Keryl Raist's Blog, page 35
April 16, 2013
Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction
McGee centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 61. Labor Day
Labor Day weekend, a Federal holiday, a day for kicking back, relaxing, picnics, the last beach weekend of summer, and, best of all, Team Gibbs wasn't on call.
Which is why three quarters of Team Gibbs, Abby, and the Palmers were planning on doing exactly that, on the beach in the Outer Banks.
Three weeks earlier, as they had wrapped up what normally would have been Pizza Night, but was actually Thank God We're All Alive Celebration Night (grilling at Gibbs' house), Breena said, "Jimmy tells me you aren't on call for Labor Day."
This was met by nods and versions of, "Yep."
"My dad has a place in the Outer Banks." This was where Tim could feel himself, Tony, Ziva, and Abby all frantically thinking of excuses to get out of this, because while they love Breena, her dad is a whole other story. "He and my mom usually go there for the weekends during the summer. But they'll be in Tennessee for Labor Day, so the house will be empty, and Jimmy and I were wondering if you'd all like to come down with us for the long weekend?"
Tim looked at Abby to answer. He's not a huge beach kind of guy, not that he doesn't like it, he spent a lot of most of his summer vacations at the beach, but he'd rather do mountains than shore. Still going sounds fun to him. Abby, on the other hand, isn't so much allergic to sun as not it's biggest fan, so he's not sure if she'd like to spend a weekend more or less laying about in it.
And while Tony and Ziva were jumping on a beach weekend with both feet, Abby gave him a little nod, so he said, "Sure, that sounds like a lot of fun."
Later that night, as they were getting ready for bed he asked, "Do you even own a bathing suit?"She shoved him gently, grinned, went to her dresser, and pulled out a black tankini. He stared at it for a moment, happily imagining her in it. "How about you?"
It occurred to him the last time he had gone swimming he weighed twenty pounds less than he does now. "Yeah, but it's too small." He reaches over for his phone, and seven minutes later he puts it back down. "And now I have one that fits. Or, at least, I will in about three days when it gets here."
"It must be so easy to be a guy. You need clothing, and in less than ten minutes you've got it. I need clothing, and I need to remember which size goes with which brand and how they cut everything and they've got the torso long enough for me..."
Tim listens to her go on about women's clothing for a moment, agreeing with her that sometimes it is nice to be a guy.
"So, come on, romantic beach weekend, romantic beach weekend Breena and I more or less set up precisely for this. You, her, waves gently lapping on a moonlit beach." Palmer's wigging his fingers, mimicking the waves rolling in. "You gonna do it?" They're walking out of NCIS at the end of a not too long day, heading to their respective homes.
Tim sighs. Waves gently lapping on a moonlit beach actually sounds pretty good to him. "Ring still isn't done."
"Still?" Palmer looks disbelieving. "My God! What is this guy doing, mining the ore and smelting it himself?"
"Probably. Last I heard titanium just doesn't do this sort of work well, and he had to melt the whole thing back down again, mess with the alloy some, and begin from scratch."
Palmer rolled his eyes. "Damn it! I doubled my bet."
Tim stops, looks at Jimmy, and sighs. "Anyone have Halloween yet?"
"Nope, not yet."
"Idiots. Take Halloween."
"Okay."
"Really, it better be an awesome present."
"Pool's up to four thousand dollars. It will be."
"I am in the wrong career," Tony said to Ziva on Friday night as they got out of her car and looked at the house in front of them. "I mean, who knew there was this sort of money in funerals?"
They're standing in front of a sprawling blue house on the beach. Literally, on the sand, water about two hundred feet away, glinting in the moonlight, dunes to the left and right, the nearest house a small rectangle of light on the horizon. It's on stilts to deal with possible flooding, and a huge porch wraps around the first floor.
They had beaten the Palmers and... "You think she'll take his last name?"Ziva looks at Tony with a question in her eyes.
"I was just thinking, with the way you drive, we beat the Palmers and... Tim and Abby? The McGees? McGeek and his Gothic Princess? McGoth? McAbby?"
Ziva thought about that while taking her bag out of the trunk of her Mini. Tony eyeballed the bag. "Awfully small bag."
"I do not have a lot of clothing in it." And then she smiled at him, eyes warm and playful. "And the clothing that is in it is tiny."
"Oh, you are so bad."
She smiled again, kissing him quickly, and then hands him his bag. "I think she will take his name. Do you think he'll ask while we're here?"
"No. Palmer says the ring's still being made, and with this much time invested in it, he's not gonna ask without it."
Abby's roadster pulled up, which killed that topic of conversation.
They got out, and Tim grabbed their bag. Abby stared at the house and said, "Wow."
"Yeah," Tony nodded. For a moment they just stood there and appreciated the view.
The sound of one more engine let them know Breena and Palmer had arrived. They got out, and Breena said, "It's even nicer inside."
Saturday morning: Six people playing on the beach, splashing about in the waves. Three of them guys. Three of them girls.
It wasn't too hard to figure out which of the girls went with which guy. Of course, for Tim and Abby there were the matching tats. And even if they hadn't had matching ones, they were the only ones sporting any skin ink. And even if there hadn't been the ink, both of them in black bathing suits, and the wrist cuffs would have been a hint.
Palmer and Breena more or less radiated a sort of sweet, innocent, deeply in love fun that looked like it came right out of a 1950s beach movie. Okay, sure if it had been a 1950s movie, Breena wouldn't have been wearing a bikini four months pregnant, but that didn't really mar the vibe. And Jimmy, in a pair of fairly short and tight swim trunks and an open Hawaiian shirt, certainly fit the 1950s beach movie look to a T.
Tim remembered Jimmy's comment about forgetting what it felt like to wear pants, and realized Palmer's working on forgetting what it feel like to wear shirts this weekend. Granted, he doesn't often get a chance to show off in front of Tim and Tony, and flashing his abs all over the place just might be him doing that.
And Tony and Ziva, tanned, athletic, un-selfconscious and playing in the sand just looked right with each other.
Saturday afternoon: Breena's parents had decorated the porch with two of those double wide recliners with soft cushions and pillows.
He and Abby are camped out on one of them. He's got his laptop and is writing, all goes well he might just wrap this one up this weekend. She's curled, back against his side, on her right, reading a forensics journal. Both of them have earbuds in, listening to their own music.
Jimmy and Breena are on the other one. He's also reading, an actual novel, while she naps next to him. Tim half-notices that from time to time, Jimmy will stop, spend a moment watching his wife, and pet her stomach.
He catches Jimmy's eye the next time he does it. Jimmy smiles at him, and Tim pulls out his earbuds.
"I can feel her moving," Jimmy says quietly.
"It's a her?"
"I think she is. Won't know for sure for a bit."
"So, you're going to find out?"
"Yeah. What are you working on?"
"Deep Six book four. I'm about ten-thousand words short of finished."
"And am I dreaming of sleeping with dead people in this one?" Jimmy says, deadpan.
Tim flashes him a guilty smile. "Ummm... no. Pimmy Jalmer had an unfortunate accident in chapter two and died. The new assistant ME, James Relamp, is proving to be a very capable member of the team and has found the link between all the bodies, thus helping Tibbs and his team home in on the killer."
"Finally. Relamp?
"I'm bad with names."
Palmer's look says, Well, obviously. Then he says, "Necrophilia," snorts, and shakes his head.
"Hey, you've had sex in the morgue."
"Well, okay, yeah, that's true. But not with any of the bodies!"
"Breena got what that scene was really about."
Jimmy's just staring at him.
Tim shrugs. "Fine, my editor said, 'Sex it up,' so I did."
"Tim, if that's where your mind goes when someone tells you to sex something up, you are one sick, sick, sick puppy."
"It was that or make you Ducky's boy toy."
Jimmy shudders. Tim laughs, puts the earbuds back in, and goes back to writing.
Saturday night. Palmer and Abby had done the shopping. Tony and Breena cooked. Which means Tim and Ziva are on dishes.
Which suits Tim just fine. 'Round about an hour earlier he had noticed something. Ziva was holding beer, she was playing with beer, she even lifted the beer to her lips, but the one thing she wasn't actually doing was swallowing beer.
So, as he washes the dishes and she dries, he says, casually, "I noticed you aren't drinking." She smiles a little at that. "Any reason for that?"
"Maybe. I do not know yet, but—"
"You aren't taking any chances."
"No. I'm not."
He looks from their place by the kitchen sink across the dining room to Tony standing next to the TV in the great room, expounding upon their movie options for the night. He grins, remembering the insane rush that went with trying to get Abby pregnant right after he thawed out. That Tony and Ziva might have felt that way too was pretty cool. His eyes wander to Breena, four months pregnant, and he did a little math, wondering if she and Jimmy had come to the same conclusion right after he got kidnapped, and it had just taken a few cycles, or like he and Abby, had to wait for the birth control to get out of her system.
"I wouldn't have thought he'd almost die and decide he wanted babies."
"He does not know, and I'd appreciate it if he doesn't know."
Tim whips his gaze back to Ziva. "How can he not know?"
"I had an oops." He feels a little stupid at that, remembering that not everyone plans every baby in advance. Ziva continues, "Remember the Dawber case?"
"How could I forget?" It was their first real case after Tony got back on duty, and they had worked flat out for almost four straight days.
"I got so tired I forgot to take my pills."
"Oh. You're probably okay. I think you actually have to have sex when you've missed the pill for it to be a problem."
The look she gives him says very eloquently that she knows that.
"When did you even find the time..." And that trails off when Tim remembers that he and Abby had found time for the quickest quickie in the history of quickies during the third night.
They traditionally work days. But if a body gets found before they leave, they end up on the case. The first sailor, John Dawber, was found at 4:30 on Monday. They worked through Monday night and most of Tuesday. Normally they would have gone home to rest at that point, but the next body, Ian Mannin, was found at 4:30 on Tuesday, so they worked through that night. Wednesday, 4:30, all of them but Gibbs shuffling about like tired zombies, found them with yet a third dead sailor.
Midnight on Thursday, he and Abby had done everything they could. Every computer he had access to was looking for something, anything to connect the victims. Major Mass Spec was sorting through yet another batch of trace.
"We need sleep."
She nodded and laid out the lambskin rugs. He looked at them and realized he'd hit the point where he was so tired he couldn't sleep. Too many hours up and your brain gets stuck, it needs something to help shift the chemical processes, let it know it's turn off time. In the past, had he been single, he would have quickly jerked off in the men's room and crashed at his desk.
So he told her that and wrapped up with, "And if you aren't interested, I completely understand. I can take care of this myself. But if you are, I'd certainly appreciate a hand."
Abby looked at him, shrugged, and said, "I've had seventeen Caf-Pows today. I could use something to take the edge off."
And so, on the soft, fluffy lambskin rugs, there was four minutes of the most functional, least erotic or romantic sex of his life. (And yes, he was counting all twenty-two seconds of his first time on that list.) Followed by both of them crashing like a Fokker in a nosedive with the pilot dead at the stick, sharing Bert as a pillow, and sleeping like the dead for almost three hours.
He woke to Gibbs crouching in front of them, Caff-Pow in hand, jogging Abby's shoulder saying, "Talk to me Abbs," as Major Mass Spec beeped in the background.
He tripped over his feet and staggered to his computer, so tired that his eyes were barely willing to focus. He was half aware of Abby reading the results to Gibbs (basically, nothing in this batch is even remotely useful) and slowly his brain woke up enough to see what was on the screen.
"I got it, Boss."
Gibbs turned away from Abby to him. "What?"
"Their ID numbers are all prime factors of 13 and 23. I can't tell you who the killer is, but the next victim is one of these four sailors."
"Good job, Tim." He even got patted on the shoulder. And as Gibbs headed up to the bullpen to tell Tony and Ziva, he looked over his shoulder and said, "McGee."
"Yeah."
"Zip your fly before you come up."
Tim, tired into utter silliness by that point, giggled, snapped into something that only looked like attention to someone who hadn't personally been in the military, fired off a salute, and said, "On it, Boss."
Tim realizes Ziva is staring at him, and he's just holding a dish under the running water. He smiles a little. "Thursday morning in the lab."
Ziva shrugs. "Tuesday night in the elevator."
Tim looks really surprised at that, and Ziva smiles. "Gibbs is not the only one who can switch off an elevator."
"Uh huh. So... are you going to tell Tony?"
"Only if there is something to tell. I do not think it would be kind to tell him unless I know for sure."
"You're probably right about that. So, if you are, is this good news?"
She shrugs again. "It would be for me. I don't think it would be for him."
He squeezes her hand quickly, not sure what to say to that. She squeezes his back, understanding his touch.
A minute later they finish the dishes, and join the other four. He catches the tail end of Palmer saying, "...homoerotic wank-fest."
"Wank-fest?" Tony says, disbelieving. "Okay, I get that you idolize Ducky, but, Jimmy, you aren't British."
"There's not a good American term for that."
"Circle jerk? Homoerotic wank-fest is more or less the definition of that," Tim adds, sitting on the sofa next to Abby, wrapping an arm around her. "What are we talking about?"
"Tony brought James Bond movies, but they're all the ones with Daniel Craig. Hence, homoerotic wank-fest."
"Au contraire, my sadly misguided Autopsy Gremlin, if it was just the three of us, you could accuse me of that, but you are forgetting, half of our group is female, and at least Ziva prefers Craig."
Ziva shrugs. "I prefer him out of the Bonds. He is the most believable spy out of the men who have played Bond. He looks ready to kill people."
"Connery." Abby says "Craig's just too...Grrrr... Like Ziva said, ready to kill people. He's pretty enough, but he never looks like he's having fun. Like, you know how they talk about the guy who more Americans would like to have a beer with wins the Presidency? Okay, well, Connery'd be more fun to have that beer with. Plus that accent!"
Breena's nodding at that. "Brosnan. I like 'em tall, dark, and handsome. And that scene, in the Thomas Crowne Affair, where he's dancing with Renee Russo..."
"Nooo... The Thomas Crowne Affair starred Michael Kane and no one else. That remake was an abomination." Tony looks pained at the idea of the remake. "Still, Palmer, if your masculinity is so delicate that it can't take Daniel Craig in a bathing suit, I did bring more than just Bond."
"I can take Craig. Skyfall was pretty good, even if he spent more time naked in the movie than any of the girls. I'm just wondering about why, out of all the Bonds, you'd pick him."
"Okay. Fine. I wasn't planning on saying it until tomorrow, but now's as good a time as any. I'm gay. Ziva's been my beard for the last four months. Gibbs and I are running away to New York to get married next week."
Tim's not sure if he's ever laughed that hard before.
Tim spends a minute before bed looking at himself in the mirror over the dresser, while Abby finishes up in the bathroom. He's naked except for the wrist cuff, he only takes that off when he showers. It only took two nights of sleeping sans PJs to decide he preferred it that way. So this time of night, when he's waiting for Abby to get done with her pre-bed routine, he's always naked.
He's certainly been in worse shape in his life, but he's thinking it might be time to reign in his love affair with sugar a bit.
It's not that he's been feeling particularly self-conscious about not wearing a shirt on the beach, (amazing how a regular diet of really good sex can help make you feel comfortable in your skin) it's just, well, next to Palmer's somehow zero percent body fat physique and Tony's you can still see that he used to be an athlete body, he's thinking that maybe it's time to get into somewhat better shape.
He doesn't need to be skinny again, let alone cut, but maybe few less pounds around the middle would be a decent goal. And he's thinking that basically, if he were to cut the snacks out, the amount of sex he's getting should take care of that.
Abby comes out, also naked, presses up against his back, wrapping her arms around him, resting her chin on his shoulder, and looks at him in the mirror. He twines his fingers with her, and she kisses him on the neck.
"Whacha doin?"
"Debating ending, or at least toning down, my love affair with sugar."
She runs her hand over his chest and stomach. "Wouldn't be the worst idea you've ever had."
He appreciates the delicacy of that answer. Not calling him fat, not demanding he do it, but supportive as well. "Nope. Not by a longshot."
"So, I saw you talking to Ziva while washing dishes. Did she tell you?"
He turns to face her, leaning butt against the dresser, his hands wrapping around her waist, pulling her hips flush to his. "You knew?"
"Sure." Abby wraps her hands around his neck and quickly kisses him. "She told me the day after she realized she had three more pills than she should have had. That's the kind of thing girls tell each other. You notice something like that, it's awfully scary, so you want to have someone to talk to. Breena probably knows, too."
"You ever have a scare like that?"
Abby shook her head. "When it comes to birth control careful is my first, middle, and last name. Just like your first time with no condom was with me, when the Depo wears off, my first no birth control time will be with you."
He smiles at that, feeling just ridiculously pleased at that idea.
They stand there for a minute, holding each other, his forehead against hers, both of them enjoying the comfort of another body, a different skin, next to their own.
She lightly licks his lip, and then turns to look at the clock. He follows her gaze, 11:53. "I was thinking, Breena's asleep by now."
He nods, not exactly sure where this is going. But Breena was sleeping about ten minutes after the movie began, so now, three hours later, the idea that she'd still be sleeping makes an awful lot of sense.
"And if she's sleeping, Jimmy probably is, too."
"Okay." That makes sense, too.
"And I bet Ziva and Tony are in their room." They'd certainly headed in that direction when the movie was over.
"Probably."
"And their room doesn't overlook the beach."
"Also true." He's getting an inkling of where this might be going and starts to smile.
"Wanna go skinny dipping with me?" Abby asks, huge grin on her face.
"Yeah." He nods as he says that, and leans over to grab his jeans.
"What are you doing?"
"Naked on the beach is one thing. Naked walking through the house where there's four other people, something else all-together."
She laughs at that, and steps back from him while he pulls on the jeans.
Abby stares at him for a moment, eyes tracing up and down his body. "I like that."
"What?"
She hooks her thumbs into the belt loops on his jeans. "You, wrist cuff, tattoos visible, jeans, low and still undone, bare feet. We might be doing more than swimming."
He smiles. "You mean there was a chance we wouldn't have?"
She grins. "No."
She lets go, and he watches her head to the door, hips swinging with each step. "Aren't you going to put something on?"
She looks over her shoulder, grabs the towel that's hanging on the door knob and slings it over her shoulder. "Nope."
He laughs and follows.
There are four bedrooms on the top floor. (As Breena said, one for her and each of her sisters, and one for her parents.) They've got the one furthest down the hallway. It shares a bathroom with the room across from it, but no one is in that one.
Tony and Ziva are on the other side of the hall, and walking quietly past their room, they hear nothing. The Palmers are in the master bedroom, right next to the stairs, and Tim giggles silently as he hears soft voices saying nothing with words.
Abby mouths at him, "Or not sleeping," a huge smile on her face.
He nods, grinning.
He's two steps further down the staircase when he comes to a stop. The voices he's hearing now are very much not Jimmy and Breena, though from the sound of them, something pretty similar is occurring.
Abby stops right behind him, pressed against his back. Also hearing the same thing he is.The door is fifteen steps (eight down, seven forward) in front of them. The great room is right next to them, but right this second, still shielded from view by the wall of the staircase. He can imagine, based on what he's hearing, where Tony and Ziva are. The sofa or one of the recliners. They might, depending on what position they're in, be facing away from the staircase.
If the front door was open, this would be a fairly easy decision. Just walk quietly out. But it's not open. It's closed and locked. So getting out will take at least a few seconds and make a little noise.
He turns to her, question in his eyes. After all, he's not the one who's naked.
She whispers into his ear. "Not like he hasn't seen me naked before."
"Yeah, but Ziva might not appreciate the audience." He whispers back.
"If she didn't want the chance of an audience, they'd be in their room, like Jimmy and Breena."
He nods. There is that. Though, at least in his experience, the chance of an audience is a lot more fun than an actual audience.
He takes two more, quiet, steps down and peeks around the wall. They're on one of the recliners, and from what he can see, they're both naked. Ziva's straddling Tony, rising and falling against him, her back toward them. If his eyes were open, Tony could see the door, but they aren't.Screw it. If they see, they see. He'll stare Tony in the eyes and say something like 'Payback's a bitch, right Tony?'and head right out the door.
He gets to the door, quietly, and it seems like they haven't noticed. Getting it open makes what feels like a very loud clicking sound as the bolt slides out of the lock. He holds the door open and Abby shoots down the steps and out onto the porch.
And if Tony or Ziva noticed, they did a good job of not letting them know.
Abby drops the towel and wades into the surf. As he's shucking off the jeans he finds himself thinking that Abby was made for moonlit beaches. She's beyond lovely bathed in soft, milky white-blue light, skin wet and shining.
He's never made love outside before, or in water. Well, not ocean style water. The shower and the bath, sure, but water that moves on its own, that rocks and slips around and almost through you, that's different.
By the time they're shoulder deep, they're past the breakers, so there's just a sort of gentle rolling motion, and balancing with her wrapped around him is fairly easy.
Salt flavored kisses, water that supports, caresses, Abby's legs around his hips, her head back, skin sparkling with moon and starlight, and he's thinking maybe he does like the beach better than the mountains.
The girls were playing in the surf with Palmer while Tony and Tim messed around with the grill.
"Have a good swim last night?" Tony asked.
Tim grins. "Yeah. Catch a late movie?"
"Something like that." Tony laughed a little and then rips open the bag of charcoal, pouring the coals into the grill.
"So, you two ever get around to ropes and things?"
Tony nodded.
"You like it?"
Tony smiled and changed the subject. "That looks better than I thought it would," he said, looking at Tim's tattoo as Tim piled the coals the way Gibbs had showed him. When Tim had designed it, it was a fairly standard Celtic knot. Once Sam got ahold of the idea, he spread the strands out a bit, and used the negative space to make it look like the black lines were carved out of the skin, and the red ones wrapped around his arm. The final result made his arm look like carved ivory wrapped in red strands.
"Thanks. Amazing what someone who can actually draw can do with an idea."
"Yeah."
"Did it hurt?" He was kind of surprised Tony would ask that.
"Yeah. It hurt. It's like... like someone poking you with a needle tens of thousands of times."
"And you've got two of them." It occurred to Tim that Tony does not, at least to the best of his knowledge, have any tattoos.
"Yep."
"For her?" Tim was getting the idea that this is going somewhere beyond skin art, but he's not sure where Tony wants to take it.
"The first one was mostly for me, she was just the final push that got me moving. The second one was for her."
"What's with the wrist cuff? You don't take it off."
"Abby gave it to me." True enough, even if that wasn't the whole story.
"You are turning into such a Goth."
Tim looked at himself, black swim trunks, which he would have worn no matter what, black is his default color for swimwear, and a gray t-shirt, a skull with a rose coming out of one eye in black over a white arabesque across the stomach, chest and one sleeve. (Gift from Abby, but he really likes it.) Black leather wrist cuff with a silver snaps. The sleeves on the t-shirt were short enough that the bottom of the cuff tattoo was visible, even though the Python one is hidden. It occurred to him this is probably who he would have been in college if he'd been confident enough in himself to do it.
He shrugged, looking at Abby in her black tankini, actually playing in the sunlight. Sure he had spent several happy minutes rubbing SPF 70 sunblock on her, but, to the best of his knowledge, this weekend was the first time in years that she had been out to play in the sun.
"Not turning, it's always been there. But more of mine is coming out, and hers is taming down a bit."
"By which you mean she hasn't spent the entire day in the shade?"
"Something like that." Tim looked Tony over and thought he might know where this conversation is supposed to go. "Besides the bigger bed, any changes you're making for Ziva?"
"I spent four hours researching what's involved in converting to Judaism last week."
That stunned Tim. It's vastly more serious than anything he thought might have been going on with Tony, of course, almost dying probably did get him thinking some serious thoughts. It certainly had for Tim. "Yeah, I'd say that qualifies as a change. Does she know you're thinking..."
"Not yet. That's the sort of thing I'd like to have my own mind made up on before talking to her about. Think God'll forgive me if I sneak the occasional bacon cheeseburger?"
"I doubt He'd mind." He'd never talked religion with Tony, and honestly isn't sure how much he believes or doesn't. But in that Tim, at his absolute best, most reverent can get to the point of admitting that he just doesn't know if there's a God, he felt fairly comfortable in the idea that a likely non-existent God doesn't care about bacon.
Tony lit the grill, and they watched the flames. "Not so sure about the circumcision thing."
That really startled Tim. "Ummm weren't you already..." Yeah, he's been in the men's room with Tony, but he's never looked. One thing straight guy do not ever do is look. But since most American guys are, the idea that Tony might not be had never occurred to Tim.
"Yeah, but they still want a few drops of blood, from, you know..."
"Okay..." That was something Tim didn't want to think too hard about.
"How long did that tat take?"
"Four hours." Okay, in light of that, feeling a bit queasy about a drop or two of blood was probably silly. Still the idea of anyone with a knife getting that close to his privates made Tim feel squirmy.
"How long to heal up?"
"About three weeks."
Tony seemed to think about that as well. "And you got it for her?"
"With her. A sign, one that can't be taken off or changed, that I'm hers and she's mine."Tony nodded.
They were sitting on the porch, just having finished dinner, talking about something. Tim doesn't remember what, now. He was sprawled on one of the lounges, Abby's laying down, her head on his lap, feet dangling off the side. Ziva sat on the floor between Tony's outstretched legs, leaning against his chest. Breena was laying on her side, Palmer sitting behind her, his hand gently resting on the curve of her stomach.
It was fun. It was happy and peaceful. And of course, it didn't last.
Palmer's phone rang first. Tony's a hair behind it. By the time that happened the other four of them were already starting to pack up.
Tim was in their room, stuffing clothing into their bag. Abby's phone was less than a foot away when it began to buzz.
"We're on our way."
"McGee?" Director Vance on the phone, not expecting to hear Tim's voice.
"Yeah. What's going on? Tony and Palmer have already gotten their calls. Abby's dousing the grill, so I picked up for her."
"Train versus troop transport north of Richmond. The train won. How long until you can get there?" Leon asks.
"Four hours?"
That seems to make Vance think. "Are any of you sober?"
"Ziva is. And the rest of us will be by the time we get there."
"Okay. Put your lights on and get moving."
"I don't think we have any."
He can feel the look Vance must have on his face. "Why would you not have flashers?"
For the same reason we don't have guns or badges, we're on vacation! "We just don't. We're not dressed for it either. Make sure someone has extra coveralls and boots for us."
