watched Tim think about it for a while. And for a while, he it looked like he really liked it. Then something a bit colder dawned on him. “Abby probably wouldn’t like that.”
“Ya think, Tim?” Gibbs smiled.
“Yeah.”
“Then you’ll have to come up with something she’ll like.”
“I understand woodworking is soothing,” Fornell added with a smirk.
Tim rested his head in his hands. “How did you deal with this? You’ve both had kids. You did the pregnant wife thing. Palmer said it was insane, but...”
“The guy who is dumb enough to hit on the pregnant wife of a twenty-four-year-old Marine while he’s with her deserves what’s coming to him. Back in ‘81 and ‘82, when Shannon was pregnant, there wasn’t a cop alive who would have disagreed with that. Hell, back then most cops would have whacked the guy a few times just to make sure he understood how things worked. When I was with Shannon, everyone was properly respectful.”
“Antacids and a lot of time at the gym or firing range. Diane thrived on having guys look adoringly at her. And the more pregnant she got, the better she looked, the more attention she wanted. By the time Emily showed up, I was in the best shape of my life.”
Gibbs looked at Tim, knowing he spends at least an hour or two a week at the range, but isn’t much for the gym, and tries to come up with something useful for Tim. “That yoga stuff you’re doing with Abby and Jimmy might be good, or you can murder him in your next book.”
Tim hadn’t realized that Gibbs knew about the yoga. “I do that with Abby, was just talking with Jimmy, and it’s… just not good for this.” He was getting better at the stretching and the poses. The calm, mellow mindset, on the other hand, was already horrifically illusive and trying to add seething, insane rage to the mix wasn’t going to help. “Writing about it, though...” A really nasty smile spread across Tim’s face. “He can be the first red herring, the guy who looks promising but turns up dead in chapter five.”
“There you go.”
“Might be a lot of red herrings in the next book.”
“Write one about a serial killer who frames each victim for the murder before.”
Tim nodded, a very disturbing smile on his face.
Gibbs was looking at Tim, hoping that’ll do it. But if it didn’t... The fact that Tim probably didn’t have a lot of experience at feeling like he wanted to hurt someone just for the sake of doing it, let alone handling that feeling, hit Gibbs.
“You need us, we’ve got you. Me and Tony, anytime, just call.”
“Thanks. Okay. I should get home.”
Fornell watched him leave, and then asked, “How did he ever become a cop?”
“You know, I don’t know that.” And Gibbs realized he didn’t. He’d never asked why Tim became a cop, let alone a field agent. Probably a good question for the next time they’re on a stakeout.
“I know he’s good at it, but that’s the gentlest kid I’ve ever seen.”
“Yeah. Tim and killer instinct don’t exactly go hand in hand.”
Fornell stared at Gibbs for a moment. “You actually behave when Shannon was pregnant?”
Gibbs shook his head. “The MP who got called in was one of my buddies. He slapped that idiot upside the head, too. You?”
“After I beat the snot out of the first guy for ogling Diane when she was pregnant, I joined the gym.” Fornell remembered that for a moment. “You should have told her you’d had a vasectomy.”
“Didn’t see a need to. She would have asked why, and I would have had to go into how difficult Kelly’s birth was...” Gibbs shook his head. “I would have had to tell her who Kelly was. She knew I didn’t want any more kids when we got married. That should have been enough.”
“It wasn’t. I didn’t know she was pregnant when she wrote you.”
“You weren’t supposed to. I think she thought a baby might have saved our marriage.” Gibbs shrugged, and Fornell knew him well enough to know that if he hadn’t had that vasectomy, if there had been any chance at all that Emily was his, he would have stayed. And he knew that because Fornell was the guy he called after he got that letter, and the guy who suggested he made sure that his vasectomy still worked before doing anything rash, and Fornell was the guy who heard the excitement in Gibbs’ voice when he recognized that it might have healed was a possibility. And Fornell was the guy who wanted to shoot himself in the head after he hung up, knowing he’d just, literally, fucked things up beyond all belief.
“And I was around and convenient.”
“Yeah.”
Fornell shook his head. “Lord, that woman is a piece of work.”
“You got a beautiful daughter out of it, Tobias.”
“Yeah, and I don’t regret that at all. But you were right, I shouldn’t have married her. Not sure how I would have done as a single dad with a newborn, but...”
“Water under a lot of bridges there.”
“Yeah.”
July 13, 2013
Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 135: He's A Fucking Weasel
It's not a secret that Tim is jealous of Abby's past lovers and that she feels similarly towards his. During the years they didn't date, they didn't strenuously object about each other's "friends," and they both genuinely wished the other happiness, but neither of them was particularly thrilled about the other dating someone other than themselves.
Sort of a if-I-don't-get-to- have-you-no-one-else-does-either vibe.
Now, for Abby, this is not a big deal. Sure, Tim has ex-girlfriends, but not a ton of them, and he tended to date outside of their social/work set. So, it's possible that they might run into one of his exes, but it's unlikely.For Tim, this is a somewhat thornier problem. Abby has probably four exes to every one of his, and she has dated people they work with, at least on occasion.
And she's remained friends with a decent number of the guys she dated.
So, running into one of her exes was bound to happen sooner or later.
At least, he thinks the guy standing in Abby's lab, in a fedora and vaguely hipsterish outfit is one of the exes.
He's watching her the way an ex would. Eyes hungry and staring, devouring her curves under her lab coat, lingering on her lips, undressing her with his eyes.
Tim's been in the lab for, oh, nine seconds, and he already loathes the guy in front of him.
Abby looks over at him, grins, and says, "Tim, this is Greg Sanders. Greg, Tim McGee. We met at a forensics conference back in..."
"'01." Greg smiles at him and offers his hand. Tim smiles back limply, while shaking.
"So, which lab are you out of?" Tim asks.
"None anymore, I'm a CSI out of Vegas now. I started in their lab, but got into field work a few years later." Tim feels himself drifting closer and closer to Abby with each word Sanders says. By the time Greg's done with the sentence, he's holding her hand.
"So what brings you so far from home?" Get the hell out of my wife's lab and go back to your own!
"My publisher has me giving a seminar on true crime writing, and since I was in town, I thought I'd look Abby up."
"Really. You write? Who are you with?"
"Harper Collins." Tim nods, impressed against his will. They tend to make good books.
"True crime?"
"Yeah, I write about Vegas during the mob days. It's a hobby."
Great, he's standing there, leering at Abby, eye fucking her, or trying at least. She's not returning those looks. And he's a writer. And he's a cop. And he's about the same age Tim is, maybe a tad younger. Certainly cooler. Tan. More handsome. In slightly better shape. Tim wraps an arm over her shoulders, eye narrowing, and growls, very, very softly. But Abby notices and turns to him.
She does not look particularly pleased by him at this moment. "Anything you need, McGee?"
"No, Mrs. McGee. Just wanted to tell you the OB called, our appointment got moved from ten to ten-thirty."
This tells Abby that Tim's on the verge of a melt-down of some sort, because that appointment had been almost a month ago, and though he may call her Mrs. McGee on occasion, (like when they're having sex) he's never done it like that before.
Greg looks up at her and smiles. "You're pregnant?"
"Yes, we're having a baby in July," Tim answers.
That couldn't have backfired worse on him if he had tried. Greg grins at them and pulls Abby into a tight hug, and since Tim already had his arm around her, that means he more or less got hugged by Greg, too. Then Greg shook Tim's hand again-which Tim responds to by not breaking his hand, though he wants to-and says, "This is awesome! Can I take you out to dinner?"
"No," Tim says it, voice flat.
"But I'm free for lunch tomorrow," Abby quickly replies. "How about noon?"
"That sounds great!" Apparently Greg finally got the clue that he didn't need to be in the lab anymore, and left.
Before he's all the way out of the door, Tim had pulled Abby even closer to him and was kissing the daylights out of her. She lets him, for a minute, and then puts her hands on his arms and pushes him back.
"Could you have been more rude?"
"Yes." Tim's nodding emphatically. "And I would have enjoyed it!"
She rolls her eyes and looks exasperated. "Okay, what is going on?"
"Insane jealousy. I mean, Palmer told me about it, but it really is insane. Look, I trust you. I absolutely know that nothing is ever going to happen with that Sanders guy. But the way he was looking at you was just... And I was watching it... And just... Insane."
"Okay, so you know what you did was completely not cool."
"Yes."
"Are you going to apologize to him?"
Tim shrugs. "I'd really prefer not to. I'm not in any way bothered about being rude to him. He deserved it."
"Do you trust me?"
He kisses her again. "Utterly. Nothing is going to happen. He was all but fucking you with his eyes, and you didn't even blink at him. You and me, we're good. He's a fucking weasel."
She's giving him a look somewhere between amused and annoyed. "So, it's not about trust."
"No." He's shaking his head. "Trust you absolutely. It's more about wanting to wipe that smirk off his face, preferably with a lot of force and a good deal of pain, and make sure it's tattooed into his brain that you are MINE."
"Pissing contest?"
"Yes." Tim's nodding emphatically at this, too.
"Eye fucking?" If you were to ask Abby what that encounter looked like, she would have told you it was two friendly colleagues chatting with each other. Sure Greg's attracted to her. What guy isn't? Especially now, pregnancy boobs are insane. But there was absolutely nothing he was doing that was out of line.
Tim, on the other hand, is glaring at the memory of Sanders watching Abby. "He was staring at your breasts, like he really wanted to see them, again, and your lips, like he knew exactly how delicious you are and what you can do with them."
Her eyebrows shoot up as he says that. "You think we've—"
"I know how I used to look at you, and that looked awfully similar to me."
"Huh." Okay, yeah, of course she and Greg slept together, but she didn't see any of that in how he was looking at her. But if Tim noticed it...
"Have you two...?" he asks, looking like he can't believe he let those words come out.
"Do you really want to know?"
"Only if the answer's no."
She looks him straight in the eye. "No. We've never slept together."
He nods, takes a deep breath, and kisses her quickly. When he pulls back he says, "Eventually, when I'm sane again, I might ask again, and that time, tell me the truth?" It's not that he's calling her a liar, not exactly. It's that he knows that she knows that right now any other answer isn't a kindness. And the little sane voice in the back of his head knows that asking her that, and then telling her that he can't handle the answer really isn't fair.
"Sure."
tumblr shotHe kisses her again. This time softer, and longer, and more of just touching her to touch her, less about marking her as his. And this time she lets him until he finishes.
"Can I go to lunch with him without you having a fit?"
"Yeah. As long as I'm not watching him eyeball you, I'll be fine. He knows we're married, right?"
"Well, if he didn't before, he does now. That Mrs. McGee thing wasn't subtle. The fact that I introduced you as Tim McGee when that's the same name on my ID badge, and the name on my Facebook profile, you know, the way he let me know he was going to be in town, might have also tipped him off. Or, since he's a cop, he could have noticed the matching wedding rings, and if he's really sharp, he could have possibly noticed that this," and she touched the lip print on her throat, "matches your lips."
"Okay."
Chapter 135: He's A Fucking Weasel
It's not a secret that Tim is jealous of Abby's past lovers and that she feels similarly towards his. During the years they didn't date, they didn't strenuously object about each other's "friends," and they both genuinely wished the other happiness, but neither of them was particularly thrilled about the other dating someone other than themselves.
Sort of a if-I-don't-get-to- have-you-no-one-else-does-either vibe.
Now, for Abby, this is not a big deal. Sure, Tim has ex-girlfriends, but not a ton of them, and he tended to date outside of their social/work set. So, it's possible that they might run into one of his exes, but it's unlikely.For Tim, this is a somewhat thornier problem. Abby has probably four exes to every one of his, and she has dated people they work with, at least on occasion.
And she's remained friends with a decent number of the guys she dated.
So, running into one of her exes was bound to happen sooner or later.
At least, he thinks the guy standing in Abby's lab, in a fedora and vaguely hipsterish outfit is one of the exes.He's watching her the way an ex would. Eyes hungry and staring, devouring her curves under her lab coat, lingering on her lips, undressing her with his eyes.
Tim's been in the lab for, oh, nine seconds, and he already loathes the guy in front of him.
Abby looks over at him, grins, and says, "Tim, this is Greg Sanders. Greg, Tim McGee. We met at a forensics conference back in..."
"'01." Greg smiles at him and offers his hand. Tim smiles back limply, while shaking.
"So, which lab are you out of?" Tim asks.
"None anymore, I'm a CSI out of Vegas now. I started in their lab, but got into field work a few years later." Tim feels himself drifting closer and closer to Abby with each word Sanders says. By the time Greg's done with the sentence, he's holding her hand.
"So what brings you so far from home?" Get the hell out of my wife's lab and go back to your own!
"My publisher has me giving a seminar on true crime writing, and since I was in town, I thought I'd look Abby up."
"Really. You write? Who are you with?"
"Harper Collins." Tim nods, impressed against his will. They tend to make good books.
"True crime?"
"Yeah, I write about Vegas during the mob days. It's a hobby."
Great, he's standing there, leering at Abby, eye fucking her, or trying at least. She's not returning those looks. And he's a writer. And he's a cop. And he's about the same age Tim is, maybe a tad younger. Certainly cooler. Tan. More handsome. In slightly better shape. Tim wraps an arm over her shoulders, eye narrowing, and growls, very, very softly. But Abby notices and turns to him.
She does not look particularly pleased by him at this moment. "Anything you need, McGee?"
"No, Mrs. McGee. Just wanted to tell you the OB called, our appointment got moved from ten to ten-thirty."
This tells Abby that Tim's on the verge of a melt-down of some sort, because that appointment had been almost a month ago, and though he may call her Mrs. McGee on occasion, (like when they're having sex) he's never done it like that before.
Greg looks up at her and smiles. "You're pregnant?"
"Yes, we're having a baby in July," Tim answers.
That couldn't have backfired worse on him if he had tried. Greg grins at them and pulls Abby into a tight hug, and since Tim already had his arm around her, that means he more or less got hugged by Greg, too. Then Greg shook Tim's hand again-which Tim responds to by not breaking his hand, though he wants to-and says, "This is awesome! Can I take you out to dinner?"
"No," Tim says it, voice flat.
"But I'm free for lunch tomorrow," Abby quickly replies. "How about noon?"
"That sounds great!" Apparently Greg finally got the clue that he didn't need to be in the lab anymore, and left.
Before he's all the way out of the door, Tim had pulled Abby even closer to him and was kissing the daylights out of her. She lets him, for a minute, and then puts her hands on his arms and pushes him back.
"Could you have been more rude?"
"Yes." Tim's nodding emphatically. "And I would have enjoyed it!"
She rolls her eyes and looks exasperated. "Okay, what is going on?"
"Insane jealousy. I mean, Palmer told me about it, but it really is insane. Look, I trust you. I absolutely know that nothing is ever going to happen with that Sanders guy. But the way he was looking at you was just... And I was watching it... And just... Insane."
"Okay, so you know what you did was completely not cool."
"Yes."
"Are you going to apologize to him?"
Tim shrugs. "I'd really prefer not to. I'm not in any way bothered about being rude to him. He deserved it."
"Do you trust me?"
He kisses her again. "Utterly. Nothing is going to happen. He was all but fucking you with his eyes, and you didn't even blink at him. You and me, we're good. He's a fucking weasel."
She's giving him a look somewhere between amused and annoyed. "So, it's not about trust."
"No." He's shaking his head. "Trust you absolutely. It's more about wanting to wipe that smirk off his face, preferably with a lot of force and a good deal of pain, and make sure it's tattooed into his brain that you are MINE."
"Pissing contest?"
"Yes." Tim's nodding emphatically at this, too.
"Eye fucking?" If you were to ask Abby what that encounter looked like, she would have told you it was two friendly colleagues chatting with each other. Sure Greg's attracted to her. What guy isn't? Especially now, pregnancy boobs are insane. But there was absolutely nothing he was doing that was out of line.
Tim, on the other hand, is glaring at the memory of Sanders watching Abby. "He was staring at your breasts, like he really wanted to see them, again, and your lips, like he knew exactly how delicious you are and what you can do with them."
Her eyebrows shoot up as he says that. "You think we've—"
"I know how I used to look at you, and that looked awfully similar to me."
"Huh." Okay, yeah, of course she and Greg slept together, but she didn't see any of that in how he was looking at her. But if Tim noticed it...
"Have you two...?" he asks, looking like he can't believe he let those words come out.
"Do you really want to know?"
"Only if the answer's no."
She looks him straight in the eye. "No. We've never slept together."
He nods, takes a deep breath, and kisses her quickly. When he pulls back he says, "Eventually, when I'm sane again, I might ask again, and that time, tell me the truth?" It's not that he's calling her a liar, not exactly. It's that he knows that she knows that right now any other answer isn't a kindness. And the little sane voice in the back of his head knows that asking her that, and then telling her that he can't handle the answer really isn't fair.
"Sure."
tumblr shotHe kisses her again. This time softer, and longer, and more of just touching her to touch her, less about marking her as his. And this time she lets him until he finishes."Can I go to lunch with him without you having a fit?"
"Yeah. As long as I'm not watching him eyeball you, I'll be fine. He knows we're married, right?"
"Well, if he didn't before, he does now. That Mrs. McGee thing wasn't subtle. The fact that I introduced you as Tim McGee when that's the same name on my ID badge, and the name on my Facebook profile, you know, the way he let me know he was going to be in town, might have also tipped him off. Or, since he's a cop, he could have noticed the matching wedding rings, and if he's really sharp, he could have possibly noticed that this," and she touched the lip print on her throat, "matches your lips."
"Okay."
Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
134: Christmas 2014
“Penny?”
His grandmother swept him into a warm hug seconds after she got into Gibbs’ house, Ducky at her side.
“What are you doing here?”
“I knew I was going to be in DC for the holidays, and Ducky thought this would be a pleasant surprise.”
“Ducky?” Okay, yeah, they’re friends, but Ducky’s never brought a “friend” to their annual Christmas party before. Granted Penny’s in town, and she is family…
Ducky smiled up at Tim and took Penny’s coat from her to hang up on the hooks at the door. “Yes, I’m between campuses right now, he’s been kind enough to let me stay with him this week. After the third I’ve got a spot as a guest lecturer at the University of Pennsylvania for their next semester.”
Or they’re not just friends, and his ability to pretend they’re just friends has just been shot to hell and gone so…
“Uh huh.” Tim’s giving Ducky a look best described as just because you’re almost eighty doesn’t mean I won’t kick your ass if you hurt my grandma. Ducky laid a gentle hand on his arm and nodded.
“Abby!” Penny wrapped her in an enthusiastic hug, then pulled back, hands still on Abby’s arms, and spent a moment really looking at her. A slow smile spread across her face. She looked at Abby, looked at Tim, and quirked an eyebrow.
Tim quickly glanced at Abby, saw her minuscule nod of affirmation and quietly said to Penny, wrapping his arm around her, kissing her cheek, “Yes, in July. Ducky’s probably got a copy of the sonogram picture on him.”
“You don’t?”
“Of course I do, but we haven’t told everyone yet, and if I whip one out, it’s pretty obvious. Ducky does it and everyone’ll assume it’s Sammy.” He pulled back from Penny and took Abby’s hand.
“Oh.” The fact that Penny knows who Sammy is makes him think her relationship with Ducky is probably quite a bit further along than he suspected. The fact that she didn’t know about their baby reminds him that Ducky is an excellent keeper of secrets.
“How long are you in town?”
“Until the second.”
“Unless we catch a case, Shabbat is at Ziva and Tony’s tomorrow, I bet they’d be happy to add an extra chair to the table.”
Tony came over, kissed Penny on the cheek, and said, “She’s already been invited.”
“You knew she was here?”
“Of course, hence the invite. When it looked like this party might be snowed out we made plans to shift this Christmas surprise to our place for tomorrow.” He nodded toward Gibbs’ living room. “My dad and L.J. are in there somewhere, I’m sure they’d like to say hi.”
“I’ll find them in a sec.” She hugged Tim one more time, kissed his cheek, and said, “You’re looking really good, Tim. Being married agrees with you.”
“Yeah, it does.”
Tim has always been vaguely aware of the fact that for a lot of people, the real kick of Christmas is having small children to give presents to.
And while it’s true that Amira, Emily (who was with her mother this year), Kayla, and Jared filled some of that need, they’re all sort of old for it.
But this year, it became absurdly clear that the extended Gibbs clan was a group of people who were craving grandbabies, and suddenly there was a ten-month-old baby girl with big hazel eyes, curly brown hair, and a wide drooly grin, just waiting to be doted on.
[image error] Molly Palmer, of course, won’t remember this Christmas. But everyone else noticed that Ducky especially, but Gibbs and Senior as well, went a bit bonkers on the Christmas presents. And the fact that LJ and Jackson also showed up with presents for a baby girl, might suggest that there’s a pretty strong hankering for great-grandbabies as well.
So, Molly sat, adults cooing over her, basking in their attention, laughing baby laughs, and grinning a six toothed grin, as Breena and Jimmy opened most of the presents, and she played with the boxes, chewed on the wrapping paper, snuggled the stuffed corgis (presents from Ducky), and had as much of an absolute blast as a ten-month-old can.
Senior was holding Molly with one arm and had the other one wrapped around Ziva. He stared right at Tony and said, “This! This is what it’s all about.” He kissed both of the girls. “Wife, children, family! And you aren’t getting any younger. Fifty’s just around the corner, Junior, and if you don’t want people mistaking you for your kid’s grandfather…”
Tony rolled his eyes and mumbled something along the lines of, “Yeah, Dad.” As Senior continued on about wanting grandbabies and how a pregnant woman is the most beautiful thing on earth—flirting very heavily with Breena as he did it, and eyeballing Abby in a way that strongly suggested that he’d noticed her breast size was larger, and he knew exactly why that had happened—and how if Ziva was pregnant come wedding time she’d be so beautiful people would go blind by staring directly at her.