"Fine. What are you driving?"
"We'll be in Palmer's car, since we've all got to get to the same place. Abby'll take hers to the lab." He doesn't add that Breena will likely end up driving Ziva's Mini home, because that's nothing Vance needs to know.
"Okay, I'll get a BOLO out on your cars. Floor it. No one is going to slow you down."
Getting through the police line was a bit of a challenge. No badges, no guns, and the four of them dressed for the beach. Finally a nervous looking junior agent radioed in and got the permission for the four of them to enter.
Entering, they found it was exactly as bad as you'd expect a train crash to be.
"Watch your step," Palmer said staring at millions of shards of glass and twisted metal. "We'll get our feet cut to ribbons if we aren't careful."
They found Ducky first. "Mr. Palmer, you are underdressed," Ducky says, looking at Palmer in a swim suit, Hawaiian shirt, buttoned for the first time all weekend, and flip flops.
"I'm dressed exactly the way I should be for what I'm supposed to be doing." Jimmy says as he steps into a pair of coveralls. "We were supposed to have today and tomorrow off. Even with Ziva driving"— And she had gotten frighteningly close to setting the land speed record for the trip from the Outer Banks to north Richmond. Twice they had seen flashing blue lights in the rearview mirror, to see, a minute later, those lights turn off.—"going home to get more appropriate clothing would have added two hours to the trip. I assumed you'd prefer I was here fast rather than in a tie."
"Correct." Ducky nodded.
"I'll grab some boots from the transport and be ready to go in a sec," he said, heading toward the body transport, grumbling about how every time he tries to take a vacation the world conspires against him.
Gibbs just looked at them, Tim and Tony in t-shirts and swim trunks, Ziva in a pair of shorts and a bikini top, all of them but Tony in flip flops, quirked one eyebrow, and then got them up to speed as they too hopped into coveralls and borrowed boots. Troop convoy heading from DC to Norfolk. The first transport went through the intersection, the second one got clobbered by the train, and no one could figure out why the guard rail didn't go down.
CSX was claiming the guard rail was working perfectly and that the signal was, according to their computers, down. The driver of the first vehicle and the third said it was up. The conductor said he was blasting the horn, but neither the first or third driver claimed to have heard it.
No one knew if it was a malfunction, sabotage, suicide/homicide by train, or if the drivers really just hadn't noticed.
What they did know was that twenty-four Marines had been on that transport, and as of right now, only three of them were still alive.
Every NCIS agent out of the Navy Yard was on duty, along with ten from Norfolk and another ten from Baltimore. It was time to get to work.
Forty-two hours later, the case was closed and they were standing in Vance's office. He had gathered them around the conference table, where there was a map of the east coast, with a circle around the DC area extending to Baltimore in the north and Richmond in the south.
Leon stared at each of them, rubbing his eyes. He looked just as exhausted as they all felt. They'd had just enough time to run home and change, grab a little food, but that was it. Everyone had been working full out for almost two straight days.
"I have checked with Legal, and they tell me that your off time is your own. That I cannot, in fact, order you to do anything when you are off duty. So I am asking you, as a personal favor, that when you decide three quarters of my best Major Case Response Team, half of my Autopsy department, and my entire Forensic lab should all go off on vacation together, that you please stay within an hour and a half of the Navy Yard." Leon points to the map. "There are many fun and interesting things to do in the greater DC area. Please, do them!"
Several quite versions of 'Yes sir' issued out of the five of them, then Leon dismissed them, and they went to their respective homes to drop from exhaustion.
Chapter 61. Labor Day
Labor Day weekend, a Federal holiday, a day for kicking back, relaxing, picnics, the last beach weekend of summer, and, best of all, Team Gibbs wasn't on call.
Which is why three quarters of Team Gibbs, Abby, and the Palmers were planning on doing exactly that, on the beach in the Outer Banks.
Three weeks earlier, as they had wrapped up what normally would have been Pizza Night, but was actually Thank God We're All Alive Celebration Night (grilling at Gibbs' house), Breena said, "Jimmy tells me you aren't on call for Labor Day."
This was met by nods and versions of, "Yep."
"My dad has a place in the Outer Banks." This was where Tim could feel himself, Tony, Ziva, and Abby all frantically thinking of excuses to get out of this, because while they love Breena, her dad is a whole other story. "He and my mom usually go there for the weekends during the summer. But they'll be in Tennessee for Labor Day, so the house will be empty, and Jimmy and I were wondering if you'd all like to come down with us for the long weekend?"
Tim looked at Abby to answer. He's not a huge beach kind of guy, not that he doesn't like it, he spent a lot of most of his summer vacations at the beach, but he'd rather do mountains than shore. Still going sounds fun to him. Abby, on the other hand, isn't so much allergic to sun as not it's biggest fan, so he's not sure if she'd like to spend a weekend more or less laying about in it.
And while Tony and Ziva were jumping on a beach weekend with both feet, Abby gave him a little nod, so he said, "Sure, that sounds like a lot of fun."
Later that night, as they were getting ready for bed he asked, "Do you even own a bathing suit?"She shoved him gently, grinned, went to her dresser, and pulled out a black tankini. He stared at it for a moment, happily imagining her in it. "How about you?"
It occurred to him the last time he had gone swimming he weighed twenty pounds less than he does now. "Yeah, but it's too small." He reaches over for his phone, and seven minutes later he puts it back down. "And now I have one that fits. Or, at least, I will in about three days when it gets here."
"It must be so easy to be a guy. You need clothing, and in less than ten minutes you've got it. I need clothing, and I need to remember which size goes with which brand and how they cut everything and they've got the torso long enough for me..."
Tim listens to her go on about women's clothing for a moment, agreeing with her that sometimes it is nice to be a guy.
"So, come on, romantic beach weekend, romantic beach weekend Breena and I more or less set up precisely for this. You, her, waves gently lapping on a moonlit beach." Palmer's wigging his fingers, mimicking the waves rolling in. "You gonna do it?" They're walking out of NCIS at the end of a not too long day, heading to their respective homes.
Tim sighs. Waves gently lapping on a moonlit beach actually sounds pretty good to him. "Ring still isn't done."
"Still?" Palmer looks disbelieving. "My God! What is this guy doing, mining the ore and smelting it himself?"
"Probably. Last I heard titanium just doesn't do this sort of work well, and he had to melt the whole thing back down again, mess with the alloy some, and begin from scratch."
Palmer rolled his eyes. "Damn it! I doubled my bet."
Tim stops, looks at Jimmy, and sighs. "Anyone have Halloween yet?"
"Nope, not yet."
"Idiots. Take Halloween."
"Okay."
"Really, it better be an awesome present."
"Pool's up to four thousand dollars. It will be."
"I am in the wrong career," Tony said to Ziva on Friday night as they got out of her car and looked at the house in front of them. "I mean, who knew there was this sort of money in funerals?"
They're standing in front of a sprawling blue house on the beach. Literally, on the sand, water about two hundred feet away, glinting in the moonlight, dunes to the left and right, the nearest house a small rectangle of light on the horizon. It's on stilts to deal with possible flooding, and a huge porch wraps around the first floor.
They had beaten the Palmers and... "You think she'll take his last name?"Ziva looks at Tony with a question in her eyes.
"I was just thinking, with the way you drive, we beat the Palmers and... Tim and Abby? The McGees? McGeek and his Gothic Princess? McGoth? McAbby?"
Ziva thought about that while taking her bag out of the trunk of her Mini. Tony eyeballed the bag. "Awfully small bag."
"I do not have a lot of clothing in it." And then she smiled at him, eyes warm and playful. "And the clothing that is in it is tiny."
"Oh, you are so bad."
She smiled again, kissing him quickly, and then hands him his bag. "I think she will take his name. Do you think he'll ask while we're here?"
"No. Palmer says the ring's still being made, and with this much time invested in it, he's not gonna ask without it."
Abby's roadster pulled up, which killed that topic of conversation.
They got out, and Tim grabbed their bag. Abby stared at the house and said, "Wow."
"Yeah," Tony nodded. For a moment they just stood there and appreciated the view.
The sound of one more engine let them know Breena and Palmer had arrived. They got out, and Breena said, "It's even nicer inside."
Saturday morning: Six people playing on the beach, splashing about in the waves. Three of them guys. Three of them girls.
It wasn't too hard to figure out which of the girls went with which guy. Of course, for Tim and Abby there were the matching tats. And even if they hadn't had matching ones, they were the only ones sporting any skin ink. And even if there hadn't been the ink, both of them in black bathing suits, and the wrist cuffs would have been a hint.
Palmer and Breena more or less radiated a sort of sweet, innocent, deeply in love fun that looked like it came right out of a 1950s beach movie. Okay, sure if it had been a 1950s movie, Breena wouldn't have been wearing a bikini four months pregnant, but that didn't really mar the vibe. And Jimmy, in a pair of fairly short and tight swim trunks and an open Hawaiian shirt, certainly fit the 1950s beach movie look to a T.
Tim remembered Jimmy's comment about forgetting what it felt like to wear pants, and realized Palmer's working on forgetting what it feel like to wear shirts this weekend. Granted, he doesn't often get a chance to show off in front of Tim and Tony, and flashing his abs all over the place just might be him doing that.
And Tony and Ziva, tanned, athletic, un-selfconscious and playing in the sand just looked right with each other.
Saturday afternoon: Breena's parents had decorated the porch with two of those double wide recliners with soft cushions and pillows.
He and Abby are camped out on one of them. He's got his laptop and is writing, all goes well he might just wrap this one up this weekend. She's curled, back against his side, on her right, reading a forensics journal. Both of them have earbuds in, listening to their own music.
Jimmy and Breena are on the other one. He's also reading, an actual novel, while she naps next to him. Tim half-notices that from time to time, Jimmy will stop, spend a moment watching his wife, and pet her stomach.
He catches Jimmy's eye the next time he does it. Jimmy smiles at him, and Tim pulls out his earbuds.
"I can feel her moving," Jimmy says quietly.
"It's a her?"
"I think she is. Won't know for sure for a bit."
"So, you're going to find out?"
"Yeah. What are you working on?"
"Deep Six book four. I'm about ten-thousand words short of finished."
"And am I dreaming of sleeping with dead people in this one?" Jimmy says, deadpan.
Tim flashes him a guilty smile. "Ummm... no. Pimmy Jalmer had an unfortunate accident in chapter two and died. The new assistant ME, James Relamp, is proving to be a very capable member of the team and has found the link between all the bodies, thus helping Tibbs and his team home in on the killer."
"Finally. Relamp?
"I'm bad with names."
Palmer's look says, Well, obviously. Then he says, "Necrophilia," snorts, and shakes his head.
"Hey, you've had sex in the morgue."
"Well, okay, yeah, that's true. But not with any of the bodies!"
"Breena got what that scene was really about."
Jimmy's just staring at him.
Tim shrugs. "Fine, my editor said, 'Sex it up,' so I did."
"Tim, if that's where your mind goes when someone tells you to sex something up, you are one sick, sick, sick puppy."
"It was that or make you Ducky's boy toy."
Jimmy shudders. Tim laughs, puts the earbuds back in, and goes back to writing.
Saturday night. Palmer and Abby had done the shopping. Tony and Breena cooked. Which means Tim and Ziva are on dishes.
Which suits Tim just fine. 'Round about an hour earlier he had noticed something. Ziva was holding beer, she was playing with beer, she even lifted the beer to her lips, but the one thing she wasn't actually doing was swallowing beer.
So, as he washes the dishes and she dries, he says, casually, "I noticed you aren't drinking." She smiles a little at that. "Any reason for that?"
"Maybe. I do not know yet, but—"
"You aren't taking any chances."
"No. I'm not."
He looks from their place by the kitchen sink across the dining room to Tony standing next to the TV in the great room, expounding upon their movie options for the night. He grins, remembering the insane rush that went with trying to get Abby pregnant right after he thawed out. That Tony and Ziva might have felt that way too was pretty cool. His eyes wander to Breena, four months pregnant, and he did a little math, wondering if she and Jimmy had come to the same conclusion right after he got kidnapped, and it had just taken a few cycles, or like he and Abby, had to wait for the birth control to get out of her system.
"I wouldn't have thought he'd almost die and decide he wanted babies."
"He does not know, and I'd appreciate it if he doesn't know."
Tim whips his gaze back to Ziva. "How can he not know?"
"I had an oops." He feels a little stupid at that, remembering that not everyone plans every baby in advance. Ziva continues, "Remember the Dawber case?"
"How could I forget?" It was their first real case after Tony got back on duty, and they had worked flat out for almost four straight days.
"I got so tired I forgot to take my pills."
"Oh. You're probably okay. I think you actually have to have sex when you've missed the pill for it to be a problem."
The look she gives him says very eloquently that she knows that.
"When did you even find the time..." And that trails off when Tim remembers that he and Abby had found time for the quickest quickie in the history of quickies during the third night.
They traditionally work days. But if a body gets found before they leave, they end up on the case. The first sailor, John Dawber, was found at 4:30 on Monday. They worked through Monday night and most of Tuesday. Normally they would have gone home to rest at that point, but the next body, Ian Mannin, was found at 4:30 on Tuesday, so they worked through that night. Wednesday, 4:30, all of them but Gibbs shuffling about like tired zombies, found them with yet a third dead sailor.
Midnight on Thursday, he and Abby had done everything they could. Every computer he had access to was looking for something, anything to connect the victims. Major Mass Spec was sorting through yet another batch of trace.
"We need sleep."
She nodded and laid out the lambskin rugs. He looked at them and realized he'd hit the point where he was so tired he couldn't sleep. Too many hours up and your brain gets stuck, it needs something to help shift the chemical processes, let it know it's turn off time. In the past, had he been single, he would have quickly jerked off in the men's room and crashed at his desk.
So he told her that and wrapped up with, "And if you aren't interested, I completely understand. I can take care of this myself. But if you are, I'd certainly appreciate a hand."
Abby looked at him, shrugged, and said, "I've had seventeen Caf-Pows today. I could use something to take the edge off."
And so, on the soft, fluffy lambskin rugs, there was four minutes of the most functional, least erotic or romantic sex of his life. (And yes, he was counting all twenty-two seconds of his first time on that list.) Followed by both of them crashing like a Fokker in a nosedive with the pilot dead at the stick, sharing Bert as a pillow, and sleeping like the dead for almost three hours.
He woke to Gibbs crouching in front of them, Caff-Pow in hand, jogging Abby's shoulder saying, "Talk to me Abbs," as Major Mass Spec beeped in the background.
He tripped over his feet and staggered to his computer, so tired that his eyes were barely willing to focus. He was half aware of Abby reading the results to Gibbs (basically, nothing in this batch is even remotely useful) and slowly his brain woke up enough to see what was on the screen.
"I got it, Boss."
Gibbs turned away from Abby to him. "What?"
"Their ID numbers are all prime factors of 13 and 23. I can't tell you who the killer is, but the next victim is one of these four sailors."
"Good job, Tim." He even got patted on the shoulder. And as Gibbs headed up to the bullpen to tell Tony and Ziva, he looked over his shoulder and said, "McGee."
"Yeah."
"Zip your fly before you come up."
Tim, tired into utter silliness by that point, giggled, snapped into something that only looked like attention to someone who hadn't personally been in the military, fired off a salute, and said, "On it, Boss."
Tim realizes Ziva is staring at him, and he's just holding a dish under the running water. He smiles a little. "Thursday morning in the lab."
Ziva shrugs. "Tuesday night in the elevator."
Tim looks really surprised at that, and Ziva smiles. "Gibbs is not the only one who can switch off an elevator."
"Uh huh. So... are you going to tell Tony?"
"Only if there is something to tell. I do not think it would be kind to tell him unless I know for sure."
"You're probably right about that. So, if you are, is this good news?"
She shrugs again. "It would be for me. I don't think it would be for him."
He squeezes her hand quickly, not sure what to say to that. She squeezes his back, understanding his touch.
A minute later they finish the dishes, and join the other four. He catches the tail end of Palmer saying, "...homoerotic wank-fest."
"Wank-fest?" Tony says, disbelieving. "Okay, I get that you idolize Ducky, but, Jimmy, you aren't British."
"There's not a good American term for that."
"Circle jerk? Homoerotic wank-fest is more or less the definition of that," Tim adds, sitting on the sofa next to Abby, wrapping an arm around her. "What are we talking about?"
"Tony brought James Bond movies, but they're all the ones with Daniel Craig. Hence, homoerotic wank-fest."
"Au contraire, my sadly misguided Autopsy Gremlin, if it was just the three of us, you could accuse me of that, but you are forgetting, half of our group is female, and at least Ziva prefers Craig."
Ziva shrugs. "I prefer him out of the Bonds. He is the most believable spy out of the men who have played Bond. He looks ready to kill people."
"Connery." Abby says "Craig's just too...Grrrr... Like Ziva said, ready to kill people. He's pretty enough, but he never looks like he's having fun. Like, you know how they talk about the guy who more Americans would like to have a beer with wins the Presidency? Okay, well, Connery'd be more fun to have that beer with. Plus that accent!"
Breena's nodding at that. "Brosnan. I like 'em tall, dark, and handsome. And that scene, in the Thomas Crowne Affair, where he's dancing with Renee Russo..."
"Nooo... The Thomas Crowne Affair starred Michael Kane and no one else. That remake was an abomination." Tony looks pained at the idea of the remake. "Still, Palmer, if your masculinity is so delicate that it can't take Daniel Craig in a bathing suit, I did bring more than just Bond."
"I can take Craig. Skyfall was pretty good, even if he spent more time naked in the movie than any of the girls. I'm just wondering about why, out of all the Bonds, you'd pick him."
"Okay. Fine. I wasn't planning on saying it until tomorrow, but now's as good a time as any. I'm gay. Ziva's been my beard for the last four months. Gibbs and I are running away to New York to get married next week."
Tim's not sure if he's ever laughed that hard before.
Tim spends a minute before bed looking at himself in the mirror over the dresser, while Abby finishes up in the bathroom. He's naked except for the wrist cuff, he only takes that off when he showers. It only took two nights of sleeping sans PJs to decide he preferred it that way. So this time of night, when he's waiting for Abby to get done with her pre-bed routine, he's always naked.
He's certainly been in worse shape in his life, but he's thinking it might be time to reign in his love affair with sugar a bit.
It's not that he's been feeling particularly self-conscious about not wearing a shirt on the beach, (amazing how a regular diet of really good sex can help make you feel comfortable in your skin) it's just, well, next to Palmer's somehow zero percent body fat physique and Tony's you can still see that he used to be an athlete body, he's thinking that maybe it's time to get into somewhat better shape.
He doesn't need to be skinny again, let alone cut, but maybe few less pounds around the middle would be a decent goal. And he's thinking that basically, if he were to cut the snacks out, the amount of sex he's getting should take care of that.
Abby comes out, also naked, presses up against his back, wrapping her arms around him, resting her chin on his shoulder, and looks at him in the mirror. He twines his fingers with her, and she kisses him on the neck.
"Whacha doin?"
"Debating ending, or at least toning down, my love affair with sugar."
She runs her hand over his chest and stomach. "Wouldn't be the worst idea you've ever had."
He appreciates the delicacy of that answer. Not calling him fat, not demanding he do it, but supportive as well. "Nope. Not by a longshot."
"So, I saw you talking to Ziva while washing dishes. Did she tell you?"
He turns to face her, leaning butt against the dresser, his hands wrapping around her waist, pulling her hips flush to his. "You knew?"
"Sure." Abby wraps her hands around his neck and quickly kisses him. "She told me the day after she realized she had three more pills than she should have had. That's the kind of thing girls tell each other. You notice something like that, it's awfully scary, so you want to have someone to talk to. Breena probably knows, too."
"You ever have a scare like that?"
Abby shook her head. "When it comes to birth control careful is my first, middle, and last name. Just like your first time with no condom was with me, when the Depo wears off, my first no birth control time will be with you."
He smiles at that, feeling just ridiculously pleased at that idea.
They stand there for a minute, holding each other, his forehead against hers, both of them enjoying the comfort of another body, a different skin, next to their own.
She lightly licks his lip, and then turns to look at the clock. He follows her gaze, 11:53. "I was thinking, Breena's asleep by now."
He nods, not exactly sure where this is going. But Breena was sleeping about ten minutes after the movie began, so now, three hours later, the idea that she'd still be sleeping makes an awful lot of sense.
"And if she's sleeping, Jimmy probably is, too."
"Okay." That makes sense, too.
"And I bet Ziva and Tony are in their room." They'd certainly headed in that direction when the movie was over.
"Probably."
"And their room doesn't overlook the beach."
"Also true." He's getting an inkling of where this might be going and starts to smile.
"Wanna go skinny dipping with me?" Abby asks, huge grin on her face.
"Yeah." He nods as he says that, and leans over to grab his jeans.
"What are you doing?"
"Naked on the beach is one thing. Naked walking through the house where there's four other people, something else all-together."
She laughs at that, and steps back from him while he pulls on the jeans.
Abby stares at him for a moment, eyes tracing up and down his body. "I like that."
"What?"
She hooks her thumbs into the belt loops on his jeans. "You, wrist cuff, tattoos visible, jeans, low and still undone, bare feet. We might be doing more than swimming."
He smiles. "You mean there was a chance we wouldn't have?"
She grins. "No."
She lets go, and he watches her head to the door, hips swinging with each step. "Aren't you going to put something on?"
She looks over her shoulder, grabs the towel that's hanging on the door knob and slings it over her shoulder. "Nope."
He laughs and follows.
There are four bedrooms on the top floor. (As Breena said, one for her and each of her sisters, and one for her parents.) They've got the one furthest down the hallway. It shares a bathroom with the room across from it, but no one is in that one.
Tony and Ziva are on the other side of the hall, and walking quietly past their room, they hear nothing. The Palmers are in the master bedroom, right next to the stairs, and Tim giggles silently as he hears soft voices saying nothing with words.
Abby mouths at him, "Or not sleeping," a huge smile on her face.
He nods, grinning.
He's two steps further down the staircase when he comes to a stop. The voices he's hearing now are very much not Jimmy and Breena, though from the sound of them, something pretty similar is occurring.
Abby stops right behind him, pressed against his back. Also hearing the same thing he is.The door is fifteen steps (eight down, seven forward) in front of them. The great room is right next to them, but right this second, still shielded from view by the wall of the staircase. He can imagine, based on what he's hearing, where Tony and Ziva are. The sofa or one of the recliners. They might, depending on what position they're in, be facing away from the staircase.
If the front door was open, this would be a fairly easy decision. Just walk quietly out. But it's not open. It's closed and locked. So getting out will take at least a few seconds and make a little noise.
He turns to her, question in his eyes. After all, he's not the one who's naked.
She whispers into his ear. "Not like he hasn't seen me naked before."
"Yeah, but Ziva might not appreciate the audience." He whispers back.
"If she didn't want the chance of an audience, they'd be in their room, like Jimmy and Breena."
He nods. There is that. Though, at least in his experience, the chance of an audience is a lot more fun than an actual audience.
He takes two more, quiet, steps down and peeks around the wall. They're on one of the recliners, and from what he can see, they're both naked. Ziva's straddling Tony, rising and falling against him, her back toward them. If his eyes were open, Tony could see the door, but they aren't.Screw it. If they see, they see. He'll stare Tony in the eyes and say something like 'Payback's a bitch, right Tony?'and head right out the door.
He gets to the door, quietly, and it seems like they haven't noticed. Getting it open makes what feels like a very loud clicking sound as the bolt slides out of the lock. He holds the door open and Abby shoots down the steps and out onto the porch.
And if Tony or Ziva noticed, they did a good job of not letting them know.
Abby drops the towel and wades into the surf. As he's shucking off the jeans he finds himself thinking that Abby was made for moonlit beaches. She's beyond lovely bathed in soft, milky white-blue light, skin wet and shining.
He's never made love outside before, or in water. Well, not ocean style water. The shower and the bath, sure, but water that moves on its own, that rocks and slips around and almost through you, that's different.
By the time they're shoulder deep, they're past the breakers, so there's just a sort of gentle rolling motion, and balancing with her wrapped around him is fairly easy.
Salt flavored kisses, water that supports, caresses, Abby's legs around his hips, her head back, skin sparkling with moon and starlight, and he's thinking maybe he does like the beach better than the mountains.
The girls were playing in the surf with Palmer while Tony and Tim messed around with the grill.
"Have a good swim last night?" Tony asked.
Tim grins. "Yeah. Catch a late movie?"
"Something like that." Tony laughed a little and then rips open the bag of charcoal, pouring the coals into the grill.
"So, you two ever get around to ropes and things?"
Tony nodded.
"You like it?"
Tony smiled and changed the subject. "That looks better than I thought it would," he said, looking at Tim's tattoo as Tim piled the coals the way Gibbs had showed him. When Tim had designed it, it was a fairly standard Celtic knot. Once Sam got ahold of the idea, he spread the strands out a bit, and used the negative space to make it look like the black lines were carved out of the skin, and the red ones wrapped around his arm. The final result made his arm look like carved ivory wrapped in red strands.
"Thanks. Amazing what someone who can actually draw can do with an idea."
"Yeah."
"Did it hurt?" He was kind of surprised Tony would ask that.
"Yeah. It hurt. It's like... like someone poking you with a needle tens of thousands of times."
"And you've got two of them." It occurred to Tim that Tony does not, at least to the best of his knowledge, have any tattoos.
"Yep."
"For her?" Tim was getting the idea that this is going somewhere beyond skin art, but he's not sure where Tony wants to take it.
"The first one was mostly for me, she was just the final push that got me moving. The second one was for her."
"What's with the wrist cuff? You don't take it off."
"Abby gave it to me." True enough, even if that wasn't the whole story.
"You are turning into such a Goth."
Tim looked at himself, black swim trunks, which he would have worn no matter what, black is his default color for swimwear, and a gray t-shirt, a skull with a rose coming out of one eye in black over a white arabesque across the stomach, chest and one sleeve. (Gift from Abby, but he really likes it.) Black leather wrist cuff with a silver snaps. The sleeves on the t-shirt were short enough that the bottom of the cuff tattoo was visible, even though the Python one is hidden. It occurred to him this is probably who he would have been in college if he'd been confident enough in himself to do it.
He shrugged, looking at Abby in her black tankini, actually playing in the sunlight. Sure he had spent several happy minutes rubbing SPF 70 sunblock on her, but, to the best of his knowledge, this weekend was the first time in years that she had been out to play in the sun.
"Not turning, it's always been there. But more of mine is coming out, and hers is taming down a bit."
"By which you mean she hasn't spent the entire day in the shade?"
"Something like that." Tim looked Tony over and thought he might know where this conversation is supposed to go. "Besides the bigger bed, any changes you're making for Ziva?"
"I spent four hours researching what's involved in converting to Judaism last week."
That stunned Tim. It's vastly more serious than anything he thought might have been going on with Tony, of course, almost dying probably did get him thinking some serious thoughts. It certainly had for Tim. "Yeah, I'd say that qualifies as a change. Does she know you're thinking..."
"Not yet. That's the sort of thing I'd like to have my own mind made up on before talking to her about. Think God'll forgive me if I sneak the occasional bacon cheeseburger?"
"I doubt He'd mind." He'd never talked religion with Tony, and honestly isn't sure how much he believes or doesn't. But in that Tim, at his absolute best, most reverent can get to the point of admitting that he just doesn't know if there's a God, he felt fairly comfortable in the idea that a likely non-existent God doesn't care about bacon.
Tony lit the grill, and they watched the flames. "Not so sure about the circumcision thing."
That really startled Tim. "Ummm weren't you already..." Yeah, he's been in the men's room with Tony, but he's never looked. One thing straight guy do not ever do is look. But since most American guys are, the idea that Tony might not be had never occurred to Tim.
"Yeah, but they still want a few drops of blood, from, you know..."
"Okay..." That was something Tim didn't want to think too hard about.
"How long did that tat take?"
"Four hours." Okay, in light of that, feeling a bit queasy about a drop or two of blood was probably silly. Still the idea of anyone with a knife getting that close to his privates made Tim feel squirmy.
"How long to heal up?"
"About three weeks."
Tony seemed to think about that as well. "And you got it for her?"
"With her. A sign, one that can't be taken off or changed, that I'm hers and she's mine."Tony nodded.
They were sitting on the porch, just having finished dinner, talking about something. Tim doesn't remember what, now. He was sprawled on one of the lounges, Abby's laying down, her head on his lap, feet dangling off the side. Ziva sat on the floor between Tony's outstretched legs, leaning against his chest. Breena was laying on her side, Palmer sitting behind her, his hand gently resting on the curve of her stomach.
It was fun. It was happy and peaceful. And of course, it didn't last.
Palmer's phone rang first. Tony's a hair behind it. By the time that happened the other four of them were already starting to pack up.
Tim was in their room, stuffing clothing into their bag. Abby's phone was less than a foot away when it began to buzz.
"We're on our way."
"McGee?" Director Vance on the phone, not expecting to hear Tim's voice.
"Yeah. What's going on? Tony and Palmer have already gotten their calls. Abby's dousing the grill, so I picked up for her."
"Train versus troop transport north of Richmond. The train won. How long until you can get there?" Leon asks.
"Four hours?"
That seems to make Vance think. "Are any of you sober?"
"Ziva is. And the rest of us will be by the time we get there."
"Okay. Put your lights on and get moving."
"I don't think we have any."
He can feel the look Vance must have on his face. "Why would you not have flashers?"
For the same reason we don't have guns or badges, we're on vacation! "We just don't. We're not dressed for it either. Make sure someone has extra coveralls and boots for us."
"Fine. What are you driving?"
"We'll be in Palmer's car, since we've all got to get to the same place. Abby'll take hers to the lab." He doesn't add that Breena will likely end up driving Ziva's Mini home, because that's nothing Vance needs to know.
"Okay, I'll get a BOLO out on your cars. Floor it. No one is going to slow you down."
Getting through the police line was a bit of a challenge. No badges, no guns, and the four of them dressed for the beach. Finally a nervous looking junior agent radioed in and got the permission for the four of them to enter.
Entering, they found it was exactly as bad as you'd expect a train crash to be.
"Watch your step," Palmer said staring at millions of shards of glass and twisted metal. "We'll get our feet cut to ribbons if we aren't careful."
They found Ducky first. "Mr. Palmer, you are underdressed," Ducky says, looking at Palmer in a swim suit, Hawaiian shirt, buttoned for the first time all weekend, and flip flops.
"I'm dressed exactly the way I should be for what I'm supposed to be doing." Jimmy says as he steps into a pair of coveralls. "We were supposed to have today and tomorrow off. Even with Ziva driving"— And she had gotten frighteningly close to setting the land speed record for the trip from the Outer Banks to north Richmond. Twice they had seen flashing blue lights in the rearview mirror, to see, a minute later, those lights turn off.—"going home to get more appropriate clothing would have added two hours to the trip. I assumed you'd prefer I was here fast rather than in a tie."
"Correct." Ducky nodded.
"I'll grab some boots from the transport and be ready to go in a sec," he said, heading toward the body transport, grumbling about how every time he tries to take a vacation the world conspires against him.
Gibbs just looked at them, Tim and Tony in t-shirts and swim trunks, Ziva in a pair of shorts and a bikini top, all of them but Tony in flip flops, quirked one eyebrow, and then got them up to speed as they too hopped into coveralls and borrowed boots. Troop convoy heading from DC to Norfolk. The first transport went through the intersection, the second one got clobbered by the train, and no one could figure out why the guard rail didn't go down.
CSX was claiming the guard rail was working perfectly and that the signal was, according to their computers, down. The driver of the first vehicle and the third said it was up. The conductor said he was blasting the horn, but neither the first or third driver claimed to have heard it.
No one knew if it was a malfunction, sabotage, suicide/homicide by train, or if the drivers really just hadn't noticed.
What they did know was that twenty-four Marines had been on that transport, and as of right now, only three of them were still alive.
Every NCIS agent out of the Navy Yard was on duty, along with ten from Norfolk and another ten from Baltimore. It was time to get to work.
Forty-two hours later, the case was closed and they were standing in Vance's office. He had gathered them around the conference table, where there was a map of the east coast, with a circle around the DC area extending to Baltimore in the north and Richmond in the south.
Leon stared at each of them, rubbing his eyes. He looked just as exhausted as they all felt. They'd had just enough time to run home and change, grab a little food, but that was it. Everyone had been working full out for almost two straight days.
"I have checked with Legal, and they tell me that your off time is your own. That I cannot, in fact, order you to do anything when you are off duty. So I am asking you, as a personal favor, that when you decide three quarters of my best Major Case Response Team, half of my Autopsy department, and my entire Forensic lab should all go off on vacation together, that you please stay within an hour and a half of the Navy Yard." Leon points to the map. "There are many fun and interesting things to do in the greater DC area. Please, do them!"
Several quite versions of 'Yes sir' issued out of the five of them, then Leon dismissed them, and they went to their respective homes to drop from exhaustion.
April 15, 2013
Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction
McGee centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Tim woke with a jerk. His heart was pounding, his body covered in sweat, and the spike of adrenaline from the nightmare made sure he wasn’t going to fall back to sleep anytime soon.
He checked the clock. 4:17. That was later than he’d managed to sleep any night in the last week.
“You okay?” Abby asked.
“I will be,” he said gently. “Go back to sleep.”
He hadn’t figured out how to get himself out of the nightmares without waking her up. The first night she had gotten up with him, but really, he just wanted to be alone after he pulled out of those dreams.
She’d taken it pretty well when he explained that. She wants to be there to comfort him, but right now he needs the space to be in his own head, and she’s willing to let him have that space.
So she went back to sleep, and he got up, pulling on a pair of pajama pants and heading for his office.
He doesn’t actually remember what he’s dreaming of, there are no images that go with the heart pounding terror, just the fear. Hell, that might be the entire dream. It might just be blackness and cold fear. Not like he didn’t just do that.
He detours to the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water, and then flicks the light on in his office.
Light helps. It pulls him the rest of the way out of the dream. It’s not that he’s afraid of the dark these days, it’s just that his whole mind, whole body knows he’s not in that freezer if there’s light.
He sets the glass on the window sill and opens the window. Muggy August air flows in, and he stands in front of the window, head bowed, thumbs pressing into his eyebrows, letting the humid, late summer heat soak into him.
He’d talked to Wolf yesterday. Talking to the crisis counselor is mandatory after you almost get killed. Short talk, about twenty minutes of what he’d been up to lately, mostly how his life had changed in the last ten months. Wolf listened to him, asked a few general questions, and then took one of his cards out of his pocket, filled it in with a date and time (10:00 AM September 25, 2013) and said to him, “I know you need the time to get it right in your head before you can talk to me about it. Take the time. Six weeks, we’ll talk again.”
Tim nodded. That sounded better than staring at the clock trying to fill an hour with meaningless blather.“I want you to think about something between now and then. Last time you almost got killed, you dealt with it by putting your life in order. And that was good. That was constructive. Your life is in order now. You’ve got just about everything you’ve ever wanted, and are moving towards the things you don’t yet have. So the question is, now that you don’t have something to chase to keep fear away, how are you going to deal with it?”
And the answer is, he doesn’t know.
And he could see that Wolf knew he didn’t deal with the fear the first time, didn’t even try to. He pushed it aside as fast as possible, and threw himself into getting the life he wanted, and he didn’t let it touch him.
He rubs his shoulders, staring at his reflection in the window, listening to the birds starting to wake up. May 12, 2012. August 6, 2013. Too many close calls too close together.
He turns, takes a few steps, sits at his writing desk, and stares at his typewriter. Then shakes his head and gets back up. Burrowing into McGregor is just another way of not dealing with it. Then he looks at the typewriter again, maybe not. Writing the next chapter is a way of not dealing with it. McGregor isn’t dealing with anything like possibly dying, he’s off hacking the CIA to wrangle the intel they need.
But McGregor is a safe way for him to deal with the things that happen to him, a way to give himself the space to think about it, and while there’s no place for this in the current novel, there’s no reason why McGregor can’t have a short story, or that this can’t be a theme in the next novel. Hell, worst comes to worst, he can write his own damn fanfiction. Not like he’s the only author who occasionally wants to play with his characters in a way that doesn’t fit with the cannon.
He pulls the page out of the typewriter, and finds a fresh one.
He’s ten pages into it when Abby knocks on the door.
“Hey?”
She pokes her head in. “You going to work?”
He blinks. “What time is it?”
“7:10.”
As late as he can push it and still get a (very) fast shower, shave, breakfast, and in the car in time to get there by eight.
“Yes, but I’ll be in late.” Tony’s not back until tomorrow. Gibbs hasn’t been cleared for anything other than desk duty. And Ziva’s still ducking Wolf, so she isn’t cleared to be in the field, either. They won’t mind if he shows up late or takes a half day. Hell, if he gives these pages to Wolf, he’ll get cleared for active duty before the rest of the team. That might win him some brownie points from Gibbs. “I’ve got to get this out.”
“Okay. You want some coffee?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
She’s back a few minutes later with a mug of coffee, just the way he likes it, and kisses his forehead while he types. He nods a little, and smiles when she does it, but his mind is on the page, in McGregor’s head, or his own, hard to tell right now where the line is, but that’s the point of this.
He didn’t hear it when she headed out.
By 10:00 he had twenty-five pages next to him, and was feeling... better? Probably. More sure of himself, yes. Somewhere around page thirteen he fully shifted out of McGregor and into himself, and that was a good thing.
And he also knew what he needed to do. He’s not putting fear aside by this. He’s not hiding from death. He’s preparing for it. If the first step of being a real grown-up was getting a life worth living, the next step is accepting you won’t always be here, and making it as easy as possible on the ones you leave behind.
He stood up, stretched for a moment. Noticed the empty coffee cup next to him, and got a refill along with a bagel and a banana.
Then he headed back to his office, and this time to his computer. Most of this wouldn’t take too long. He got online, headed to his bank, and set Abby as his next of kin and beneficiary. He did the same for his IRA, for his money market account, for the 401K, and his investment account. She’d been his medical proxy since 2006, so that wasn’t an issue. He went to the NCIS human resources benefits page, and set her up as the beneficiary on his life insurance and pension.
One last thing. He called in to the NCIS switchboard and asked to be connected to Legal. They could see him at 11:30.
He texted Ziva, letting her know he’d be in after lunch.
By two, when he was back in the Bullpen, his will was done and would be filed before end of business that day.
Once he got to his desk, he packed up the pages he’d written in one of the red interoffice mail envelopes, put Wolf’s name on it, along with a note saying he wanted those pages back eventually.
Gibbs and Ziva watched him do it, but didn’t ask any questions. And right that moment he felt the lack of Tony in the desk next to them very acutely.
He’ll be back tomorrow.
And then he settled in for three hours of paperwork.
After dinner he took Abby into his office, gave her all of his passwords, a copy of his will, and took her through all of his accounts.
He wasn’t sure how she’d take it. Beyond setting up a joint checking account for rent, food, and utilities, they’d kept their finances separate. He hoped she wouldn’t be annoyed that he put her on all of his accounts without asking first. And she wasn’t.
She was sad. Not that he had done it, but that it needed to be done at all.
She half-smiled at him, trying to lighten the words, and said, “No happy endings.”
He shook his head. “Not in real life. Eventually it’ll be just one or the other of us.”
“I never thought I’d envy my parents.”
He looked at her, confused. From everything he’s heard about them, there were a lot of great things about Gloria and Thomas Sciuto, things worth envying.
“The way they died. Didn’t have to deal with any of this.”
“Oh.” Her parents had died together. “I’m not sure leaving your young kids behind counts as the happy ending, either.”
“Not for us, at least.” She sighed. “I’ll see the guys in legal tomorrow, get my stuff in order.”
“Thanks. I was thinking, since we don’t have any family nearby, how about asking Jimmy and Breena to be the guardians for our kids?”
She smiled, eyes tearing. “I think they’d be a really good choice.”
“Yeah.”
It certainly hadn’t been a light or fluffy evening. But when they got to bed he was feeling easier than he had in ten days. that night, he slept until morning, waking up at his usual time.
Tim woke with a jerk. His heart was pounding, his body covered in sweat, and the spike of adrenaline from the nightmare made sure he wasn’t going to fall back to sleep anytime soon.
He checked the clock. 4:17. That was later than he’d managed to sleep any night in the last week.
“You okay?” Abby asked.
“I will be,” he said gently. “Go back to sleep.”
He hadn’t figured out how to get himself out of the nightmares without waking her up. The first night she had gotten up with him, but really, he just wanted to be alone after he pulled out of those dreams.
She’d taken it pretty well when he explained that. She wants to be there to comfort him, but right now he needs the space to be in his own head, and she’s willing to let him have that space.
So she went back to sleep, and he got up, pulling on a pair of pajama pants and heading for his office.
He doesn’t actually remember what he’s dreaming of, there are no images that go with the heart pounding terror, just the fear. Hell, that might be the entire dream. It might just be blackness and cold fear. Not like he didn’t just do that.
He detours to the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water, and then flicks the light on in his office.
Light helps. It pulls him the rest of the way out of the dream. It’s not that he’s afraid of the dark these days, it’s just that his whole mind, whole body knows he’s not in that freezer if there’s light.
He sets the glass on the window sill and opens the window. Muggy August air flows in, and he stands in front of the window, head bowed, thumbs pressing into his eyebrows, letting the humid, late summer heat soak into him.
He’d talked to Wolf yesterday. Talking to the crisis counselor is mandatory after you almost get killed. Short talk, about twenty minutes of what he’d been up to lately, mostly how his life had changed in the last ten months. Wolf listened to him, asked a few general questions, and then took one of his cards out of his pocket, filled it in with a date and time (10:00 AM September 25, 2013) and said to him, “I know you need the time to get it right in your head before you can talk to me about it. Take the time. Six weeks, we’ll talk again.”
Tim nodded. That sounded better than staring at the clock trying to fill an hour with meaningless blather.“I want you to think about something between now and then. Last time you almost got killed, you dealt with it by putting your life in order. And that was good. That was constructive. Your life is in order now. You’ve got just about everything you’ve ever wanted, and are moving towards the things you don’t yet have. So the question is, now that you don’t have something to chase to keep fear away, how are you going to deal with it?”
And the answer is, he doesn’t know.
And he could see that Wolf knew he didn’t deal with the fear the first time, didn’t even try to. He pushed it aside as fast as possible, and threw himself into getting the life he wanted, and he didn’t let it touch him.
He rubs his shoulders, staring at his reflection in the window, listening to the birds starting to wake up. May 12, 2012. August 6, 2013. Too many close calls too close together.
He turns, takes a few steps, sits at his writing desk, and stares at his typewriter. Then shakes his head and gets back up. Burrowing into McGregor is just another way of not dealing with it. Then he looks at the typewriter again, maybe not. Writing the next chapter is a way of not dealing with it. McGregor isn’t dealing with anything like possibly dying, he’s off hacking the CIA to wrangle the intel they need.
But McGregor is a safe way for him to deal with the things that happen to him, a way to give himself the space to think about it, and while there’s no place for this in the current novel, there’s no reason why McGregor can’t have a short story, or that this can’t be a theme in the next novel. Hell, worst comes to worst, he can write his own damn fanfiction. Not like he’s the only author who occasionally wants to play with his characters in a way that doesn’t fit with the cannon.
He pulls the page out of the typewriter, and finds a fresh one.
He’s ten pages into it when Abby knocks on the door.
“Hey?”
She pokes her head in. “You going to work?”
He blinks. “What time is it?”
“7:10.”
As late as he can push it and still get a (very) fast shower, shave, breakfast, and in the car in time to get there by eight.
“Yes, but I’ll be in late.” Tony’s not back until tomorrow. Gibbs hasn’t been cleared for anything other than desk duty. And Ziva’s still ducking Wolf, so she isn’t cleared to be in the field, either. They won’t mind if he shows up late or takes a half day. Hell, if he gives these pages to Wolf, he’ll get cleared for active duty before the rest of the team. That might win him some brownie points from Gibbs. “I’ve got to get this out.”
“Okay. You want some coffee?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
She’s back a few minutes later with a mug of coffee, just the way he likes it, and kisses his forehead while he types. He nods a little, and smiles when she does it, but his mind is on the page, in McGregor’s head, or his own, hard to tell right now where the line is, but that’s the point of this.
He didn’t hear it when she headed out.
By 10:00 he had twenty-five pages next to him, and was feeling... better? Probably. More sure of himself, yes. Somewhere around page thirteen he fully shifted out of McGregor and into himself, and that was a good thing.
And he also knew what he needed to do. He’s not putting fear aside by this. He’s not hiding from death. He’s preparing for it. If the first step of being a real grown-up was getting a life worth living, the next step is accepting you won’t always be here, and making it as easy as possible on the ones you leave behind.
He stood up, stretched for a moment. Noticed the empty coffee cup next to him, and got a refill along with a bagel and a banana.
Then he headed back to his office, and this time to his computer. Most of this wouldn’t take too long. He got online, headed to his bank, and set Abby as his next of kin and beneficiary. He did the same for his IRA, for his money market account, for the 401K, and his investment account. She’d been his medical proxy since 2006, so that wasn’t an issue. He went to the NCIS human resources benefits page, and set her up as the beneficiary on his life insurance and pension.
One last thing. He called in to the NCIS switchboard and asked to be connected to Legal. They could see him at 11:30.
He texted Ziva, letting her know he’d be in after lunch.
By two, when he was back in the Bullpen, his will was done and would be filed before end of business that day.
Once he got to his desk, he packed up the pages he’d written in one of the red interoffice mail envelopes, put Wolf’s name on it, along with a note saying he wanted those pages back eventually.
Gibbs and Ziva watched him do it, but didn’t ask any questions. And right that moment he felt the lack of Tony in the desk next to them very acutely.
He’ll be back tomorrow.
And then he settled in for three hours of paperwork.
After dinner he took Abby into his office, gave her all of his passwords, a copy of his will, and took her through all of his accounts.
He wasn’t sure how she’d take it. Beyond setting up a joint checking account for rent, food, and utilities, they’d kept their finances separate. He hoped she wouldn’t be annoyed that he put her on all of his accounts without asking first. And she wasn’t.
She was sad. Not that he had done it, but that it needed to be done at all.
She half-smiled at him, trying to lighten the words, and said, “No happy endings.”
He shook his head. “Not in real life. Eventually it’ll be just one or the other of us.”
“I never thought I’d envy my parents.”
He looked at her, confused. From everything he’s heard about them, there were a lot of great things about Gloria and Thomas Sciuto, things worth envying.
“The way they died. Didn’t have to deal with any of this.”
“Oh.” Her parents had died together. “I’m not sure leaving your young kids behind counts as the happy ending, either.”
“Not for us, at least.” She sighed. “I’ll see the guys in legal tomorrow, get my stuff in order.”
“Thanks. I was thinking, since we don’t have any family nearby, how about asking Jimmy and Breena to be the guardians for our kids?”
She smiled, eyes tearing. “I think they’d be a really good choice.”
“Yeah.”
It certainly hadn’t been a light or fluffy evening. But when they got to bed he was feeling easier than he had in ten days. that night, he slept until morning, waking up at his usual time.
April 14, 2013
Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction
McGee centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
59. In The Basement
“Hey.”
Gibbs is in his basement, working on... he’s still not sure what it is. Probably not another boat. At least nothing in there looks like the skeleton of another boat to him, but still, what else would he need a stove and curved bookshelves for? Not like he’s going to build a cabin in his own basement.
Well, knowing Gibbs, maybe he would.
“What’s on your mind?” Gibbs asks as Tim stands on the bottom step.
“First off.” He handed Gibbs a new phone. “I don’t have it wired up yet. I want you to get used to using it before I do that. Don’t want you accidentally blowing off your own hand.”
Gibbs nods, staring at the smartphone, feeling the surprisingly solid weight of it in his hand. There are no buttons on it, and he’s thinking this is going to take some getting used to. He looks up at Tim an says, “Next up?”
Tim sits down on the second-from-the-bottom step. He takes off his badge and looks at it.
“Abby’s my partner.” Gibbs sits down next to him. “And I’m not willing to die for this, not anymore. I love you, and I love Tony, and I love Ziva, but I won’t throw myself in front of a bullet for you, not anymore. I can’t. I’ll kill whoever needs killing, but I won’t die for you. I have a woman, and eventually children, who depend on me. At the end of the day, I have to come home.”
He looks at Gibbs, who for once doesn’t have an expression that wraps everything up nice and tidy, and looks at his badge again. “Is it time to ask for the transfer to Cybercrime?”
Gibbs shrugs. Tim searches his face and can see Gibbs doesn’t know the answer, or maybe he does, but like Tim, he’s got two different ones. No, he doesn’t want the team he’s spent ten years building ripped apart. Yes, this is exactly who he wants for Abby’s husband, the man who will value her and their children above all other commitments.
“How did you handle being married and a Marine? Would you have hesitated to save someone at the cost of your life? Was it there in your mind that if you died, she’d be alone, crying?”
Gibbs shrugs again, and gets up to pour both of them a drink. This isn’t or, at least for him, can’t be, a cold sober conversation. He drinks his, and Tim holds his, not really feeling like drinking right now.
They sit there quietly for a long time. Eventually, Gibbs says, “I always told myself it was for the greater good. I was saving lives, protecting people. And that was true. And she believed in that, too. She knew I loved my job, she knew it was important, and she supported me in it. We were married for twelve years, and in twelve years she never complained to me about the job. And after she died I hated myself for that job. I hated all the lost years. I missed five years of her life. I missed three of Kelly’s nine years. Shannon kept a journal, and after... I read it. And she was scared, and she was alone, a lot.
“I wasn’t there to protect them. I wasn’t there to save them. And in the end, I wasn’t there to comfort them. They died alone.
“I failed both of them. And that will always be with me. What we do, it’s a shit substitute for having been there, but knowing I help others, keep other men out of my position, it’s the only thing that lets me sleep.” Gibbs shakes his head, and Tim gets the sense that “sleep” is a euphemism for “kept me from eating my gun those first few years.”
Gibbs sees Tim get it. Sees him understand why he has to be the best, has to push them harder, has to put more guys away faster than anyone else, and he continues, “I won’t lie; I want you on my team. I want you working for me, finding the pieces that save lives and put killers in jail. You are a damn good agent, and whoever takes your place won’t be nearly as good. But if you want Cybercrime, and you want to be there for Abby, every day, every night, I will understand and approve.
“She’s your wife, Tim,” and his look says, even if you are taking your sweet time on getting ‘round to actually marrying her. “And she should come first, and when you two have kids, they’ll come first, too. We’ll take second for as long as you can give it. But when it’s time to go, I think you’ll know. It won’t be a question; it’ll just be a fact.”
Tim closes his eyes, sighs, and takes a drink.
“I don’t think it’s time, yet.”
“Good.”
“I don’t want to be the man who breaks her heart.”
“I know. And I know she’s not cut out for this, not for the rest of your lives. Shannon was alone and scared, and she never said anything about it to me because she believed in it just as strongly as I did. She was willing to lose me to protect others. But Abby isn’t Shannon. Shannon never lost anyone. She didn’t know what it felt like. She hadn’t already put her life back together around the hole a loved one leaves.”
Tim nods.
“I saw you writing to her at Palmer’s wedding. And I knew you’d both grown up enough to be with each other. And I knew that meant we’d lose you. Tony and Ziva do too, even if they aren’t saying anything about it, yet.”
“I don’t want to screw you guys, either.”
“I know, Tim.”
“It’s a lot easier to just live for yourself.”
Gibbs smiles a little. “Yeah, it is.”
Tim fiddles with his glass. “You mind if I just sit here for a while.”
“Nope.”
Gibbs stood up. “You want any more?”
Tim looks at the barely touched bourbon in his hand. He sips a little. “I’m good.” Gibbs pours himself some more and sets the glass on his workbench.
“She was really angry at me when we got home.”
Gibbs nods. When he’d gotten his first Purple Heart, Shannon had been extremely displeased that he’d earned it. “She still angry?” That might be why Tim was here instead of with Abby.
“Not so much right now. But I think we both needed a little time on our own.”
Gibbs nods at that, too.
“She pushed it aside to be there for me.”
“She’s a good woman, Tim.”
“I know.” He shakes his head a little. “Just feel like a jerk. I didn’t even occur to me she was having a hard time until after we got home from the hospital and I woke up and found her crying.”