Eventually he wound down on that and then his gaze drifted over to Tim and Abby, and he said, grin on his face, “How about you two, any plans in this direction?”
Abby had been standing in front of Tim, leaning against his chest. She turned to toward him, the expression on her face clearly signaling Now? They’d been talking about how to announce it, and so far the mass email/Facebook update seemed awfully impersonal, but would spread the news really fast. She was eleven weeks along, so trimester two was right around the corner, and a better opening wasn’t likely to happen anytime soon.
Tim kissed her shoulder, then said, “Yeah, we do.” He raised his voice, “Hey!” That got the attention of the crowd. “All yours, Abby…”
She twined her fingers in his, seeing everyone watching them. “We’re having a baby in July!”
Granted, this wasn’t news to a lot of the crowd at Gibbs’ Christmas party, and for that matter, it wasn’t precisely news to a bunch of the people who weren’t supposed to know about it, either. (Vance is looking remarkably unshocked, for example.) But there were still lots of hugs and congratulations along with the traditional questions: are you going to find out if it’s a boy or girl (yes), what are you hoping for (girl), name ideas (yes, but they kept that under wraps and left it with the somewhat vague ‘family name’), and a decent amount of commentary about how this place was going to be hip deep in babies next year.
For once Fornell wasn’t scowling at him.
Now, maybe part of that was that Emily was with her mother this Christmas, which meant Fornell wasn’t trying to protect his now fourteen-year-old daughter from the idea that romance, men, and babies were a whole lot fun. (Fornell was firmly convinced that a career as a nun was a really good choice for Emily. Those ladies get a great education, go on to do important things, usually actively making the world a better place, and stay way the hell away from men. Both Emily and Diane laughed in his face when he said that to them.)
Of course, it could be that the reason he wasn’t scowling was hanging on his arm, sharing a cup of eggnog with him, and laughing with Gibbs about something.
Wendy Eccles was warm, pleasant, fun to be around, and for the life of him Tim couldn’t understand what she saw in Fornell.
But whatever it was, he appeared to be responding well to it, because Fornell’s been smiling all day, and actually congratulated him about the baby.
Still, the idea of Fornell with a girlfriend, let alone one who wasn’t some version of acid-tongued Diane, was just a whole lot for Tim to wrap his mind around. And the idea of Fornell flirting, which he thought was what’s going on as the two of them share the cup of eggnog, let alone being affectionate, (Yes, that was Fornell’s hand resting gently on Wendy’s hip.) really blew Tim’s mind.
Amira was asking Breena and Abby, “Is it weird?”
“Weird?” Breena replied.
Amira, now ten, and starting to look like she might share Mike’s long, lean build, stared at Breena’s tummy. “Having a person inside you? All squirmy and stuff.”
Abby shrugged. “She’s about the size of a golf ball. The docs say she moves around all the time, but I can’t feel it yet. So mostly, for me, I’m just really tired all the time.”
“I am so glad to be past that. More glad to be done throwing up.” Breena patted her tummy. “Sammy’s pretty quiet. Molly felt like she was training to be a gymnast in there, but Sammy’s just chilling out. Really, it doesn’t get weird until the end, when you can see them moving around. That’s kind of weird. Like, you’re on the sofa, and then your stomach suddenly bulges and shifts. That’s almost creepy.”
Jimmy kissed Breena’s neck, handing her a cup of punch. “Not creepy at all. You get to feel her scooting all over the place, but if you’re the dad half of it, it’s not really real until you can see that little elbow or whatever poking out. And toward the end, you can sort of play little games with them, tap on the stomach and see her kick back. That was so cool.”
Amira just stared at Jimmy, eyes wide. “That’s weird.”
Abby put her arm around Jimmy. “Yeah, but we love him anyway.”
“So, how far along are you?” Wendy had drifted over and asked Breena.
“Nineteen weeks.”
“Wow! You look amazing! I would have guessed closer to sixteen weeks. I know with my second boy about ten minutes after the pregnancy test turned positive I was in maternity jeans.”
Breena half-smiled. About ten minutes after the test had turned positive she had gained five pounds. Two months later they and five of their buddies were gone. “I had morning sickness so bad I was throwing up twice a day even on the anti-nausea drugs. I’ve only been feeling good for the last month.”
Wendy winced, and Amira looked like she was seriously reconsidering ever having children. “I’m so sorry. I remember being sick like that. Not fun at all.”
“Yeah. Only upside is that I look great. Losing ten pounds over the course of the first trimester’ll do that. So, how old are your kids?”
“Trevor’s twenty-six, John is twenty-four, and Dave is twenty-two. We had them over at my place last night.”
“Any grandbabies?”
“John has a little girl.”
The girls continued to chat about the soon to be babies McGee and Palmer, and got to know Wendy Eccles a bit better.
“You got it done?” Fornell asked as Gibbs led him into the basement.
Gibbs flashed Fornell his of course I have it done, I wouldn’t have brought you down here if I didn’t look.
“Good.”
Gibbs handed him the intricately carved rosewood jewelry box. Three months ago Tobias had asked him if he could make one for him. It was small, delicate, a rose carved into the top, and inside there was a space for the ring that was currently sitting in Tobias’ sock drawer, waiting to be put into a box worth giving to a woman you want to marry. “When you going to ask?”
“New Year’s.”
Gibbs smiled at his friend. “I like this one.”
“You liked the last one, too.”
Gibbs smirked. “I think you should marry this one.”
“Me too.” Fornell grinned. “Let’s get back up there before they notice we’re missing.”
“I’ve got to ask, McGee, did you get taller?” Senior asked.
“It’s the boots; he always wears those things with the skirt, Dad.” Tony handed his father another cup of Jackson’s eggnog.
“No, it’s not the boots,” Penny added. “By the way, I really like the kilt, Tim.”
“Thanks, Penny.”
“It’s always good to see your playful side come out, and even better to see a man who doesn’t feel pressured to conform to patriarchal societal norms of the gender binary.”
“Uh… thanks. And no, I’m not taller. Just have better posture. Started doing some yoga with Abby, and I’ve been standing straighter because of it.”
“Yoga!” Penny’s grinning about this, and he’s really hoping she’s not about to start asking about Tantra, while both Senior and Junior DiNozzo look really surprised by that.
“Yeah. It’s… um… a lot harder than it looks, but it’s good exercise.”
“Exercise?” Tony didn’t buy it. “No, no, no. Exercise involves moving around, fast, heart pumping, sweat pouring down your body. Exercise is not twisting yourself into a pretzel and breathing deeply.”
“I didn’t say it was a sport.”
“That’s because you aren’t totally insane.”
Palmer headed by, plate of goodies for Breena in hand, and stopped. “What’s not a sport?”
“Yoga.” Senior said.
“Duh.”
“It’s also not exercise.”
“Really, Tony?” Jimmy was suddenly looking very cocky.
“Really. Meditation, sure. Stretching, yep. Exercise, nope. You aren’t sweating; it isn’t exercise.”
“Uh huh. Here, hold this.” He handed the plate to Penny and did something. All Tim knows is that it was graceful, elegant, slow, and then Jimmy was doing a handstand, feet in the air, supporting himself on his forearms, and from there he got into a one-handed handstand, and then, once again, slowly, gracefully got himself back out of it, then hopped back up, took the plate from Penny, and said to Tony. “If you aren’t sweating, you’re doing it wrong. Gotta give this to Breena.”
Tony and Senior just stared at the place where Jimmy had been. Penny blinked slowly, then said to Tim, “Can you do that?”
He shook his head, eyes wide. “Nope, and even if I could, I certainly wouldn’t in a kilt.”
That got the other three laughing.
Things were starting to wind down, getting quieter. Because of the snow most of the crew had decided that heading home earlier than usual was a good plan. Tim was helping to wrap up some of the food when he looked over and saw something that made him smile. He got a quick picture of it, and then went to find Gibbs.
“Hey, you want a copy of this?”
He showed Gibbs the shot of Jackson on the easy chair, Molly sleeping on him, sucking her thumb, snuggling one of the stuffed corgis, as he patted her back.
Gibbs nodded.
134: Christmas 2014
“Penny?”
His grandmother swept him into a warm hug seconds after she got into Gibbs’ house, Ducky at her side.
“What are you doing here?”
“I knew I was going to be in DC for the holidays, and Ducky thought this would be a pleasant surprise.”
“Ducky?” Okay, yeah, they’re friends, but Ducky’s never brought a “friend” to their annual Christmas party before. Granted Penny’s in town, and she is family…
Ducky smiled up at Tim and took Penny’s coat from her to hang up on the hooks at the door. “Yes, I’m between campuses right now, he’s been kind enough to let me stay with him this week. After the third I’ve got a spot as a guest lecturer at the University of Pennsylvania for their next semester.”
Or they’re not just friends, and his ability to pretend they’re just friends has just been shot to hell and gone so…
“Uh huh.” Tim’s giving Ducky a look best described as just because you’re almost eighty doesn’t mean I won’t kick your ass if you hurt my grandma. Ducky laid a gentle hand on his arm and nodded.
“Abby!” Penny wrapped her in an enthusiastic hug, then pulled back, hands still on Abby’s arms, and spent a moment really looking at her. A slow smile spread across her face. She looked at Abby, looked at Tim, and quirked an eyebrow.
Tim quickly glanced at Abby, saw her minuscule nod of affirmation and quietly said to Penny, wrapping his arm around her, kissing her cheek, “Yes, in July. Ducky’s probably got a copy of the sonogram picture on him.”
“You don’t?”
“Of course I do, but we haven’t told everyone yet, and if I whip one out, it’s pretty obvious. Ducky does it and everyone’ll assume it’s Sammy.” He pulled back from Penny and took Abby’s hand.
“Oh.” The fact that Penny knows who Sammy is makes him think her relationship with Ducky is probably quite a bit further along than he suspected. The fact that she didn’t know about their baby reminds him that Ducky is an excellent keeper of secrets.
“How long are you in town?”
“Until the second.”
“Unless we catch a case, Shabbat is at Ziva and Tony’s tomorrow, I bet they’d be happy to add an extra chair to the table.”
Tony came over, kissed Penny on the cheek, and said, “She’s already been invited.”
“You knew she was here?”
“Of course, hence the invite. When it looked like this party might be snowed out we made plans to shift this Christmas surprise to our place for tomorrow.” He nodded toward Gibbs’ living room. “My dad and L.J. are in there somewhere, I’m sure they’d like to say hi.”
“I’ll find them in a sec.” She hugged Tim one more time, kissed his cheek, and said, “You’re looking really good, Tim. Being married agrees with you.”
“Yeah, it does.”
Tim has always been vaguely aware of the fact that for a lot of people, the real kick of Christmas is having small children to give presents to.
And while it’s true that Amira, Emily (who was with her mother this year), Kayla, and Jared filled some of that need, they’re all sort of old for it.
But this year, it became absurdly clear that the extended Gibbs clan was a group of people who were craving grandbabies, and suddenly there was a ten-month-old baby girl with big hazel eyes, curly brown hair, and a wide drooly grin, just waiting to be doted on.
[image error] Molly Palmer, of course, won’t remember this Christmas. But everyone else noticed that Ducky especially, but Gibbs and Senior as well, went a bit bonkers on the Christmas presents. And the fact that LJ and Jackson also showed up with presents for a baby girl, might suggest that there’s a pretty strong hankering for great-grandbabies as well.
So, Molly sat, adults cooing over her, basking in their attention, laughing baby laughs, and grinning a six toothed grin, as Breena and Jimmy opened most of the presents, and she played with the boxes, chewed on the wrapping paper, snuggled the stuffed corgis (presents from Ducky), and had as much of an absolute blast as a ten-month-old can.
Senior was holding Molly with one arm and had the other one wrapped around Ziva. He stared right at Tony and said, “This! This is what it’s all about.” He kissed both of the girls. “Wife, children, family! And you aren’t getting any younger. Fifty’s just around the corner, Junior, and if you don’t want people mistaking you for your kid’s grandfather…”
Tony rolled his eyes and mumbled something along the lines of, “Yeah, Dad.” As Senior continued on about wanting grandbabies and how a pregnant woman is the most beautiful thing on earth—flirting very heavily with Breena as he did it, and eyeballing Abby in a way that strongly suggested that he’d noticed her breast size was larger, and he knew exactly why that had happened—and how if Ziva was pregnant come wedding time she’d be so beautiful people would go blind by staring directly at her.
Eventually he wound down on that and then his gaze drifted over to Tim and Abby, and he said, grin on his face, “How about you two, any plans in this direction?”
Abby had been standing in front of Tim, leaning against his chest. She turned to toward him, the expression on her face clearly signaling Now? They’d been talking about how to announce it, and so far the mass email/Facebook update seemed awfully impersonal, but would spread the news really fast. She was eleven weeks along, so trimester two was right around the corner, and a better opening wasn’t likely to happen anytime soon.
Tim kissed her shoulder, then said, “Yeah, we do.” He raised his voice, “Hey!” That got the attention of the crowd. “All yours, Abby…”
She twined her fingers in his, seeing everyone watching them. “We’re having a baby in July!”
Granted, this wasn’t news to a lot of the crowd at Gibbs’ Christmas party, and for that matter, it wasn’t precisely news to a bunch of the people who weren’t supposed to know about it, either. (Vance is looking remarkably unshocked, for example.) But there were still lots of hugs and congratulations along with the traditional questions: are you going to find out if it’s a boy or girl (yes), what are you hoping for (girl), name ideas (yes, but they kept that under wraps and left it with the somewhat vague ‘family name’), and a decent amount of commentary about how this place was going to be hip deep in babies next year.
For once Fornell wasn’t scowling at him.
Now, maybe part of that was that Emily was with her mother this Christmas, which meant Fornell wasn’t trying to protect his now fourteen-year-old daughter from the idea that romance, men, and babies were a whole lot fun. (Fornell was firmly convinced that a career as a nun was a really good choice for Emily. Those ladies get a great education, go on to do important things, usually actively making the world a better place, and stay way the hell away from men. Both Emily and Diane laughed in his face when he said that to them.)
Of course, it could be that the reason he wasn’t scowling was hanging on his arm, sharing a cup of eggnog with him, and laughing with Gibbs about something.
Wendy Eccles was warm, pleasant, fun to be around, and for the life of him Tim couldn’t understand what she saw in Fornell.
But whatever it was, he appeared to be responding well to it, because Fornell’s been smiling all day, and actually congratulated him about the baby.
Still, the idea of Fornell with a girlfriend, let alone one who wasn’t some version of acid-tongued Diane, was just a whole lot for Tim to wrap his mind around. And the idea of Fornell flirting, which he thought was what’s going on as the two of them share the cup of eggnog, let alone being affectionate, (Yes, that was Fornell’s hand resting gently on Wendy’s hip.) really blew Tim’s mind.
Amira was asking Breena and Abby, “Is it weird?”
“Weird?” Breena replied.
Amira, now ten, and starting to look like she might share Mike’s long, lean build, stared at Breena’s tummy. “Having a person inside you? All squirmy and stuff.”
Abby shrugged. “She’s about the size of a golf ball. The docs say she moves around all the time, but I can’t feel it yet. So mostly, for me, I’m just really tired all the time.”
“I am so glad to be past that. More glad to be done throwing up.” Breena patted her tummy. “Sammy’s pretty quiet. Molly felt like she was training to be a gymnast in there, but Sammy’s just chilling out. Really, it doesn’t get weird until the end, when you can see them moving around. That’s kind of weird. Like, you’re on the sofa, and then your stomach suddenly bulges and shifts. That’s almost creepy.”
Jimmy kissed Breena’s neck, handing her a cup of punch. “Not creepy at all. You get to feel her scooting all over the place, but if you’re the dad half of it, it’s not really real until you can see that little elbow or whatever poking out. And toward the end, you can sort of play little games with them, tap on the stomach and see her kick back. That was so cool.”
Amira just stared at Jimmy, eyes wide. “That’s weird.”
Abby put her arm around Jimmy. “Yeah, but we love him anyway.”
“So, how far along are you?” Wendy had drifted over and asked Breena.
“Nineteen weeks.”
“Wow! You look amazing! I would have guessed closer to sixteen weeks. I know with my second boy about ten minutes after the pregnancy test turned positive I was in maternity jeans.”
Breena half-smiled. About ten minutes after the test had turned positive she had gained five pounds. Two months later they and five of their buddies were gone. “I had morning sickness so bad I was throwing up twice a day even on the anti-nausea drugs. I’ve only been feeling good for the last month.”
Wendy winced, and Amira looked like she was seriously reconsidering ever having children. “I’m so sorry. I remember being sick like that. Not fun at all.”
“Yeah. Only upside is that I look great. Losing ten pounds over the course of the first trimester’ll do that. So, how old are your kids?”
“Trevor’s twenty-six, John is twenty-four, and Dave is twenty-two. We had them over at my place last night.”
“Any grandbabies?”
“John has a little girl.”
The girls continued to chat about the soon to be babies McGee and Palmer, and got to know Wendy Eccles a bit better.
“You got it done?” Fornell asked as Gibbs led him into the basement.
Gibbs flashed Fornell his of course I have it done, I wouldn’t have brought you down here if I didn’t look.
“Good.”
Gibbs handed him the intricately carved rosewood jewelry box. Three months ago Tobias had asked him if he could make one for him. It was small, delicate, a rose carved into the top, and inside there was a space for the ring that was currently sitting in Tobias’ sock drawer, waiting to be put into a box worth giving to a woman you want to marry. “When you going to ask?”
“New Year’s.”
Gibbs smiled at his friend. “I like this one.”
“You liked the last one, too.”
Gibbs smirked. “I think you should marry this one.”
“Me too.” Fornell grinned. “Let’s get back up there before they notice we’re missing.”
“I’ve got to ask, McGee, did you get taller?” Senior asked.
“It’s the boots; he always wears those things with the skirt, Dad.” Tony handed his father another cup of Jackson’s eggnog.
“No, it’s not the boots,” Penny added. “By the way, I really like the kilt, Tim.”
“Thanks, Penny.”
“It’s always good to see your playful side come out, and even better to see a man who doesn’t feel pressured to conform to patriarchal societal norms of the gender binary.”
“Uh… thanks. And no, I’m not taller. Just have better posture. Started doing some yoga with Abby, and I’ve been standing straighter because of it.”
“Yoga!” Penny’s grinning about this, and he’s really hoping she’s not about to start asking about Tantra, while both Senior and Junior DiNozzo look really surprised by that.
“Yeah. It’s… um… a lot harder than it looks, but it’s good exercise.”
“Exercise?” Tony didn’t buy it. “No, no, no. Exercise involves moving around, fast, heart pumping, sweat pouring down your body. Exercise is not twisting yourself into a pretzel and breathing deeply.”
“I didn’t say it was a sport.”
“That’s because you aren’t totally insane.”
Palmer headed by, plate of goodies for Breena in hand, and stopped. “What’s not a sport?”
“Yoga.” Senior said.
“Duh.”
“It’s also not exercise.”
“Really, Tony?” Jimmy was suddenly looking very cocky.
“Really. Meditation, sure. Stretching, yep. Exercise, nope. You aren’t sweating; it isn’t exercise.”
“Uh huh. Here, hold this.” He handed the plate to Penny and did something. All Tim knows is that it was graceful, elegant, slow, and then Jimmy was doing a handstand, feet in the air, supporting himself on his forearms, and from there he got into a one-handed handstand, and then, once again, slowly, gracefully got himself back out of it, then hopped back up, took the plate from Penny, and said to Tony. “If you aren’t sweating, you’re doing it wrong. Gotta give this to Breena.”
Tony and Senior just stared at the place where Jimmy had been. Penny blinked slowly, then said to Tim, “Can you do that?”
He shook his head, eyes wide. “Nope, and even if I could, I certainly wouldn’t in a kilt.”
That got the other three laughing.
Things were starting to wind down, getting quieter. Because of the snow most of the crew had decided that heading home earlier than usual was a good plan. Tim was helping to wrap up some of the food when he looked over and saw something that made him smile. He got a quick picture of it, and then went to find Gibbs.
“Hey, you want a copy of this?”
He showed Gibbs the shot of Jackson on the easy chair, Molly sleeping on him, sucking her thumb, snuggling one of the stuffed corgis, as he patted her back.
Gibbs nodded.
July 12, 2013
Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 133: Christmas Eve
Technically Christmas Eve and Christmas Day are NCIS holidays. And just like all other NCIS holidays, the different teams rotate through being on and off duty for them. The fact that Team Gibbs has worked every Christmas Eve since, well, Tim’s been there, has been because Gibbs makes sure their team has Christmas off, really off. In twelve years, they’ve never had a Christmas on call. Which doesn’t mean there haven’t been Christmases they’ve worked, but when that happens it’s spillover. Cases that went hot before Christmas.
But this year, something else went hot, or cold, really, on December 23rd, and was still howling along at full speed come December 24th.
Tim wonders if they’re going to start naming winter storms. This is the third winter in a row that a massive snow storm has shut the federal government down, and short of a body getting found/someone being kidnapped, NCIS is closed.
Which he isn’t minding at all. It’s the middle of the week, they’ve, provisionally, got today and tomorrow off, and since there’s nowhere to go, he doesn’t have to try and shovel the foot and a half of snow that’s fallen since last night off the driveway. (And he’ll admit that part of putting it off, and hoping he gets to keep putting it off, is that he’s awfully sure his main Christmas present is a snow blower. And no, he hasn’t peeked.)
So, he was enjoying his snow day immensely. He’d gotten a solid five thousand words in on the next Deep Six novel and was taking a break, gaming away, happily smiting evil right and left, (he’s playing a paladin, so he’s literally smiting) while Abby napped.
Then the power went out. One second he had his hand out, holy might coalescing, ready to utterly destroy the vampire before him, the next he was in a dim room staring at a blank screen.
Thank all that’s good and holy, they have natural gas heat, hot water, and range, so they can keep warm, shower, and cook without having to use any power.
Though, as he notices the sudden lack of any sounds in his house, like for example, the sound of the blower on the heat, he realizes that the thermostat, which tells the heater to turn on, requires electricity.
This was when the idea of getting a generator started seeming like a really good plan.
He headed over to the table his phone lives on, and picked it up to check the weather, and ran headlong into the issue of no one’s wifi was working.
It still worked as a phone, though.
“Hey, Tony.”
“What’s up, McGee?”
“Power’s out. How long is the blizzard supposed to last?”
“Let me check.”
A few seconds of silence passes. Then he heard Tony tell Ziva what was up, followed by the sounds of the TV clicking on.
“Supposed to stop snowing around midnight.”
“How much of DC is without power?”
“Damn it!” The sound of the TV in the background cut off, and he heard Ziva’s voice sounding annoyed about something. “About three quarters, and us now, too.”
“So, it’s not coming back anytime soon?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Okay. I’ve got to see if I can rig my thermostat to run on batteries.”
“Good luck on that.”
“Thanks. If I’m really lucky it won’t cost an arm and a leg to make it work on the house current again when I’m done.”
“You’ve got a fireplace, right?”
“Yeah. And three of those compressed wood logs that burn for three hours and look pretty and do absolutely nothing to keep you warm. How about you guys?”
“Gas fireplace. It’s not great, but we won’t freeze.”
“Good. Okay, got to get working while I’ve still got some light. The only thing less fun than trying to do this with no power is doing it in the dark.”
It really wasn’t that difficult. Wire clippers, a nine volt battery, some duct tape, and a flash light held between his teeth (Tim never noticed before that even in the middle of a sunny day the hallway the thermostat is on gets no light, what with the whole being located smack dab in the middle of the house thing. During a blizzard being able to see what he was doing without extra light was hopeless.) got the job done. It was ugly as sin, but the heat kicked back on, and that’s what mattered.
Meanwhile a thermostat that had a back-up battery went onto his to get list.
Fortunately, due to his honeymoon prep, they’ve got a ton of little LED candles. So he set them up around the house, checked on Abby, still asleep, checked the stove, beef stew was still stewing along, noticed that the oven needed power to turn on and regulate the temperature, so their plan for biscuits to go with the stew probably wasn’t going to happen.
Then he headed outside with a bucket, filled it with snow, and packed it into the empty spaces in their fridge and freezer.
He figured that was about all he could do, so back to the typewriter he went to work on Deep Six some more.
About an hour into that, as Tibbs, MacGregor, and Tommy were alone in the high desert at night, forced by darkness to stop chasing down a suspect, and for the moment, camping, one more thought occurred to him.
Back to the phone he went.
“Hey, Jethro.”
“Tim?”
“Yeah. If I wanted to make biscuits without an oven, how would I do it?”
“Power out?”
“Yep. I’ve got a functional stove and a fireplace. Beef stew’s cooking just fine. I remembered Lonesome Dove begins with Gus making sourdough biscuits over a fire, and I figured if anyone I knew knew how to do that, it’d be you.”
“Do you have a dutch oven?”
“Maybe. What is it?”
“Big, thick pot with a tight lid you could put on the coals.”
“Sounds like what we make the jambalaya in.”
“Probably. Stick the biscuit dough in there. Put it on low coals. Stick more coals on the lid. Let it sit. When they smell done, they probably are.”
“Think I can do that on the stove?”
“Do you have a cast iron frying pan?”
“Yeah. Luca made sure we had one.”
“Put it on the burner, turn the heat low, make sure it’s good and hot, then put the dough in, stick the lid on another burner until it’s good and hot too, put the lid on the fry pan, it’ll probably work.”
“Thanks. You have power?”
“Only if I feel like turning the generator on. Don’t need it for sitting in front of the fireplace reading.”
“Okay, stay warm. We’ll see you tomorrow if we can.”
He assumed Gibbs nodded at him, then the line disconnected.
Abby woke up feeling really good. She was warm, comfortable, and for once, well-rested. She doesn’t remember the last time she woke up and didn’t want to immediately go back to sleep. Obviously it used to happen, but it’s been a while.
Granted, warm, comfortable and well-rested with a warm, and better yet, hard, Tim cuddled up next to her would have been even better, but it’s the middle of the day, so he’s off…
Which was when it occurred to her that she couldn’t hear anything. Usually Tim amusing himself has a soundtrack: game noises, music and battle sounds, or writing, which goes with loud Jazz. Even reading Tim isn’t silent; there’s always some music to go with Tim having a good time.
She opened her eyes and saw that their room was glowing with ten or so of the LED candles. For a second she was wondering if this was some sort of romantic Christmas treat when she checked the clock to see how late it was and realized they didn’t have any power.
And silent Tim suddenly made a whole lot more sense. If he didn’t have a good idea of when they’d get power back, he wasn’t going to burn through the charges on his devices just for something to listen to.
She headed to the window to try and get a better handle on how late it was, but that didn’t help. It was dark enough outside that she couldn’t tell if it was late afternoon and the storm was blocking the sun, or if it was already night.
She never realized how much artificial light their neighborhood uses. But now, staring out the window at softly edged dark, she could almost believe they’re the only two people on earth.
Kind of cool, really.
She’d been wearing a comfy t-shirt and flannel pants for napping, but decided candle lit dinner for two during a blizzard on Christmas Eve deserved something a little snazzier than that.
Abby grabbed a few of the candles, got them all settled on her dresser, and went looking for the white and cream peignoir. That under her black kimono would do the job nicely. She brushed her hair up into a high ponytail, and decided to head down and see what else was going on.
Halfway down the stairs, she heard the rattling sound of Tim typing at full speed.
On the way down, she noticed that he put the little candles all over the house, but there was no fire in the fireplace. So an idea began to form.
The good thing about writing Tim, well, sometimes, occasionally it’s annoying, but right now it’s working out well for her… Anyway, the good thing about writing Tim is that when he hits his stride you could pretty much run a gang of naked Hells Angels through the room he’s writing in, and he won’t notice.
When he’s in his story, he’s in it, and usually pretty happy to be there. (And like how Abby gets grumpy when she gets pulled out of nap these days, Tim pulled out if his writing is awfully grumpy, too. Yeah, he’ll deign to pay attention to you if you demand it, but you’re much more likely to get the sarcastic version of him.)
So, she doesn’t head into his office. Judging by the speed he’s typing, he’s well into the story.
Instead she headed back upstairs, grabbed their pillows, and the comforter off their bed, and took them back down to make a little snug nest on the floor in front of the fireplace. Off to the linen closet next, more blankets, comforters, and pillows.
By the time she was done, they had a very comfortable little space for dinner, sex, and post-sex snoozing.
She rearranged some of the candles, sticking more of them in the living room, on the mantle, making sure it’d be fairly light in there, and then went to go find some of the logs for the fireplace.
Tim hit a lull in his writing, and came out of the story with a jerk. The biscuits!
He didn’t smell anything burning, but he also had no idea how long he’d been sitting there, working on a scene where McGregor, Tibbs, Tommy, and Liza were defusing a bomb; he has no idea where it’ll go in the next story, or even if it’ll go in the next story. He’s got a box full of scenes that haven’t made it into stories, yet. But he’s thinking this might be the climax to the current story. It’ll all jell once he’s got a bad guy in mind.He jumped up, sprinted toward the kitchen, and was very pleased to notice that he still didn’t smell anything burning.
Checking the biscuits showed him the edges closest to the pan seemed to be nicely brown. The tops were still pretty white. And poking them a little made him think they weren’t done yet. He debated trying to flip them over, and decided that probably wasn’t a great idea.
So he put the lid back on the burner, heated it up again, turned the heat almost off on the biscuits while the lid heated, and hoped that would take care of the whole getting them cooked all the way through before the bottom burns issue.
“Why are you cooking the lid?”
He turned toward her, and saw Abby leaning against the archway between the kitchen and dining room, kimono loosely belted over the white nighty, watching him with a smile on her face.
“Would you believe that Gibbs told me to?”
“Yes.” She closed on him, and wrapped her arms around his waist.
He kissed her, long and gentle. “Hi. Have a good nap?”
“Yeah, woke up feeling rested.”
“Been a long time since that happened.”
“Yeah. So…”
“Even distribution of heat. Trying to get the tops of the biscuits cooked before the bottoms are burned.”
“Okay. And heating the lid means you get heat from both sides.”
“Yeah. Just remember, you need a hot pad if you’re going to touch any of this.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. When did the power go out?”
“Two hours ago? Three? If I had my watch on, I’d know, but I don’t.”
“Any idea on how long until dinner’s ready?”
“No. Are you hungry?”
“These days, always. But I’m mostly asking so I can make sure the log’s burning bright and steady by the time we sit down to eat.”
He rose one eyebrow, and she pulled him through the kitchen, through the dining room, and into the living room, when he saw the nest she had made, he grinned.“It takes about ten minutes to get them really burning, so…”
“So, light it up. We’ll eat in ten minutes, and if the biscuits aren’t ready… They’ll be good for breakfast.”
Ten minutes later, the log was blazing away, instrumental Christmas music was playing (Abby’s computer had been completely charged, so she was willing to burn some power in order to have music.) and she was laying on her side, propped up on one arm, kimono loosely draped over her, gaping a bit at the chest and hip, so the white and cream negligee under it was visible.
“Hey, you rea…” The question died on Tim’s lips as he stood in the archway between the living room and dining room, staring at her.
Abby sent him a hot, sexy look, slowly slipping her top leg up the bottom one, shifting so the slit in the peignoir fell open, silk slithering over her leg, leaving them bare, and then grinned. “Tim?”
“Yeah?”
“Dinner?”
He tore his eyes away from her legs and said, “Oh, yeah, dinner, right!” scurrying back into the kitchen.
A minute later he was back, a tray with two bowls, filled with savory, steaming stew, rich with red wine, rosemary, and garlic, a plate piled high with golden biscuits, and two mugs of cider, in his hands.
“They look great.”
He smiled. “Let’s hope they taste that way.”
It was sheer dumb luck he actually had the recipe on his phone. Normally he’d have just googled it before making the stuff, but he needed it to get the ingredients, so he actually saved it, and could get to it without wifi. Still, he was, well, fuzzy, on what exactly was involved in cutting butter and shortening into flour by hand, so… yeah… he’s hoping they taste good.
The stew was fabulous. They’d gotten it, and a bunch of other recipes from Luca, as a wedding present. The biscuits were… well, given the challenges involved in making them, pretty good, but yeah, they’ve both had better.
And sharing a meal, warm and comfortable, lit gold by fire and candle light, soft touches and hot looks interspersed between playful words and savory food while the storm raged outside. That was excellent.
“All done?”
Abby licked the back of her spoon, getting the last drop of the stew. “Yeah.”
“Dessert?”
“Do we have anything?”
“Ice cream, frozen blueberries, everything you need to make cookies, but no actual cookies, and no oven to make cookies with.”
“And let me guess, you aren’t going to let me eat raw cookie dough?”
“I’d really prefer you didn’t. Though I suppose I could make it without the eggs…” He looked like he might have been seriously thinking about it, and right now she wants him seriously thinking about her, not about cookies.
“Later.” Nothing on that list was making her think that she had to have food right this second. Tim in jeans, a button down, sleeves rolled-up, top two buttons undone, and bare feet, on the other hand, that was definitely sparking some cravings. Her eyes, and fingers, tracing down his body got that idea across.
“Okay, let me get this cleared away.”
Judging by how fast he was back, cleared away translated into put into the sink to soak, as opposed to actually washed up and put back.
He lay down next to her and she scooted a little closer, wrapping her leg over his hip, pulling lightly on the top button on his shirt as he kissed her.
His hand found her shoulder, easing it’s way under the kimono, shifting it aside so he can kiss her skin.
He tugged at it again, not having any luck getting it off.
Abby, gently pushed him onto his back. She straddled his hips, keeping her body high, only her calves touching his hips and thighs, and he took the end of the tie to her kimono in hand.
“Pretty bow," he said, his fingers ghosting over the tidy bow at her waist.
“Always put a nice bow on a present.” She grinned at him as he tugged on the tie, and tugged again to pull the kimono off, seeing it fall to a black silk puddle over his hips and her legs.
“Are you my Christmas present?”
“Always. But maybe it’s just that I like being unwrapped.”
He twisted his hand a few times, snaking the kimono up around it, and then tossed it aside. Tim placed both of his hands on her calves, just below the hem of the peignoir. “I was always very good at unwrapping presents.” He slid his hands up her legs and took the lace edging in hand. “Of course there are a lot of ways to unwrap presents. There’s the quick, impatient, rip all the paper off as fast as you can.” He gave her a wicked look, watched her eyes go wide, he can see she does not want this ripped off of her, and gave the lace a quick tug, hard enough to get the idea across, not hard enough to rip. “But I always thought that lacked finesse.”
He let go of the lace, and traced his hands, under the silk, all the way up to her hips, stroking over her legs, rubbing the backs of his knuckles gently over her thighs, and then quickly undoing the button and fly of his jeans. “And of course, some people prefer lifting a corner of the paper, so they can just peek.” He took his dick out and lightly rubbed it against her pussy, stroking over her mound, circling her clit with it, enjoying the look of pleasure on her face, and the flush slowly spreading across her chest. Then he tucked himself back in (a lot more difficult than getting out of his boxers in the first place). “Then they retape the paper. But I never thought that was very satisfying.”
Her eyes closed, and she swallowed hard, a pained look on her face. His hands returned to her calves, skin on skin, and he traced them up her sides, lace and silk slipping up her skin with them. “And then there’s carefully, slowly, taking the paper off. Teasing yourself a little with the reveal.” She raised her arms over her head, as he sat up, pulling the peignoir off, tossing it behind them. “That’s the one I always liked best.” He kissed her lips, her throat, her shoulder, propping himself with his hands flat on the floor behind him, and began to nuzzle and suck her nipples.
“I always preferred to rip the paper off as fast as possible,” Abby said as she made short work of the buttons on his shirt. “Might not involve a lot of finesse.” She pushed his shirt down his arms, and settled in close on his lap, rubbing her breasts against his chest. “But sometimes there’s something to be said for fast.”
He grinned at the feel of her naked skin on his. “Indeed.”
She scooted back on his legs, getting a good grip on his jeans, and he lifted himself up so she could pull them off quickly.
Abby looked him over, eyes tracing him from toes to forehead, a wide, lusty smile on her face. “But really, when it came down to it, I never much cared about the wrapping one way or another. I wanted what was under it.”
He pulled her close to him, sitting on his lap, chest to chest, lips to lips.
“And what do you want the present to do?” he asked, gently pulling her bottom lip with his teeth.
She rolled him on top of her, and he braced himself on his elbows and knees. “You sure?”
She knew that was him worried about thrusting too deep. “Yeah. Just don’t hike my leg over your shoulder, and we’ll be fine. Besides, right now your chest rubbing against my breasts feels fantastic, and we won’t be able to do it like this for all that much longer, so yeah, I’m sure.”
He rocked into her, sighing at her body around his, chest skimming over hers, and she moaned at the feel of his skin sliding over hers.
“Good?” he asked with a kiss.
“So good.” Her hands settled on his ass, pulling him forward.
He thrust again, getting his whole body into it, rubbing all of himself against her.
“Yeah, Tim, just like that.”
He cupped her face in his hands, kissing her soft and sweet while they rocked against each other. Eventually her hands found his, pressed them flat to the floor, her fingers twinging with his. And while this is a position they often start in, it’s rarely one they finish in. Being able to kiss her and look her in the eye while her body went tight on his, let alone while feeling her fingers clench between his, was a real treat. Spilling over the edge with her, watching her eyes lose focus as his world went blurry around the edges was another. And falling asleep as the embers died out in the fireplace, wrapped in each other and soft, fluffy comforters was the icing on the cake.
Though waking up the next morning to functional electricity and the sound of a snow plow clearing the two and half feet of snow off their street was pretty nice, too.
Next
Chapter 133: Christmas Eve
Technically Christmas Eve and Christmas Day are NCIS holidays. And just like all other NCIS holidays, the different teams rotate through being on and off duty for them. The fact that Team Gibbs has worked every Christmas Eve since, well, Tim’s been there, has been because Gibbs makes sure their team has Christmas off, really off. In twelve years, they’ve never had a Christmas on call. Which doesn’t mean there haven’t been Christmases they’ve worked, but when that happens it’s spillover. Cases that went hot before Christmas.
But this year, something else went hot, or cold, really, on December 23rd, and was still howling along at full speed come December 24th.
Tim wonders if they’re going to start naming winter storms. This is the third winter in a row that a massive snow storm has shut the federal government down, and short of a body getting found/someone being kidnapped, NCIS is closed.
Which he isn’t minding at all. It’s the middle of the week, they’ve, provisionally, got today and tomorrow off, and since there’s nowhere to go, he doesn’t have to try and shovel the foot and a half of snow that’s fallen since last night off the driveway. (And he’ll admit that part of putting it off, and hoping he gets to keep putting it off, is that he’s awfully sure his main Christmas present is a snow blower. And no, he hasn’t peeked.)
So, he was enjoying his snow day immensely. He’d gotten a solid five thousand words in on the next Deep Six novel and was taking a break, gaming away, happily smiting evil right and left, (he’s playing a paladin, so he’s literally smiting) while Abby napped.
Then the power went out. One second he had his hand out, holy might coalescing, ready to utterly destroy the vampire before him, the next he was in a dim room staring at a blank screen.
Thank all that’s good and holy, they have natural gas heat, hot water, and range, so they can keep warm, shower, and cook without having to use any power.
Though, as he notices the sudden lack of any sounds in his house, like for example, the sound of the blower on the heat, he realizes that the thermostat, which tells the heater to turn on, requires electricity.
This was when the idea of getting a generator started seeming like a really good plan.
He headed over to the table his phone lives on, and picked it up to check the weather, and ran headlong into the issue of no one’s wifi was working.
It still worked as a phone, though.
“Hey, Tony.”
“What’s up, McGee?”
“Power’s out. How long is the blizzard supposed to last?”
“Let me check.”
A few seconds of silence passes. Then he heard Tony tell Ziva what was up, followed by the sounds of the TV clicking on.
“Supposed to stop snowing around midnight.”
“How much of DC is without power?”
“Damn it!” The sound of the TV in the background cut off, and he heard Ziva’s voice sounding annoyed about something. “About three quarters, and us now, too.”
“So, it’s not coming back anytime soon?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Okay. I’ve got to see if I can rig my thermostat to run on batteries.”
“Good luck on that.”
“Thanks. If I’m really lucky it won’t cost an arm and a leg to make it work on the house current again when I’m done.”
“You’ve got a fireplace, right?”
“Yeah. And three of those compressed wood logs that burn for three hours and look pretty and do absolutely nothing to keep you warm. How about you guys?”
“Gas fireplace. It’s not great, but we won’t freeze.”
“Good. Okay, got to get working while I’ve still got some light. The only thing less fun than trying to do this with no power is doing it in the dark.”
It really wasn’t that difficult. Wire clippers, a nine volt battery, some duct tape, and a flash light held between his teeth (Tim never noticed before that even in the middle of a sunny day the hallway the thermostat is on gets no light, what with the whole being located smack dab in the middle of the house thing. During a blizzard being able to see what he was doing without extra light was hopeless.) got the job done. It was ugly as sin, but the heat kicked back on, and that’s what mattered.
Meanwhile a thermostat that had a back-up battery went onto his to get list.
Fortunately, due to his honeymoon prep, they’ve got a ton of little LED candles. So he set them up around the house, checked on Abby, still asleep, checked the stove, beef stew was still stewing along, noticed that the oven needed power to turn on and regulate the temperature, so their plan for biscuits to go with the stew probably wasn’t going to happen.
Then he headed outside with a bucket, filled it with snow, and packed it into the empty spaces in their fridge and freezer.
He figured that was about all he could do, so back to the typewriter he went to work on Deep Six some more.
About an hour into that, as Tibbs, MacGregor, and Tommy were alone in the high desert at night, forced by darkness to stop chasing down a suspect, and for the moment, camping, one more thought occurred to him.
Back to the phone he went.
“Hey, Jethro.”
“Tim?”
“Yeah. If I wanted to make biscuits without an oven, how would I do it?”
“Power out?”
“Yep. I’ve got a functional stove and a fireplace. Beef stew’s cooking just fine. I remembered Lonesome Dove begins with Gus making sourdough biscuits over a fire, and I figured if anyone I knew knew how to do that, it’d be you.”
“Do you have a dutch oven?”
“Maybe. What is it?”
“Big, thick pot with a tight lid you could put on the coals.”
“Sounds like what we make the jambalaya in.”
“Probably. Stick the biscuit dough in there. Put it on low coals. Stick more coals on the lid. Let it sit. When they smell done, they probably are.”
“Think I can do that on the stove?”
“Do you have a cast iron frying pan?”
“Yeah. Luca made sure we had one.”
“Put it on the burner, turn the heat low, make sure it’s good and hot, then put the dough in, stick the lid on another burner until it’s good and hot too, put the lid on the fry pan, it’ll probably work.”
“Thanks. You have power?”
“Only if I feel like turning the generator on. Don’t need it for sitting in front of the fireplace reading.”
“Okay, stay warm. We’ll see you tomorrow if we can.”
He assumed Gibbs nodded at him, then the line disconnected.
Abby woke up feeling really good. She was warm, comfortable, and for once, well-rested. She doesn’t remember the last time she woke up and didn’t want to immediately go back to sleep. Obviously it used to happen, but it’s been a while.