“I doubt she’ll hold it against you. You’re allowed to be a little self-centered when you almost die.”
“I guess.” He drinks a little more and sits there quietly. Gibbs goes back to his project and begins working.
Tim watches him sanding something. There’s a gentle, soothing sound to it, soft and raspy. He can easily see how this might get you into a good headspace.
It was maybe twenty minutes later when Tim says, “You knew I was writing to her at Palmer’s wedding.”
“Pen and paper. Unless you’re filling out a form, I’ve never seen you use pen and paper.”
Tim nods at that.
“When did you figure out we were together?”
Gibbs looks up. “Borin. Even you aren’t that bad at asking women out. You had someone in mind for those tickets, but not her. Two hours later, you’ve got a date with Abby. I’m not a genius, but I can do that math.”
“You didn’t say anything.”
“What would I have said? Hey, McGee, get your ass in gear and marry that woman.”
Tim looks amused. “You really loosen up when you drink, don’t you?”
Gibbs smiles, sips more of his drink.
“You could have said, ‘Hey, no need to sneak around. Rule twelve doesn’t apply here.’“
“When you transferred to my team, you were dating Abby, right?”
“Yes.”
“Did I say anything to you about twelve then?”
“No.”
“Wanna guess why?”
“Oh.” In retrospect, that made a whole lot of sense.
“Yeah. Have I ever said anything to you about twelve?”
“No. Tony filled me in on that one.”
Gibbs just looks at him. Tim sips his drink and says, “Huh.”
“If I couldn’t be there for Abby, who did I send to take care of her?”
“Me.”
“Who’s home did I have her stay at when she needed protection?”
“Mine.”
“Who do you think got you sent to Mexico with her?”
“You.”
“I’m not saying twelve is just a guideline or made to be broken. Twelve is there for an awfully good reason. But twelve is something I’ve never worried about with you.”
“Tony’s a different story?”
“Yeah, and so am I. Wrote twelve years before I met Tony. But you seem pretty good at not letting your balls do the thinking.”
Tim nods.
Gibbs takes another drink. “What I couldn’t figure out was what the hell was taking you two so long.”
Tim shrugs. “We’d already broken up once. Didn’t want to risk our friendship if it was going to happen again.”
Gibbs seems to think about that. “You were going to marry her, back the first time?”
Tim shrugs again. “Probably. But it wasn’t just up to me.”
“No it wasn’t. And you two needed the time apart, maybe not that much of it, to get your heads straight.”
“Yeah.” Tim takes another drink. “Was the thing with Diane a test?”
Gibbs smiles.
“Did I pass?”
Gibbs smiles wider. “I didn’t let Fornell shoot you, did I?”
Tim shakes his head and rolls his eyes a little. “How did you end up married to her?”
Now it was Gibbs’ turn to shrug. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“Were you drunk?”
The look Gibbs gives Tim indicates he’s not the only one who loosens up when drinking. Then he glances at Tim’s glass and notices he’s had about two teaspoons of bourbon in the last hour, so it’s not the alcohol. Gibbs gets a very satisfied look on his face, enjoying Tim actually being relaxed around him.
“Not the whole time.” Gibbs looks at the empty glass next to him. “Drinks to relieve his Messianic complex?”
Tim holds out his hands in a placating gesture. “They don’t let me write the blurbs on my books. Some guy in marketing does that. The words ‘Messianic complex’ do not occur anywhere inside the book.”
“Uh huh.” Gibbs’ look now says Cut the bullshit.
“They really don’t.”
“And the guy in marketing came up with that out of the blue?”
“Nope, my editor gave him a quick write up, which I did write, and the words ‘Messianic complex’ might have been in that.” Tim smiles, a little.
Gibbs just looks at him.
“Please, you three were Probie-ing the ever living shit out of me. It was fun to get some back.”
“Good.”
Tim takes another drink, and Gibbs puts down his tools, leans against his workbench facing Tim, looking like he’s actually expecting to talk for a while.
“Why did you take me to Afghanistan?”
Gibbs smiles at that, and Tim’s not entirely sure, because he doesn’t think he’s ever seen this expression before, at least not on Gibbs, but that might be salacious joy in his eyes. “Because coming home from Afghanistan is a hell of a lot of fun.”
Yep, he’d read that expression right. “That’s what those looks were about.”
“What looks?” Gibbs asks.
“You pretty much spent all of the last day smirking at me. I almost hit you.”
Gibbs laughs and shakes his head. “Never seen you that keyed up. Didn’t think you could get that keyed up. And I knew what was going to be waiting for you when you got home.”
Tim raises an eyebrow at him. “You took me half way around the world so I could get laid? I was doing just fine on that on my own.”
“If all you got was laid when you got home, you’re not doing it right,” Gibbs says dryly.
Tim shakes his head and laughs. “Okay, not just laid. And yeah, getting home was a lot of fun.”
“And next time the job takes us to the other side of the world, I’ll take Tony and let him have a real homecoming.”
Tim thinks about that and smirks. “That’s the single dirtiest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
“That’s ‘cause you didn’t know me when I was on active duty.”
Tim looks at him curiously.
Gibbs shrugs. “I wasn’t born this old, you know?”
Tim nods.
“So what is taking so long on the you two getting married? Last I heard you had the stones picked out.”
“Picked out, purchased, taken to the jeweler, ring designed, and now the guy is taking forever to get it done, but supposedly he’ll be done by the end of the month.”
“So go be a hard ass and speed him up.”
“What, did you get a new date in the pool?”
“No. Just be nice if you’d get married before I’m too old to walk her down the aisle.”
“Well, unlike my mechanic, who is replaceable, this guy isn’t. You want filigree work, really good filigree work, you go to him. And if you want it done right, done perfect, you wait until he gets done.”
“This better be one hell of a ring.”
“I can show you a picture of the sketch if you like.”
“Nah. When you get it’ll be soon enough.”
Tim nods and stands up. It’s not exactly late, but he’d like to get home before dinnertime. “I should get going.”
“Okay.”
“You want to come with me? Abby’d be happy to have you over for dinner, too.”
“Sure.”
59. In The Basement
“Hey.”
Gibbs is in his basement, working on... he’s still not sure what it is. Probably not another boat. At least nothing in there looks like the skeleton of another boat to him, but still, what else would he need a stove and curved bookshelves for? Not like he’s going to build a cabin in his own basement.
Well, knowing Gibbs, maybe he would.
“What’s on your mind?” Gibbs asks as Tim stands on the bottom step.
“First off.” He handed Gibbs a new phone. “I don’t have it wired up yet. I want you to get used to using it before I do that. Don’t want you accidentally blowing off your own hand.”
Gibbs nods, staring at the smartphone, feeling the surprisingly solid weight of it in his hand. There are no buttons on it, and he’s thinking this is going to take some getting used to. He looks up at Tim an says, “Next up?”
Tim sits down on the second-from-the-bottom step. He takes off his badge and looks at it.
“Abby’s my partner.” Gibbs sits down next to him. “And I’m not willing to die for this, not anymore. I love you, and I love Tony, and I love Ziva, but I won’t throw myself in front of a bullet for you, not anymore. I can’t. I’ll kill whoever needs killing, but I won’t die for you. I have a woman, and eventually children, who depend on me. At the end of the day, I have to come home.”
He looks at Gibbs, who for once doesn’t have an expression that wraps everything up nice and tidy, and looks at his badge again. “Is it time to ask for the transfer to Cybercrime?”
Gibbs shrugs. Tim searches his face and can see Gibbs doesn’t know the answer, or maybe he does, but like Tim, he’s got two different ones. No, he doesn’t want the team he’s spent ten years building ripped apart. Yes, this is exactly who he wants for Abby’s husband, the man who will value her and their children above all other commitments.
“How did you handle being married and a Marine? Would you have hesitated to save someone at the cost of your life? Was it there in your mind that if you died, she’d be alone, crying?”
Gibbs shrugs again, and gets up to pour both of them a drink. This isn’t or, at least for him, can’t be, a cold sober conversation. He drinks his, and Tim holds his, not really feeling like drinking right now.
They sit there quietly for a long time. Eventually, Gibbs says, “I always told myself it was for the greater good. I was saving lives, protecting people. And that was true. And she believed in that, too. She knew I loved my job, she knew it was important, and she supported me in it. We were married for twelve years, and in twelve years she never complained to me about the job. And after she died I hated myself for that job. I hated all the lost years. I missed five years of her life. I missed three of Kelly’s nine years. Shannon kept a journal, and after... I read it. And she was scared, and she was alone, a lot.
“I wasn’t there to protect them. I wasn’t there to save them. And in the end, I wasn’t there to comfort them. They died alone.
“I failed both of them. And that will always be with me. What we do, it’s a shit substitute for having been there, but knowing I help others, keep other men out of my position, it’s the only thing that lets me sleep.” Gibbs shakes his head, and Tim gets the sense that “sleep” is a euphemism for “kept me from eating my gun those first few years.”
Gibbs sees Tim get it. Sees him understand why he has to be the best, has to push them harder, has to put more guys away faster than anyone else, and he continues, “I won’t lie; I want you on my team. I want you working for me, finding the pieces that save lives and put killers in jail. You are a damn good agent, and whoever takes your place won’t be nearly as good. But if you want Cybercrime, and you want to be there for Abby, every day, every night, I will understand and approve.
“She’s your wife, Tim,” and his look says, even if you are taking your sweet time on getting ‘round to actually marrying her. “And she should come first, and when you two have kids, they’ll come first, too. We’ll take second for as long as you can give it. But when it’s time to go, I think you’ll know. It won’t be a question; it’ll just be a fact.”
Tim closes his eyes, sighs, and takes a drink.
“I don’t think it’s time, yet.”
“Good.”
“I don’t want to be the man who breaks her heart.”
“I know. And I know she’s not cut out for this, not for the rest of your lives. Shannon was alone and scared, and she never said anything about it to me because she believed in it just as strongly as I did. She was willing to lose me to protect others. But Abby isn’t Shannon. Shannon never lost anyone. She didn’t know what it felt like. She hadn’t already put her life back together around the hole a loved one leaves.”
Tim nods.
“I saw you writing to her at Palmer’s wedding. And I knew you’d both grown up enough to be with each other. And I knew that meant we’d lose you. Tony and Ziva do too, even if they aren’t saying anything about it, yet.”
“I don’t want to screw you guys, either.”
“I know, Tim.”
“It’s a lot easier to just live for yourself.”
Gibbs smiles a little. “Yeah, it is.”
Tim fiddles with his glass. “You mind if I just sit here for a while.”
“Nope.”
Gibbs stood up. “You want any more?”
Tim looks at the barely touched bourbon in his hand. He sips a little. “I’m good.” Gibbs pours himself some more and sets the glass on his workbench.
“She was really angry at me when we got home.”
Gibbs nods. When he’d gotten his first Purple Heart, Shannon had been extremely displeased that he’d earned it. “She still angry?” That might be why Tim was here instead of with Abby.
“Not so much right now. But I think we both needed a little time on our own.”
Gibbs nods at that, too.
“She pushed it aside to be there for me.”
“She’s a good woman, Tim.”
“I know.” He shakes his head a little. “Just feel like a jerk. I didn’t even occur to me she was having a hard time until after we got home from the hospital and I woke up and found her crying.”
“I doubt she’ll hold it against you. You’re allowed to be a little self-centered when you almost die.”
“I guess.” He drinks a little more and sits there quietly. Gibbs goes back to his project and begins working.
Tim watches him sanding something. There’s a gentle, soothing sound to it, soft and raspy. He can easily see how this might get you into a good headspace.
It was maybe twenty minutes later when Tim says, “You knew I was writing to her at Palmer’s wedding.”
“Pen and paper. Unless you’re filling out a form, I’ve never seen you use pen and paper.”
Tim nods at that.
“When did you figure out we were together?”
Gibbs looks up. “Borin. Even you aren’t that bad at asking women out. You had someone in mind for those tickets, but not her. Two hours later, you’ve got a date with Abby. I’m not a genius, but I can do that math.”
“You didn’t say anything.”
“What would I have said? Hey, McGee, get your ass in gear and marry that woman.”
Tim looks amused. “You really loosen up when you drink, don’t you?”
Gibbs smiles, sips more of his drink.
“You could have said, ‘Hey, no need to sneak around. Rule twelve doesn’t apply here.’“
“When you transferred to my team, you were dating Abby, right?”
“Yes.”
“Did I say anything to you about twelve then?”
“No.”
“Wanna guess why?”
“Oh.” In retrospect, that made a whole lot of sense.
“Yeah. Have I ever said anything to you about twelve?”
“No. Tony filled me in on that one.”
Gibbs just looks at him. Tim sips his drink and says, “Huh.”
“If I couldn’t be there for Abby, who did I send to take care of her?”
“Me.”
“Who’s home did I have her stay at when she needed protection?”
“Mine.”
“Who do you think got you sent to Mexico with her?”
“You.”
“I’m not saying twelve is just a guideline or made to be broken. Twelve is there for an awfully good reason. But twelve is something I’ve never worried about with you.”
“Tony’s a different story?”
“Yeah, and so am I. Wrote twelve years before I met Tony. But you seem pretty good at not letting your balls do the thinking.”
Tim nods.
Gibbs takes another drink. “What I couldn’t figure out was what the hell was taking you two so long.”
Tim shrugs. “We’d already broken up once. Didn’t want to risk our friendship if it was going to happen again.”
Gibbs seems to think about that. “You were going to marry her, back the first time?”
Tim shrugs again. “Probably. But it wasn’t just up to me.”
“No it wasn’t. And you two needed the time apart, maybe not that much of it, to get your heads straight.”
“Yeah.” Tim takes another drink. “Was the thing with Diane a test?”
Gibbs smiles.
“Did I pass?”
Gibbs smiles wider. “I didn’t let Fornell shoot you, did I?”
Tim shakes his head and rolls his eyes a little. “How did you end up married to her?”
Now it was Gibbs’ turn to shrug. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“Were you drunk?”
The look Gibbs gives Tim indicates he’s not the only one who loosens up when drinking. Then he glances at Tim’s glass and notices he’s had about two teaspoons of bourbon in the last hour, so it’s not the alcohol. Gibbs gets a very satisfied look on his face, enjoying Tim actually being relaxed around him.
“Not the whole time.” Gibbs looks at the empty glass next to him. “Drinks to relieve his Messianic complex?”
Tim holds out his hands in a placating gesture. “They don’t let me write the blurbs on my books. Some guy in marketing does that. The words ‘Messianic complex’ do not occur anywhere inside the book.”
“Uh huh.” Gibbs’ look now says Cut the bullshit.
“They really don’t.”
“And the guy in marketing came up with that out of the blue?”
“Nope, my editor gave him a quick write up, which I did write, and the words ‘Messianic complex’ might have been in that.” Tim smiles, a little.
Gibbs just looks at him.
“Please, you three were Probie-ing the ever living shit out of me. It was fun to get some back.”
“Good.”
Tim takes another drink, and Gibbs puts down his tools, leans against his workbench facing Tim, looking like he’s actually expecting to talk for a while.
“Why did you take me to Afghanistan?”
Gibbs smiles at that, and Tim’s not entirely sure, because he doesn’t think he’s ever seen this expression before, at least not on Gibbs, but that might be salacious joy in his eyes. “Because coming home from Afghanistan is a hell of a lot of fun.”
Yep, he’d read that expression right. “That’s what those looks were about.”
“What looks?” Gibbs asks.
“You pretty much spent all of the last day smirking at me. I almost hit you.”
Gibbs laughs and shakes his head. “Never seen you that keyed up. Didn’t think you could get that keyed up. And I knew what was going to be waiting for you when you got home.”
Tim raises an eyebrow at him. “You took me half way around the world so I could get laid? I was doing just fine on that on my own.”
“If all you got was laid when you got home, you’re not doing it right,” Gibbs says dryly.
Tim shakes his head and laughs. “Okay, not just laid. And yeah, getting home was a lot of fun.”
“And next time the job takes us to the other side of the world, I’ll take Tony and let him have a real homecoming.”
Tim thinks about that and smirks. “That’s the single dirtiest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
“That’s ‘cause you didn’t know me when I was on active duty.”
Tim looks at him curiously.
Gibbs shrugs. “I wasn’t born this old, you know?”
Tim nods.
“So what is taking so long on the you two getting married? Last I heard you had the stones picked out.”
“Picked out, purchased, taken to the jeweler, ring designed, and now the guy is taking forever to get it done, but supposedly he’ll be done by the end of the month.”
“So go be a hard ass and speed him up.”
“What, did you get a new date in the pool?”
“No. Just be nice if you’d get married before I’m too old to walk her down the aisle.”
“Well, unlike my mechanic, who is replaceable, this guy isn’t. You want filigree work, really good filigree work, you go to him. And if you want it done right, done perfect, you wait until he gets done.”
“This better be one hell of a ring.”
“I can show you a picture of the sketch if you like.”
“Nah. When you get it’ll be soon enough.”
Tim nods and stands up. It’s not exactly late, but he’d like to get home before dinnertime. “I should get going.”
“Okay.”
“You want to come with me? Abby’d be happy to have you over for dinner, too.”
“Sure.”
April 13, 2013
Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 58: True Love Is Not Just Fluffy Kittens and Rainbows
They went home about 2:00. Tim was having a hard time staying awake, and sleeping in the chair next to Tony just wasn't a good plan.He hadn't really slept the night before. He kept swimming through exhausted half-dream/memories of the men he killed, Tony not breathing, and falling, slowly to a floor colder than ice, colder than he was, but in the dream, the door didn't fling open and Dornie wasn't immediately running in and picking him up.Abby got him home, and he crashed into their bed, still in the clothing he had almost died in, asleep less than a minute after his head hit the pillow.This time, he didn't dream.
It's dark, and he's hungry when he wakes up. The clock says it's 8:42.He heads toward the kitchen, wondering where Abby is, and then hears water running in their second bathroom, which is weird. They don't really ever use that bathroom, don't really need it. And Abby rarely gets a night-time shower. Not like it never happens, and it's true they didn't get one this morning, but why wouldn't she be in the bathroom off of their bedroom?He knocks and hears a muffled, "Yeah?"So he goes in, and stops dead.She's sitting on the floor, back against the tub, tap and ventilation fan on, arms wrapped around her knees, sobbing.He's right next to her, arm around her shoulders less than half a breath later.She looks at him, face puffy, eyes red and bloodshot. "I didn't want to wake you up, but I couldn't keep it in any longer."Tim suddenly gets that she's had an absolutely horrific two days as well, and that she's been being strong for him, making sure he had someone to cry on when he needed it."Hey." He's petting her hair, and gets her settled between his legs, snuggled into his chest. "I've got you."This time he held her while she sobbed, letting her tears soak into his shirt, trying to sooth her by just being there.Eventually the sobbing slowed and she turned around, still crying, straddling his thighs, staring into his eyes. He was expecting sad, but furious is there, too, and it takes him by surprise."You do not get to die on me." Her voice is low, soft, raw from the crying and shaking with anger.He nods. She punches him, hard, on the shoulder, and he rubs it gently."You do not get to dangle this perfect fantasy life in front of me: married, house, kids, grow old together and then take it away by dying on me! You don't get to make me want that, need it, and then take it away!" She takes a fast, shuddering breath. "You don't get to make me need you and then go away." She's blinking as the tears stream down her face. "You don't." That was almost a whimper, her hands clenching on his shoulders.His hands wrap around her back, and he kisses her. "I'm not going anywhere."Wrong answer, though he's not sure if anything he could have said would have been right. She hit him on the shoulder again, and once again, this isn't just a little annoyed tap, there is rage and terror in this hit, and it hurts. "You don't know that! Kate went out there and never came home. Jenny didn't come home. Mike didn't come home." Another fast, hard, shuddering breath. "My mom and dad didn't come home!""I'm here now."She's sobbing again, whole body shaking in his arms, but she doesn't want to curl into him, he can see that. "You let go! You let go of Gibbs and Ziva and Tony. You were going to lie down and die!"He's too close to it, the memory of letting go of Gibbs is still too fresh, and he can't keep his own voice or tears under control as he says, "If I had kept holding on, we all would have died.""You didn't know that!" She hits him again, both fists slamming into his shoulders, and he takes her wrists in his hands, holding tight, accepting that she's furious and terrified, but not willing to let her beat it out on his skin. "You don't get to let go! You don't ever let go! As long as you are breathing, you will hold on. And if it's you or Ziva, or you or Tony, or you or Gibbs, you pick you!" She didn't yell the last bit, her voice dropped and went soft, but he knows she has never, ever been this angry at anyone before, and she has never meant anything the way she means that.He doesn't say anything to that, not sure what he could say. Tony, Ziva, Gibbs, they're his partners, and he'd throw his life in front of theirs without thinking about it. But if he does that, she'll be here, alone, and Tony and Ziva and Gibbs aren't him, they aren't the life, the love she's come to count on, they aren't the future they both desperately want.He can remember telling Wolf that you can be married to the job or married to your spouse, and he can see from the way she's looking at him a choice is coming up."You said say the word, I'm saying it. Get the desk job. I'm not sitting there again, watching our life fade away, powerless to do anything about it."He kisses her forehead. "I'll talk to Vance in the morning."She stares at him for a moment, breathing hard and fast, not looking at all relieved by him agreeing to do it. He can feel from the way she's trying to move her arms that she wants to hit him again, but he's not going to let her do that, so she throws her head back and screams.He hopes the water and the ventilation fan is enough to at least muffle that sound. Now would be a very bad time for the neighbors to call the cops.But it seemed to help. She's still crying, but looks calmer when she says, "Don't talk to Vance. Without you in the field they all would have just vanished, and..."And they both know how badly things could have gone if they hadn't shown up in time to stop those guys. She can do the math as well as he can, but being handed a flag at the end of a funeral, no matter how many lives you save by dying, doesn't make saying goodbye any easier, and it doesn't make the loss of the one you love best any less painful.For a long minute they sit there, watching each other. He doesn't know what he can say to her, not sure if there is anything. Because, like when Jimmy and Ducky got kidnapped, the best he can say, the best he can ever say is 'today it wasn't me' and especially right now, that's just not enough.Eventually, enough time passes and she relaxes a little. He lets go of her wrists, and she wraps her arms around his neck. He touches her face gently, and she turns into his hand and kisses his fingers. Her eyes close, and for another minute she just breathes, slowly, getting herself under control.Then she opens her eyes. "The first time we dated, after you gave me the first poem, I was lying next to you in the coffin, watching you sleep, and I could feel it, if I let myself, I'd fall in love with you, and not just the so-happy-I-like-having-you-around-love, but the my-life-melts-into-yours-and-you-become-just-as-important-to-me-as-breathing-love, and I couldn't take it."He, obviously, doesn't remember that part of it. But he does remember waking up with her staring at him, and smiling at her, loving having her near, reaching up to kiss her, and watching her more or less jump out of the coffin, run into the shower, and then tell him about how she didn't want anything beyond friendship and sex when she got out. "That was the morning you told me you didn't want anything serious."She nods, and he strokes her shoulders and arms. "Yeah. I loved my parents like that. And Ziva's right, you don't get over it. You just get through it. But losing it breaks you. I'm not the person I was before they died. I wasn't going to let that happen again.""Why'd you change your mind?"She smiles a little. "Kyle. He has a girlfriend he adores and a lot of really deep, intense relationships; he reminds me of who I used to be before they died. And I liked that version of me. And keeping a wall between me and really loving something wasn't working. It didn't keep fear away. It didn't make life better. It didn't make it hurt any less when Kate or Jenny died. It didn't make burying Mike any easier. It just made my life shallower because I didn't get to really enjoy them."And you asked me out, and I realized I didn't want shallow with you. That of everyone in my life, you were the one I didn't want shallow with. I bought my bed the next day, because I wanted a place for you in my home, in my life."He kisses her gently. Lips stroking over hers.She pulls back after a few seconds. "But I can't lose this. I can't lose you. And I am not okay with you almost dying. A bullet comes out of nowhere, and there's nothing you can do about it, fine. That's fate. That's the speeding car going the wrong way. And if it happens, it happens. But you promise me, no matter what, if it's in your control, you come home! You do not ever let go again."And that was the change. He's not Tony's partner anymore, he's Abby's. She comes first. Honor, duty, love, all of these have bound him to Tony, Ziva, and Gibbs, but now she has first claim on them. Family first, Gibbs has said, but he had to lose his to get to the point where he could live that. And now, above and beyond the others, Abby is family. And he's not entirely sure how to balance his work and her, but he's certainly going to try to figure it out.So he kisses her, gently, and holds her face in his hands while he says, "If it's in my power, I will come home. As long as there is breath in my body, I will fight to return to you."Her eyes close as he says that and she inhales deeply, and opens the slowly, holding his gaze with hers. "Make a baby with me? So, that, if something happens, if you ever aren't here, you're still here."There's an electric rush that goes with her words, a full body thrill that's unlike anything he's ever felt before. It's not pleasure. Pleasure is part of it, but this is more intense than that, it's more real, more meaningful. This might be ecstasy, in the original, religious sense, or as close to that as he'll ever feel."Yes!"Her lips crush against his, both of them fighting with their clothing, tearing at it, with an almost frenzy of desire to get naked fast. God, please, yes!The thousand feelings of the last two days distilled into her body on his and the smooth, hot, tight roll of her hips against his, all of it moving toward life.Yes. Life. Fuck. And again, yes! Her body on his. Her soul under his hands. Love and terror, agony and joy wrapping into each other and thrusting towards life stretching into forever.And if death is eternal, and if you can't cheat or win, this at least pushes it off a little further. This motion, this joy, this white-hot electric pleasure rising and falling like breath puts extinction off just a little further, buying life a generation more.If there's anything that does a better job of letting you know you're alive than sex for the purpose of making a child, Tim doesn't know what it might be.She's warm and soft in his lap. He holds her close, lips on hers, his left hand buried in her hair, right on the small of her back, her arms wrapped around his shoulders. She broke the kiss, head falling back, and he licked her throat, kissing greedily, feeling her pulse under his mouth.And right that minute he's never been more alive, and has never been more grateful for that fact.