Granted, warm, comfortable and well-rested with a warm, and better yet, hard, Tim cuddled up next to her would have been even better, but it’s the middle of the day, so he’s off…
Which was when it occurred to her that she couldn’t hear anything. Usually Tim amusing himself has a soundtrack: game noises, music and battle sounds, or writing, which goes with loud Jazz. Even reading Tim isn’t silent; there’s always some music to go with Tim having a good time.
She opened her eyes and saw that their room was glowing with ten or so of the LED candles. For a second she was wondering if this was some sort of romantic Christmas treat when she checked the clock to see how late it was and realized they didn’t have any power.
And silent Tim suddenly made a whole lot more sense. If he didn’t have a good idea of when they’d get power back, he wasn’t going to burn through the charges on his devices just for something to listen to.
She headed to the window to try and get a better handle on how late it was, but that didn’t help. It was dark enough outside that she couldn’t tell if it was late afternoon and the storm was blocking the sun, or if it was already night.
She never realized how much artificial light their neighborhood uses. But now, staring out the window at softly edged dark, she could almost believe they’re the only two people on earth.
Kind of cool, really.
She’d been wearing a comfy t-shirt and flannel pants for napping, but decided candle lit dinner for two during a blizzard on Christmas Eve deserved something a little snazzier than that.
Abby grabbed a few of the candles, got them all settled on her dresser, and went looking for the white and cream peignoir. That under her black kimono would do the job nicely. She brushed her hair up into a high ponytail, and decided to head down and see what else was going on.
Halfway down the stairs, she heard the rattling sound of Tim typing at full speed.
On the way down, she noticed that he put the little candles all over the house, but there was no fire in the fireplace. So an idea began to form.
The good thing about writing Tim, well, sometimes, occasionally it’s annoying, but right now it’s working out well for her… Anyway, the good thing about writing Tim is that when he hits his stride you could pretty much run a gang of naked Hells Angels through the room he’s writing in, and he won’t notice.
When he’s in his story, he’s in it, and usually pretty happy to be there. (And like how Abby gets grumpy when she gets pulled out of nap these days, Tim pulled out if his writing is awfully grumpy, too. Yeah, he’ll deign to pay attention to you if you demand it, but you’re much more likely to get the sarcastic version of him.)
So, she doesn’t head into his office. Judging by the speed he’s typing, he’s well into the story.
Instead she headed back upstairs, grabbed their pillows, and the comforter off their bed, and took them back down to make a little snug nest on the floor in front of the fireplace. Off to the linen closet next, more blankets, comforters, and pillows.
By the time she was done, they had a very comfortable little space for dinner, sex, and post-sex snoozing.
She rearranged some of the candles, sticking more of them in the living room, on the mantle, making sure it’d be fairly light in there, and then went to go find some of the logs for the fireplace.
Tim hit a lull in his writing, and came out of the story with a jerk. The biscuits!
He didn’t smell anything burning, but he also had no idea how long he’d been sitting there, working on a scene where McGregor, Tibbs, Tommy, and Liza were defusing a bomb; he has no idea where it’ll go in the next story, or even if it’ll go in the next story. He’s got a box full of scenes that haven’t made it into stories, yet. But he’s thinking this might be the climax to the current story. It’ll all jell once he’s got a bad guy in mind.He jumped up, sprinted toward the kitchen, and was very pleased to notice that he still didn’t smell anything burning.
Checking the biscuits showed him the edges closest to the pan seemed to be nicely brown. The tops were still pretty white. And poking them a little made him think they weren’t done yet. He debated trying to flip them over, and decided that probably wasn’t a great idea.
So he put the lid back on the burner, heated it up again, turned the heat almost off on the biscuits while the lid heated, and hoped that would take care of the whole getting them cooked all the way through before the bottom burns issue.
“Why are you cooking the lid?”
He turned toward her, and saw Abby leaning against the archway between the kitchen and dining room, kimono loosely belted over the white nighty, watching him with a smile on her face.
“Would you believe that Gibbs told me to?”
“Yes.” She closed on him, and wrapped her arms around his waist.
He kissed her, long and gentle. “Hi. Have a good nap?”
“Yeah, woke up feeling rested.”
“Been a long time since that happened.”
“Yeah. So…”
“Even distribution of heat. Trying to get the tops of the biscuits cooked before the bottoms are burned.”
“Okay. And heating the lid means you get heat from both sides.”
“Yeah. Just remember, you need a hot pad if you’re going to touch any of this.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. When did the power go out?”
“Two hours ago? Three? If I had my watch on, I’d know, but I don’t.”
“Any idea on how long until dinner’s ready?”
“No. Are you hungry?”
“These days, always. But I’m mostly asking so I can make sure the log’s burning bright and steady by the time we sit down to eat.”
He rose one eyebrow, and she pulled him through the kitchen, through the dining room, and into the living room, when he saw the nest she had made, he grinned.“It takes about ten minutes to get them really burning, so…”
“So, light it up. We’ll eat in ten minutes, and if the biscuits aren’t ready… They’ll be good for breakfast.”
Ten minutes later, the log was blazing away, instrumental Christmas music was playing (Abby’s computer had been completely charged, so she was willing to burn some power in order to have music.) and she was laying on her side, propped up on one arm, kimono loosely draped over her, gaping a bit at the chest and hip, so the white and cream negligee under it was visible.
“Hey, you rea…” The question died on Tim’s lips as he stood in the archway between the living room and dining room, staring at her.
Abby sent him a hot, sexy look, slowly slipping her top leg up the bottom one, shifting so the slit in the peignoir fell open, silk slithering over her leg, leaving them bare, and then grinned. “Tim?”
“Yeah?”
“Dinner?”
He tore his eyes away from her legs and said, “Oh, yeah, dinner, right!” scurrying back into the kitchen.
A minute later he was back, a tray with two bowls, filled with savory, steaming stew, rich with red wine, rosemary, and garlic, a plate piled high with golden biscuits, and two mugs of cider, in his hands.
“They look great.”
He smiled. “Let’s hope they taste that way.”
It was sheer dumb luck he actually had the recipe on his phone. Normally he’d have just googled it before making the stuff, but he needed it to get the ingredients, so he actually saved it, and could get to it without wifi. Still, he was, well, fuzzy, on what exactly was involved in cutting butter and shortening into flour by hand, so… yeah… he’s hoping they taste good.
The stew was fabulous. They’d gotten it, and a bunch of other recipes from Luca, as a wedding present. The biscuits were… well, given the challenges involved in making them, pretty good, but yeah, they’ve both had better.
And sharing a meal, warm and comfortable, lit gold by fire and candle light, soft touches and hot looks interspersed between playful words and savory food while the storm raged outside. That was excellent.
“All done?”
Abby licked the back of her spoon, getting the last drop of the stew. “Yeah.”
“Dessert?”
“Do we have anything?”
“Ice cream, frozen blueberries, everything you need to make cookies, but no actual cookies, and no oven to make cookies with.”
“And let me guess, you aren’t going to let me eat raw cookie dough?”
“I’d really prefer you didn’t. Though I suppose I could make it without the eggs…” He looked like he might have been seriously thinking about it, and right now she wants him seriously thinking about her, not about cookies.
“Later.” Nothing on that list was making her think that she had to have food right this second. Tim in jeans, a button down, sleeves rolled-up, top two buttons undone, and bare feet, on the other hand, that was definitely sparking some cravings. Her eyes, and fingers, tracing down his body got that idea across.
“Okay, let me get this cleared away.”
Judging by how fast he was back, cleared away translated into put into the sink to soak, as opposed to actually washed up and put back.
He lay down next to her and she scooted a little closer, wrapping her leg over his hip, pulling lightly on the top button on his shirt as he kissed her.
His hand found her shoulder, easing it’s way under the kimono, shifting it aside so he can kiss her skin.
He tugged at it again, not having any luck getting it off.
Abby, gently pushed him onto his back. She straddled his hips, keeping her body high, only her calves touching his hips and thighs, and he took the end of the tie to her kimono in hand.
“Pretty bow," he said, his fingers ghosting over the tidy bow at her waist.
“Always put a nice bow on a present.” She grinned at him as he tugged on the tie, and tugged again to pull the kimono off, seeing it fall to a black silk puddle over his hips and her legs.
“Are you my Christmas present?”
“Always. But maybe it’s just that I like being unwrapped.”
He twisted his hand a few times, snaking the kimono up around it, and then tossed it aside. Tim placed both of his hands on her calves, just below the hem of the peignoir. “I was always very good at unwrapping presents.” He slid his hands up her legs and took the lace edging in hand. “Of course there are a lot of ways to unwrap presents. There’s the quick, impatient, rip all the paper off as fast as you can.” He gave her a wicked look, watched her eyes go wide, he can see she does not want this ripped off of her, and gave the lace a quick tug, hard enough to get the idea across, not hard enough to rip. “But I always thought that lacked finesse.”
He let go of the lace, and traced his hands, under the silk, all the way up to her hips, stroking over her legs, rubbing the backs of his knuckles gently over her thighs, and then quickly undoing the button and fly of his jeans. “And of course, some people prefer lifting a corner of the paper, so they can just peek.” He took his dick out and lightly rubbed it against her pussy, stroking over her mound, circling her clit with it, enjoying the look of pleasure on her face, and the flush slowly spreading across her chest. Then he tucked himself back in (a lot more difficult than getting out of his boxers in the first place). “Then they retape the paper. But I never thought that was very satisfying.”
Her eyes closed, and she swallowed hard, a pained look on her face. His hands returned to her calves, skin on skin, and he traced them up her sides, lace and silk slipping up her skin with them. “And then there’s carefully, slowly, taking the paper off. Teasing yourself a little with the reveal.” She raised her arms over her head, as he sat up, pulling the peignoir off, tossing it behind them. “That’s the one I always liked best.” He kissed her lips, her throat, her shoulder, propping himself with his hands flat on the floor behind him, and began to nuzzle and suck her nipples.
“I always preferred to rip the paper off as fast as possible,” Abby said as she made short work of the buttons on his shirt. “Might not involve a lot of finesse.” She pushed his shirt down his arms, and settled in close on his lap, rubbing her breasts against his chest. “But sometimes there’s something to be said for fast.”
He grinned at the feel of her naked skin on his. “Indeed.”
She scooted back on his legs, getting a good grip on his jeans, and he lifted himself up so she could pull them off quickly.
Abby looked him over, eyes tracing him from toes to forehead, a wide, lusty smile on her face. “But really, when it came down to it, I never much cared about the wrapping one way or another. I wanted what was under it.”
He pulled her close to him, sitting on his lap, chest to chest, lips to lips.
“And what do you want the present to do?” he asked, gently pulling her bottom lip with his teeth.
She rolled him on top of her, and he braced himself on his elbows and knees. “You sure?”
She knew that was him worried about thrusting too deep. “Yeah. Just don’t hike my leg over your shoulder, and we’ll be fine. Besides, right now your chest rubbing against my breasts feels fantastic, and we won’t be able to do it like this for all that much longer, so yeah, I’m sure.”
He rocked into her, sighing at her body around his, chest skimming over hers, and she moaned at the feel of his skin sliding over hers.
“Good?” he asked with a kiss.
“So good.” Her hands settled on his ass, pulling him forward.
He thrust again, getting his whole body into it, rubbing all of himself against her.
“Yeah, Tim, just like that.”
He cupped her face in his hands, kissing her soft and sweet while they rocked against each other. Eventually her hands found his, pressed them flat to the floor, her fingers twinging with his. And while this is a position they often start in, it’s rarely one they finish in. Being able to kiss her and look her in the eye while her body went tight on his, let alone while feeling her fingers clench between his, was a real treat. Spilling over the edge with her, watching her eyes lose focus as his world went blurry around the edges was another. And falling asleep as the embers died out in the fireplace, wrapped in each other and soft, fluffy comforters was the icing on the cake.
Though waking up the next morning to functional electricity and the sound of a snow plow clearing the two and half feet of snow off their street was pretty nice, too.
Next
Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 132: A Question For Dr. Palmer
"Ducky, can I borrow Jimmy?" Both Jimmy and Ducky looked up at him as Tim headed into Autopsy and said that.
It was a paperwork day, so grabbing Jimmy for coffee shouldn't be an issue, but it's still a good idea to ask before grabbing.
"Certainly Timothy, though, were you to return with hot water for tea as well as Jimmy, it wouldn't go amiss."
"No problem, Ducky. Come on."
They were in the elevator, and Tim had it stopped before Jimmy asked, "So what's going on?"
"I want to ask you a medical question."
"Fire away."
"It's about Abby."
Jimmy shrugged a little. "Tim, I'm not an obstetrician, I'll give you the best answer I can, but… I might not be the right guy to ask."
"Well, since I'd rather not ask our sixty-year-old, female OB this, how about I ask you as guy who pays attention when he has sex with his pregnant wife? And if you don't know, I'll google the hell out of it on Tony's computer."
Jimmy was staring at him like he's insane.
"It's personal. And I still need to get him back because he thought it'd be fun to download a ton of Elf porn on mine last week."
"Elf porn?"
Tim rolled his eyes. "Yeah, for as vanilla as he is in real life, he's got no problem coming up with some fairly nasty kinks when he's pranking me."
Jimmy was still just staring at him.
http://neldorwen.deviantart.com
(Good Legolas animation, not elf porn!)"Stuff you never, ever wanted to see Legolas doing."
"Which one was Legolas?" Yes, Tim's read everything JRR Tolkien wrote, and all the commentary to go with it. But Jimmy got about a hundred pages into The Fellowship of the Ring before deciding it was painfully boring and putting it down. He's seen the movies, and liked them, but was still kind of fuzzy on who was who.
"Orlando Bloom."
Jimmy looked really surprised at that. "He found porn staring Orlando Bloom?"
"No, it was animated. But, let's put it this way, there was a really unhealthy level of attraction between him and his arrows and quiver."
"Ullgh..." Jimmy shuddered and winced. "Splinters?"
"I'd assume so."
"Yuck! So, what's up?"
"She… tastes different, is that normal?"
Jimmy smiled. "Less acidic?"
"Yeah."
He smiled even wider. "Her body's Ph changes when she's pregnant. Everything else the same?"
"Yeah."
"Fluids clear?"
"Yeah."
"Still tastes good to you?"
"Uh huh."
"Don't worry about it. Because of the shift, she can get yeast infections easier than usual, but as long as things still taste and smell good, and stay clear, she's fine."
"Thanks."
Jimmy nodded. "I can see not wanting to ask the OB that."
Tim wasn't exactly blushing, but his face certainly shows discomfort at the idea of having this chat with their obstetrician. "Yeah, I mean, obviously, we have sex, that's the whole reason we're there, after all, but…"
"Yeah."
"Anything else I should know about?"
Jimmy grinned, big smug smirk on his face. "All of her pink parts'll get redder, usually more sensitive. That's normal, too."
"Noticed that." Tim smiled, remembering Saturday.
"Yeah, a pregnant wife, assuming you can keep her awake and not throwing up long enough to have sex, is real a treat."
"So far throwing up isn't a problem."
"Yeah, but awake on the other hand…" Jimmy's delivered more than a few samples to a sleeping Abby over the last month.
"Yep."
Tim flicked the elevator back on.
Jimmy flicked it back off. "So, you actually watched the elf porn long enough to find out what it was about?"
"Errrr…" Tim looked horrifically embarrassed by that. "He had it labeled Hobbit Trailer/Concept Art. And he's a movie guy. And it was two days before my birthday, so it wasn't impossible he was trying to do something nice for me."
"Uh huh…" Jimmy's giving him the are you really this gullible? look.
"Anyway, it took me a few seconds to figure out what was going on. And I'd already called Abby over to see it, and she wanted to know what it was, and well, if I scrambled around trying to turn it off on a second's notice, she would have laughed at me, so I kept it playing, and… there are some things you just can't unsee. Worst use of fletching, ever." Tim shuddered.
Jimmy laughed for a good long minute at that. Then said, "So, since googling is out, what are you going to do to get him back?"
"I'm thinking of sending his Rabbi a Bacon of the Month Club subscription as a Christmas gift in his name."
Jimmy's jaw dropped. "Oh… That's terrible!"
Tim looked very satisfied at that reaction. "Thank you."
"Though if you want to be able to go to his wedding, which since you're the best man is kind of important, let alone not get accused of a hate crime, you might want to skip that plan."
Tim winced, realizing that yeah, that probably was a few steps too far. "Good point. I'll figure something out. He's not too hard to fluster if you know the right buttons to push. Might send Gibbs some more of that honey dust stuff..."
"What?"
"You didn't hear that story?"
"No!"
Tim flicked on the elevator and filled Jimmy in over their coffee break.
Next
Chapter 132: A Question For Dr. Palmer
"Ducky, can I borrow Jimmy?" Both Jimmy and Ducky looked up at him as Tim headed into Autopsy and said that.
It was a paperwork day, so grabbing Jimmy for coffee shouldn't be an issue, but it's still a good idea to ask before grabbing.
"Certainly Timothy, though, were you to return with hot water for tea as well as Jimmy, it wouldn't go amiss."
"No problem, Ducky. Come on."
They were in the elevator, and Tim had it stopped before Jimmy asked, "So what's going on?"
"I want to ask you a medical question."
"Fire away."
"It's about Abby."
Jimmy shrugged a little. "Tim, I'm not an obstetrician, I'll give you the best answer I can, but… I might not be the right guy to ask."
"Well, since I'd rather not ask our sixty-year-old, female OB this, how about I ask you as guy who pays attention when he has sex with his pregnant wife? And if you don't know, I'll google the hell out of it on Tony's computer."
Jimmy was staring at him like he's insane.
"It's personal. And I still need to get him back because he thought it'd be fun to download a ton of Elf porn on mine last week."
"Elf porn?"
Tim rolled his eyes. "Yeah, for as vanilla as he is in real life, he's got no problem coming up with some fairly nasty kinks when he's pranking me."
Jimmy was still just staring at him.
http://neldorwen.deviantart.com(Good Legolas animation, not elf porn!)"Stuff you never, ever wanted to see Legolas doing."
"Which one was Legolas?" Yes, Tim's read everything JRR Tolkien wrote, and all the commentary to go with it. But Jimmy got about a hundred pages into The Fellowship of the Ring before deciding it was painfully boring and putting it down. He's seen the movies, and liked them, but was still kind of fuzzy on who was who.
"Orlando Bloom."
Jimmy looked really surprised at that. "He found porn staring Orlando Bloom?"
"No, it was animated. But, let's put it this way, there was a really unhealthy level of attraction between him and his arrows and quiver."
"Ullgh..." Jimmy shuddered and winced. "Splinters?"
"I'd assume so."
"Yuck! So, what's up?"
"She… tastes different, is that normal?"
Jimmy smiled. "Less acidic?"
"Yeah."
He smiled even wider. "Her body's Ph changes when she's pregnant. Everything else the same?"
"Yeah."
"Fluids clear?"
"Yeah."
"Still tastes good to you?"
"Uh huh."
"Don't worry about it. Because of the shift, she can get yeast infections easier than usual, but as long as things still taste and smell good, and stay clear, she's fine."
"Thanks."
Jimmy nodded. "I can see not wanting to ask the OB that."
Tim wasn't exactly blushing, but his face certainly shows discomfort at the idea of having this chat with their obstetrician. "Yeah, I mean, obviously, we have sex, that's the whole reason we're there, after all, but…"
"Yeah."
"Anything else I should know about?"
Jimmy grinned, big smug smirk on his face. "All of her pink parts'll get redder, usually more sensitive. That's normal, too."
"Noticed that." Tim smiled, remembering Saturday.
"Yeah, a pregnant wife, assuming you can keep her awake and not throwing up long enough to have sex, is real a treat."
"So far throwing up isn't a problem."
"Yeah, but awake on the other hand…" Jimmy's delivered more than a few samples to a sleeping Abby over the last month.
"Yep."
Tim flicked the elevator back on.
Jimmy flicked it back off. "So, you actually watched the elf porn long enough to find out what it was about?"
"Errrr…" Tim looked horrifically embarrassed by that. "He had it labeled Hobbit Trailer/Concept Art. And he's a movie guy. And it was two days before my birthday, so it wasn't impossible he was trying to do something nice for me."
"Uh huh…" Jimmy's giving him the are you really this gullible? look.
"Anyway, it took me a few seconds to figure out what was going on. And I'd already called Abby over to see it, and she wanted to know what it was, and well, if I scrambled around trying to turn it off on a second's notice, she would have laughed at me, so I kept it playing, and… there are some things you just can't unsee. Worst use of fletching, ever." Tim shuddered.
Jimmy laughed for a good long minute at that. Then said, "So, since googling is out, what are you going to do to get him back?"
"I'm thinking of sending his Rabbi a Bacon of the Month Club subscription as a Christmas gift in his name."
Jimmy's jaw dropped. "Oh… That's terrible!"
Tim looked very satisfied at that reaction. "Thank you."
"Though if you want to be able to go to his wedding, which since you're the best man is kind of important, let alone not get accused of a hate crime, you might want to skip that plan."
Tim winced, realizing that yeah, that probably was a few steps too far. "Good point. I'll figure something out. He's not too hard to fluster if you know the right buttons to push. Might send Gibbs some more of that honey dust stuff..."
"What?"
"You didn't hear that story?"
"No!"
Tim flicked on the elevator and filled Jimmy in over their coffee break.
Next
Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 131: Sunday
"Hey Gibbs."
"Abbs?"
Gibbs stepped away from his boat and looked at her, really surprised to see her in his basement. She supposed that made sense, she hadn't been here for a one on one since…
Kyle.
Since before she started dating Tim. Since before Gibbs stopped being the most important man in her life. She made a mental note to visit more often. She didn't think Gibbs had been feeling neglected, but still…
"You okay?"
"Oh, yeah." She stood next to him, noticing how in her boots she's taller than he is. Then she said, "This is for running into a bomb blast for me." And she kissed him on the cheek, wrapping him in a warm hug. "And this." She slapped him upside the back of the head. "Is for running into a bomb blast for me."
"Abby?" Gibbs looked really surprised. It's been two and a half years since that happened. It's beyond old news. And he can't for the life of him figure out why she'd be thinking about it now, let alone come over to his house to slap him about it.
"I didn't know you were in the clear and came back for me. I thought you were in the building and got the warning and came for me. I didn't know…"
He just shrugged, of course he'd go to her. Bombs, bullets, fire, or knives, as long as he's alive, he'll go to her. As he said to Tomas when he was wondering if Gibbs might have been his dad, there are no second chances. What's done is done and can't, won't come back. But Abby was as close to a second chance as he'll ever get, she's the chance he can't lose. She's his lifeline, and it's not a coincidence that every year she's been in his life, he's been getting closer and closer to who he used to be.
She watched his face, saw it in his look, saw Tim was right, and then wrapped him in a tight hug and started crying.
He patted her back, rubbing his hand up and down it in a soothing manner, still feeling really perplexed about this whole thing.
Eventually she cried herself out, and pulled back a little.
"So, you going to tell me what this is all about?" he asked while wiping away her tears with his handkerchief.
She nodded and sat down on the second from the bottom step. Gibbs smiled a little, she sits in the same place, same posture as Tim does. He sat next to her, keeping is arm around her shoulders.
"I got into a fight with Tim." Gibbs looks disturbed by that, and she sees it and keeps going. "Maybe not a fight. An argument? Yeah, that's better. He's been treating me like glass lately, and so have you." She glared at him. "And I was telling him how annoying it was. I'm not a baby, and I can carry my own damn groceries in."
"Okay." He had the look on his face Abby had categorized as Danger! Rocks ahead!
"And he was talking about how it's a man's job to protect his wife and kids or die trying."Gibbs nodded. He agreed with that wholeheartedly, but was more than a little fuzzy on what that had to do with who carries the groceries, but obviously this makes sense to Abby, so he skipped the grocery bit and got to the heart of it. "He wouldn't be on my team if he didn't feel that way. Wouldn't have let him anywhere near you. Man who doesn't believe that doesn't deserve a wife or kids."
"And he said you failed, and…"
And Gibbs finally thought he had the pieces put together, or at least enough of them to have a clue as to what was going on. Tim was probably trying to explain what was going on. Abby was mad, and he was explaining. Because that's what he does; he explains. He doesn't just shrug and go quiet. No, he puts everything into words, and now he's got a crying girl in his basement because her husband had to explain.
"God you think you did, don't you? I was hoping he was wrong. But he's not. You didn't fail, Gibbs. No one could have done anything better or different or…" Her tears started again and she sniffed loudly, wiping them away, keeping talking. "And it breaks my heart to think that you've been carrying that around, or that you might think you could ever fail me.
"You could never fail me, Gibbs. When I was seventeen, I was sure I'd never have a dad again. That there'd always be this huge, gaping hole where he used to be. And, don't get me wrong, I still miss him, every day I wish I had had more time with him. But I've had fifteen years with another dad because of you.
"And you didn't fail Kelly. I've seen dads who failed. And you aren't one of them. Eli failed. He left Ziva to die. John failed. He screwed up his relationship with Tim so badly that Tim won't talk to him. But not you. You didn't fail."
He sighed and rubbed her back some more, tried to turn the subject. "There's still hope for Tim and John."
She shook her head. "He doesn't want it. He's been hurt enough by that man. But that's the point of it. You didn't do that. You didn't fail Kelly or Shannon, and they wouldn't think you failed them, either. You just… weren't lucky."
He shrugs that off. Everyone he was still talking to after they died told him that. Didn't make it feel any better. Didn't change the fact that he re-upped for five years in January of '91 so he could get his twenty years in, didn't change the fact that he asked for a tour in Desert Storm because he couldn't stand to be home and safe while other men were putting their lives on the line, didn't change the fact that he couldn't convince her not to testify, and it didn't change the fact that he didn't go AWOL the second he heard there had been threats made against them. He let someone else protect his family and because of that, they're gone, and he's still here.
"I didn't put them first, Abbs. Rule eight. I took the idea that they'd always be there for granted."
"Oh, Gibbs!" That was followed by ten more minutes of sniffling and crying against his chest, more back patting, and Gibbs sincerely wishing that whatever the hell it was Tim said, that he hadn't said it. Because, as he said to Ziva once, he's also 'not good with the women and the crying,' and it doesn't matter that this is one of his two favorite ladies on earth, she's still a crying woman in his arms, and he hates that because he can't fix it. He's just got to sit here, useless, and get battered by her distress.
Finally she stopped crying, again, and pulled back, again, to look at him, eyes red and puffy, skin blotchy from her crying, and her voice rough from the sobbing. "Look, something happens, there's another bomb, I want you to run your ass away from it!"
Gibbs looked her in the eyes and nodded, as solemnly as he can. He's lying, of course, but he's got no compunction about lying about this. Do not upset the pregnant lady if you can avoid it was the original Rule Number 12.
"Don't give me that."
"Didn't say anything."
"Yeah and I know what you're not saying. What you're not saying is first hint of danger and in-I-go-to-save-the-day. You want/need to protect me, fine, but I want you to erase the words 'or die trying' from the end of that sentence. You are my dad, you're Tim's dad, you're McSciuto's grandpa, you're Ziva's dad, you're Tony's Ducky and Ducky's best friend, you're Molly and Sammy's Uncle Jethro, you're Amira' godfather, you're LJ's godson, and you're Jackson's son. You are precious to a lot of people, and maybe when you were all alone the idea of 'or die trying' made sense, but it doesn't now. Like it or not, you're our clan's patriarch, and that requires you to be around. You've got kids and grandkids who need you, so none of this 'or die trying' shit. You can die succeeding. But none of this trying stuff. No suicide runs so you don't have to face the next dawn. We're all here, and we're all together, and we will get each other through whatever comes next. So you make sure you're here for it!"
Gibbs nodded and kissed Abby's forehead.
She stared at him, decided that that was about as good as she could get out of him, and said, "Better."
Eventually he said to her, "You and Tim okay?"
"Huh?" She looked genuinely surprised at the idea that he'd ask that. Then it clicked. "Oh, yeah, argument. Yeah, we're fine. Over yesterday. I didn't realize the babying me was a coping mechanism for him. Yeah, it's still annoying, but him feeling scared and helpful is better than him feeling scared and helpless, so I'm biting my tongue and letting him do it."
Gibbs smiled at that. Of course, the explaining thing might have benefits on occasion. Some of the bigger arguments he'd had over the years with different wives have boiled down to an unwillingness to say the words, "I'm scared."
She sat next to him for a few minutes, head resting on his shoulder, just soaking up the quiet. "I love you."
"Love you, too, Abby." He kissed her forehead.
"You're going to be an awesome grandpa."
He nodded at that, smiling. "Gonna teach that baby girl of yours how to sail on this thing."
"Yeah, you are."
Next
Chapter 131: Sunday
"Hey Gibbs."
"Abbs?"
Gibbs stepped away from his boat and looked at her, really surprised to see her in his basement. She supposed that made sense, she hadn't been here for a one on one since…
Kyle.
Since before she started dating Tim. Since before Gibbs stopped being the most important man in her life. She made a mental note to visit more often. She didn't think Gibbs had been feeling neglected, but still…
"You okay?"
"Oh, yeah." She stood next to him, noticing how in her boots she's taller than he is. Then she said, "This is for running into a bomb blast for me." And she kissed him on the cheek, wrapping him in a warm hug. "And this." She slapped him upside the back of the head. "Is for running into a bomb blast for me."
"Abby?" Gibbs looked really surprised. It's been two and a half years since that happened. It's beyond old news. And he can't for the life of him figure out why she'd be thinking about it now, let alone come over to his house to slap him about it.
"I didn't know you were in the clear and came back for me. I thought you were in the building and got the warning and came for me. I didn't know…"
He just shrugged, of course he'd go to her. Bombs, bullets, fire, or knives, as long as he's alive, he'll go to her. As he said to Tomas when he was wondering if Gibbs might have been his dad, there are no second chances. What's done is done and can't, won't come back. But Abby was as close to a second chance as he'll ever get, she's the chance he can't lose. She's his lifeline, and it's not a coincidence that every year she's been in his life, he's been getting closer and closer to who he used to be.
She watched his face, saw it in his look, saw Tim was right, and then wrapped him in a tight hug and started crying.
He patted her back, rubbing his hand up and down it in a soothing manner, still feeling really perplexed about this whole thing.
Eventually she cried herself out, and pulled back a little.
"So, you going to tell me what this is all about?" he asked while wiping away her tears with his handkerchief.
She nodded and sat down on the second from the bottom step. Gibbs smiled a little, she sits in the same place, same posture as Tim does. He sat next to her, keeping is arm around her shoulders.
"I got into a fight with Tim." Gibbs looks disturbed by that, and she sees it and keeps going. "Maybe not a fight. An argument? Yeah, that's better. He's been treating me like glass lately, and so have you." She glared at him. "And I was telling him how annoying it was. I'm not a baby, and I can carry my own damn groceries in."
"Okay." He had the look on his face Abby had categorized as Danger! Rocks ahead!
"And he was talking about how it's a man's job to protect his wife and kids or die trying."Gibbs nodded. He agreed with that wholeheartedly, but was more than a little fuzzy on what that had to do with who carries the groceries, but obviously this makes sense to Abby, so he skipped the grocery bit and got to the heart of it. "He wouldn't be on my team if he didn't feel that way. Wouldn't have let him anywhere near you. Man who doesn't believe that doesn't deserve a wife or kids."
"And he said you failed, and…"
And Gibbs finally thought he had the pieces put together, or at least enough of them to have a clue as to what was going on. Tim was probably trying to explain what was going on. Abby was mad, and he was explaining. Because that's what he does; he explains. He doesn't just shrug and go quiet. No, he puts everything into words, and now he's got a crying girl in his basement because her husband had to explain.
"God you think you did, don't you? I was hoping he was wrong. But he's not. You didn't fail, Gibbs. No one could have done anything better or different or…" Her tears started again and she sniffed loudly, wiping them away, keeping talking. "And it breaks my heart to think that you've been carrying that around, or that you might think you could ever fail me.
"You could never fail me, Gibbs. When I was seventeen, I was sure I'd never have a dad again. That there'd always be this huge, gaping hole where he used to be. And, don't get me wrong, I still miss him, every day I wish I had had more time with him. But I've had fifteen years with another dad because of you.
"And you didn't fail Kelly. I've seen dads who failed. And you aren't one of them. Eli failed. He left Ziva to die. John failed. He screwed up his relationship with Tim so badly that Tim won't talk to him. But not you. You didn't fail."
He sighed and rubbed her back some more, tried to turn the subject. "There's still hope for Tim and John."
She shook her head. "He doesn't want it. He's been hurt enough by that man. But that's the point of it. You didn't do that. You didn't fail Kelly or Shannon, and they wouldn't think you failed them, either. You just… weren't lucky."
He shrugs that off. Everyone he was still talking to after they died told him that. Didn't make it feel any better. Didn't change the fact that he re-upped for five years in January of '91 so he could get his twenty years in, didn't change the fact that he asked for a tour in Desert Storm because he couldn't stand to be home and safe while other men were putting their lives on the line, didn't change the fact that he couldn't convince her not to testify, and it didn't change the fact that he didn't go AWOL the second he heard there had been threats made against them. He let someone else protect his family and because of that, they're gone, and he's still here.
"I didn't put them first, Abbs. Rule eight. I took the idea that they'd always be there for granted."
"Oh, Gibbs!" That was followed by ten more minutes of sniffling and crying against his chest, more back patting, and Gibbs sincerely wishing that whatever the hell it was Tim said, that he hadn't said it. Because, as he said to Ziva once, he's also 'not good with the women and the crying,' and it doesn't matter that this is one of his two favorite ladies on earth, she's still a crying woman in his arms, and he hates that because he can't fix it. He's just got to sit here, useless, and get battered by her distress.
Finally she stopped crying, again, and pulled back, again, to look at him, eyes red and puffy, skin blotchy from her crying, and her voice rough from the sobbing. "Look, something happens, there's another bomb, I want you to run your ass away from it!"
Gibbs looked her in the eyes and nodded, as solemnly as he can. He's lying, of course, but he's got no compunction about lying about this. Do not upset the pregnant lady if you can avoid it was the original Rule Number 12.
"Don't give me that."
"Didn't say anything."
"Yeah and I know what you're not saying. What you're not saying is first hint of danger and in-I-go-to-save-the-day. You want/need to protect me, fine, but I want you to erase the words 'or die trying' from the end of that sentence. You are my dad, you're Tim's dad, you're McSciuto's grandpa, you're Ziva's dad, you're Tony's Ducky and Ducky's best friend, you're Molly and Sammy's Uncle Jethro, you're Amira' godfather, you're LJ's godson, and you're Jackson's son. You are precious to a lot of people, and maybe when you were all alone the idea of 'or die trying' made sense, but it doesn't now. Like it or not, you're our clan's patriarch, and that requires you to be around. You've got kids and grandkids who need you, so none of this 'or die trying' shit. You can die succeeding. But none of this trying stuff. No suicide runs so you don't have to face the next dawn. We're all here, and we're all together, and we will get each other through whatever comes next. So you make sure you're here for it!"
Gibbs nodded and kissed Abby's forehead.
She stared at him, decided that that was about as good as she could get out of him, and said, "Better."
Eventually he said to her, "You and Tim okay?"
"Huh?" She looked genuinely surprised at the idea that he'd ask that. Then it clicked. "Oh, yeah, argument. Yeah, we're fine. Over yesterday. I didn't realize the babying me was a coping mechanism for him. Yeah, it's still annoying, but him feeling scared and helpful is better than him feeling scared and helpless, so I'm biting my tongue and letting him do it."
Gibbs smiled at that. Of course, the explaining thing might have benefits on occasion. Some of the bigger arguments he'd had over the years with different wives have boiled down to an unwillingness to say the words, "I'm scared."
She sat next to him for a few minutes, head resting on his shoulder, just soaking up the quiet. "I love you."
"Love you, too, Abby." He kissed her forehead.
"You're going to be an awesome grandpa."
He nodded at that, smiling. "Gonna teach that baby girl of yours how to sail on this thing."
"Yeah, you are."
Next
June 24, 2013
Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 130: Saturday Afternoon
Occasionally, Tim does believe in God, and when he does he often finds himself thinking that He’s got a pretty perverse sense of humor.
The reason he’s thinking this is Abby’s breasts.
He’s always appreciated them. Okay, that’s an understatement. He loves them. Loves the way they look, feel, smell, respond when he touches them. Everything there is to love about a pair of breasts, he loves about hers.
And right now, Pregnant Abby breasts are even better than Regular Abby breasts. They’re so soft and round and big and sensitive and he would very happily spend hours playing with them.
Which is where God’s perverse sense of humor comes in. Nine weeks pregnant Abby is, without a doubt, the most beautiful, sexy, hits all of his buttons so hard he’d be walking around with an erection all the time if he was still sixteen, (And honestly, at less than a week past thirty-seven, he’s adjusting himself a lot more than he used to, and appreciating the fact that his jeans just don’t allow enough movement for him to really embarrass himself when, say, Abby’s at work in a short skirt and one of his button downs, gaping just a bit, and she sort of bends a little.) incarnation of Abby he’s ever seen. So, of course, nine-weeks pregnant Abby also sleeps eighteen hours a day.
So, in addition to having to live with, sleep next to, and work with the hottest woman in creation, the amount of sex in his life has dropped significantly.
It’s Saturday afternoon, and they’re on the sofa, watching Supernatural. (How they didn’t run into it sooner, he has no idea, but on the upside they’ve still got five seasons to go through before they catch up.) And while he’s happily watching Sam and Dean snark their way through middle America killing demons right and left, her head lands on his lap and ten seconds later she’s asleep.
The episode was over, and now there’s this soft, pleasant weight in his lap, and for a moment he was just gently petting her hair, (Which is also fabulous these days. She had the extensions taken out a few weeks ago, but it’s still longer, fuller, glossier, wavier, and softer than ever before.) looking at her, thinking about how beautiful she is, mostly in an innocent, look-how-pretty sort of way, when he notices that the t-shirt she’s wearing (one of the new ones) is cut kind of low, so he can see the tops of her breasts, and it’s pretty tight, and kind of thin, so he can see her nipples through the fabric, too.
Soft, round, full breasts, pressed up gently against each other, and big enough that he could rub between them, which is something they can’t really do normally, and the idea of what all that beautiful soft skin wrapped around him would look like, let alone feel like, settles in his dick, making it harden.
But she’s asleep. Warm breath easing in and out against his thigh. He pets her hair again, watches his left hand ease down her throat, and he diverts it and makes it rest on her shoulder. He’s not sixteen, and no matter how horny he is, and how much he wants to suck each nipple, see if he can get her off by doing it, (she’s more sensitive now than she was on their honeymoon) and then lube himself up, straddle her, and rub off between her breasts, he’s not the guy who molests his pregnant wife while she’s sleeping. He’s especially not the guy who does it after being flat out told not to wake her up.
He hits the play button, tearing his eyes away from her breasts, and of course, there’s like one sex scene per season on Supernatural, so somehow he ends up watching the two episodes with back to back sex scenes. And Sam and Dean each get a girl (okay, technically one of them is a demon) and the girl with the red hair and the white bra sliding all over Dean in the Impala is not helping at all with the whole so-horny-I-want-to-explode issue.
And Abby just sighs a little and snuggles into his lap closer, rubbing her head gently against his erection, killing him slowly, and settles deeper into sleep.
He’s wishing he was wearing the kilt, because if he was, he could just scoot like an inch to the right, jerk off, and take care of the issue without waking her up. And yeah, it’d have to be pretty slow, because her head is on his left leg, and he’d have to do it with his right hand, and, well, okay, they don’t have any tissues nearby, but he’s got socks on so that could take care of the mess, but it doesn’t matter because he’s in pajama pants and the way she’s laying on them is keeping them pretty tight, and it just isn’t going to work.
She rolls over, facing him and not the TV, somehow finding a position where her breasts are pushed together even more firmly, and she’s twisted so the flannel pajama pants she has on are pulled tight over her ass, dipping low so he can see the small of her back, and she’s got it stuck out just a little, and, like her breasts it’s so soft and full and curvy and warm and somehow her head’s turned and he can feel her breathing on his dick through the soft cotton of his jammie pants, and he is biting his lip, cursing that the single hottest woman in the history of womanhood is on his lap, exhaling moist, hot air against his very hard, very sensitive dick and sound asleep.
He’s clutching the remote like he’s about to beat it to death for mortally offending each and every single member of his entire family, staring at the TV with grim resolve that he will not reach down, slip his hand under her shirt, and begin to stroke her nipples. He’s thirty-seven, he can control himself. And she needs her sleep. She’s made it very clear that unless the world is about to end, she does not want to be woken up.
So he’s not going to do it.
He’s going to sit there and be the most sexually frustrated pillow ever.
She shifts a little more, and now her mouth is pressed against his dick.
He closed his eyes, refusing to look, because if he looks, he’s going to touch, and if he touches he’s going to wake her up.
“God, Tim, what am I going to have to do to get you to touch me? Pull it out and suck it?”
“You’re awake?”
“Ish.” Her eyes haven’t opened, but she’s definitely lipping his dick through his pants.
It takes about thirty seconds, but he’s out of his pants and lying on the sofa spooned up behind her, nuzzling her neck and cupping her breast in his hand. “All you have to do is let me know you aren’t sleeping.”
“I’m not sleeping.”
“Thank God!”
“You don’t believe in God.”
“Then thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Help me get out of these pants.”
“Yes!”
About another thirty seconds later she’s kicking them off as his hand snakes under her shirt to stroke her breasts.
“Been staring at them for hours,” he says, whole hand lightly circling over her breast. “Been thinking about licking them, sucking on them, just grazing my teeth over them.”
“Hours?”
“Yeah, you’ve been snuggled up in my lap for three Supernatural episodes, and I don’t know what this shirt’s made out of, but it just clings to you,” he’s tugging on it, trying to pull it up, but the fact that she’s laying down makes that a little less effective than he’d like. If he had a knife anywhere nearby he’d be really tempted to cut if off of her, one of her few decent fitting t-shirts or not.
But he didn’t. She rolls him onto his back, then sits up, straddling his hips, and pulls it over her head.
“God, you’re so beautiful.” His hands land on her hips and he holds her in place while he sits up, twists around, and gets them sitting with his back against the sofa. “Perfect.” Like this her breasts are right at mouth level on him, and she can ride him at whatever pace and depth she likes.
As they found out last week, at an especially inopportune moment, these days too deep really hurts. Which means these days he’s pretty nervous about any position where he controls the depth.
She slips down onto him, and he hisses at how good it feels. Tight, wet, hot, and wrapped around him, so so good.
She’s moving slowly, not much up and down, mostly just rolling her hips, but with every roll her breasts jiggle a little, and he’s watching them, mesmerized, fingers very gently feathering over her nipples, tracing the newly visible veins along her chest.
He takes her nipple into his mouth, alternating soft, light sucks with pulling gently with his teeth. Her hands clench in his hair as she throws her head back and moans, so he figures she likes that.
“Good?”
“God, Tim, don’t stop!”
He rolls his tongue over her nipple as he lightly strokes down both sides of her breast with his fingers. “How about this?”
A long, deep moan is his answer.