Hours later, a thought occurs to him as they're in the kitchen wolfing down a large plate of scrambled eggs. Both of them were famished and neither had felt energetic enough to make anything even remotely complicated."Wasn't your last Depo shot like, two weeks ago?" He sounds disappointed as he asks, because he knows it's true, and that shuts down a lot of the post-sex, maybe-baby glow.She thinks about that, sees the look on his face, and then grins at him."Get me pregnant ten weeks from now?"He feels the smile spread across his face, wide and happy, the first gesture of unalloyed joy in two days. "My pleasure."
Chapter 58: True Love Is Not Just Fluffy Kittens and Rainbows
They went home about 2:00. Tim was having a hard time staying awake, and sleeping in the chair next to Tony just wasn't a good plan.He hadn't really slept the night before. He kept swimming through exhausted half-dream/memories of the men he killed, Tony not breathing, and falling, slowly to a floor colder than ice, colder than he was, but in the dream, the door didn't fling open and Dornie wasn't immediately running in and picking him up.Abby got him home, and he crashed into their bed, still in the clothing he had almost died in, asleep less than a minute after his head hit the pillow.This time, he didn't dream.
It's dark, and he's hungry when he wakes up. The clock says it's 8:42.He heads toward the kitchen, wondering where Abby is, and then hears water running in their second bathroom, which is weird. They don't really ever use that bathroom, don't really need it. And Abby rarely gets a night-time shower. Not like it never happens, and it's true they didn't get one this morning, but why wouldn't she be in the bathroom off of their bedroom?He knocks and hears a muffled, "Yeah?"So he goes in, and stops dead.She's sitting on the floor, back against the tub, tap and ventilation fan on, arms wrapped around her knees, sobbing.He's right next to her, arm around her shoulders less than half a breath later.She looks at him, face puffy, eyes red and bloodshot. "I didn't want to wake you up, but I couldn't keep it in any longer."Tim suddenly gets that she's had an absolutely horrific two days as well, and that she's been being strong for him, making sure he had someone to cry on when he needed it."Hey." He's petting her hair, and gets her settled between his legs, snuggled into his chest. "I've got you."This time he held her while she sobbed, letting her tears soak into his shirt, trying to sooth her by just being there.Eventually the sobbing slowed and she turned around, still crying, straddling his thighs, staring into his eyes. He was expecting sad, but furious is there, too, and it takes him by surprise."You do not get to die on me." Her voice is low, soft, raw from the crying and shaking with anger.He nods. She punches him, hard, on the shoulder, and he rubs it gently."You do not get to dangle this perfect fantasy life in front of me: married, house, kids, grow old together and then take it away by dying on me! You don't get to make me want that, need it, and then take it away!" She takes a fast, shuddering breath. "You don't get to make me need you and then go away." She's blinking as the tears stream down her face. "You don't." That was almost a whimper, her hands clenching on his shoulders.His hands wrap around her back, and he kisses her. "I'm not going anywhere."Wrong answer, though he's not sure if anything he could have said would have been right. She hit him on the shoulder again, and once again, this isn't just a little annoyed tap, there is rage and terror in this hit, and it hurts. "You don't know that! Kate went out there and never came home. Jenny didn't come home. Mike didn't come home." Another fast, hard, shuddering breath. "My mom and dad didn't come home!""I'm here now."She's sobbing again, whole body shaking in his arms, but she doesn't want to curl into him, he can see that. "You let go! You let go of Gibbs and Ziva and Tony. You were going to lie down and die!"He's too close to it, the memory of letting go of Gibbs is still too fresh, and he can't keep his own voice or tears under control as he says, "If I had kept holding on, we all would have died.""You didn't know that!" She hits him again, both fists slamming into his shoulders, and he takes her wrists in his hands, holding tight, accepting that she's furious and terrified, but not willing to let her beat it out on his skin. "You don't get to let go! You don't ever let go! As long as you are breathing, you will hold on. And if it's you or Ziva, or you or Tony, or you or Gibbs, you pick you!" She didn't yell the last bit, her voice dropped and went soft, but he knows she has never, ever been this angry at anyone before, and she has never meant anything the way she means that.He doesn't say anything to that, not sure what he could say. Tony, Ziva, Gibbs, they're his partners, and he'd throw his life in front of theirs without thinking about it. But if he does that, she'll be here, alone, and Tony and Ziva and Gibbs aren't him, they aren't the life, the love she's come to count on, they aren't the future they both desperately want.He can remember telling Wolf that you can be married to the job or married to your spouse, and he can see from the way she's looking at him a choice is coming up."You said say the word, I'm saying it. Get the desk job. I'm not sitting there again, watching our life fade away, powerless to do anything about it."He kisses her forehead. "I'll talk to Vance in the morning."She stares at him for a moment, breathing hard and fast, not looking at all relieved by him agreeing to do it. He can feel from the way she's trying to move her arms that she wants to hit him again, but he's not going to let her do that, so she throws her head back and screams.He hopes the water and the ventilation fan is enough to at least muffle that sound. Now would be a very bad time for the neighbors to call the cops.But it seemed to help. She's still crying, but looks calmer when she says, "Don't talk to Vance. Without you in the field they all would have just vanished, and..."And they both know how badly things could have gone if they hadn't shown up in time to stop those guys. She can do the math as well as he can, but being handed a flag at the end of a funeral, no matter how many lives you save by dying, doesn't make saying goodbye any easier, and it doesn't make the loss of the one you love best any less painful.For a long minute they sit there, watching each other. He doesn't know what he can say to her, not sure if there is anything. Because, like when Jimmy and Ducky got kidnapped, the best he can say, the best he can ever say is 'today it wasn't me' and especially right now, that's just not enough.Eventually, enough time passes and she relaxes a little. He lets go of her wrists, and she wraps her arms around his neck. He touches her face gently, and she turns into his hand and kisses his fingers. Her eyes close, and for another minute she just breathes, slowly, getting herself under control.Then she opens her eyes. "The first time we dated, after you gave me the first poem, I was lying next to you in the coffin, watching you sleep, and I could feel it, if I let myself, I'd fall in love with you, and not just the so-happy-I-like-having-you-around-love, but the my-life-melts-into-yours-and-you-become-just-as-important-to-me-as-breathing-love, and I couldn't take it."He, obviously, doesn't remember that part of it. But he does remember waking up with her staring at him, and smiling at her, loving having her near, reaching up to kiss her, and watching her more or less jump out of the coffin, run into the shower, and then tell him about how she didn't want anything beyond friendship and sex when she got out. "That was the morning you told me you didn't want anything serious."She nods, and he strokes her shoulders and arms. "Yeah. I loved my parents like that. And Ziva's right, you don't get over it. You just get through it. But losing it breaks you. I'm not the person I was before they died. I wasn't going to let that happen again.""Why'd you change your mind?"She smiles a little. "Kyle. He has a girlfriend he adores and a lot of really deep, intense relationships; he reminds me of who I used to be before they died. And I liked that version of me. And keeping a wall between me and really loving something wasn't working. It didn't keep fear away. It didn't make life better. It didn't make it hurt any less when Kate or Jenny died. It didn't make burying Mike any easier. It just made my life shallower because I didn't get to really enjoy them."And you asked me out, and I realized I didn't want shallow with you. That of everyone in my life, you were the one I didn't want shallow with. I bought my bed the next day, because I wanted a place for you in my home, in my life."He kisses her gently. Lips stroking over hers.She pulls back after a few seconds. "But I can't lose this. I can't lose you. And I am not okay with you almost dying. A bullet comes out of nowhere, and there's nothing you can do about it, fine. That's fate. That's the speeding car going the wrong way. And if it happens, it happens. But you promise me, no matter what, if it's in your control, you come home! You do not ever let go again."And that was the change. He's not Tony's partner anymore, he's Abby's. She comes first. Honor, duty, love, all of these have bound him to Tony, Ziva, and Gibbs, but now she has first claim on them. Family first, Gibbs has said, but he had to lose his to get to the point where he could live that. And now, above and beyond the others, Abby is family. And he's not entirely sure how to balance his work and her, but he's certainly going to try to figure it out.So he kisses her, gently, and holds her face in his hands while he says, "If it's in my power, I will come home. As long as there is breath in my body, I will fight to return to you."Her eyes close as he says that and she inhales deeply, and opens the slowly, holding his gaze with hers. "Make a baby with me? So, that, if something happens, if you ever aren't here, you're still here."There's an electric rush that goes with her words, a full body thrill that's unlike anything he's ever felt before. It's not pleasure. Pleasure is part of it, but this is more intense than that, it's more real, more meaningful. This might be ecstasy, in the original, religious sense, or as close to that as he'll ever feel."Yes!"Her lips crush against his, both of them fighting with their clothing, tearing at it, with an almost frenzy of desire to get naked fast. God, please, yes!The thousand feelings of the last two days distilled into her body on his and the smooth, hot, tight roll of her hips against his, all of it moving toward life.Yes. Life. Fuck. And again, yes! Her body on his. Her soul under his hands. Love and terror, agony and joy wrapping into each other and thrusting towards life stretching into forever.And if death is eternal, and if you can't cheat or win, this at least pushes it off a little further. This motion, this joy, this white-hot electric pleasure rising and falling like breath puts extinction off just a little further, buying life a generation more.If there's anything that does a better job of letting you know you're alive than sex for the purpose of making a child, Tim doesn't know what it might be.She's warm and soft in his lap. He holds her close, lips on hers, his left hand buried in her hair, right on the small of her back, her arms wrapped around his shoulders. She broke the kiss, head falling back, and he licked her throat, kissing greedily, feeling her pulse under his mouth.And right that minute he's never been more alive, and has never been more grateful for that fact.
Hours later, a thought occurs to him as they're in the kitchen wolfing down a large plate of scrambled eggs. Both of them were famished and neither had felt energetic enough to make anything even remotely complicated."Wasn't your last Depo shot like, two weeks ago?" He sounds disappointed as he asks, because he knows it's true, and that shuts down a lot of the post-sex, maybe-baby glow.She thinks about that, sees the look on his face, and then grins at him."Get me pregnant ten weeks from now?"He feels the smile spread across his face, wide and happy, the first gesture of unalloyed joy in two days. "My pleasure."
April 12, 2013
Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction
McGee centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Tim can't stop shivering.
He watched them run Tony to a gurney, packing him in heated blankets. An EMT started a line of heated saline and the ambulance roared off. But they weren't breathing for him, and they weren't pumping his chest, so he's alive.
And right now that's all that matters.
He's so cold, and the shivering just won't stop.
And the heated blankets, the coffee, and Abby wrapped around him hasn't stopped the shivering.
Vance wants answers. Ducky told him, and this blew Tim's mind once he realized it happened, about three minutes after Ducky had said it, "Director, bugger off. All three of them are frozen, and in no condition to do anything besides warm up and rest. Tonight, they rest. Tomorrow, they rest. Noon, day after tomorrow, that's the soonest you get to talk to any of them. And I do not care if the President himself is breathing down your neck for answers, those are my orders, and when it comes to this, my orders trump his."
Ducky checked them for frostbite, and amazingly enough, he doesn't have any. Gibbs does. His feet are white. So are the tips of his fingers. But he and Ziva don't, probably because they were at the door shooting for the first half hour.
As soon as Ducky says she doesn't have frostbite, Ziva's wants to go to the hospital after Tony, but she's not warmed up enough to fight Palmer, who is holding onto her. "Ziva, we're going home. And as soon as you're warmed up, I will take you to Tony. But right now you've got to get warmed up."
Ducky then spends about ten minutes explaining to Abby what they are supposed to be doing. He says they could go to the hospital, but really there's no need for it. Tim can warm up just as easily at home as he can at the hospital. Though Ducky does give her a long list of issues to look out for and explains that if any of them do happen, to call him immediately.
Tim's floating through it, not really aware of much of anything besides his body shaking and the glorious, scalding, hot of the air and blanket.
Palmer goes with Ziva, Ducky goes with Gibbs, and Abby guides him to her car.
He's expecting her to take him home. She doesn't. She drives into town, and pulls up at the Adam's House.
"Abby..." He's having a hard time talking, relaxing his jaw enough to speak just means his teeth chatter uncontrollably.
"Jacuzzi hot tub."
He nods. That sounds really good right about now.
They have a tub at their place, but it's like four feet long. He can lay back, and have most of his legs sticking out. Or sit down, and have his upper half out. Either way that's not full immersion in lukewarm water, which Ducky recommended.
She parks and leaves him in the car, heater on, seat heaters turned on high, and he just sits there and dozes as well as he can with his whole body shaking.
Eventually she's back, arm around his waist, his arm over her shoulders, pressing in close and leading him to a room. And if people wondered about the man wrapped in a blanket, shivering, in the middle of the worst of August heat, he didn't notice.
She'd already gotten the bath started. It was a good six inches full by the time he was standing next to the tub. He doesn't even try to get himself out of his clothing. He's shaking too hard to work a zipper, let alone the buttons on his shirt.
Tim stands there while she undresses him.
He can see himself in the mirror. It's been at least an hour since they got out, but his lips, fingernails, nipples, and toenails are all still blue. His skin is tinged with it.
He sits, slowly, on the edge of the bath, slides his feet in, and screams, jerking them out of the water, falling backward, unable to coordinate well enough to catch himself before he topples over.
She got him before he hit the floor. Broke his fall, and lowered him, gently, the last few inches.
"What happened?"
"Burned."
He doesn't have frostbite. He's just cold, very, very cold. And Ducky had said something about keeping the water lukewarm at first. He didn't mention that if you put a very cold part of your body into warm water, it'll burn you.
Abby got him sitting up, wrapped him back up in the blanket, and cranked the cold water. Obviously what had felt lukewarm to her was still way too hot.
A minute later she dripped some water on his foot. "Better?"
He nods.
"Okay, let's try this again." And once again, he got in the bath, and this time it didn't burn, it was just pleasantly warm, so he just laid there and dozed, letting the heat slowly soak back into his body.
He half-heard her voice saying, "I don't care if it's August, I want two pitchers of hot chocolate up here, now!"
He smiles a little at that. Back in... March maybe, it was a freakishly late storm for DC, they went out to play in the snow, and after, they came in, shivering, and he made them hot chocolate, telling her about how much he loved it on cold days.
She's leaning against the side of the tub, petting his hair. He turns and leans into her hand, though his eyes don't open.
"Hi."
"You really here, now?" she asks.
"Enough. You mind adding some more hot to this?"
"No."
She turns on the hot tap for about ten seconds, and then swirls the water around him.
"That's good. How warm is it?"
"Seventy-eight? Eighty-two? Cold swimming pool temp."
"Shit."
"Yeah, you're cold."
He opens his eyes to look at his fingers and toes. The color is slowly starting to come back. "Can't believe I didn't get frostbite."
She kisses his forehead, resting with her lips against him, not moving.
A minute later, there's a knock on the door, and she goes to answer it. He reaches up with his foot, nudges the hot water tap. More of it starts to dribble into the tub.
She comes in, holding a mug full of hot chocolate in one hand, and a coffee carafe full of it in the other.
She hands him the mug. "Drink."
He does, and it's absolutely delicious, and way too hot. It burns on the way down, and the mug burns his fingers, but he doesn't care. Just because it feels hot to him doesn't mean it really is. While he drinks, she puts the carafe on the shelf with the scrubby and soap, and then takes off her own clothing.
"Scoot forward a bit."
He does, and she slides in behind him. A minute after that he's resting in warm (ish) water, his back against her chest, his head on her shoulder, as she held, arms and legs wrapped around, onto him.
Eventually the shivers stop. Eventually the water's steaming hot.
Eventually he can talk. She doesn't ask questions, doesn't nudge him for this, she just holds him and lets him warm up, safe and wrapped in her body.
Abby knows that he'll talk when he can. That's how he is. Press him too soon, and it's useless, he'll just shut down, walk away. But if she gives him the space he needs for this, he won't hold onto it, either. All she has to do is stay there, holding him, and eventually, he'll tell her what happened.
"We'd gotten the intel on that warehouse, but when we got there Ziva noticed a van in front, and the van was being loaded. Tony ID'd the driver and one of the guys loading as Jamison and Hacker, so we decided that instead of running in and grabbing them to follow and see where they were going with the shells." At that point in the op they knew about the shells. That's how they got this case, Homeland Security had a case where someone was stealing shells off of battleships. And who better than NCIS to get into that?
The Sarin was the surprise twist.
"We followed them. Which is how we got to the second warehouse, where you guys found us. We'd followed them, but apparently they'd followed us as well." It was supposed to be a small group. Four, maybe six guys, tops. And all six of them were in view, so they didn't pay too close of attention to who might have been behind them. Homeland Security had files on Jamison and Hacker, knew they were working together, thought they were selling the shells to different radical groups.
"When we got out of the car to see what was inside that warehouse, they grabbed us. Took our guns and cells, and herded us into the warehouse." Which was where they found out four-six guys was closer to thirty. And the theft/sale ring was some sort of terrorist organization that, judging by the body armor and the way they were all together, was about to go and attack something.
"I watched him kill each phone, and I know what can happen if he messes with mine. So I start babbling about I want to live, how I've got three kids at home, and how I've got some really important info on my phone and I'll trade him the password for getting out of there. Hoping the lies about who's at home let Gibbs and Tony and Ziva know that we're about to get the only distraction we'll get, so in a second we need to bolt for the guns and run.
"And he's being a dick about the phone, taunting me about what I could possibly have on it that he'd want. And Tony's on the same page I am less than a second later, yelling at me about not letting that info go, complaining to Gibbs about how computer geeks are useless on a field team. Gibbs is staring at me like he's never been more disgusted in his life. Ziva actually got free and hit me to make me 'shut up,' and when they grabbed her again she was three steps closer to the guns. I kept babbling about how we knew about them and if he wanted to see all the intel on them he'd open that file. And then I fed him the wrong password, and it blew his hand off, and we grabbed our guns and ran like hell. Twenty guys between us and the doors, so into the warehouse we went.
"I saw the freezer, saw what was in it, and I led us to it. And as long as no one closed the door, we could use it for cover and hold out until you guys came."
Tim closes his eyes and goes quiet. He can still feel his heart pounding, the claustrophobic feeling of being closed in between too high crates filled with shells, and glint of stainless steel on the far wall. She gives him a gentle squeeze and strokes his face, bringing him back to a hot bath in a perfectly safe hotel room.
He swallows, starts to talk again. "I killed seven men today. Maybe more. I fired ten times while we were running. Not sure if I hit anyone then. I maimed one. My phone took his hand clean off. Might have killed him, too. I don't know if they got the artery clamped in time. But when we were in the freezer, I had seven bullets. I couldn't miss, so I didn't."
"How did you have seven bullets?" His gun holds fifteen bullets, hence the question.
He opens his eyes. "Five from mine, two from Tony's."
"Tony let you use his gun?"
"No. Ziva picked his gun. Gibbs gave me his. But I couldn't miss, so I didn't want to switch guns, so I got Tony's magazine when I ran out, and Ziva got Gibbs' gun. Ziva and I guarded the door, picking them off as they kept coming, trying to shut us in, while Tony and Gibbs stayed behind us, in the freezer, spotting the next target for us." And while that's a little vague, and she's not entirely following him, she's not about to ask for more clarification, not right now. It makes sense to him, and that's enough.
"Targets." He closes his eyes, feeling the hit of his gun snapping into his palm as it fired. "They weren't people." He starts to shiver again. "That's never been true before. Before it's always been a person. But today they were just...the things trying to keep me from going home to you. If I was going to keep breathing, they had to stop, and I stopped them. I didn't miss. Seven bullets, seven head shots, seven dead men."
Tim's not crying. He's shivering, and his voice is rough, but he's not crying. Abby squeezes him a little tighter, kisses his temple, trying to comfort him with her touch.
He inhales deep and ragged, still shaking. "Tony's a person. He's my best friend, and I talked Ziva into letting him freeze. She was in the middle, and that's just the way it was. Nothing else was going to happen. We didn't even have to talk about it. As soon as the door shut, we snuggled in around her." Abby's gently rubbing his chest, her lips pressed against the side of his head. She can feel his control slipping away from him, feel him slipping away from her, back into the frozen dark in his mind.
"But Tony was already cold at that point. He was losing heat faster than the rest of us. He should have been in the middle, he needed the heat more, but we just couldn't do it. If anyone was going to be in the middle, it was Ziva. We put Kate and Jenny in the ground, and we couldn't do it for her. So Ziva was in the middle."
And now he is crying, clutching the hand that was stroking his chest. "He stopped talking. He stopped shivering. And she wanted to change places, and I talked her out of it. And if I couldn't have talked her out of it, Gibbs and I would have held her in place. Gibbs was wearing his jacket, and he tried to take it off, give it to Tony, and I talked him out of that, too. It couldn't have saved Tony, and it would have killed Gibbs that much faster."
She's petting him as he takes a deep breath, trying to get the crying under control, because he needs to get these words out.
"Tony understands, Tim."
"I know. He approved even; he and Gibbs would have done the exact same thing for me if you were in the middle. And Gibbs was right with me on it. But that doesn't make it better, doesn't change it. I talked them out of it. I told the lies that made Ziva stay still."
"You all came home."
He nods. Still crying, and shifts so he's on his side, holding onto her, head against her chest. She kisses his forehead. "He fell over, and we caught him, made sure he stayed standing... He told Ziva he loved her... and then he just stopped... Ziva was shaking him... and he didn't move... I was holding him... and I couldn't feel him breathe." He's inhaling fast between each phrase, gulping air, and shaking from head to toes with his tears. "And by that point I was swaying on my feet, too, just about ready to drop... and he's not breathing... Ziva was crying... and she's trying to slap Tony, but she can't because we're too pressed in against her... And Gibbs is holding on to us, like our lives depend on it... and they do... and I could feel it... my knees were going... and Tony's dead... and if I take them down, Gibbs and Ziva are next, and I started to collapse, and he can't hold both of us up, so I let go... and then the door opened and they carried us out and we were in scalding light and hot air... but..." And he can't form words, for a moment he's just shaking and crying.
Abby holds him, rocking him gently. "You all came home."
"He wasn't breathing!" He's sobbing, curled into a ball on his side, head on her chest, clinging to her. "I put him in that room, and he wasn't breathing when he came out."
"He is now." She holds him tight, arms cradled around his head and shoulders while he sobs on her. And it doesn't matter that today is the second worst day of her life, because this is the worst day of his. She finds her calm center, pushes her own panic away, the absolute white hot arc of fear at hearing he had let go, and holds him, making gentle, almost shushing sounds, because right now he needs the comfort more than she does.
Tim can't stop shivering.
He watched them run Tony to a gurney, packing him in heated blankets. An EMT started a line of heated saline and the ambulance roared off. But they weren't breathing for him, and they weren't pumping his chest, so he's alive.
And right now that's all that matters.
He's so cold, and the shivering just won't stop.
And the heated blankets, the coffee, and Abby wrapped around him hasn't stopped the shivering.
Vance wants answers. Ducky told him, and this blew Tim's mind once he realized it happened, about three minutes after Ducky had said it, "Director, bugger off. All three of them are frozen, and in no condition to do anything besides warm up and rest. Tonight, they rest. Tomorrow, they rest. Noon, day after tomorrow, that's the soonest you get to talk to any of them. And I do not care if the President himself is breathing down your neck for answers, those are my orders, and when it comes to this, my orders trump his."
Ducky checked them for frostbite, and amazingly enough, he doesn't have any. Gibbs does. His feet are white. So are the tips of his fingers. But he and Ziva don't, probably because they were at the door shooting for the first half hour.
As soon as Ducky says she doesn't have frostbite, Ziva's wants to go to the hospital after Tony, but she's not warmed up enough to fight Palmer, who is holding onto her. "Ziva, we're going home. And as soon as you're warmed up, I will take you to Tony. But right now you've got to get warmed up."
Ducky then spends about ten minutes explaining to Abby what they are supposed to be doing. He says they could go to the hospital, but really there's no need for it. Tim can warm up just as easily at home as he can at the hospital. Though Ducky does give her a long list of issues to look out for and explains that if any of them do happen, to call him immediately.
Tim's floating through it, not really aware of much of anything besides his body shaking and the glorious, scalding, hot of the air and blanket.
Palmer goes with Ziva, Ducky goes with Gibbs, and Abby guides him to her car.
He's expecting her to take him home. She doesn't. She drives into town, and pulls up at the Adam's House.
"Abby..." He's having a hard time talking, relaxing his jaw enough to speak just means his teeth chatter uncontrollably.
"Jacuzzi hot tub."
He nods. That sounds really good right about now.
They have a tub at their place, but it's like four feet long. He can lay back, and have most of his legs sticking out. Or sit down, and have his upper half out. Either way that's not full immersion in lukewarm water, which Ducky recommended.
She parks and leaves him in the car, heater on, seat heaters turned on high, and he just sits there and dozes as well as he can with his whole body shaking.
Eventually she's back, arm around his waist, his arm over her shoulders, pressing in close and leading him to a room. And if people wondered about the man wrapped in a blanket, shivering, in the middle of the worst of August heat, he didn't notice.
She'd already gotten the bath started. It was a good six inches full by the time he was standing next to the tub. He doesn't even try to get himself out of his clothing. He's shaking too hard to work a zipper, let alone the buttons on his shirt.
Tim stands there while she undresses him.
He can see himself in the mirror. It's been at least an hour since they got out, but his lips, fingernails, nipples, and toenails are all still blue. His skin is tinged with it.
He sits, slowly, on the edge of the bath, slides his feet in, and screams, jerking them out of the water, falling backward, unable to coordinate well enough to catch himself before he topples over.
She got him before he hit the floor. Broke his fall, and lowered him, gently, the last few inches.
"What happened?"
"Burned."
He doesn't have frostbite. He's just cold, very, very cold. And Ducky had said something about keeping the water lukewarm at first. He didn't mention that if you put a very cold part of your body into warm water, it'll burn you.
Abby got him sitting up, wrapped him back up in the blanket, and cranked the cold water. Obviously what had felt lukewarm to her was still way too hot.
A minute later she dripped some water on his foot. "Better?"
He nods.
"Okay, let's try this again." And once again, he got in the bath, and this time it didn't burn, it was just pleasantly warm, so he just laid there and dozed, letting the heat slowly soak back into his body.
He half-heard her voice saying, "I don't care if it's August, I want two pitchers of hot chocolate up here, now!"
He smiles a little at that. Back in... March maybe, it was a freakishly late storm for DC, they went out to play in the snow, and after, they came in, shivering, and he made them hot chocolate, telling her about how much he loved it on cold days.