He uses his fingernails to scrape, lightly, on one nipple while he went back to the soft, wet sucks on the other. He’s settling into what he considered a nice, steady rhythm, alternating soft and sharp sensations when Abby suddenly tightens on him, holding his head against her chest, high-pitched moans coming faster and breathier, and then she sort of lightly twitched all over, her pussy softly rippling against him.
She relaxes against him, catching her breath, and he kisses her shoulder.
“Ummm… was that?” Not that he’s unfamiliar with what Abby getting off looks, feels, tastes, sounds, and smells like, but that was a whole lot faster and gentler than normal.
She gives him a sort of sleepy, satisfied smile. “Oh yeah.”
“Wow.” Sure, they’ve done quickies before, but that was like, three minutes, and he wasn’t touching her clit.
“Increased blood flow to the pelvis is pretty nice.”
“So it seems.”
“Everything is a whole lot more sensitive.”
He nods. “So, sensitive like, stop touching me, or sensitive like, two or three more rounds seems like a really good idea?”
Her smile widens. “At least one more round.” She squeezes against him. “Can’t be done yet, you haven’t gotten off.”
“There is that.” He grinds against her, and she sighs, pleased. “So, would you like it if I got down on the floor, spread your legs wide, and saw how fast I could get you off by licking your clit?”
She kissed the tip of his nose, looking very pleased. “I could go for that.”
He pulls her face down, and kisses her long and slow, his tongue making explicit promises of what’s to come, then breaks away to say, “What if I wanted to see how long I could lick it before I got you off?”
That got a hot look and a long, hard tongue-trusting kiss from her. “That doesn’t sound bad, either.”
“And after that, I want to go back to your breasts. I want to straddle you and slide between them.”
“That sounds good.” She slips off of him, and scoots down so her hips are even with the edge of the sofa.Their sofa probably wasn’t designed with sex in mind. Probably. Who knows? But it’s sturdy, offers good back support, (the reason they kept her sofa and not his. His sofa might have been okay for napping, but wasn’t nearly firm enough for anything friskier than spooning.) and is the exact right height for Abby to sit on it while Tim knelt in front of her and slipped in, or stood and she blew him.
What it isn’t great for is oral where he’s on the giving side of the equation. It’s about two inches too low for that. (Well, the seat’s two inches too low. The arm’s about three inches too high, and doesn’t offer good leg support for her. And the back… well… yeah… let’s just say that while this sofa is sturdy, it wasn’t designed to handle a large load on the back vigorously bouncing around, and that if you do something like that it tips over, and well, that just wasn’t much fun, at all.)
But, well, the occasional sore neck is a minor price to pay for the sublime joy of Abby coming on his tongue. And after all, if you aren’t willing to sacrifice for your art, what kind of man are you? (Writing? Writing is his hobby; it’s a craft. He bangs out solid, satisfactory mysteries with an occasional really great line or scene. But fucking Abby, that’s his art. The feeling that gives him, the passion going into doing it, that’s the reason art exists. If he were a painter, her body would be his favorite canvas. If he was a musician, she’d be his favorite instrument. And as a poet, her moans and cries are his favorite verse.)
And even with the idea of slow, she’s on enough of a hair trigger right now that he was only able to spin her out for ten minutes.
Ten very good minutes. Ten minutes of light, slow, gentle licks, just bare hints of the tip of his tongue ghosting over her, while she squirmed and moaned and cursed, pulling on his hair, begging him for harder or faster.He didn’t go faster, Abby gently slipping into a slow climax is amazing, and he loves watching it. He did go harder, rolling his tongue over her in focused, firm circles, increasing his pressure as she arched her hips against his mouth.
This time he’s expecting it. He felt her body tighten, heard her moans go higher pitched, felt her clench and twitch, body shaking against him.
He rests his face against her thigh, letting her come down, enjoying hearing her post-orgasmic purring, as she lightly petted his hair.
After a few minutes she says, “So what’s this about my breasts?”
He looks up at her. “I was thinking that if you were to sort of kneel.” She starts to shift, but he keeps her still, his hand on her hips. “Not yet. We’ll need lube for this, and I don’t feel like getting up and going to the bedroom for it, especially not when,” he kisses her pussy, wet and soft lips and tongue slipping along her, “you’re right here and very wet and slippery. Anyway, if you were to sort of kneel, sit with your feet under you, and lean back against the sofa, and if I were to straddle your legs and kneel, I’d be at just the right height to rub off between your breasts.”
“And you want to do that?” He’s never mentioned being interested in that before, so she’s a little surprised at it.
“Been dreaming about it for hours now. You were lying on your side, and they were pressed up against each other, and all I could think about was what it would feel like to slip between them.”
She grins, and then presses her breasts together and up. “Sounds good.”
He leans forward to kiss each one. “So beautiful.” Then he shifts from sitting to kneeling, and thrust into her, reveling in the feel of her body on his, watching himself fuck her. “This is awfully nice, too.”
She sits up and kisses him. “Don’t get distracted.” Then pulls off of him, settles her feet under her, and uses one hand to hold her breasts together.
He takes in the full image of her, kneeling on the sofa, breasts together, waiting for him. “Oh… That looks so good.”
“Bet it feels better.”
He hops onto the sofa, her legs between his, and scoots a little closer, slipping his dick between her breasts. “Oh, FUCK!” And yeah, it looks exactly as good as he thought it would and feels about a thousand times better. “I really hope you like being pregnant because I’m keeping you this way as long as I possibly can.”
She giggles at that, dips her head, and licks the tip of him as he thrust up.
“Oh…” His teeth clench as he watches her do it. “That’s even better.”
He set a fairly quick pace, grabbing the back of the sofa for balance, not wanting to stretch this out any further. A few strokes in she says, “Bet I can make this better.”
He feels her hand on his balls, rolling them, tugging gently, and yeah, that is better, that is so better, that is all sorts of better, and he actually growls at her when she takes that hand away.
“Hush.” She grazes her teeth over the head of his dick. “You’ll like this.”
He can’t see what she’s doing with that hand, but he has a general idea of where it has to be, between her legs, and he isn’t sure if she’s rubbing herself off or not, because the only thing he’s looking at is his dick slipping between her breasts, plump white flesh wrapped around him, and her tongue lapping at the tip as it pokes out from between them.
But he certainly feels it when a slick finger slips behind his balls and starts to ease its way inside of him. And fuck that was… just… She twists it, finds what she’s looking for, and presses forward.
“Oh, God, shit! Abby!” Fuck that feels good, and he’s so close that the only thing keeping him from cumming all over her is the fact that she doesn’t like it, and it occurs to him he didn’t think this part through very well, and “Fuck!” she twitches her finger just a little more, rubbing his prostate, and, “Oh God!” she bends her head, takes the tip of him into her mouth, sucks hard, and he’s just gone, riding the pleasure coursing through his body.
When he’s paying attention again, he notices her gently nuzzling his belly. This is also when it occurs to him that he got her naked, but he’s still in his t-shirt and socks.
“You liked that?” she asks.
“Oh yeah!” He sits back on the sofa, next to her and looks at the back of it. “Left grip marks on the sofa.”
It’s made of that microfiber suede-style stuff that shows where and how you touch it. It feels really nice, but if you ever touch it, it leaves marks.
She giggled at that, and got up to wash off. A minute later she was back with a warm, wet washcloth and he took care of himself.
She’s up, doing something, and he’s just sort of laying around, dozing on the sofa.
“Hey.”
“Yeah?”
“C’mere.” He holds out his hand to her, and she takes it. He tugs her back onto the sofa and spoons up behind her.
“I’m going to fall asleep if I lay down again.”
“So? I’m going to fall asleep, too.”
“Be nice to get something done besides sleeping today.”
“We got groceries and had sex. Eventually we’ll make dinner, maybe have more sex. That’s a full day.”
She laughs at that.
“I’ll get cold.”
He reaches behind himself, grabs the blanket from the back of the sofa, and tosses it over them. “I’ll keep you warm. Get a nap with me. Then we can stay up late tonight.”
“Okay.”
Chapter 130: Saturday Afternoon
Occasionally, Tim does believe in God, and when he does he often finds himself thinking that He’s got a pretty perverse sense of humor.
The reason he’s thinking this is Abby’s breasts.
He’s always appreciated them. Okay, that’s an understatement. He loves them. Loves the way they look, feel, smell, respond when he touches them. Everything there is to love about a pair of breasts, he loves about hers.
And right now, Pregnant Abby breasts are even better than Regular Abby breasts. They’re so soft and round and big and sensitive and he would very happily spend hours playing with them.
Which is where God’s perverse sense of humor comes in. Nine weeks pregnant Abby is, without a doubt, the most beautiful, sexy, hits all of his buttons so hard he’d be walking around with an erection all the time if he was still sixteen, (And honestly, at less than a week past thirty-seven, he’s adjusting himself a lot more than he used to, and appreciating the fact that his jeans just don’t allow enough movement for him to really embarrass himself when, say, Abby’s at work in a short skirt and one of his button downs, gaping just a bit, and she sort of bends a little.) incarnation of Abby he’s ever seen. So, of course, nine-weeks pregnant Abby also sleeps eighteen hours a day.
So, in addition to having to live with, sleep next to, and work with the hottest woman in creation, the amount of sex in his life has dropped significantly.
It’s Saturday afternoon, and they’re on the sofa, watching Supernatural. (How they didn’t run into it sooner, he has no idea, but on the upside they’ve still got five seasons to go through before they catch up.) And while he’s happily watching Sam and Dean snark their way through middle America killing demons right and left, her head lands on his lap and ten seconds later she’s asleep.
The episode was over, and now there’s this soft, pleasant weight in his lap, and for a moment he was just gently petting her hair, (Which is also fabulous these days. She had the extensions taken out a few weeks ago, but it’s still longer, fuller, glossier, wavier, and softer than ever before.) looking at her, thinking about how beautiful she is, mostly in an innocent, look-how-pretty sort of way, when he notices that the t-shirt she’s wearing (one of the new ones) is cut kind of low, so he can see the tops of her breasts, and it’s pretty tight, and kind of thin, so he can see her nipples through the fabric, too.
Soft, round, full breasts, pressed up gently against each other, and big enough that he could rub between them, which is something they can’t really do normally, and the idea of what all that beautiful soft skin wrapped around him would look like, let alone feel like, settles in his dick, making it harden.
But she’s asleep. Warm breath easing in and out against his thigh. He pets her hair again, watches his left hand ease down her throat, and he diverts it and makes it rest on her shoulder. He’s not sixteen, and no matter how horny he is, and how much he wants to suck each nipple, see if he can get her off by doing it, (she’s more sensitive now than she was on their honeymoon) and then lube himself up, straddle her, and rub off between her breasts, he’s not the guy who molests his pregnant wife while she’s sleeping. He’s especially not the guy who does it after being flat out told not to wake her up.
He hits the play button, tearing his eyes away from her breasts, and of course, there’s like one sex scene per season on Supernatural, so somehow he ends up watching the two episodes with back to back sex scenes. And Sam and Dean each get a girl (okay, technically one of them is a demon) and the girl with the red hair and the white bra sliding all over Dean in the Impala is not helping at all with the whole so-horny-I-want-to-explode issue.
And Abby just sighs a little and snuggles into his lap closer, rubbing her head gently against his erection, killing him slowly, and settles deeper into sleep.
He’s wishing he was wearing the kilt, because if he was, he could just scoot like an inch to the right, jerk off, and take care of the issue without waking her up. And yeah, it’d have to be pretty slow, because her head is on his left leg, and he’d have to do it with his right hand, and, well, okay, they don’t have any tissues nearby, but he’s got socks on so that could take care of the mess, but it doesn’t matter because he’s in pajama pants and the way she’s laying on them is keeping them pretty tight, and it just isn’t going to work.
She rolls over, facing him and not the TV, somehow finding a position where her breasts are pushed together even more firmly, and she’s twisted so the flannel pajama pants she has on are pulled tight over her ass, dipping low so he can see the small of her back, and she’s got it stuck out just a little, and, like her breasts it’s so soft and full and curvy and warm and somehow her head’s turned and he can feel her breathing on his dick through the soft cotton of his jammie pants, and he is biting his lip, cursing that the single hottest woman in the history of womanhood is on his lap, exhaling moist, hot air against his very hard, very sensitive dick and sound asleep.
He’s clutching the remote like he’s about to beat it to death for mortally offending each and every single member of his entire family, staring at the TV with grim resolve that he will not reach down, slip his hand under her shirt, and begin to stroke her nipples. He’s thirty-seven, he can control himself. And she needs her sleep. She’s made it very clear that unless the world is about to end, she does not want to be woken up.
So he’s not going to do it.
He’s going to sit there and be the most sexually frustrated pillow ever.
She shifts a little more, and now her mouth is pressed against his dick.
He closed his eyes, refusing to look, because if he looks, he’s going to touch, and if he touches he’s going to wake her up.
“God, Tim, what am I going to have to do to get you to touch me? Pull it out and suck it?”
“You’re awake?”
“Ish.” Her eyes haven’t opened, but she’s definitely lipping his dick through his pants.
It takes about thirty seconds, but he’s out of his pants and lying on the sofa spooned up behind her, nuzzling her neck and cupping her breast in his hand. “All you have to do is let me know you aren’t sleeping.”
“I’m not sleeping.”
“Thank God!”
“You don’t believe in God.”
“Then thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Help me get out of these pants.”
“Yes!”
About another thirty seconds later she’s kicking them off as his hand snakes under her shirt to stroke her breasts.
“Been staring at them for hours,” he says, whole hand lightly circling over her breast. “Been thinking about licking them, sucking on them, just grazing my teeth over them.”
“Hours?”
“Yeah, you’ve been snuggled up in my lap for three Supernatural episodes, and I don’t know what this shirt’s made out of, but it just clings to you,” he’s tugging on it, trying to pull it up, but the fact that she’s laying down makes that a little less effective than he’d like. If he had a knife anywhere nearby he’d be really tempted to cut if off of her, one of her few decent fitting t-shirts or not.
But he didn’t. She rolls him onto his back, then sits up, straddling his hips, and pulls it over her head.
“God, you’re so beautiful.” His hands land on her hips and he holds her in place while he sits up, twists around, and gets them sitting with his back against the sofa. “Perfect.” Like this her breasts are right at mouth level on him, and she can ride him at whatever pace and depth she likes.
As they found out last week, at an especially inopportune moment, these days too deep really hurts. Which means these days he’s pretty nervous about any position where he controls the depth.
She slips down onto him, and he hisses at how good it feels. Tight, wet, hot, and wrapped around him, so so good.
She’s moving slowly, not much up and down, mostly just rolling her hips, but with every roll her breasts jiggle a little, and he’s watching them, mesmerized, fingers very gently feathering over her nipples, tracing the newly visible veins along her chest.
He takes her nipple into his mouth, alternating soft, light sucks with pulling gently with his teeth. Her hands clench in his hair as she throws her head back and moans, so he figures she likes that.
“Good?”
“God, Tim, don’t stop!”
He rolls his tongue over her nipple as he lightly strokes down both sides of her breast with his fingers. “How about this?”
A long, deep moan is his answer.
He uses his fingernails to scrape, lightly, on one nipple while he went back to the soft, wet sucks on the other. He’s settling into what he considered a nice, steady rhythm, alternating soft and sharp sensations when Abby suddenly tightens on him, holding his head against her chest, high-pitched moans coming faster and breathier, and then she sort of lightly twitched all over, her pussy softly rippling against him.
She relaxes against him, catching her breath, and he kisses her shoulder.
“Ummm… was that?” Not that he’s unfamiliar with what Abby getting off looks, feels, tastes, sounds, and smells like, but that was a whole lot faster and gentler than normal.
She gives him a sort of sleepy, satisfied smile. “Oh yeah.”
“Wow.” Sure, they’ve done quickies before, but that was like, three minutes, and he wasn’t touching her clit.
“Increased blood flow to the pelvis is pretty nice.”
“So it seems.”
“Everything is a whole lot more sensitive.”
He nods. “So, sensitive like, stop touching me, or sensitive like, two or three more rounds seems like a really good idea?”
Her smile widens. “At least one more round.” She squeezes against him. “Can’t be done yet, you haven’t gotten off.”
“There is that.” He grinds against her, and she sighs, pleased. “So, would you like it if I got down on the floor, spread your legs wide, and saw how fast I could get you off by licking your clit?”
She kissed the tip of his nose, looking very pleased. “I could go for that.”
He pulls her face down, and kisses her long and slow, his tongue making explicit promises of what’s to come, then breaks away to say, “What if I wanted to see how long I could lick it before I got you off?”
That got a hot look and a long, hard tongue-trusting kiss from her. “That doesn’t sound bad, either.”
“And after that, I want to go back to your breasts. I want to straddle you and slide between them.”
“That sounds good.” She slips off of him, and scoots down so her hips are even with the edge of the sofa.Their sofa probably wasn’t designed with sex in mind. Probably. Who knows? But it’s sturdy, offers good back support, (the reason they kept her sofa and not his. His sofa might have been okay for napping, but wasn’t nearly firm enough for anything friskier than spooning.) and is the exact right height for Abby to sit on it while Tim knelt in front of her and slipped in, or stood and she blew him.
What it isn’t great for is oral where he’s on the giving side of the equation. It’s about two inches too low for that. (Well, the seat’s two inches too low. The arm’s about three inches too high, and doesn’t offer good leg support for her. And the back… well… yeah… let’s just say that while this sofa is sturdy, it wasn’t designed to handle a large load on the back vigorously bouncing around, and that if you do something like that it tips over, and well, that just wasn’t much fun, at all.)
But, well, the occasional sore neck is a minor price to pay for the sublime joy of Abby coming on his tongue. And after all, if you aren’t willing to sacrifice for your art, what kind of man are you? (Writing? Writing is his hobby; it’s a craft. He bangs out solid, satisfactory mysteries with an occasional really great line or scene. But fucking Abby, that’s his art. The feeling that gives him, the passion going into doing it, that’s the reason art exists. If he were a painter, her body would be his favorite canvas. If he was a musician, she’d be his favorite instrument. And as a poet, her moans and cries are his favorite verse.)
And even with the idea of slow, she’s on enough of a hair trigger right now that he was only able to spin her out for ten minutes.
Ten very good minutes. Ten minutes of light, slow, gentle licks, just bare hints of the tip of his tongue ghosting over her, while she squirmed and moaned and cursed, pulling on his hair, begging him for harder or faster.He didn’t go faster, Abby gently slipping into a slow climax is amazing, and he loves watching it. He did go harder, rolling his tongue over her in focused, firm circles, increasing his pressure as she arched her hips against his mouth.
This time he’s expecting it. He felt her body tighten, heard her moans go higher pitched, felt her clench and twitch, body shaking against him.
He rests his face against her thigh, letting her come down, enjoying hearing her post-orgasmic purring, as she lightly petted his hair.
After a few minutes she says, “So what’s this about my breasts?”
He looks up at her. “I was thinking that if you were to sort of kneel.” She starts to shift, but he keeps her still, his hand on her hips. “Not yet. We’ll need lube for this, and I don’t feel like getting up and going to the bedroom for it, especially not when,” he kisses her pussy, wet and soft lips and tongue slipping along her, “you’re right here and very wet and slippery. Anyway, if you were to sort of kneel, sit with your feet under you, and lean back against the sofa, and if I were to straddle your legs and kneel, I’d be at just the right height to rub off between your breasts.”
“And you want to do that?” He’s never mentioned being interested in that before, so she’s a little surprised at it.
“Been dreaming about it for hours now. You were lying on your side, and they were pressed up against each other, and all I could think about was what it would feel like to slip between them.”
She grins, and then presses her breasts together and up. “Sounds good.”
He leans forward to kiss each one. “So beautiful.” Then he shifts from sitting to kneeling, and thrust into her, reveling in the feel of her body on his, watching himself fuck her. “This is awfully nice, too.”
She sits up and kisses him. “Don’t get distracted.” Then pulls off of him, settles her feet under her, and uses one hand to hold her breasts together.
He takes in the full image of her, kneeling on the sofa, breasts together, waiting for him. “Oh… That looks so good.”
“Bet it feels better.”
He hops onto the sofa, her legs between his, and scoots a little closer, slipping his dick between her breasts. “Oh, FUCK!” And yeah, it looks exactly as good as he thought it would and feels about a thousand times better. “I really hope you like being pregnant because I’m keeping you this way as long as I possibly can.”
She giggles at that, dips her head, and licks the tip of him as he thrust up.
“Oh…” His teeth clench as he watches her do it. “That’s even better.”
He set a fairly quick pace, grabbing the back of the sofa for balance, not wanting to stretch this out any further. A few strokes in she says, “Bet I can make this better.”
He feels her hand on his balls, rolling them, tugging gently, and yeah, that is better, that is so better, that is all sorts of better, and he actually growls at her when she takes that hand away.
“Hush.” She grazes her teeth over the head of his dick. “You’ll like this.”
He can’t see what she’s doing with that hand, but he has a general idea of where it has to be, between her legs, and he isn’t sure if she’s rubbing herself off or not, because the only thing he’s looking at is his dick slipping between her breasts, plump white flesh wrapped around him, and her tongue lapping at the tip as it pokes out from between them.
But he certainly feels it when a slick finger slips behind his balls and starts to ease its way inside of him. And fuck that was… just… She twists it, finds what she’s looking for, and presses forward.
“Oh, God, shit! Abby!” Fuck that feels good, and he’s so close that the only thing keeping him from cumming all over her is the fact that she doesn’t like it, and it occurs to him he didn’t think this part through very well, and “Fuck!” she twitches her finger just a little more, rubbing his prostate, and, “Oh God!” she bends her head, takes the tip of him into her mouth, sucks hard, and he’s just gone, riding the pleasure coursing through his body.
When he’s paying attention again, he notices her gently nuzzling his belly. This is also when it occurs to him that he got her naked, but he’s still in his t-shirt and socks.
“You liked that?” she asks.
“Oh yeah!” He sits back on the sofa, next to her and looks at the back of it. “Left grip marks on the sofa.”
It’s made of that microfiber suede-style stuff that shows where and how you touch it. It feels really nice, but if you ever touch it, it leaves marks.
She giggled at that, and got up to wash off. A minute later she was back with a warm, wet washcloth and he took care of himself.
She’s up, doing something, and he’s just sort of laying around, dozing on the sofa.
“Hey.”
“Yeah?”
“C’mere.” He holds out his hand to her, and she takes it. He tugs her back onto the sofa and spoons up behind her.
“I’m going to fall asleep if I lay down again.”
“So? I’m going to fall asleep, too.”
“Be nice to get something done besides sleeping today.”
“We got groceries and had sex. Eventually we’ll make dinner, maybe have more sex. That’s a full day.”
She laughs at that.
“I’ll get cold.”
He reaches behind himself, grabs the blanket from the back of the sofa, and tosses it over them. “I’ll keep you warm. Get a nap with me. Then we can stay up late tonight.”
“Okay.”
Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 129: Any Man Who Was Ever Worth A Damn
He was prepared for food cravings.
Of all the traditional pregnant dad jobs, being the provider of whatever food has to be eaten right now was something he was ready, willing, and able to do.
He was kind of surprised when there really weren’t all that many of them.
Mostly it was just frozen wild blueberries.
He’s got no idea what’s in frozen wild blueberries that Kelly might want, (Yeah, they call her McSciuto in front of the others. They aren’t planning on asking Gibbs about Kelly until they know for a fact she’s a she, but when they’re alone they call her Kelly.) but whatever it might be, she really, really wants it.
A lot of it. All the time.
They got a Costco membership for one reason and one reason only, they’re the only place nearby that sells five-pound bags of frozen wild blueberries. And yeah, they get some curious stares when they’re in line with only three bags of blueberries in the cart.
And they need them because Abby’s going through about two pounds of blueberries a day.
Which isn’t to say there’s not the occasional I have to have (insert name of food here) right this second or I will go insane. There’s been some of that. (Three days earlier when Abby had a melt-down because there were no candy bars with nougat in the vending machine caused everyone to just sit and stare at her in utter, speechless shock.) But for the most part, as long as Abby has a CafPow cup full of frozen blueberries and a spoon handy, she’s good.
“I’m not helpless!” Abby said, standing next to the trunk of her car, glaring at Tim as he grabbed every single grocery bag in it.
“I know,” Tim said, groceries piled high in his arms.
“Then let me take some of them in,” she said as she slammed the trunk of the roadster shut.
“Nope. Though if you felt like getting the door for me this would be a lot easier.” Yeah, he can carry the whole load in one go, but he can’t do that and open the door to their home.
“You look like an idiot trying to get all of them in one trip.”
“Then I’ll look like an idiot. If I don’t grab them all, you grab them.”
“Because I can get them. Carrying a few grocery bags is not an issue.”
“Do you want to stand out here in the cold and argue with me about this, or do you want to open the door so we can argue about it inside where it’s nice and warm?”
Abby glared at Tim, again, but did head over and open the door, because honestly it’s pretty damn cold out there. Rumor has it that the thermometer might get to the low 30s today, but he’s fairly sure that isn’t going to happen.
“Thank you,” Tim said, stomping snow off his boots on the porch and heading into the kitchen, relieved to be able to put the groceries down, because honestly, it was too much to take in one trip.
“You pull your back doing that, and I’m not rubbing it.”
“I can hold you up for a half hour, the groceries aren’t going to be a problem.” And they aren’t from a too heavy perspective; it’s just awkward to try and hold a whole cart’s worth at one time.
He headed back to the foyer, hung his coat up, and put his boots away.
“I don’t like being treated like I’m made of glass.” Abby sat on the bottom step and unzipped her boots.
“I know.”
“So why are you doing it?” She took her coat off and handed it to him. He hung it up.
Tim shrugged. “Because I can. Because you’re the mother of my child and I want to protect, pamper, and baby you. Because this is the only time I’ll get to do this. Next time you’re pregnant, we’ll have an actual baby to baby. And because, if you slip on the damn ice because you were carrying a grocery bag and couldn’t see the path or something, not only will Jethro slap me upside the back of the head with a two by four, a two by four that Jimmy will go out and buy for him for precisely that purpose, I’ll deserve it because there’s only one job a pregnant father has and that’s keeping his wife in good shape.”
“And if I slip on the ice and fall and you can’t catch me because you’re carrying every grocery bag all at once?”
Tim stared her right in the eye and said, voice dead serious, “I’ll catch you. Eggs’ll get broken, but you won’t hit the ground.”
It’s possible that Abby could have rolled her eyes harder, but it’s not likely.
He shrugged and sighed at that. “Look, just chalk it up to insane pregnant daddy stuff, and leave it there. Jimmy did it for Breena. Jethro did it for Shannon. Tony’s going to do it for Ziva until she pulls a knife on him. It’s what we’re designed to do. Seriously, there’s only one reason men exist and that’s to keep their women and kids alive and well. If we were hunter-gathers, it’d be my job to kill the wooly mammoths, bring their bodies to you, and then fight off the wolves. The least I can do is drag some groceries in from the car.”
“Uh huh.” This line of argument was not impressing her. “Do I need to pull a knife on you?”
“I’d really rather you didn’t.” He’s leaning back against the door to the coat closet. “Is it that annoying?”
She’s sitting on the bottom step, arms crossed over her chest, looking angry and defensive. “It’s pretty damn annoying! I’m a grown woman. I’ve run my own lab for over a decade. And as Chip found out, I can handle myself. And it’s not just you. Suddenly Gibbs has also decided that anything involving any physical effort is just too much for me and I can’t be allowed to do it.”
“Gibbs failed!” His voice was quiet, but very intense as he said it.
“What?” That completely derailed Abby’s anger, and confusion replaced it. She wasn’t following where he was taking this.
“His woman and child didn’t make it, and if you ever pump enough alcohol into him to shut down his defenses, like I have, he’ll tell you that. He failed at the job that mattered the most to him. He ran into your lab, in front of a bomb, to get to you because either both of you were going to die or neither of you, but he wasn’t going to bury you. He can take grief. Jenny, Mike, Kate, that was grief. But if he fails another daughter, and these days that’s you and Ziva, or another child, that’s our Kelly, and it’ll break him for good. He’ll crawl into that basement and eat his gun. So, no, he’s not about to let you do anything that might carry even the slightest risk of anything happening to you when he’s around. And God have mercy on all of us when Ziva gets pregnant because her on anything other than desk duty will drive him insane. He’s failed as many times as he can take; he’s not going to do it again!”
“He didn’t fail. No one could have… He didn’t fail!” Abby looked utterly horrified at not just that idea but that Tim would say it.
He knelt in front of Abby, his hands on her shoulders, looking her in the eye, sounding heartbreakingly earnest. “We’re designed for one job and one job only: protect your woman and kids or die trying. Rule Number 44. You’re supposed to outlive us; that’s the point of it; that’s the goal. And if your wife and kids are dead, and you’re still breathing, you failed. And no, it wasn’t his fault. No, there was nothing he could have done to change it. It was completely out of his control. But he still failed. I know it, Jimmy knows it, Tony knows it, any man who was ever worth a damn knows it. And Gibbs knows it, feels it every single day.
“I’ve been with him for twelve years now. I sat in his basement and actually got him to talk. I’ve seen some of the pictures of Kelly and Shannon. And I know exactly how broken he is, and have a good idea of how broken he was, and the idea of being him scares the living hell out of me. So, look, I’m sorry this bugs you, but, just, please, take pity on me and let me do this.” She was softening, but wasn’t entirely convinced. And he was staring at her eyes wide, breath coming fast, sounding anything but calm or collected. “Okay, on a rational level, I know that you carrying in the groceries, or putting up the Christmas tree, or driving us home at night isn’t a problem. Yeah, the sane part of me knows that. But I’m still scared, and doing things for you gives me something I can control, because there’s seventy million things out there I can’t control.” His eyes close at that and he remembers everything he read in the high risk pregnancy pamphlets. Usually he’s pretty good at not thinking about it, but right now it’s very fresh in his mind. “I can’t make sure she doesn’t have Down’s Syndrome. I can’t make sure she’s healthy. I can’t keep your or her heart beating. But I can carry in the fucking groceries, I can shovel the snow, I can get up on the ladder to put the Christmas lights up, and I can drive us home from work, so, just, let me, okay?”
She wrapped him in her arms and held onto him for a long time, until his breathing went back to normal and he felt calm to her. Her head rested on his shoulder, lips against his throat, feeling his heart slow back down to normal. “Okay.” She pulled back and kissed his forehead, then smiled, trying to lighten things. “So, does carrying in the groceries extend to putting them away?”
He caught her desire to shift the mood and played back with her. “Nope. That’s totally your job.” He winked at her. “I just lugged the damn things in. You can put them away.” She snorted a laugh, and he kissed her quickly on the lips. “Come on, let’s get them put away.”
“Sounds good. Lunch after?” she asked as they headed into the kitchen.
“Sure, maybe some Supernatural after that?”
“For you,” Abby began taking food out of the bags. “I’ll be asleep before the first person gets murdered. Is it murder when a monster or spirit does it?”
“Probably not. It’s got to be illegal to be a murder, and the law doesn’t cover monster and spirits.” Tim held up the package of chicken breasts. “For dinner?”
“Sure. Stir fry ‘em with the broccoli?”
He nodded and located the broccoli, setting them aside.
“Okay, I’ll be asleep before the first person gets killed.”
“Then you can nap on me, and I’ll watch Supernatural.”
Next
Chapter 129: Any Man Who Was Ever Worth A Damn
He was prepared for food cravings.
Of all the traditional pregnant dad jobs, being the provider of whatever food has to be eaten right now was something he was ready, willing, and able to do.
He was kind of surprised when there really weren’t all that many of them.
Mostly it was just frozen wild blueberries.
He’s got no idea what’s in frozen wild blueberries that Kelly might want, (Yeah, they call her McSciuto in front of the others. They aren’t planning on asking Gibbs about Kelly until they know for a fact she’s a she, but when they’re alone they call her Kelly.) but whatever it might be, she really, really wants it.
A lot of it. All the time.
They got a Costco membership for one reason and one reason only, they’re the only place nearby that sells five-pound bags of frozen wild blueberries. And yeah, they get some curious stares when they’re in line with only three bags of blueberries in the cart.
And they need them because Abby’s going through about two pounds of blueberries a day.
Which isn’t to say there’s not the occasional I have to have (insert name of food here) right this second or I will go insane. There’s been some of that. (Three days earlier when Abby had a melt-down because there were no candy bars with nougat in the vending machine caused everyone to just sit and stare at her in utter, speechless shock.) But for the most part, as long as Abby has a CafPow cup full of frozen blueberries and a spoon handy, she’s good.
“I’m not helpless!” Abby said, standing next to the trunk of her car, glaring at Tim as he grabbed every single grocery bag in it.
“I know,” Tim said, groceries piled high in his arms.
“Then let me take some of them in,” she said as she slammed the trunk of the roadster shut.
“Nope. Though if you felt like getting the door for me this would be a lot easier.” Yeah, he can carry the whole load in one go, but he can’t do that and open the door to their home.
“You look like an idiot trying to get all of them in one trip.”
“Then I’ll look like an idiot. If I don’t grab them all, you grab them.”
“Because I can get them. Carrying a few grocery bags is not an issue.”
“Do you want to stand out here in the cold and argue with me about this, or do you want to open the door so we can argue about it inside where it’s nice and warm?”
Abby glared at Tim, again, but did head over and open the door, because honestly it’s pretty damn cold out there. Rumor has it that the thermometer might get to the low 30s today, but he’s fairly sure that isn’t going to happen.
“Thank you,” Tim said, stomping snow off his boots on the porch and heading into the kitchen, relieved to be able to put the groceries down, because honestly, it was too much to take in one trip.
“You pull your back doing that, and I’m not rubbing it.”
“I can hold you up for a half hour, the groceries aren’t going to be a problem.” And they aren’t from a too heavy perspective; it’s just awkward to try and hold a whole cart’s worth at one time.
He headed back to the foyer, hung his coat up, and put his boots away.
“I don’t like being treated like I’m made of glass.” Abby sat on the bottom step and unzipped her boots.
“I know.”
“So why are you doing it?” She took her coat off and handed it to him. He hung it up.
Tim shrugged. “Because I can. Because you’re the mother of my child and I want to protect, pamper, and baby you. Because this is the only time I’ll get to do this. Next time you’re pregnant, we’ll have an actual baby to baby. And because, if you slip on the damn ice because you were carrying a grocery bag and couldn’t see the path or something, not only will Jethro slap me upside the back of the head with a two by four, a two by four that Jimmy will go out and buy for him for precisely that purpose, I’ll deserve it because there’s only one job a pregnant father has and that’s keeping his wife in good shape.”
“And if I slip on the ice and fall and you can’t catch me because you’re carrying every grocery bag all at once?”
Tim stared her right in the eye and said, voice dead serious, “I’ll catch you. Eggs’ll get broken, but you won’t hit the ground.”
It’s possible that Abby could have rolled her eyes harder, but it’s not likely.
He shrugged and sighed at that. “Look, just chalk it up to insane pregnant daddy stuff, and leave it there. Jimmy did it for Breena. Jethro did it for Shannon. Tony’s going to do it for Ziva until she pulls a knife on him. It’s what we’re designed to do. Seriously, there’s only one reason men exist and that’s to keep their women and kids alive and well. If we were hunter-gathers, it’d be my job to kill the wooly mammoths, bring their bodies to you, and then fight off the wolves. The least I can do is drag some groceries in from the car.”
“Uh huh.” This line of argument was not impressing her. “Do I need to pull a knife on you?”
“I’d really rather you didn’t.” He’s leaning back against the door to the coat closet. “Is it that annoying?”
She’s sitting on the bottom step, arms crossed over her chest, looking angry and defensive. “It’s pretty damn annoying! I’m a grown woman. I’ve run my own lab for over a decade. And as Chip found out, I can handle myself. And it’s not just you. Suddenly Gibbs has also decided that anything involving any physical effort is just too much for me and I can’t be allowed to do it.”
“Gibbs failed!” His voice was quiet, but very intense as he said it.
“What?” That completely derailed Abby’s anger, and confusion replaced it. She wasn’t following where he was taking this.
“His woman and child didn’t make it, and if you ever pump enough alcohol into him to shut down his defenses, like I have, he’ll tell you that. He failed at the job that mattered the most to him. He ran into your lab, in front of a bomb, to get to you because either both of you were going to die or neither of you, but he wasn’t going to bury you. He can take grief. Jenny, Mike, Kate, that was grief. But if he fails another daughter, and these days that’s you and Ziva, or another child, that’s our Kelly, and it’ll break him for good. He’ll crawl into that basement and eat his gun. So, no, he’s not about to let you do anything that might carry even the slightest risk of anything happening to you when he’s around. And God have mercy on all of us when Ziva gets pregnant because her on anything other than desk duty will drive him insane. He’s failed as many times as he can take; he’s not going to do it again!”
“He didn’t fail. No one could have… He didn’t fail!” Abby looked utterly horrified at not just that idea but that Tim would say it.
He knelt in front of Abby, his hands on her shoulders, looking her in the eye, sounding heartbreakingly earnest. “We’re designed for one job and one job only: protect your woman and kids or die trying. Rule Number 44. You’re supposed to outlive us; that’s the point of it; that’s the goal. And if your wife and kids are dead, and you’re still breathing, you failed. And no, it wasn’t his fault. No, there was nothing he could have done to change it. It was completely out of his control. But he still failed. I know it, Jimmy knows it, Tony knows it, any man who was ever worth a damn knows it. And Gibbs knows it, feels it every single day.
“I’ve been with him for twelve years now. I sat in his basement and actually got him to talk. I’ve seen some of the pictures of Kelly and Shannon. And I know exactly how broken he is, and have a good idea of how broken he was, and the idea of being him scares the living hell out of me. So, look, I’m sorry this bugs you, but, just, please, take pity on me and let me do this.” She was softening, but wasn’t entirely convinced. And he was staring at her eyes wide, breath coming fast, sounding anything but calm or collected. “Okay, on a rational level, I know that you carrying in the groceries, or putting up the Christmas tree, or driving us home at night isn’t a problem. Yeah, the sane part of me knows that. But I’m still scared, and doing things for you gives me something I can control, because there’s seventy million things out there I can’t control.” His eyes close at that and he remembers everything he read in the high risk pregnancy pamphlets. Usually he’s pretty good at not thinking about it, but right now it’s very fresh in his mind. “I can’t make sure she doesn’t have Down’s Syndrome. I can’t make sure she’s healthy. I can’t keep your or her heart beating. But I can carry in the fucking groceries, I can shovel the snow, I can get up on the ladder to put the Christmas lights up, and I can drive us home from work, so, just, let me, okay?”
She wrapped him in her arms and held onto him for a long time, until his breathing went back to normal and he felt calm to her. Her head rested on his shoulder, lips against his throat, feeling his heart slow back down to normal. “Okay.” She pulled back and kissed his forehead, then smiled, trying to lighten things. “So, does carrying in the groceries extend to putting them away?”
He caught her desire to shift the mood and played back with her. “Nope. That’s totally your job.” He winked at her. “I just lugged the damn things in. You can put them away.” She snorted a laugh, and he kissed her quickly on the lips. “Come on, let’s get them put away.”
“Sounds good. Lunch after?” she asked as they headed into the kitchen.
“Sure, maybe some Supernatural after that?”
“For you,” Abby began taking food out of the bags. “I’ll be asleep before the first person gets murdered. Is it murder when a monster or spirit does it?”
“Probably not. It’s got to be illegal to be a murder, and the law doesn’t cover monster and spirits.” Tim held up the package of chicken breasts. “For dinner?”
“Sure. Stir fry ‘em with the broccoli?”
He nodded and located the broccoli, setting them aside.
“Okay, I’ll be asleep before the first person gets killed.”
“Then you can nap on me, and I’ll watch Supernatural.”
Next
June 21, 2013
Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 128: McSciuto
The OB’s appointment was the first Friday in December. Abby was irked at the getting it set up thing; the different people at the doctor’s office kept asking for the first day of Abby’s last period. But that was in August, and unlikely to be of any help.
Abby kept telling them she knew what day she ovulated on, and likely conceived, but they didn’t want that date.
Finally, she just made one up. Officially the first day of her last period was October 9, fourteen days before she ovulated, and about when it should have been.
Their doctor, Andrea Draz, wanted to see them at six weeks. Which was the end of November, and the middle of a hot case, and neither of them could make it.
Which meant December 6, 2014, they were both sitting in a pleasant office, filling out forms about their insurance and Abby’s health, waiting for the first baby checkup.
It blows Tim’s mind how different this is in real life.
He’s heard about it. Go down to Autopsy and not only is there a rather large collection of photos of Molly pinned up behind the computers but there’s six shots of the new baby (who Jimmy and Breena are calling Sammy, not because they intend to name him/her that, but because it’s pretty gender neutral and they know they aren’t going to call the baby any variation of Sam, so it’ll be easy to drop once they do have a name.) at six weeks along, and shortly after New Year’s there’ll be a new collection of shots of Sammy at 20 weeks.
And Jimmy is more than happy to talk anyone-who-might-ask’s ear off about the whole thing.
He wrote about it. McGregor and Amy had been friends with benefits until about halfway through The Traitor Within, when things got more serious, and Most Precious started with them seeing the ultrasound of their baby. (The need for said ultrasound being what kicked them from friends with benefits to real lovers. Little known fact, yes, Tim bases all of his characters on people he knows, but that doesn’t mean they lead the same lives. He likes to take the core people and then imagine what they’d do in different situations. Let all of them live somewhat different lives.)
But actually standing there, holding Abby’s hand, looking at the small, grainy, white on black read out, watching that tiny heart thrum, hearing the fast woosh, woosh, woosh, just… blows his mind.
The ultrasound tech is pointing out leg buds and the tiny little beginnings of hands, and how the baby has a tail right now, but that’ll go away soon, and all of the details she’s talking about are sort of washing over him, blurring into a drone of white noise centered on that image of their child.
Their baby, about half an inch long, the size and shape of a small shrimp really, but theirs, and alive, and real.
And there aren’t words for it. He thought there were. Thought he could find them, thought he had found them, but like how he feels about Abby, there’s just… an approximation. It’s the difference between reading about the sun setting over the ocean through storm clouds, gleams of red, amber, and fire orange through black and silver, and actually seeing it first hand, feeling the wind on your skin and the cool of the water between your toes as the sun vanishes.
In general, Tim and Abby are both fairly positive people. And part of that comes from the fact that both of them have a certain coping mechanism that allows them to sort of, shut out/gloss over/ignore, unpleasant facts.
So, while it’s true it wasn’t a shock that Abby automatically gets considered a high risk pregnancy just because of her age, it also wasn’t the sort of thing either of them had been dwelling on. (Beyond both of them being very aware of Abby taking very good care of herself.)
And, it’s also not a shock that the risks for just about every possible thing that could go wrong with a baby get higher when you start out older, but that’s also something they haven’t been thinking about.
But, armed with a huge stack of information, and their OB suggesting that it would be a very good idea to see about having every sort of genetic testing available done soon, it’s kind of hard to shut that away. So they made an appointment for Nuchal Fold testing (see if the baby had Down’s Symdrome or a host of other issues) promised to read up, and pretty much stuffed the pamphlets not directly related to the care and feeding of a pregnant woman/baby in to Abby’s purse, and tried to ignore them.