She's leaning against the side of the tub, petting his hair. He turns and leans into her hand, though his eyes don't open.
"Hi."
"You really here, now?" she asks.
"Enough. You mind adding some more hot to this?"
"No."
She turns on the hot tap for about ten seconds, and then swirls the water around him.
"That's good. How warm is it?"
"Seventy-eight? Eighty-two? Cold swimming pool temp."
"Shit."
"Yeah, you're cold."
He opens his eyes to look at his fingers and toes. The color is slowly starting to come back. "Can't believe I didn't get frostbite."
She kisses his forehead, resting with her lips against him, not moving.
A minute later, there's a knock on the door, and she goes to answer it. He reaches up with his foot, nudges the hot water tap. More of it starts to dribble into the tub.
She comes in, holding a mug full of hot chocolate in one hand, and a coffee carafe full of it in the other.
She hands him the mug. "Drink."
He does, and it's absolutely delicious, and way too hot. It burns on the way down, and the mug burns his fingers, but he doesn't care. Just because it feels hot to him doesn't mean it really is. While he drinks, she puts the carafe on the shelf with the scrubby and soap, and then takes off her own clothing.
"Scoot forward a bit."
He does, and she slides in behind him. A minute after that he's resting in warm (ish) water, his back against her chest, his head on her shoulder, as she held, arms and legs wrapped around, onto him.
Eventually the shivers stop. Eventually the water's steaming hot.
Eventually he can talk. She doesn't ask questions, doesn't nudge him for this, she just holds him and lets him warm up, safe and wrapped in her body.
Abby knows that he'll talk when he can. That's how he is. Press him too soon, and it's useless, he'll just shut down, walk away. But if she gives him the space he needs for this, he won't hold onto it, either. All she has to do is stay there, holding him, and eventually, he'll tell her what happened.
"We'd gotten the intel on that warehouse, but when we got there Ziva noticed a van in front, and the van was being loaded. Tony ID'd the driver and one of the guys loading as Jamison and Hacker, so we decided that instead of running in and grabbing them to follow and see where they were going with the shells." At that point in the op they knew about the shells. That's how they got this case, Homeland Security had a case where someone was stealing shells off of battleships. And who better than NCIS to get into that?
The Sarin was the surprise twist.
"We followed them. Which is how we got to the second warehouse, where you guys found us. We'd followed them, but apparently they'd followed us as well." It was supposed to be a small group. Four, maybe six guys, tops. And all six of them were in view, so they didn't pay too close of attention to who might have been behind them. Homeland Security had files on Jamison and Hacker, knew they were working together, thought they were selling the shells to different radical groups.
"When we got out of the car to see what was inside that warehouse, they grabbed us. Took our guns and cells, and herded us into the warehouse." Which was where they found out four-six guys was closer to thirty. And the theft/sale ring was some sort of terrorist organization that, judging by the body armor and the way they were all together, was about to go and attack something.
"I watched him kill each phone, and I know what can happen if he messes with mine. So I start babbling about I want to live, how I've got three kids at home, and how I've got some really important info on my phone and I'll trade him the password for getting out of there. Hoping the lies about who's at home let Gibbs and Tony and Ziva know that we're about to get the only distraction we'll get, so in a second we need to bolt for the guns and run.
"And he's being a dick about the phone, taunting me about what I could possibly have on it that he'd want. And Tony's on the same page I am less than a second later, yelling at me about not letting that info go, complaining to Gibbs about how computer geeks are useless on a field team. Gibbs is staring at me like he's never been more disgusted in his life. Ziva actually got free and hit me to make me 'shut up,' and when they grabbed her again she was three steps closer to the guns. I kept babbling about how we knew about them and if he wanted to see all the intel on them he'd open that file. And then I fed him the wrong password, and it blew his hand off, and we grabbed our guns and ran like hell. Twenty guys between us and the doors, so into the warehouse we went.
"I saw the freezer, saw what was in it, and I led us to it. And as long as no one closed the door, we could use it for cover and hold out until you guys came."
Tim closes his eyes and goes quiet. He can still feel his heart pounding, the claustrophobic feeling of being closed in between too high crates filled with shells, and glint of stainless steel on the far wall. She gives him a gentle squeeze and strokes his face, bringing him back to a hot bath in a perfectly safe hotel room.
He swallows, starts to talk again. "I killed seven men today. Maybe more. I fired ten times while we were running. Not sure if I hit anyone then. I maimed one. My phone took his hand clean off. Might have killed him, too. I don't know if they got the artery clamped in time. But when we were in the freezer, I had seven bullets. I couldn't miss, so I didn't."
"How did you have seven bullets?" His gun holds fifteen bullets, hence the question.
He opens his eyes. "Five from mine, two from Tony's."
"Tony let you use his gun?"
"No. Ziva picked his gun. Gibbs gave me his. But I couldn't miss, so I didn't want to switch guns, so I got Tony's magazine when I ran out, and Ziva got Gibbs' gun. Ziva and I guarded the door, picking them off as they kept coming, trying to shut us in, while Tony and Gibbs stayed behind us, in the freezer, spotting the next target for us." And while that's a little vague, and she's not entirely following him, she's not about to ask for more clarification, not right now. It makes sense to him, and that's enough.
"Targets." He closes his eyes, feeling the hit of his gun snapping into his palm as it fired. "They weren't people." He starts to shiver again. "That's never been true before. Before it's always been a person. But today they were just...the things trying to keep me from going home to you. If I was going to keep breathing, they had to stop, and I stopped them. I didn't miss. Seven bullets, seven head shots, seven dead men."
Tim's not crying. He's shivering, and his voice is rough, but he's not crying. Abby squeezes him a little tighter, kisses his temple, trying to comfort him with her touch.
He inhales deep and ragged, still shaking. "Tony's a person. He's my best friend, and I talked Ziva into letting him freeze. She was in the middle, and that's just the way it was. Nothing else was going to happen. We didn't even have to talk about it. As soon as the door shut, we snuggled in around her." Abby's gently rubbing his chest, her lips pressed against the side of his head. She can feel his control slipping away from him, feel him slipping away from her, back into the frozen dark in his mind.
"But Tony was already cold at that point. He was losing heat faster than the rest of us. He should have been in the middle, he needed the heat more, but we just couldn't do it. If anyone was going to be in the middle, it was Ziva. We put Kate and Jenny in the ground, and we couldn't do it for her. So Ziva was in the middle."
And now he is crying, clutching the hand that was stroking his chest. "He stopped talking. He stopped shivering. And she wanted to change places, and I talked her out of it. And if I couldn't have talked her out of it, Gibbs and I would have held her in place. Gibbs was wearing his jacket, and he tried to take it off, give it to Tony, and I talked him out of that, too. It couldn't have saved Tony, and it would have killed Gibbs that much faster."
She's petting him as he takes a deep breath, trying to get the crying under control, because he needs to get these words out.
"Tony understands, Tim."
"I know. He approved even; he and Gibbs would have done the exact same thing for me if you were in the middle. And Gibbs was right with me on it. But that doesn't make it better, doesn't change it. I talked them out of it. I told the lies that made Ziva stay still."
"You all came home."
He nods. Still crying, and shifts so he's on his side, holding onto her, head against her chest. She kisses his forehead. "He fell over, and we caught him, made sure he stayed standing... He told Ziva he loved her... and then he just stopped... Ziva was shaking him... and he didn't move... I was holding him... and I couldn't feel him breathe." He's inhaling fast between each phrase, gulping air, and shaking from head to toes with his tears. "And by that point I was swaying on my feet, too, just about ready to drop... and he's not breathing... Ziva was crying... and she's trying to slap Tony, but she can't because we're too pressed in against her... And Gibbs is holding on to us, like our lives depend on it... and they do... and I could feel it... my knees were going... and Tony's dead... and if I take them down, Gibbs and Ziva are next, and I started to collapse, and he can't hold both of us up, so I let go... and then the door opened and they carried us out and we were in scalding light and hot air... but..." And he can't form words, for a moment he's just shaking and crying.
Abby holds him, rocking him gently. "You all came home."
"He wasn't breathing!" He's sobbing, curled into a ball on his side, head on her chest, clinging to her. "I put him in that room, and he wasn't breathing when he came out."
"He is now." She holds him tight, arms cradled around his head and shoulders while he sobs on her. And it doesn't matter that today is the second worst day of her life, because this is the worst day of his. She finds her calm center, pushes her own panic away, the absolute white hot arc of fear at hearing he had let go, and holds him, making gentle, almost shushing sounds, because right now he needs the comfort more than she does.
April 11, 2013
Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction
McGee centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 54: Today It Was
It had been a really good morning. Abby had gotten home after he'd fallen asleep, but he'd woken up spooned around her, her body soft and warm against his. She slipped her leg over his, and that was all the invitation he needed. And while there was nothing particularly energetic or acrobatic about the sex that morning, they both were in an awfully good mood by breakfast.
Breakfast had come out just right. Bagels perfectly golden-brown and crispy. Bananas the exact right stage of ripe.
The new place didn't have nearly the hot water heater capacity as Abby's old one, but there was still enough hot water for both of them to get a somewhat snuggly and longer than normal shower.
Traffic co-operated and the ride to work only took twenty minutes.
All in all, it was the perfect morning. Which should have been a red flag that something was about to go very wrong.
Tim's heart is beating a million times a minute and he can barely catch his breath, but he sees something, and knows that's the best they're going to get.
"Follow me!" he yells firing fast at the men running after them.
In a second, all four of them are with him in walk in freezer.
"This is your plan? McGee, we're in a freezer full of Sarin!" Tony is not pleased with this at all.
For the moment, the men chasing them seem to have fallen back. At least, Tim can't see them anymore.
"That's the point, DiNozzo," Gibbs says. He got why Tim headed them this way. "They won't shoot at us in here, and as long as we can make sure the door stays open we're-"
"Fucked more slowly than we would have been otherwise." Tony finishes Gibb's sentence. "No one knows we're here!
"Forty minutes. We've just got to hold out forty minutes," Tim says, back against the door, eyes scanning every possible approach someone could be using to sneak up on them.
"McGee?" Ziva asks, taking up a position at the side of the door, so she can keep the warehouse in view.
"Abby knows. Before my phone blew, it sent her a text with where we are."
"What?" Gibbs asks.
"After Palmer and Ducky went missing, I got a new phone and rewired it so that if it ever lost power, or like you saw, someone messed with it so it blew up, that it would send her a message, letting her know where we are and that we're in trouble. Tony and Ziva, I programmed your phones to do the same thing, but it sends the message to Vance. Boss, yours is too damn old for it. The cavalry is coming; we just got to live long enough for it to get here. So, forty minutes."
Gibbs nods, planning. "Bullet count?"
"Five," Tim said
"Six." From DiNozzo
"Two," said Ziva.
"I've got three. McGee, on the left, covering right. Ziva right, cover left. Head shots. They're wearing vests, and we can't afford to wound them. There's six of them for every one of us, so we are going to make getting close to us so goddamn expensive they won't try it. Ziva, I've got a Baretta, DiNozzo's got a SIG, who's gun do you want?"
"Tony's."
"McGee." Gibbs hands Tim his gun.
"Boss?" He can't believe Gibbs is giving him his gun.
"If it was a rifle and they were half a mile away, I'd keep a hold of it. But you're better with a handgun than I am, and Ziva's better than Tony. You've got eight bullets each; I want to see one of them dead on the floor for each bullet."
And so they settle in to wait. Gibbs and Tony in the freezer. Ziva and Tim in the doorway. All four of them watching for anyone coming toward them.
The walk in freezer stands along the back wall of a packed warehouse. It faces into a maze built of crates piled almost to the ceiling. Lines of sight are poor because of those crates. The crates are packed with shells, and the freezer they're standing in is packed with what would make those shells so terrifying. There is, and Tim is thinking this is conservative estimate, enough Sarin behind them to take out the entire eastern seaboard. And enough ordinance in front of them to take out at least a few square blocks. Put the two together, and things could get very, very bad, very fast.
The good thing about the freezer is that they can't be flanked. It's steel, so they can't shoot through it. It's filled with poison, so unless one of the terrorists is a sniper, and a damn good one, they aren't going to be willing to fire into them for risk of hitting the gas canisters. And to make it even harder for them, Gibbs is piling boxes of the canisters up in front of them for cover. Someone shoots at them and misses, and everyone dies.
The bad thing is it's twenty by twenty, and all one those bastards has to do is shut the door, and they'll be locked in a zero degree room with finite air.
So that's the job, kill anyone that goes for that door, and pray to God that more than sixteen of them aren't willing to die for this.
"Ziva, eleven thirty," Tony says, pointing up slightly. The man he spotted is trying to come over a stack of crates.
Her eyes narrow slightly. Her finger curls into the trigger. And the man she shot was dead before he hit the floor.
Ziva's already shot three times, which means they've gotten the idea that coming up on the left is a really bad plan. The first one of them comes into Tim's line of view.
He's staring at the man, willing him to get a little closer, because he can't miss this shot.
One of us is going home today. He pulls the trigger, feels the kick of the gun, sees the man's head snap back and a spray of blood and brains spatter the crate behind him. It's not you.
"Boss, when I'm out, get Tony's gun from Ziva and give her yours."
"McGee?"
"I'm left-handed, and Tony's clip will fit in my gun. The rest of you are righties and I don't want to mess around with a different gun, not for this."
"Ziva?" Gibbs asks.
"One."
"McGee?"
He fired the last time.
"Out."
"How long was that?" Gibbs asks.
Tony checks the time. "Thirty-five minutes."
Gibbs looks around, sees there are two guys, one coming from each side, and even Ziva isn't a good enough shot to hit two guys on opposite sides of her with one bullet. He hands her his knife. She is good enough to take the shot and kill the other with a thrown knife. "Ziva, cover Tony. Tony close the door. We won't freeze that fast. And if they've got any brains they'll just leave us in here, let the cold do the job for them."
They're standing in the freezer, huddled together, Ziva in the middle. She would have preferred a place on the outside, or taking turns in the middle, but the three guys shot that down. And even if Tim hadn't been able to give a quick lecture on thermodynamics to back up the one of them in the middle staying in the middle, none of the guys would have let her be on the outside.
Burying two of their girls was two girls too many. It's not gonna happen again. If any of them are getting out of here, it's Ziva.
"How much air do you think we have?" Tony asks.
"Enough so we'll freeze first," Tim answers.
"That's cheery."
Tim shrugs. This really isn't the place for cheery.
They heard the sound of gunfire. "They're here," Ziva says, and Tim feels the relief wash through all of them.
"How long was that?" Gibbs asks.
Tim checks Gibbs's watch. His arm is around Tim's waist, and within easy view. "Thirty-nine minutes."
"Think they'll blow the place rather than surrender?" Tony asks.
"Speaking of cheery thoughts," Tim says.
Time moves very, very slowly when you're standing in a freezer, unable to know what is going on around you, straining to catch bits of noise that might, hopefully give you a clue.
"How long before they figure out we're in here?" Ziva asks.
"Can't imagine it'll be too long after the shooting stops," Tony says.
"I haven't heard a shot in close to three minutes," Gibbs adds.
"So they sweep the place, and in what, ten minutes we get warm again?" Tony asks.
"I really hope so," Tim finishes.
"What the hell did we run into?" Tim asks them a few minutes later.
"One thing is certain, this is not just a weapons theft ring."
"Ya think, Ziva?"
"Homeland Security was beyond asleep at the switch on this one. I mean look at this, this is more Sarin than you need to kill everyone on the East Coast!" Tim adds.
"How did the intel miss this?" Tony asks.
"I don't know. But I will as soon as we're out of here," Gibbs says, eyes hard. Anyone they catch alive is going to have a very bad day, and Homeland Security, who foisted a case about someone stealing shells off battleships to them, is about to have a very big problem.
"Did your phone really blow up?" Tony asks an agonizingly long minute later.
"Yeah," Tim answers.
"Why?"
"I wired an explosive into it."
Tony's giving him the, you're completely insane look, but Gibbs is interested, and Ziva looks intrigued.
"You carry a phone," Tony says, "packed with enough explosives to take a man's hand off, in your front left pocket." "Two inches from your dick" is left unspoken, but none of them missed the implication.
"Okay, put that way it sounds a little crazy. 'Course, I carry my gun on my left hip, too."
"And why did you feel the need to wire your phone to explode?" Tony asks.
"I've got stuff on there I don't want anyone seeing."
Tony snorts. "You'll blow a guy's hand off to keep those pictures of Abby a secret?"
"Among other things," Tim says dryly. "Look, it's not gonna blow if you drop it. And you've got to be as good with a computer as I am to even find the file that'll trigger the explosive without the right password. That's why I had to talk that idiot into opening it on my phone. The only other way to make it go off is to try and open the case."
"So, what is it you did to our phones?" Tony asks, helping them all stay distracted as they wait.
They're all shivering, but Tim's starting to get worried about Tony because Tony feels cool pressed into his side. Gibbs on his left is warm. Ziva in front of him is warm. Tony on his right is cool.
He and Ziva had been the warmest while shooting, because they were right in the doorway. Tony was behind them, in the freezer, spotting for Ziva, and Tony's dressed for summer. They all are. But for him and Gibbs that's not dressed all that different from how they dress in the winter. Tim skipped his usual jacket, but Gibbs has on his. Tony's in a light, short-sleeved button down and linen pants. Ziva's in cargo pants and a light t-shirt, but she's in the middle. So he's not too worried about her.
But Tony's getting cold.
He realizes he's got a question to answer, and anything that distracts them from the cold is good.
"Modified the power relays a little. It'll hold a charge for a second after you disable it. Just long enough to send a help message along with GPS coordinates."
"And you did not mention this?" Ziva asks.
"I only got it done on your phone yesterday."
"McGee?"
"Yeah, Boss?"
"Tomorrow, you're taking me shopping for a new phone."
"Certainly, Boss."
"And when you're done with it, it better take a man's hand off if he messes with it."
"On it, Boss."
Tony laughs. "This is all Kevin's master plan. We'll get out of here, find out this was all staged to make sure Gibbs got a phone that isn't from the Bush administration!"
Even Gibbs laughed at that.
They hear yelling, Vance, and other familiar voices looking for them. They scream back, loud as they can, voices echoing viciously through the freezer.
"We're coming to—"
The explosion cut off all sound. They felt it, and heard it, and probably for a second wondered if they had, in fact, died.
But they weren't dead.
After an extremely long minute, Vance yells back that they had booby trapped the place. "We're coming for you, just hang on."
The power cut out. Leaving them shivering in the dark.
"We cut the power." Vance's voice again. "It'll stay cold, but it won't get any colder. How long have you been in there?"
"What time is it?" Gibbs yells back.
"16:42."
"Fourteen minutes."
Cold hurts.
Tim's been cold before. Who hasn't? But there's digging your car out of the snow and then there's feeling like you've been dropped in a vat of liquid nitrogen and it's slowly flaying your skin off.
This is full body pain. Everything that can hurt does. His eyelashes hurt. They're huddled as close in to each other as they can get. Ziva's temple is against his lips. Tony's cheek is pressed to his. He doesn't know where Gibbs' face is, pitch black means he can't see, but he can feel the faint warmth, smell the coffee Gibbs had been drinking as they drove here, each time he exhales.
Tim wonders idly which one of them is going to drop first. It'll be him or Tony, he knows that. He's bigger than Tony, so more surface area to lose heat from. Tony's too underdressed, so the air can steal his heat easier.
If they could get outside, it's August, hot, sticky, humid, god awful, he's never ever going to complain about the heat again, August.
He's calculating how fast they'll lose body heat, but since he doesn't know how cold it is in here, it's useless, so he gives up.
Two things are scaring Tim. Tony's stopped talking, and Gibbs has started. Gibbs is talking about Afghanistan. Hot, hot, hot Afghanistan. Clothing drenched in sweat, gulping down salt tablets with water that goes hot as soon as you take it out of the cooler, Afghanistan. Asking Tony about it, slowly dragging answers out of him. But Tony is losing focus, not answering fast enough, and some of the answers he's coming up with are not even remotely related to what Gibbs is talking about.
"Let me out of the middle and let Tony in," Ziva says, fear adding a dangerous edge to her voice.
Tony's not shivering anymore. And he's barely talking, even when Tim or Gibbs shakes him to get the answers out.
He feels Gibbs squeeze him and knows what he's telling him. And he doesn't need Gibbs to do it, he'd do it anyway, but he's glad Gibbs is on the same page.
"Can't do it, Ziva. We all freeze faster if you two switch places. Put you on the outside, and two of us lose your heat. You lose the heat from your back. And we all lose more heat from our fronts because it'll go into warming Tony up. And it won't make any difference because he can't get any warmer than any of us are right now." He never thought studying thermodynamics would mean he'd get condemn one of his friends in the hope of giving the other two enough heat to get them out alive.
He can feel Gibbs move, and knows he's getting ready to take off his jacket and give it to Tony.
"Don't do it, Boss. It won't help him, and it will hurt you. All your jacket can do is slightly slow down the rate he's losing heat; it can't warm him up, which is what he needs. Taking it off will speed up the rate you're losing heat, and moving so you can get it off means all of us lose more heat when you disturb the little bubble of warmer air around us.
"Plenty of people freeze, and get warmed back up again, and come out of it just fine." It's not that he's lying, it's just that the sort of thing he's talking about is on par with falling out of a fifty story window and surviving. Sure, it happens. Just not often. "Sometimes, if you get hurt certain ways, they'll put your body on ice to slow everything down, so they can get the time to fix you." This is true, too, just awfully rare.
He realizes he's speaking very slowly, and feeling extremely sleepy. That's the first step of freezing to death. You fall asleep.
"Don't let him fall!" Gibbs voice pulls him out of the half-dream of snuggling under a heated blanket with Abby.
Tony was starting to collapse backwards. He and Gibbs got him, leaned him further into Ziva, and if possible pushed even closer into each other to support him.
"Wouldn't we be better on the floor?" Gibb's asks.
"Floor's solid." His words are slurring, not a good sign. "It'll suck the heat out of us faster than the air is."
He realizes he's not cold anymore. That's a worse sign.
"Ziva." Tony's voice is barely over a whisper, and it slips out of him slow and rough.
"Tony?"
"I love you."
She kissed him quickly and said, "Oh no, we are not dying today. You tell me that over a nice dinner, a nice, warm dinner, a nice warm dinner in the bath, with hot water, lots and lots of hot water, and bubbles, and candles, when Gibbs and McGee are not with us. You do not tell me that now."
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Tony?"
She's shaking him, and he's not answering.
Tony's not breathing.
Tim's knees are going. He can feel it happening in slow motion. His hold on standing is slipping away as his knees unlock and he starts to collapse. Gibbs is holding him tight, trying to keep him up, but he can't hold both of them, and Tim knows that if he falls he'll take the other three with him.
And if they fall, they're dead. They won't be able to get back up any more than he will, and the floor will kill them. It'll suck the heat out and that will be it.
He can't see Gibbs, but he knows he'll get it. He takes his hand off of Gibbs' back first, giving him a second to take more of Tony's weight, and lets go.
And then there was nothing but scalding light.
Chapter 54: Today It Was
It had been a really good morning. Abby had gotten home after he'd fallen asleep, but he'd woken up spooned around her, her body soft and warm against his. She slipped her leg over his, and that was all the invitation he needed. And while there was nothing particularly energetic or acrobatic about the sex that morning, they both were in an awfully good mood by breakfast.
Breakfast had come out just right. Bagels perfectly golden-brown and crispy. Bananas the exact right stage of ripe.
The new place didn't have nearly the hot water heater capacity as Abby's old one, but there was still enough hot water for both of them to get a somewhat snuggly and longer than normal shower.
Traffic co-operated and the ride to work only took twenty minutes.
All in all, it was the perfect morning. Which should have been a red flag that something was about to go very wrong.
Tim's heart is beating a million times a minute and he can barely catch his breath, but he sees something, and knows that's the best they're going to get.
"Follow me!" he yells firing fast at the men running after them.
In a second, all four of them are with him in walk in freezer.
"This is your plan? McGee, we're in a freezer full of Sarin!" Tony is not pleased with this at all.
For the moment, the men chasing them seem to have fallen back. At least, Tim can't see them anymore.
"That's the point, DiNozzo," Gibbs says. He got why Tim headed them this way. "They won't shoot at us in here, and as long as we can make sure the door stays open we're-"
"Fucked more slowly than we would have been otherwise." Tony finishes Gibb's sentence. "No one knows we're here!
"Forty minutes. We've just got to hold out forty minutes," Tim says, back against the door, eyes scanning every possible approach someone could be using to sneak up on them.
"McGee?" Ziva asks, taking up a position at the side of the door, so she can keep the warehouse in view.
"Abby knows. Before my phone blew, it sent her a text with where we are."
"What?" Gibbs asks.
"After Palmer and Ducky went missing, I got a new phone and rewired it so that if it ever lost power, or like you saw, someone messed with it so it blew up, that it would send her a message, letting her know where we are and that we're in trouble. Tony and Ziva, I programmed your phones to do the same thing, but it sends the message to Vance. Boss, yours is too damn old for it. The cavalry is coming; we just got to live long enough for it to get here. So, forty minutes."
Gibbs nods, planning. "Bullet count?"
"Five," Tim said
"Six." From DiNozzo
"Two," said Ziva.
"I've got three. McGee, on the left, covering right. Ziva right, cover left. Head shots. They're wearing vests, and we can't afford to wound them. There's six of them for every one of us, so we are going to make getting close to us so goddamn expensive they won't try it. Ziva, I've got a Baretta, DiNozzo's got a SIG, who's gun do you want?"
"Tony's."
"McGee." Gibbs hands Tim his gun.
"Boss?" He can't believe Gibbs is giving him his gun.
"If it was a rifle and they were half a mile away, I'd keep a hold of it. But you're better with a handgun than I am, and Ziva's better than Tony. You've got eight bullets each; I want to see one of them dead on the floor for each bullet."
And so they settle in to wait. Gibbs and Tony in the freezer. Ziva and Tim in the doorway. All four of them watching for anyone coming toward them.