It was much easier to look at the ultrasound pictures again than it was to think about what might be wrong.
They went straight from the OB appointment to Shabbat at Tony and Ziva’s place. Fridays where they aren’t on call that weekend and haven’t caught a case tend to end pretty early for Team Gibbs these days. (Though it’ll even out again in the summer when the sun stays high until after eight.)
Gibbs pulled into the parking space next to theirs just as they were shutting the doors to Abby’s car.
“Gibbs! Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs!” Abby bounded over to him, wrapping him in a huge hug, almost before he’s all the way out of the car. He’s looking at Tim over her shoulder with a it’s great that you’re glad to see me, but we just saw each other two hours agosort of look, but Tim’s grinning and pretty bouncy right now, too.
Abby finally pulls back and whips the copies of the ultrasound out of her purse. “Here, you have to see them! Look!”
Gibbs had his arm around Abby as she holds up the first of the shots, and Tim watched as a very deep, very satisfied smile spreads across Gibbs’ face.
He closed on both of them, pressing up against Abby’s other side, as she pointed out arm and leg buds and how the baby’s the size of her thumbnail.
Gibbs kissed Abby’s temple, not taking his eyes off the picture. “She’s beautiful Abbs.”
“We don’t know if she’s a she yet.”
Gibbs just smiled and squeezed Tim’s shoulder.
The rest of the crew cooed appreciatively over the scans once they got up to Tony and Ziva’s place.
“So, what are you going to call her, you know, until you know for sure she’s a she?” Breena asked.
The tradition of a temporary name took hold when Molly was still on the inside and it turned out that no one in their family liked calling a baby it. Tony had actually started it by calling her Golf Ball after Jimmy said that was about how big she was.
Which resulted in Jimmy declaring no kid of his was going by Golf Ball (so Tony kept calling her that for roughly the next four months, though Autopsy Baby, Baby Gremlin, Little Gremlin, and Palmlette, all got rotated through, as well). Breena came up with Gabe, which they both liked as a placeholder for until they knew more about their baby. (Like, for example, Gabe was a girl. In the two months between finding out Gabe was a girl and finally settling on Molly, Gabe became Gabrielle.)
Abby looked at Tim for a good tenth of a second, just long enough for him to nod. “McSciuto. After that, probably a family name. Got to make sure she’s really a girl first.”
“Family name, like, Gloria, right?” Breena asked.
“Glory McGee…” Tim cringed while Abby said it. “Wow… um… no. I mean, yes, that’s my mom’s name, but no… Don’t like that at all.”
“We’ll pick this up later. It’s time to light the candles,” Ziva broke in. They gathered around the dinner table. It’s traditional to have at least one candle per person at the gathering. The two main ones were on the table, the others scattered around the dining room. And while Ziva lit the two main candles, Tony turned off the lights, and lit the others.
Ziva said the first of the blessings, and then turned it over to Jimmy and Breena.
The Shabbat celebration starts with a general prayer of thanksgiving. Thanks for this day of rest. It’s followed by a blessing for each child present, given by their parents.
Jimmy held Molly as Breena laid her hands on Molly’s head, saying:
“Y'simcha elohim ksarah rivkah rahel v'lei'ahY'varech'cha adonai v'yishm'recha
Ya'eir adonai panav eilecha vihuneka
Yisa adonai panav eilecha v'yaseim l'cha shalom.”*
Tim watched, standing just behind Abby, his chin on her shoulder, hands on her hips, fingers lightly rubbing over her belly. This time next year, they’ll be doing this, too. And he knows he’s smiling, knows it probably looks stupid, but he doesn’t care. He kissed Abby’s neck, holding her close to him, thinking the blessing along with Breena, and it doesn’t matter that he’s not sure about the whole God thing, let alone Jewish, he deeply appreciates the value of this, and the vast respect visible in the idea of taking time out each and every week to tell your children you want the best for them and appreciate them.
He wonders idly if things could have been different with his dad if he had grown up in a culture that made time every week to bless your children, if his dad had grown up with that idea and been expected to pass it on. Hell, if he had grown up in a culture that expected you to put the working world aside one day a week and spend it resting with the people you loved. He catches Tony’s eye and has the feeling that Tony’s thought the same thing, maybe not right this second, but he’s wondered it.
Probably wouldn’t have mattered. Theoretically Catholics take Sundays off. His dad didn’t. Tony’s didn’t either. Eli David did grow up in this culture; it didn’t seem to do much for him. Not that John McGee or Tony DiNozzo Sr. were any prizes when it came to the dad lottery, but Eli David wasn’t so much a different level of bad dad, as an entirely different category. Though, in trying to be fair, Tim doesn’t know what Eli was like before Tali died, his family shattered, or Ari turned on him. Ziva doesn’t talk about that much.
But as he pets Abby’s stomach, he knows he will be a man who makes the time to be with his kids. And that the tiny person growing inside Abby is going to know that every single day of her life, she’s been loved.
*May God make you like Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, and Leah/May God bless you and keep you/May God’s presence radiate upon you and grant you graciousness/May God’s presence be with you and grant you peace.
Chapter 128: McSciuto
The OB’s appointment was the first Friday in December. Abby was irked at the getting it set up thing; the different people at the doctor’s office kept asking for the first day of Abby’s last period. But that was in August, and unlikely to be of any help.
Abby kept telling them she knew what day she ovulated on, and likely conceived, but they didn’t want that date.
Finally, she just made one up. Officially the first day of her last period was October 9, fourteen days before she ovulated, and about when it should have been.
Their doctor, Andrea Draz, wanted to see them at six weeks. Which was the end of November, and the middle of a hot case, and neither of them could make it.
Which meant December 6, 2014, they were both sitting in a pleasant office, filling out forms about their insurance and Abby’s health, waiting for the first baby checkup.
It blows Tim’s mind how different this is in real life.
He’s heard about it. Go down to Autopsy and not only is there a rather large collection of photos of Molly pinned up behind the computers but there’s six shots of the new baby (who Jimmy and Breena are calling Sammy, not because they intend to name him/her that, but because it’s pretty gender neutral and they know they aren’t going to call the baby any variation of Sam, so it’ll be easy to drop once they do have a name.) at six weeks along, and shortly after New Year’s there’ll be a new collection of shots of Sammy at 20 weeks.
And Jimmy is more than happy to talk anyone-who-might-ask’s ear off about the whole thing.
He wrote about it. McGregor and Amy had been friends with benefits until about halfway through The Traitor Within, when things got more serious, and Most Precious started with them seeing the ultrasound of their baby. (The need for said ultrasound being what kicked them from friends with benefits to real lovers. Little known fact, yes, Tim bases all of his characters on people he knows, but that doesn’t mean they lead the same lives. He likes to take the core people and then imagine what they’d do in different situations. Let all of them live somewhat different lives.)
But actually standing there, holding Abby’s hand, looking at the small, grainy, white on black read out, watching that tiny heart thrum, hearing the fast woosh, woosh, woosh, just… blows his mind.The ultrasound tech is pointing out leg buds and the tiny little beginnings of hands, and how the baby has a tail right now, but that’ll go away soon, and all of the details she’s talking about are sort of washing over him, blurring into a drone of white noise centered on that image of their child.
Their baby, about half an inch long, the size and shape of a small shrimp really, but theirs, and alive, and real.
And there aren’t words for it. He thought there were. Thought he could find them, thought he had found them, but like how he feels about Abby, there’s just… an approximation. It’s the difference between reading about the sun setting over the ocean through storm clouds, gleams of red, amber, and fire orange through black and silver, and actually seeing it first hand, feeling the wind on your skin and the cool of the water between your toes as the sun vanishes.
In general, Tim and Abby are both fairly positive people. And part of that comes from the fact that both of them have a certain coping mechanism that allows them to sort of, shut out/gloss over/ignore, unpleasant facts.
So, while it’s true it wasn’t a shock that Abby automatically gets considered a high risk pregnancy just because of her age, it also wasn’t the sort of thing either of them had been dwelling on. (Beyond both of them being very aware of Abby taking very good care of herself.)
And, it’s also not a shock that the risks for just about every possible thing that could go wrong with a baby get higher when you start out older, but that’s also something they haven’t been thinking about.
But, armed with a huge stack of information, and their OB suggesting that it would be a very good idea to see about having every sort of genetic testing available done soon, it’s kind of hard to shut that away. So they made an appointment for Nuchal Fold testing (see if the baby had Down’s Symdrome or a host of other issues) promised to read up, and pretty much stuffed the pamphlets not directly related to the care and feeding of a pregnant woman/baby in to Abby’s purse, and tried to ignore them.
It was much easier to look at the ultrasound pictures again than it was to think about what might be wrong.
They went straight from the OB appointment to Shabbat at Tony and Ziva’s place. Fridays where they aren’t on call that weekend and haven’t caught a case tend to end pretty early for Team Gibbs these days. (Though it’ll even out again in the summer when the sun stays high until after eight.)
Gibbs pulled into the parking space next to theirs just as they were shutting the doors to Abby’s car.
“Gibbs! Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs!” Abby bounded over to him, wrapping him in a huge hug, almost before he’s all the way out of the car. He’s looking at Tim over her shoulder with a it’s great that you’re glad to see me, but we just saw each other two hours agosort of look, but Tim’s grinning and pretty bouncy right now, too.
Abby finally pulls back and whips the copies of the ultrasound out of her purse. “Here, you have to see them! Look!”
Gibbs had his arm around Abby as she holds up the first of the shots, and Tim watched as a very deep, very satisfied smile spreads across Gibbs’ face.
He closed on both of them, pressing up against Abby’s other side, as she pointed out arm and leg buds and how the baby’s the size of her thumbnail.
Gibbs kissed Abby’s temple, not taking his eyes off the picture. “She’s beautiful Abbs.”
“We don’t know if she’s a she yet.”
Gibbs just smiled and squeezed Tim’s shoulder.
The rest of the crew cooed appreciatively over the scans once they got up to Tony and Ziva’s place.
“So, what are you going to call her, you know, until you know for sure she’s a she?” Breena asked.
The tradition of a temporary name took hold when Molly was still on the inside and it turned out that no one in their family liked calling a baby it. Tony had actually started it by calling her Golf Ball after Jimmy said that was about how big she was.
Which resulted in Jimmy declaring no kid of his was going by Golf Ball (so Tony kept calling her that for roughly the next four months, though Autopsy Baby, Baby Gremlin, Little Gremlin, and Palmlette, all got rotated through, as well). Breena came up with Gabe, which they both liked as a placeholder for until they knew more about their baby. (Like, for example, Gabe was a girl. In the two months between finding out Gabe was a girl and finally settling on Molly, Gabe became Gabrielle.)
Abby looked at Tim for a good tenth of a second, just long enough for him to nod. “McSciuto. After that, probably a family name. Got to make sure she’s really a girl first.”
“Family name, like, Gloria, right?” Breena asked.
“Glory McGee…” Tim cringed while Abby said it. “Wow… um… no. I mean, yes, that’s my mom’s name, but no… Don’t like that at all.”
“We’ll pick this up later. It’s time to light the candles,” Ziva broke in. They gathered around the dinner table. It’s traditional to have at least one candle per person at the gathering. The two main ones were on the table, the others scattered around the dining room. And while Ziva lit the two main candles, Tony turned off the lights, and lit the others.
Ziva said the first of the blessings, and then turned it over to Jimmy and Breena.
The Shabbat celebration starts with a general prayer of thanksgiving. Thanks for this day of rest. It’s followed by a blessing for each child present, given by their parents.
Jimmy held Molly as Breena laid her hands on Molly’s head, saying:
“Y'simcha elohim ksarah rivkah rahel v'lei'ahY'varech'cha adonai v'yishm'recha
Ya'eir adonai panav eilecha vihuneka
Yisa adonai panav eilecha v'yaseim l'cha shalom.”*
Tim watched, standing just behind Abby, his chin on her shoulder, hands on her hips, fingers lightly rubbing over her belly. This time next year, they’ll be doing this, too. And he knows he’s smiling, knows it probably looks stupid, but he doesn’t care. He kissed Abby’s neck, holding her close to him, thinking the blessing along with Breena, and it doesn’t matter that he’s not sure about the whole God thing, let alone Jewish, he deeply appreciates the value of this, and the vast respect visible in the idea of taking time out each and every week to tell your children you want the best for them and appreciate them.
He wonders idly if things could have been different with his dad if he had grown up in a culture that made time every week to bless your children, if his dad had grown up with that idea and been expected to pass it on. Hell, if he had grown up in a culture that expected you to put the working world aside one day a week and spend it resting with the people you loved. He catches Tony’s eye and has the feeling that Tony’s thought the same thing, maybe not right this second, but he’s wondered it.
Probably wouldn’t have mattered. Theoretically Catholics take Sundays off. His dad didn’t. Tony’s didn’t either. Eli David did grow up in this culture; it didn’t seem to do much for him. Not that John McGee or Tony DiNozzo Sr. were any prizes when it came to the dad lottery, but Eli David wasn’t so much a different level of bad dad, as an entirely different category. Though, in trying to be fair, Tim doesn’t know what Eli was like before Tali died, his family shattered, or Ari turned on him. Ziva doesn’t talk about that much.
But as he pets Abby’s stomach, he knows he will be a man who makes the time to be with his kids. And that the tiny person growing inside Abby is going to know that every single day of her life, she’s been loved.
*May God make you like Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, and Leah/May God bless you and keep you/May God’s presence radiate upon you and grant you graciousness/May God’s presence be with you and grant you peace.
June 20, 2013
Shards To A WHole: An NCIS Fanfiction
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 127: Holiday Spirit
If you were to ask him, Tim would tell you that Abby is one of the most capable people he knows. You need something done, Abby will shift heaven and earth to get it done.That this is true has in no way negated the fact that he took one look at her with several hundred feet of Christmas lights, a lighting schematic, seven wreathes, (six little ones for the front windows, one big one for the door) a twenty foot ladder, and the tools necessary to attach said items to the house, and immediately took all of those things away from her and declared that he'd decorate the outside of the house.It's not that he's feeling any burning need for a decorated house, let alone one bright enough to be seen from space. (First Christmas in the new house, and Abby's pulling out all the stops.) But there is no way in hell his pregnant wife is getting up on a ladder to drape lights all over their snow and ice encrusted house.No fucking way!Which is also not to say he's particularly enjoying the experience. It snowed twice last winter and twice the winter before that, so to make up for 2012 and 2013, 2014 was steadily dumping inch after inch of snow on them.And in specific it's dumping inch after inch on him as he hangs more and more lights on the house.And, though he wouldn't say it, while he was putting them up, he was sure this was going to be tacky as hell. The newest addition to the 'let's ogle homes decorated by people with too much free time and no taste' tour. (Okay, sure, they don't call it that, but every year Tony goes on the tour and brings back photos of the most incredibly tasteless Christmas decorations in the DC area.)But once it was actually up, and he walked back to the edge of their property, it looked pretty good.In fact, the house outlined in small white lights, wreaths in all the windows, circling a glowing candle (on the inside, Abby must have gotten them up while he was on the roof), more lights circling porch railing and posts, and, well, yeah, that looked really good.
The "McGee" House
He shot some photos of it, and, softly glowing house through a haze of thick, downy snowflakes was pretty damn close to a Hallmark Christmas Card house.Abby came out a minute later, SLR in hand. (Yeah she takes a lot of photos on her phone, but her art shots are done on an old SLR, film, camera. If you've got three hours, she'll tell you all about how she did the artwork in her lab.)"It's perfect!" She sounded a little breathless as she said it, rapidly shooting pics."Thanks." He smiled a little. Not moving anymore means the cold is staring to really settle into him, and he knows in a minute his teeth'll be chattering."I've got hot chocolate on the stove.""Thank you!" That sounded significantly more heartfelt than the previous thanks. "I'm frozen!""Thought you would be." She took half a dozen more shots. "It's really beautiful." She kissed him, pressing in as close as she could with both of them fully bundled for winter."You designed it. I just put it up."She smiled at that. "Still, I want you to know I appreciate you spending two hours in the snow, which I know you don't like, putting them up for me."He nodded, and they headed in.
He was laying on the sofa, savoring the hot chocolate and reading."How is it?" Abby asks, basket of holly in her arms."So good!" It's super dark chocolate, laced with chocolate liquor, rich with lots of milk, spiced with cinnamon, and piled high with whipped cream. He hasn't had any chocolate since their honeymoon, and this is so good it hurts. He's pretty good about the no sugar stuff, but occasional treats make life worth living.Abby was decorating the living room, literally decking the hall with boughs of holly.Tim put down What To Expect When You're Expecting, took another sip, and said, "Books says this is about when morning sickness usually starts.""Not gonna happen," she said as she draped holly over their mantle.His eyebrows rise. He was mentioning it because maybe adding saltines or something like that to the grocery list might be a good plan, but she's sounding awfully certain. "Abby?""Kelly and I had a chat, and I explained that I save people's lives and put killers away, and being tired all the time was already slowing me down, so I can't be tossing my cookies on top of that. She told me she understood, and thus, there will be no morning sickness.""Okay." A few thoughts hit Tim, but he figured he could wrap most of them into a one word question. "Kelly?"She turned toward him and grinned. "Kelly McGee. She's gonna have dark blond hair, green eyes, and love games."That was a mental image he could get behind. (Okay, that was a mental image that made him ridiculously happy.) Then one more thought hit him. "Is Jethro going to be okay with that?"Abby looked perplexed. "Why wouldn't he be?""I don't know, salt in an old wound? Every time he sees her, she won't be his Kelly.""Oh." Abby thought about it. "Then we'll ask him first.""Okay."
Next
Chapter 127: Holiday Spirit
If you were to ask him, Tim would tell you that Abby is one of the most capable people he knows. You need something done, Abby will shift heaven and earth to get it done.That this is true has in no way negated the fact that he took one look at her with several hundred feet of Christmas lights, a lighting schematic, seven wreathes, (six little ones for the front windows, one big one for the door) a twenty foot ladder, and the tools necessary to attach said items to the house, and immediately took all of those things away from her and declared that he'd decorate the outside of the house.It's not that he's feeling any burning need for a decorated house, let alone one bright enough to be seen from space. (First Christmas in the new house, and Abby's pulling out all the stops.) But there is no way in hell his pregnant wife is getting up on a ladder to drape lights all over their snow and ice encrusted house.No fucking way!Which is also not to say he's particularly enjoying the experience. It snowed twice last winter and twice the winter before that, so to make up for 2012 and 2013, 2014 was steadily dumping inch after inch of snow on them.And in specific it's dumping inch after inch on him as he hangs more and more lights on the house.And, though he wouldn't say it, while he was putting them up, he was sure this was going to be tacky as hell. The newest addition to the 'let's ogle homes decorated by people with too much free time and no taste' tour. (Okay, sure, they don't call it that, but every year Tony goes on the tour and brings back photos of the most incredibly tasteless Christmas decorations in the DC area.)But once it was actually up, and he walked back to the edge of their property, it looked pretty good.In fact, the house outlined in small white lights, wreaths in all the windows, circling a glowing candle (on the inside, Abby must have gotten them up while he was on the roof), more lights circling porch railing and posts, and, well, yeah, that looked really good.
The "McGee" HouseHe shot some photos of it, and, softly glowing house through a haze of thick, downy snowflakes was pretty damn close to a Hallmark Christmas Card house.Abby came out a minute later, SLR in hand. (Yeah she takes a lot of photos on her phone, but her art shots are done on an old SLR, film, camera. If you've got three hours, she'll tell you all about how she did the artwork in her lab.)"It's perfect!" She sounded a little breathless as she said it, rapidly shooting pics."Thanks." He smiled a little. Not moving anymore means the cold is staring to really settle into him, and he knows in a minute his teeth'll be chattering."I've got hot chocolate on the stove.""Thank you!" That sounded significantly more heartfelt than the previous thanks. "I'm frozen!""Thought you would be." She took half a dozen more shots. "It's really beautiful." She kissed him, pressing in as close as she could with both of them fully bundled for winter."You designed it. I just put it up."She smiled at that. "Still, I want you to know I appreciate you spending two hours in the snow, which I know you don't like, putting them up for me."He nodded, and they headed in.
He was laying on the sofa, savoring the hot chocolate and reading."How is it?" Abby asks, basket of holly in her arms."So good!" It's super dark chocolate, laced with chocolate liquor, rich with lots of milk, spiced with cinnamon, and piled high with whipped cream. He hasn't had any chocolate since their honeymoon, and this is so good it hurts. He's pretty good about the no sugar stuff, but occasional treats make life worth living.Abby was decorating the living room, literally decking the hall with boughs of holly.Tim put down What To Expect When You're Expecting, took another sip, and said, "Books says this is about when morning sickness usually starts.""Not gonna happen," she said as she draped holly over their mantle.His eyebrows rise. He was mentioning it because maybe adding saltines or something like that to the grocery list might be a good plan, but she's sounding awfully certain. "Abby?""Kelly and I had a chat, and I explained that I save people's lives and put killers away, and being tired all the time was already slowing me down, so I can't be tossing my cookies on top of that. She told me she understood, and thus, there will be no morning sickness.""Okay." A few thoughts hit Tim, but he figured he could wrap most of them into a one word question. "Kelly?"She turned toward him and grinned. "Kelly McGee. She's gonna have dark blond hair, green eyes, and love games."That was a mental image he could get behind. (Okay, that was a mental image that made him ridiculously happy.) Then one more thought hit him. "Is Jethro going to be okay with that?"Abby looked perplexed. "Why wouldn't he be?""I don't know, salt in an old wound? Every time he sees her, she won't be his Kelly.""Oh." Abby thought about it. "Then we'll ask him first.""Okay."
Next