The walk in freezer stands along the back wall of a packed warehouse. It faces into a maze built of crates piled almost to the ceiling. Lines of sight are poor because of those crates. The crates are packed with shells, and the freezer they're standing in is packed with what would make those shells so terrifying. There is, and Tim is thinking this is conservative estimate, enough Sarin behind them to take out the entire eastern seaboard. And enough ordinance in front of them to take out at least a few square blocks. Put the two together, and things could get very, very bad, very fast.
The good thing about the freezer is that they can't be flanked. It's steel, so they can't shoot through it. It's filled with poison, so unless one of the terrorists is a sniper, and a damn good one, they aren't going to be willing to fire into them for risk of hitting the gas canisters. And to make it even harder for them, Gibbs is piling boxes of the canisters up in front of them for cover. Someone shoots at them and misses, and everyone dies.
The bad thing is it's twenty by twenty, and all one those bastards has to do is shut the door, and they'll be locked in a zero degree room with finite air.
So that's the job, kill anyone that goes for that door, and pray to God that more than sixteen of them aren't willing to die for this.
"Ziva, eleven thirty," Tony says, pointing up slightly. The man he spotted is trying to come over a stack of crates.
Her eyes narrow slightly. Her finger curls into the trigger. And the man she shot was dead before he hit the floor.
Ziva's already shot three times, which means they've gotten the idea that coming up on the left is a really bad plan. The first one of them comes into Tim's line of view.
He's staring at the man, willing him to get a little closer, because he can't miss this shot.
One of us is going home today. He pulls the trigger, feels the kick of the gun, sees the man's head snap back and a spray of blood and brains spatter the crate behind him. It's not you.
"Boss, when I'm out, get Tony's gun from Ziva and give her yours."
"McGee?"
"I'm left-handed, and Tony's clip will fit in my gun. The rest of you are righties and I don't want to mess around with a different gun, not for this."
"Ziva?" Gibbs asks.
"One."
"McGee?"
He fired the last time.
"Out."
"How long was that?" Gibbs asks.
Tony checks the time. "Thirty-five minutes."
Gibbs looks around, sees there are two guys, one coming from each side, and even Ziva isn't a good enough shot to hit two guys on opposite sides of her with one bullet. He hands her his knife. She is good enough to take the shot and kill the other with a thrown knife. "Ziva, cover Tony. Tony close the door. We won't freeze that fast. And if they've got any brains they'll just leave us in here, let the cold do the job for them."
They're standing in the freezer, huddled together, Ziva in the middle. She would have preferred a place on the outside, or taking turns in the middle, but the three guys shot that down. And even if Tim hadn't been able to give a quick lecture on thermodynamics to back up the one of them in the middle staying in the middle, none of the guys would have let her be on the outside.
Burying two of their girls was two girls too many. It's not gonna happen again. If any of them are getting out of here, it's Ziva.
"How much air do you think we have?" Tony asks.
"Enough so we'll freeze first," Tim answers.
"That's cheery."
Tim shrugs. This really isn't the place for cheery.
They heard the sound of gunfire. "They're here," Ziva says, and Tim feels the relief wash through all of them.
"How long was that?" Gibbs asks.
Tim checks Gibbs's watch. His arm is around Tim's waist, and within easy view. "Thirty-nine minutes."
"Think they'll blow the place rather than surrender?" Tony asks.
"Speaking of cheery thoughts," Tim says.
Time moves very, very slowly when you're standing in a freezer, unable to know what is going on around you, straining to catch bits of noise that might, hopefully give you a clue.
"How long before they figure out we're in here?" Ziva asks.
"Can't imagine it'll be too long after the shooting stops," Tony says.
"I haven't heard a shot in close to three minutes," Gibbs adds.
"So they sweep the place, and in what, ten minutes we get warm again?" Tony asks.
"I really hope so," Tim finishes.
"What the hell did we run into?" Tim asks them a few minutes later.
"One thing is certain, this is not just a weapons theft ring."
"Ya think, Ziva?"
"Homeland Security was beyond asleep at the switch on this one. I mean look at this, this is more Sarin than you need to kill everyone on the East Coast!" Tim adds.
"How did the intel miss this?" Tony asks.
"I don't know. But I will as soon as we're out of here," Gibbs says, eyes hard. Anyone they catch alive is going to have a very bad day, and Homeland Security, who foisted a case about someone stealing shells off battleships to them, is about to have a very big problem.
"Did your phone really blow up?" Tony asks an agonizingly long minute later.
"Yeah," Tim answers.
"Why?"
"I wired an explosive into it."
Tony's giving him the, you're completely insane look, but Gibbs is interested, and Ziva looks intrigued.
"You carry a phone," Tony says, "packed with enough explosives to take a man's hand off, in your front left pocket." "Two inches from your dick" is left unspoken, but none of them missed the implication.
"Okay, put that way it sounds a little crazy. 'Course, I carry my gun on my left hip, too."
"And why did you feel the need to wire your phone to explode?" Tony asks.
"I've got stuff on there I don't want anyone seeing."
Tony snorts. "You'll blow a guy's hand off to keep those pictures of Abby a secret?"
"Among other things," Tim says dryly. "Look, it's not gonna blow if you drop it. And you've got to be as good with a computer as I am to even find the file that'll trigger the explosive without the right password. That's why I had to talk that idiot into opening it on my phone. The only other way to make it go off is to try and open the case."
"So, what is it you did to our phones?" Tony asks, helping them all stay distracted as they wait.
They're all shivering, but Tim's starting to get worried about Tony because Tony feels cool pressed into his side. Gibbs on his left is warm. Ziva in front of him is warm. Tony on his right is cool.
He and Ziva had been the warmest while shooting, because they were right in the doorway. Tony was behind them, in the freezer, spotting for Ziva, and Tony's dressed for summer. They all are. But for him and Gibbs that's not dressed all that different from how they dress in the winter. Tim skipped his usual jacket, but Gibbs has on his. Tony's in a light, short-sleeved button down and linen pants. Ziva's in cargo pants and a light t-shirt, but she's in the middle. So he's not too worried about her.
But Tony's getting cold.
He realizes he's got a question to answer, and anything that distracts them from the cold is good.
"Modified the power relays a little. It'll hold a charge for a second after you disable it. Just long enough to send a help message along with GPS coordinates."
"And you did not mention this?" Ziva asks.
"I only got it done on your phone yesterday."
"McGee?"
"Yeah, Boss?"
"Tomorrow, you're taking me shopping for a new phone."
"Certainly, Boss."
"And when you're done with it, it better take a man's hand off if he messes with it."
"On it, Boss."
Tony laughs. "This is all Kevin's master plan. We'll get out of here, find out this was all staged to make sure Gibbs got a phone that isn't from the Bush administration!"
Even Gibbs laughed at that.
They hear yelling, Vance, and other familiar voices looking for them. They scream back, loud as they can, voices echoing viciously through the freezer.
"We're coming to—"
The explosion cut off all sound. They felt it, and heard it, and probably for a second wondered if they had, in fact, died.
But they weren't dead.
After an extremely long minute, Vance yells back that they had booby trapped the place. "We're coming for you, just hang on."
The power cut out. Leaving them shivering in the dark.
"We cut the power." Vance's voice again. "It'll stay cold, but it won't get any colder. How long have you been in there?"
"What time is it?" Gibbs yells back.
"16:42."
"Fourteen minutes."
Cold hurts.
Tim's been cold before. Who hasn't? But there's digging your car out of the snow and then there's feeling like you've been dropped in a vat of liquid nitrogen and it's slowly flaying your skin off.
This is full body pain. Everything that can hurt does. His eyelashes hurt. They're huddled as close in to each other as they can get. Ziva's temple is against his lips. Tony's cheek is pressed to his. He doesn't know where Gibbs' face is, pitch black means he can't see, but he can feel the faint warmth, smell the coffee Gibbs had been drinking as they drove here, each time he exhales.
Tim wonders idly which one of them is going to drop first. It'll be him or Tony, he knows that. He's bigger than Tony, so more surface area to lose heat from. Tony's too underdressed, so the air can steal his heat easier.
If they could get outside, it's August, hot, sticky, humid, god awful, he's never ever going to complain about the heat again, August.
He's calculating how fast they'll lose body heat, but since he doesn't know how cold it is in here, it's useless, so he gives up.
Two things are scaring Tim. Tony's stopped talking, and Gibbs has started. Gibbs is talking about Afghanistan. Hot, hot, hot Afghanistan. Clothing drenched in sweat, gulping down salt tablets with water that goes hot as soon as you take it out of the cooler, Afghanistan. Asking Tony about it, slowly dragging answers out of him. But Tony is losing focus, not answering fast enough, and some of the answers he's coming up with are not even remotely related to what Gibbs is talking about.
"Let me out of the middle and let Tony in," Ziva says, fear adding a dangerous edge to her voice.
Tony's not shivering anymore. And he's barely talking, even when Tim or Gibbs shakes him to get the answers out.
He feels Gibbs squeeze him and knows what he's telling him. And he doesn't need Gibbs to do it, he'd do it anyway, but he's glad Gibbs is on the same page.
"Can't do it, Ziva. We all freeze faster if you two switch places. Put you on the outside, and two of us lose your heat. You lose the heat from your back. And we all lose more heat from our fronts because it'll go into warming Tony up. And it won't make any difference because he can't get any warmer than any of us are right now." He never thought studying thermodynamics would mean he'd get condemn one of his friends in the hope of giving the other two enough heat to get them out alive.
He can feel Gibbs move, and knows he's getting ready to take off his jacket and give it to Tony.
"Don't do it, Boss. It won't help him, and it will hurt you. All your jacket can do is slightly slow down the rate he's losing heat; it can't warm him up, which is what he needs. Taking it off will speed up the rate you're losing heat, and moving so you can get it off means all of us lose more heat when you disturb the little bubble of warmer air around us.
"Plenty of people freeze, and get warmed back up again, and come out of it just fine." It's not that he's lying, it's just that the sort of thing he's talking about is on par with falling out of a fifty story window and surviving. Sure, it happens. Just not often. "Sometimes, if you get hurt certain ways, they'll put your body on ice to slow everything down, so they can get the time to fix you." This is true, too, just awfully rare.
He realizes he's speaking very slowly, and feeling extremely sleepy. That's the first step of freezing to death. You fall asleep.
"Don't let him fall!" Gibbs voice pulls him out of the half-dream of snuggling under a heated blanket with Abby.
Tony was starting to collapse backwards. He and Gibbs got him, leaned him further into Ziva, and if possible pushed even closer into each other to support him.
"Wouldn't we be better on the floor?" Gibb's asks.
"Floor's solid." His words are slurring, not a good sign. "It'll suck the heat out of us faster than the air is."
He realizes he's not cold anymore. That's a worse sign.
"Ziva." Tony's voice is barely over a whisper, and it slips out of him slow and rough.
"Tony?"
"I love you."
She kissed him quickly and said, "Oh no, we are not dying today. You tell me that over a nice dinner, a nice, warm dinner, a nice warm dinner in the bath, with hot water, lots and lots of hot water, and bubbles, and candles, when Gibbs and McGee are not with us. You do not tell me that now."
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Tony?"
She's shaking him, and he's not answering.
Tony's not breathing.
Tim's knees are going. He can feel it happening in slow motion. His hold on standing is slipping away as his knees unlock and he starts to collapse. Gibbs is holding him tight, trying to keep him up, but he can't hold both of them, and Tim knows that if he falls he'll take the other three with him.
And if they fall, they're dead. They won't be able to get back up any more than he will, and the floor will kill them. It'll suck the heat out and that will be it.
He can't see Gibbs, but he knows he'll get it. He takes his hand off of Gibbs' back first, giving him a second to take more of Tony's weight, and lets go.
And then there was nothing but scalding light.
April 10, 2013
Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction
McGee centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
One Thursday towards the end of July Tony said to Tim, "You doing anything after work tonight?"
"Going home, dinner with Abby."
"Would she mind too much if we had dinner?" Tony's staring at him, looking like he wants to say something important.
"You wanna just come over to our place?"
"I'd rather just talk to you."
That's got Tim's interest. "No problem. She'll understand." He fires off a quick text to Abby letting her know what is up.
"Good."
Five hours later, they're digging into some Chinese food.
"So, what's going on?" Tim asks, wondering what Tony might want to talk about without the girls. He's half wondering if Tony's getting ready to propose, but that seems a hell of a lot faster than he expected him to go, and also, why wouldn't he want Abby around for that conversation?
"I talked to Ziva last night... about ropes and things."
Okay, that was a decent reason for guy only conversation. "Cool. So, what, you want me to find some good reading material for you?"
"Maybe. Look, she used to like ropes. But she doesn't now. But she would like to like them again."
Tim is staring at Tony, completely not getting this. "I'm not following you."
Tony looks at him like he's intensely stupid and says one word, "Somalia."
And with that Tim feels intensely stupid. "Did they..." He doesn't finish that sentence, not sure he wants to.
"You know what they did to us, and they only had us for a day and a half. I don't imagine they were any gentler on her, and with four months, I'm sure they got creative." And while that's not precisely yes, the look on Tony's face confirms it.
"Shit." Tim wants to go back and kill them all over again, slowly, with as much fear and pain as he can muster.
Tony's nodding, a grim look on his face. "Yeah." One word covers a whole lot of territory there.
Tim takes a moment to pull himself out of kill people mode, because that won't be useful for Tony, at all.
Tony sees him do it, and continues, "So we're talking about ropes, and she's the one who brought it up, but she said to me 'I used to enjoy being tied up, and I always hoped I'd find someone who could help me enjoy it again,' looking really expectantly at me, and I said, sure, I'd be all over that, but not right that second because I was sort of tired and that sounded like something you want to do when you're well-rested. There's only so long I can claim to be tired, and I am scared as hell at screwing this up."
"I'd be scared, too." And he would, that's way more than he'd be comfortable dealing with if it was his first time tying someone up.
"Great. What do I do?"
"Let me think." And Tim did. So many possible angles on this. "First off, tell her you're scared. Does she know you've never done anything like this?"
"No."
"Tell her that, too. Even without everything else, that'd be something good for her to know. Do you know what it is she liked about being tied up?"
"No."
"That'd be a good question to ask. Want to hazard a guess?"
Tony shakes his head. "Not really."
"What were you going to use?"
"Only thing I had on hand, neckties."
"Probably a good choice. Until you know what she's hoping to get out of it, I'd stay away from actual rope or cuffs or anything even remotely like—"
Once again, Tony is looking at him like he's an idiot. "Even I could figure that part out for myself."
Tim nods. "Does she have any silk scarves? I don't think I've ever seen her wear one."
Tony thought about it for a moment. "I don't think so."
"Where were you thinking of doing this?"
"At home!" Tony says sharply. "I'm not going to take her out in public to tie her up!"
"Not what I was asking. Bed? Chair? Piano?"
"My bed has little posts at the corners."
"You've got a king now, right?"
"Yeah."
"Okay. So... get her five really nice, and long, silk scarves. Wrap them up all pretty, and when she opens them, ask her to show you what she wants to do with them."
"Why five?"
"Blindfold."
Tony seems to think about that before asking, "Won't they rip?"
Tim fiddles a little with the leather cuff he wears on his left wrist. The bruise is gone, and has been for quite a while at this point, but when it faded the cuff didn't come off. "Silk is amazingly strong."
"Huh. Didn't know that."
"Yeah, you aren't going to rip it. You might be able to put a finger through it or something, but if you twist it up, the bed'll go before the silk does."
Tony's sitting there, chewing a bite of his food, just staring at Tim, and Tim is wondering why, given what he just said about Ziva showing him, that the tensile strength of silk is what Tony would ask about.
Finally Tim says, "Did you understand what I meant when I said, 'have her show you?'"
Tony's eyebrows go close together as he thinks for a moment. "I assumed you meant, she'd tell me what she used to like."
"Yeah. Ummm... No. That's not what I meant. I meant have her do it to you."
"Tie me up?" Tony looks considerably more disbelieving than appalled, so Tim's thinking that's probably a good thing.
"Sure. It's fun. You tell her you've never done this, that you're scared of screwing it up, and that you want to know, first-hand, what she likes. She'll be in charge, so if it's a trust or fear thing, that won't be an issue, and you'll know exactly what she's looking for. Once she's done it to you, you can get a good handle on what to do with her."
"Okay..."
"Look, my guess is she wants you to be in charge and completely take care of her, but I'm not sure about that, and if I'm wrong, that'll screw things up. So let her do you, see what she does, how she treats you, and play it from there."
"So, what, she ties me up, and I just lay there?"
Tim shrugs. "Probably. Depends a lot on how tied up you are. Depends on what she's hoping to get out of it. Sometimes struggling is the fun part. Sometimes it's submitting. Sometimes it's the one turning into the other. Sometimes it's about keeping you still so she can control when you get off. Sometimes it's just about trust, laying back, and letting her get you off the way she wants to, knowing she'll do you right. The big thing is you pay attention to what and more importantly how she's doing you, so you can do it back."
"And if she wants me in charge?"
Tim shrugs. "Then be in charge. Take care of her. You've done that before, right?"
Tony rolls his eyes and leans across the table to punch Tim in the shoulder.
"Tony, that wasn't a shot. Have you ever been completely in charge?" Tony doesn't say anything. He's staring at Tim, and Tim is thinking they're probably having one of those moments where Tony's speaking Italian and he's speaking Klingon, and no one's got an interpreter, but... well... he's got to try. "You tie her down, and it's all up to you. She can't scoot a little, or use her fingers, or whatever it is she might do if you aren't quite doing it for her."
"I do just fine."
"Good, glad to hear it."
He's still not sure Tony's getting what he's trying to say. He probably is, but... "If you're in charge, getting her off, more than once usually, is the point of it. You getting off is like the epilogue..." Tony's not a reader and he's staring at Tim like he's insane. "If you're in charge, you getting off is... Okay, like the previews... They might be fun and interesting, but it's not the reason you bought the ticket. And if the previews are the best part of the movie, you end up really disappointed and don't want to go see anything by that director again. If you get off, great. If you don't, there's always tomorrow. But if you're the one in charge, it's not about you anymore. If she's going to give you her body for the night, you've got to play nicely with it."
Tony's just staring at him and then finally asks, "You've had sex where you didn't get off?"
Tim shrugs. "It happens. Usually it's more like, I don't get off during the first round, but then we rest and she returns the favor after."
"You two just fuck all weekend long, don't you?"
"No." Tim smiles. "Well, not usually."
Tony shakes his head. "She ties you up?"
"Oh yeah. Anything with us is a two way street. I won't do it to her if I'm not willing to have her do it back to me."
"Anything?"
"If it's anatomically possible to do it to both of us, it's happened."
Tony's eyebrows shoot up. "Really?"
"Yeah." Tim nods.
"Even..."
Tim's fairly sure he knows what Tony's asking here, but even if he's wrong his answer is still likely to be true. "Makes you come so hard you can't see."
"Huh." Tony seems to be thinking about that, and this pleases Tim, not in a weirded out sort of way. "That can really happen?"
"Oh yeah. Ever run so hard the color drops out of your vision?"
"Yes."
"Just like that, only a hell of a lot more fun. Look, you let her control you, and you might not be getting off anytime soon, but it'll blow your mind when you do."
Tony's got an especially dirty grin on his face. "Not usually my mind I'm hoping to get blown, but..."
Tim laughs. "Anyway, go play with her; come back to me if you need more help."
Tony raises an eyebrow. "What would I need more help with?"
Tim just smiles.
One Thursday towards the end of July Tony said to Tim, "You doing anything after work tonight?"
"Going home, dinner with Abby."
"Would she mind too much if we had dinner?" Tony's staring at him, looking like he wants to say something important.
"You wanna just come over to our place?"
"I'd rather just talk to you."
That's got Tim's interest. "No problem. She'll understand." He fires off a quick text to Abby letting her know what is up.
"Good."
Five hours later, they're digging into some Chinese food.
"So, what's going on?" Tim asks, wondering what Tony might want to talk about without the girls. He's half wondering if Tony's getting ready to propose, but that seems a hell of a lot faster than he expected him to go, and also, why wouldn't he want Abby around for that conversation?
"I talked to Ziva last night... about ropes and things."
Okay, that was a decent reason for guy only conversation. "Cool. So, what, you want me to find some good reading material for you?"
"Maybe. Look, she used to like ropes. But she doesn't now. But she would like to like them again."
Tim is staring at Tony, completely not getting this. "I'm not following you."
Tony looks at him like he's intensely stupid and says one word, "Somalia."
And with that Tim feels intensely stupid. "Did they..." He doesn't finish that sentence, not sure he wants to.
"You know what they did to us, and they only had us for a day and a half. I don't imagine they were any gentler on her, and with four months, I'm sure they got creative." And while that's not precisely yes, the look on Tony's face confirms it.
"Shit." Tim wants to go back and kill them all over again, slowly, with as much fear and pain as he can muster.
Tony's nodding, a grim look on his face. "Yeah." One word covers a whole lot of territory there.
Tim takes a moment to pull himself out of kill people mode, because that won't be useful for Tony, at all.
Tony sees him do it, and continues, "So we're talking about ropes, and she's the one who brought it up, but she said to me 'I used to enjoy being tied up, and I always hoped I'd find someone who could help me enjoy it again,' looking really expectantly at me, and I said, sure, I'd be all over that, but not right that second because I was sort of tired and that sounded like something you want to do when you're well-rested. There's only so long I can claim to be tired, and I am scared as hell at screwing this up."
"I'd be scared, too." And he would, that's way more than he'd be comfortable dealing with if it was his first time tying someone up.
"Great. What do I do?"
"Let me think." And Tim did. So many possible angles on this. "First off, tell her you're scared. Does she know you've never done anything like this?"
"No."
"Tell her that, too. Even without everything else, that'd be something good for her to know. Do you know what it is she liked about being tied up?"
"No."
"That'd be a good question to ask. Want to hazard a guess?"
Tony shakes his head. "Not really."
"What were you going to use?"
"Only thing I had on hand, neckties."
"Probably a good choice. Until you know what she's hoping to get out of it, I'd stay away from actual rope or cuffs or anything even remotely like—"
Once again, Tony is looking at him like he's an idiot. "Even I could figure that part out for myself."
Tim nods. "Does she have any silk scarves? I don't think I've ever seen her wear one."
Tony thought about it for a moment. "I don't think so."
"Where were you thinking of doing this?"
"At home!" Tony says sharply. "I'm not going to take her out in public to tie her up!"
"Not what I was asking. Bed? Chair? Piano?"
"My bed has little posts at the corners."
"You've got a king now, right?"
"Yeah."
"Okay. So... get her five really nice, and long, silk scarves. Wrap them up all pretty, and when she opens them, ask her to show you what she wants to do with them."
"Why five?"
"Blindfold."
Tony seems to think about that before asking, "Won't they rip?"
Tim fiddles a little with the leather cuff he wears on his left wrist. The bruise is gone, and has been for quite a while at this point, but when it faded the cuff didn't come off. "Silk is amazingly strong."
"Huh. Didn't know that."
"Yeah, you aren't going to rip it. You might be able to put a finger through it or something, but if you twist it up, the bed'll go before the silk does."
Tony's sitting there, chewing a bite of his food, just staring at Tim, and Tim is wondering why, given what he just said about Ziva showing him, that the tensile strength of silk is what Tony would ask about.
Finally Tim says, "Did you understand what I meant when I said, 'have her show you?'"
Tony's eyebrows go close together as he thinks for a moment. "I assumed you meant, she'd tell me what she used to like."
"Yeah. Ummm... No. That's not what I meant. I meant have her do it to you."
"Tie me up?" Tony looks considerably more disbelieving than appalled, so Tim's thinking that's probably a good thing.
"Sure. It's fun. You tell her you've never done this, that you're scared of screwing it up, and that you want to know, first-hand, what she likes. She'll be in charge, so if it's a trust or fear thing, that won't be an issue, and you'll know exactly what she's looking for. Once she's done it to you, you can get a good handle on what to do with her."
"Okay..."
"Look, my guess is she wants you to be in charge and completely take care of her, but I'm not sure about that, and if I'm wrong, that'll screw things up. So let her do you, see what she does, how she treats you, and play it from there."
"So, what, she ties me up, and I just lay there?"
Tim shrugs. "Probably. Depends a lot on how tied up you are. Depends on what she's hoping to get out of it. Sometimes struggling is the fun part. Sometimes it's submitting. Sometimes it's the one turning into the other. Sometimes it's about keeping you still so she can control when you get off. Sometimes it's just about trust, laying back, and letting her get you off the way she wants to, knowing she'll do you right. The big thing is you pay attention to what and more importantly how she's doing you, so you can do it back."
"And if she wants me in charge?"
Tim shrugs. "Then be in charge. Take care of her. You've done that before, right?"
Tony rolls his eyes and leans across the table to punch Tim in the shoulder.
"Tony, that wasn't a shot. Have you ever been completely in charge?" Tony doesn't say anything. He's staring at Tim, and Tim is thinking they're probably having one of those moments where Tony's speaking Italian and he's speaking Klingon, and no one's got an interpreter, but... well... he's got to try. "You tie her down, and it's all up to you. She can't scoot a little, or use her fingers, or whatever it is she might do if you aren't quite doing it for her."
"I do just fine."
"Good, glad to hear it."
He's still not sure Tony's getting what he's trying to say. He probably is, but... "If you're in charge, getting her off, more than once usually, is the point of it. You getting off is like the epilogue..." Tony's not a reader and he's staring at Tim like he's insane. "If you're in charge, you getting off is... Okay, like the previews... They might be fun and interesting, but it's not the reason you bought the ticket. And if the previews are the best part of the movie, you end up really disappointed and don't want to go see anything by that director again. If you get off, great. If you don't, there's always tomorrow. But if you're the one in charge, it's not about you anymore. If she's going to give you her body for the night, you've got to play nicely with it."
Tony's just staring at him and then finally asks, "You've had sex where you didn't get off?"
Tim shrugs. "It happens. Usually it's more like, I don't get off during the first round, but then we rest and she returns the favor after."
"You two just fuck all weekend long, don't you?"
"No." Tim smiles. "Well, not usually."
Tony shakes his head. "She ties you up?"
"Oh yeah. Anything with us is a two way street. I won't do it to her if I'm not willing to have her do it back to me."
"Anything?"
"If it's anatomically possible to do it to both of us, it's happened."
Tony's eyebrows shoot up. "Really?"
"Yeah." Tim nods.
"Even..."
Tim's fairly sure he knows what Tony's asking here, but even if he's wrong his answer is still likely to be true. "Makes you come so hard you can't see."
"Huh." Tony seems to be thinking about that, and this pleases Tim, not in a weirded out sort of way. "That can really happen?"
"Oh yeah. Ever run so hard the color drops out of your vision?"
"Yes."
"Just like that, only a hell of a lot more fun. Look, you let her control you, and you might not be getting off anytime soon, but it'll blow your mind when you do."
Tony's got an especially dirty grin on his face. "Not usually my mind I'm hoping to get blown, but..."
Tim laughs. "Anyway, go play with her; come back to me if you need more help."
Tony raises an eyebrow. "What would I need more help with?"
Tim just smiles.
April 9, 2013
Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction
McGee centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 52: A Garnet
When the Fourth of July came and went, Tim finally did come to the conclusion that Jimmy was right. The perfect ring for Abby did not, in fact, exist and he needed to find someone to make it for him. All joking about the betting pool aside, it was time to get moving.
And he figures that if he is going to get a ring made, the first step for that is finding a stone, or stones...
He thinks about Gibbs mentioning taking Ziva along, but feels a little uncomfortable at that idea. He doesn't want Ziva thinking he's bringing her along because of Israeli stereotypes. Getting an entire ring is one thing, shopping for a gem...
Well, if the gem isn't a diamond...
And it wouldn't, be would it?
At least not a white one...
I love you in red. He remembers saying that, and ideas start to form.
Hours later, Tony and Gibbs are off talking to a suspect, and he's got a minute alone with Ziva. "If the case is wrapped up, would you go shopping with me on Sunday?"
"What are we shopping for?"
"A ruby, maybe some garnets."
"For Abby?"
He nods.
"Why do you want me to come along?"
While it's true that Tim's number one rule is do not lie to Gibbs, he does not have a similar rule for Ziva, so his answer is not entirely honest. It's honest enough, but just not all of the story.
"You're a woman, and when we find one that makes you suck in your breath fast and go quiet, I'm thinking that'll be a good place to start."
"Have you ever shopped for gems before, McGee?"
"Nope, you?"
"No."
"Then we'll go together and learn something. Come with me?"
"Sure. Tony will want to know what we're doing."
"You can tell him... I might have to get Gibbs to set another death threat on him though, because he'll have to keep it secret for however long it takes to get a ring, and then for me to ask her."
"I think he will keep this secret." Tony had seemed to be better at that lately. He seemed to be developing interests beyond spreading gossip around. Possibly his own life was getting interesting enough he didn't feel the need to vicariously mess about in other people's lives. "And what are you going to tell Abby?"
"Nothing. She's got a conference for new Federal forensic standards this weekend. She'll be out from six to six both days."
"Good timing."
Tim smiled. "Thank you."
Ziva doesn't live ten minutes away any longer, but he still has the route to her place memorized. Bright and early Sunday morning, he's at her place, waiting for her to come down.
"Do you know what you want?" she asks as she gets into his car and buckles her seatbelt.
"Red. I want something red. So rubies, garnets, carnelian, onyx, whatever, it's got to be red."
"She does wear white. You could go for diamonds."
"I spent five months looking at diamonds and not buying them. Palmer was right; there isn't a diamond ring on earth that's right for Abby."
"Speaking of Palmer, are we going out next weekend?"
"I hope so, but he keeps saying Breena isn't up to it."
Ziva nods. "Breena hasn't been feeling up to going out for almost four weeks now."
"Yeah. He's been saying something about allergy season, but who has allergies in July?"
"Who indeed?"
He's got the feeling that Ziva means something by the way she's asking, but whatever it is, he's not getting it. "So, just the four of us?" he asks.
"I think so. Maybe though, you should have a chat with Palmer at some point."
"We have lunch at least once a week."
"I know, but still... Allergies in July. Allergies that make you not want to play rough and running around games or dancing..."
He looks away from the road to her. "Ziva, if you had ever had allergies, you'd know you don't want to do much of anything with them. You lay around feeling sleepy and blow your nose all the time."
"Ah." She gently whacks Tim upside the back of the head. "You are such a man. She is pregnant."
"What?" Okay, that thought hadn't occurred to him at all.
"Yes. Allergies might stop you from the active part of our bi-weekly gathering. She'd still be able to drink beer and eat pizza or go out to dinner somewhere nice. Pregnant and morning sickness stop you from that."
"Oh." He thinks about it. Palmer has seemed a bit more twitchy than normal lately. "I think you're right about that."
"Of course I am right." She shakes her head. "A baby for Palmer. You and Abby getting engaged. Tony and I dating. We are growing up."
"Yeah, we are."
"So, am I going to be a bridesmaid or a groomswoman?"
"Abby's already claimed you, Breena, Gibbs, and Palmer for her side."
Ziva laughed. "You are picking teams?"
"Something like that."
"Then you get Tony and Ducky."
"Exactly."
The thing about shopping for gems is that in real life, they're awfully tiny. When you look at them online, especially on Tim's monitor, the pictures are all huge. But in real life they're these tiny little things all sort of glinting at you.
And on top of that, Tim's got no idea how big a carat is. He knows it's a weight, but he also doesn't know what that means in relation to the size of Abby's finger, which is the only ratio that matters to him.
The dealer is looking at Tim like he's an idiot because he doesn't know how big of a stone, let alone what shape, or for that matter, precisely what sort of stone he wants.
Apparently "red" isn't the kind of information most buyers come armed with.
Lucky for Tim, Ziva is there, because while the dealer might be looking at him like he's just another clueless, idiot groom, no one disrespects Ziva.
"Do you have a pad of paper?"
The dealer messes around for a moment under the counter and produces one, humoring Tim, talking to Ziva about Tel Aviv.
Tim sketches out a small square. He knows how big Abby's ring finger is, and he knows pretty well how big he wants the ring to be. So that little square represents biggest the stone can be.
"It's got to be red, and no bigger than this."
The dealer looks intensely underwhelmed by Tim, but goes to fetch a selection of stones. He comes back a few minutes later with a tray and about fifteen loose stones on it.
Honestly, none of them are rocking Tim's world. They're nice enough. Very red. But none of them feel like Abby. He glances at Ziva, who is also not looking stunned at anything. She gives her head a minute shake, and he says, "Not on this tray."
The dealer heads off to find more red stones that are smaller than the tiny square Tim had drawn. Ziva drifts off as well to go look at some of the other displays. He's waiting, tapping his finger against the display case, looking at the diamonds under the glass below his fingers. Maybe he could do one of them... They do look a bit different in real life, all shiny and sparkly...
"McGee!"
He looks at her, and she waves him over. "This one."
Ziva's pointing straight down. He walks over and looks, and she's right. It's perfect. Round cut, dark red with glints of amber, gold, and orange. He has no idea what it is or how much it costs, but right now it doesn't matter, that's the heart of Abby's ring, so it's coming home with him.
"What about this one?"
The dealer puts the tray of new stones down and takes Abby's stone out to show him. "It's a hessonite garnet. A little over three quarters of a carrot. It's a flawless passion cut stone."
"How much?"
"Twenty-five hundred dollars."
"Sold." Now Ziva's looking at him like he's an idiot. Apparently bargaining is part of this whole gem buying thing. Meanwhile the sales clerk seems to think Tim is now his newest, bestest friend and has warmed up considerably. Apparently idiot groom with money is exactly who this guy wants in his store.
Tim holds it over the square he sketched, and then holds it over his pinky as well. It's a little smaller than he was hoping for. It's the heart of her ring, but it needs some company.
"Do you have any black diamonds?"
"Yes."
"Triangle shaped ones smaller than the garnet?"
"Let me get them."
Finding two little, sparkling black teardrops to go with garnet was pretty easy. Less than half an hour later he tucked a tiny bag into the pocket of his jacket. "That was easier than I expected. Thank you, Ziva."
"You're welcome. All you have to do now is find a ring to put them in."
"Monday night, I've got a meeting set up with a jeweler."
"Good. Then what?"
"Then... 'Marry me?' I'm still bouncing proposal ideas around. Nothing seems quite right, yet. If you were Abby, what would you want?"
"I am not Abby. And I cannot even begin to guess what she would like."
Tim smiles a little. "Okay, if on the off chance someone is ever bouncing proposal ideas off me, what would you like for you?"
She grins at that and shakes her head. "Oh no. He's not getting off that easy."
"No hints at all?"
"I like sapphires."
"Good to know."
"So, Ziva's thinking Breena has the sort of allergies that might start getting better in a few weeks," Tim says to Palmer the next day.
Palmer nods. "Uh yeah, the Doc says she'll probably be feeling better in a month or six weeks."
Tim gives him a long look, and then breaks into a grin. "And how are you dealing with her 'allergies?'"
Palmer shakes his head, a little rueful, but mostly amused. It's hard to keep secrets when all your friends are cops. "When I'm not feeling seventeen feet tall and ready to start crowing about how proud I am, I'm on the verge of throwing up because I'm so scared."
Tim nods. "You're going to be a great dad."
"I hope so. It's just really intense right now, because it's this big secret. And, okay, do not ever say anything about this to anyone, 'cause, I mean this is the sort of caveman kind of thing we aren't supposed to like, right? But, God, she's mine. I mean, really mine. My woman. My child growing inside of her. And it's scary how strongly I'm feeling that right now."
"I get that. Every time I go out with Abby, I see the looks other guys give me. The whole 'How did you get her?' thing. And I just smile, because I did get her. She's mine."
"You've got a ghost of it. We're in the grocery store and this idiot almost bumped into her with his cart. He didn't actually hit her with it. She jumped out of the way, but I was going to hit him. Seriously, my fingers were in a fist and my arm was coming up when she put her hand on it and said, "I'm fine.'
"Stick that ring you keep dithering about on her finger and get her pregnant, and it'll knock your socks off."
Tim smiles. "Which is part of why I'm down here. Check this out." Tim got his phone out and showed Palmer the picture of the stone.
Palmer grins, nodding. "Better. Much better. Got someone to make it into a ring?"
"Yeah. Supposedly you and I are having dinner tonight."
"Really?" This was the first Palmer had heard of their dinner date.
"Uh huh."
"Okay. And this dinner, are you actually attending?"
"Nope. Neither are you. Got a meeting with a jeweler."
"Finally! And if your beloved were to ask, where did we go, and what did we have?"
"Rick's. I got my usual burger. You got your usual Caesar salad. And we talked about Breena's mysterious allergies."
"Okay. Bring me back pictures of the sketch. I want to see what I'm covering for."
"Will do. When is she due, anyway?"
"Early February."
"Good." Tim thinks about it for a second, and figures Palmer won't react badly to it. So he hugs him, quickly, and then pulls back. "I'm really happy for you two."
"Thanks, Tim. Me, too. I mean, I'm happy for you, too. Getting engaged...not that Abby's pregnant... Is she?"
Tim smiles. "Not yet."
"Yet?" That catches Jimmy's interest.
"I don't think your kids will be all that much older than mine."
Palmer smirks. "Are you at least going to try to marry her first?"
"Gonna try."
Chapter 52: A Garnet
When the Fourth of July came and went, Tim finally did come to the conclusion that Jimmy was right. The perfect ring for Abby did not, in fact, exist and he needed to find someone to make it for him. All joking about the betting pool aside, it was time to get moving.
And he figures that if he is going to get a ring made, the first step for that is finding a stone, or stones...
He thinks about Gibbs mentioning taking Ziva along, but feels a little uncomfortable at that idea. He doesn't want Ziva thinking he's bringing her along because of Israeli stereotypes. Getting an entire ring is one thing, shopping for a gem...
Well, if the gem isn't a diamond...
And it wouldn't, be would it?
At least not a white one...
I love you in red. He remembers saying that, and ideas start to form.
Hours later, Tony and Gibbs are off talking to a suspect, and he's got a minute alone with Ziva. "If the case is wrapped up, would you go shopping with me on Sunday?"
"What are we shopping for?"
"A ruby, maybe some garnets."
"For Abby?"
He nods.
"Why do you want me to come along?"
While it's true that Tim's number one rule is do not lie to Gibbs, he does not have a similar rule for Ziva, so his answer is not entirely honest. It's honest enough, but just not all of the story.
"You're a woman, and when we find one that makes you suck in your breath fast and go quiet, I'm thinking that'll be a good place to start."
"Have you ever shopped for gems before, McGee?"
"Nope, you?"
"No."
"Then we'll go together and learn something. Come with me?"
"Sure. Tony will want to know what we're doing."
"You can tell him... I might have to get Gibbs to set another death threat on him though, because he'll have to keep it secret for however long it takes to get a ring, and then for me to ask her."
"I think he will keep this secret." Tony had seemed to be better at that lately. He seemed to be developing interests beyond spreading gossip around. Possibly his own life was getting interesting enough he didn't feel the need to vicariously mess about in other people's lives. "And what are you going to tell Abby?"
"Nothing. She's got a conference for new Federal forensic standards this weekend. She'll be out from six to six both days."
"Good timing."
Tim smiled. "Thank you."
Ziva doesn't live ten minutes away any longer, but he still has the route to her place memorized. Bright and early Sunday morning, he's at her place, waiting for her to come down.
"Do you know what you want?" she asks as she gets into his car and buckles her seatbelt.
"Red. I want something red. So rubies, garnets, carnelian, onyx, whatever, it's got to be red."
"She does wear white. You could go for diamonds."
"I spent five months looking at diamonds and not buying them. Palmer was right; there isn't a diamond ring on earth that's right for Abby."
"Speaking of Palmer, are we going out next weekend?"
"I hope so, but he keeps saying Breena isn't up to it."
Ziva nods. "Breena hasn't been feeling up to going out for almost four weeks now."
"Yeah. He's been saying something about allergy season, but who has allergies in July?"
"Who indeed?"
He's got the feeling that Ziva means something by the way she's asking, but whatever it is, he's not getting it. "So, just the four of us?" he asks.
"I think so. Maybe though, you should have a chat with Palmer at some point."
"We have lunch at least once a week."
"I know, but still... Allergies in July. Allergies that make you not want to play rough and running around games or dancing..."
He looks away from the road to her. "Ziva, if you had ever had allergies, you'd know you don't want to do much of anything with them. You lay around feeling sleepy and blow your nose all the time."
"Ah." She gently whacks Tim upside the back of the head. "You are such a man. She is pregnant."
"What?" Okay, that thought hadn't occurred to him at all.
"Yes. Allergies might stop you from the active part of our bi-weekly gathering. She'd still be able to drink beer and eat pizza or go out to dinner somewhere nice. Pregnant and morning sickness stop you from that."
"Oh." He thinks about it. Palmer has seemed a bit more twitchy than normal lately. "I think you're right about that."
"Of course I am right." She shakes her head. "A baby for Palmer. You and Abby getting engaged. Tony and I dating. We are growing up."
"Yeah, we are."
"So, am I going to be a bridesmaid or a groomswoman?"
"Abby's already claimed you, Breena, Gibbs, and Palmer for her side."
Ziva laughed. "You are picking teams?"
"Something like that."
"Then you get Tony and Ducky."
"Exactly."
The thing about shopping for gems is that in real life, they're awfully tiny. When you look at them online, especially on Tim's monitor, the pictures are all huge. But in real life they're these tiny little things all sort of glinting at you.
And on top of that, Tim's got no idea how big a carat is. He knows it's a weight, but he also doesn't know what that means in relation to the size of Abby's finger, which is the only ratio that matters to him.
The dealer is looking at Tim like he's an idiot because he doesn't know how big of a stone, let alone what shape, or for that matter, precisely what sort of stone he wants.
Apparently "red" isn't the kind of information most buyers come armed with.
Lucky for Tim, Ziva is there, because while the dealer might be looking at him like he's just another clueless, idiot groom, no one disrespects Ziva.
"Do you have a pad of paper?"
The dealer messes around for a moment under the counter and produces one, humoring Tim, talking to Ziva about Tel Aviv.
Tim sketches out a small square. He knows how big Abby's ring finger is, and he knows pretty well how big he wants the ring to be. So that little square represents biggest the stone can be.
"It's got to be red, and no bigger than this."
The dealer looks intensely underwhelmed by Tim, but goes to fetch a selection of stones. He comes back a few minutes later with a tray and about fifteen loose stones on it.
Honestly, none of them are rocking Tim's world. They're nice enough. Very red. But none of them feel like Abby. He glances at Ziva, who is also not looking stunned at anything. She gives her head a minute shake, and he says, "Not on this tray."
The dealer heads off to find more red stones that are smaller than the tiny square Tim had drawn. Ziva drifts off as well to go look at some of the other displays. He's waiting, tapping his finger against the display case, looking at the diamonds under the glass below his fingers. Maybe he could do one of them... They do look a bit different in real life, all shiny and sparkly...
"McGee!"
He looks at her, and she waves him over. "This one."
Ziva's pointing straight down. He walks over and looks, and she's right. It's perfect. Round cut, dark red with glints of amber, gold, and orange. He has no idea what it is or how much it costs, but right now it doesn't matter, that's the heart of Abby's ring, so it's coming home with him.
"What about this one?"
The dealer puts the tray of new stones down and takes Abby's stone out to show him. "It's a hessonite garnet. A little over three quarters of a carrot. It's a flawless passion cut stone."
"How much?"
"Twenty-five hundred dollars."
"Sold." Now Ziva's looking at him like he's an idiot. Apparently bargaining is part of this whole gem buying thing. Meanwhile the sales clerk seems to think Tim is now his newest, bestest friend and has warmed up considerably. Apparently idiot groom with money is exactly who this guy wants in his store.
Tim holds it over the square he sketched, and then holds it over his pinky as well. It's a little smaller than he was hoping for. It's the heart of her ring, but it needs some company.
"Do you have any black diamonds?"
"Yes."
"Triangle shaped ones smaller than the garnet?"
"Let me get them."
Finding two little, sparkling black teardrops to go with garnet was pretty easy. Less than half an hour later he tucked a tiny bag into the pocket of his jacket. "That was easier than I expected. Thank you, Ziva."
"You're welcome. All you have to do now is find a ring to put them in."
"Monday night, I've got a meeting set up with a jeweler."
"Good. Then what?"
"Then... 'Marry me?' I'm still bouncing proposal ideas around. Nothing seems quite right, yet. If you were Abby, what would you want?"
"I am not Abby. And I cannot even begin to guess what she would like."
Tim smiles a little. "Okay, if on the off chance someone is ever bouncing proposal ideas off me, what would you like for you?"
She grins at that and shakes her head. "Oh no. He's not getting off that easy."
"No hints at all?"
"I like sapphires."
"Good to know."
"So, Ziva's thinking Breena has the sort of allergies that might start getting better in a few weeks," Tim says to Palmer the next day.
Palmer nods. "Uh yeah, the Doc says she'll probably be feeling better in a month or six weeks."
Tim gives him a long look, and then breaks into a grin. "And how are you dealing with her 'allergies?'"
Palmer shakes his head, a little rueful, but mostly amused. It's hard to keep secrets when all your friends are cops. "When I'm not feeling seventeen feet tall and ready to start crowing about how proud I am, I'm on the verge of throwing up because I'm so scared."
Tim nods. "You're going to be a great dad."
"I hope so. It's just really intense right now, because it's this big secret. And, okay, do not ever say anything about this to anyone, 'cause, I mean this is the sort of caveman kind of thing we aren't supposed to like, right? But, God, she's mine. I mean, really mine. My woman. My child growing inside of her. And it's scary how strongly I'm feeling that right now."
"I get that. Every time I go out with Abby, I see the looks other guys give me. The whole 'How did you get her?' thing. And I just smile, because I did get her. She's mine."
"You've got a ghost of it. We're in the grocery store and this idiot almost bumped into her with his cart. He didn't actually hit her with it. She jumped out of the way, but I was going to hit him. Seriously, my fingers were in a fist and my arm was coming up when she put her hand on it and said, "I'm fine.'
"Stick that ring you keep dithering about on her finger and get her pregnant, and it'll knock your socks off."
Tim smiles. "Which is part of why I'm down here. Check this out." Tim got his phone out and showed Palmer the picture of the stone.
Palmer grins, nodding. "Better. Much better. Got someone to make it into a ring?"
"Yeah. Supposedly you and I are having dinner tonight."
"Really?" This was the first Palmer had heard of their dinner date.
"Uh huh."
"Okay. And this dinner, are you actually attending?"
"Nope. Neither are you. Got a meeting with a jeweler."
"Finally! And if your beloved were to ask, where did we go, and what did we have?"
"Rick's. I got my usual burger. You got your usual Caesar salad. And we talked about Breena's mysterious allergies."
"Okay. Bring me back pictures of the sketch. I want to see what I'm covering for."
"Will do. When is she due, anyway?"
"Early February."
"Good." Tim thinks about it for a second, and figures Palmer won't react badly to it. So he hugs him, quickly, and then pulls back. "I'm really happy for you two."
"Thanks, Tim. Me, too. I mean, I'm happy for you, too. Getting engaged...not that Abby's pregnant... Is she?"
Tim smiles. "Not yet."
"Yet?" That catches Jimmy's interest.
"I don't think your kids will be all that much older than mine."
Palmer smirks. "Are you at least going to try to marry her first?"
"Gonna try."
April 8, 2013
Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction
McGee centric character study/romance. Mature Audiences Only on this one, so skip if explicit sex isn't your thing. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
51. Weekend Sex (Almost)
For Tim there's weeknight sex and weekend sex. For the most part, ropes, toys, anything that takes serious prep is weekend sex.
Pretty much, they sleep in on Saturday, rest, put the rest of the week behind them, and go at it fresh.
So, first time anal with Abby is definitely weekend sex.
Well, Friday night sex. "Research" and playing with the Spunk has certainly gotten Tim significantly more interested in the idea of being on the doing end of the equation. And waiting another day... There is such a thing as too much anticipating and not enough doing.
Plus, this isn't going to be much of a props night. He's wary enough about accidentally hurting her, so he's sure as hell not tying her up for this.
Tonight, she's in charge.
They're starting out in the shower, first off because it's fun, and also, hygiene and all. He'll happily lick any part of Abby that might want to be licked, but, especially for this, he'd also like to know it's clean first.
So, this is, without a doubt, the most thorough shower she's ever gotten. He's enjoying just touching her all over. Stroking from her scalp to her toes. Kissing where the suds have rinsed free.
He holds her flush to him. Her back against his chest, and lightly, gently, trails his index finger down the curl of her ear, over the plane of her neck, and the slope of her shoulder, down her arm to her hand, taking it is his, twining his fingers with hers, and then lifting it, kissing her palm.
She relaxes against him as he does that, her head against his.
"So, how do you want to do this?" he asks, kissing her temple.
"Haven't decided. Debating between reverse cowgirl, with you propped up against the headboard, so you're sort of sitting and I'm in your lap, or basic spoons."
"You'll have more control in cowgirl."
"Yeah, but I'll also need more control. Only so deep you can go spooning."
"True. Only one angle that works at, too." Best he can do spooning is about three inches. Though for this the angle will be a bit steeper, so, maybe three and a quarter, three and a half.
"You have a preference?" she asks.
"Probably spooning. That works well we can pretty easily shift into cowgirl."
She nods. Spooning is usually morning sex. Slow, gentle, sleepy. Something to get them both ready for the day. But slow, gentle, and sleepy doesn't always end that way. Spooning has been a launch pad to some fairly impressive sex.
"So..." She leans over and turns off the shower. "You ready?"
He smiles. "If you are."
They get out, and he dries her off, watching the soft, fluffy cotton towel stroke along her skin and devour droplets of water.
He's kneeling in front of her, blotting her calves, drying her off more thoroughly than she's ever been dried off before, when she strokes his cheek, signaling for him to look up at her. "You really okay with this?"
He half-smiles. "Nervous."
She nods. "I really want to."
"I know." He holds her hips in his hands, looking up into her eyes. "I'm terrified of being the asshole who makes you cry and doesn't notice for two minutes."
She kneels next to him, smiles, and kisses him gently. "You aren't him."
"You'll tell me if it hurts. I mean, at all."
"I will. I've never done this with anyone else because I've never trusted anyone else enough to do it. I trust you. If it's not fun, we'll stop. That's how we play, and this won't be different."
"Good."
He stands up, and she quickly dries him off. "Come on, bedtime."
He nods. "Yes."
While it's true that the research he did had about a thousand different ideas for what to do once you actually achieved penetration, they all pretty much agreed on the before and during part. Very relaxed, very turned on, very slow, lots and lots and lots of lube.
She'd had wine with dinner, which was step one on relax. He'd skipped it. He didn't want anything that would dull his sense of touch, or lower his control or motor skills. And he's already got the massage oil sitting on the bedside table, next to the lube, because to the degree it's in his control, she is going to be relaxed, and massage helps with that.
He's been debating about getting her off before and during the sex or just during. Getting her off will certainly help with relaxed. But, while it's true that she can get off over and over, he knows that building her up slowly, spinning her out, and then getting her off results in a higher level of arousal than a whole bunch of fast orgasms.
He'll just have to play that one by ear.
"Lay down on your stomach." And she does. Laying down gracefully, head to the right, so she can see him.
June in DC means it's very pleasant out. They've got the windows open, enjoying warm breezes that smell like the promise of summer. He keeps the lights off. They're on the third floor, so there's not a whole lot of chance of anyone seeing in, but keeping it dark'll make sure no one does. Besides, the street lights from the parking lot provide a steady yellowish glow.
He sits down next to her, and gently gathers her hair off of her shoulders, tucking it next to her neck.
She makes a pleased sound, which grows louder as he trails his fingers down her back. He strokes them over her rear, and down her legs, trailing just the tips of his fingers against her, raising goosebumps on her skin.
Abby's skin. It amazes him how much he can enjoy something as simple as gently touching her skin. Amazes him how she squirms against his touch, and how seeing her skin respond to him makes him feel happy. His hands hover over her back, not touching, just letting the heat build-up between his palms and her skin, and then strokes them over her, just brushing the almost invisible hairs along her skin.
"Mmmmmm..." He loves hearing that, loves knowing how something as simple as his hand on her back makes her purr.
He straddles her, settling just below her hips. Then drips some of the oil onto his hands and sweeps it along her back. Doing this naked is always a treat. Not just the pleasure of her stretched out below him, not just the smooth pull of her skin under his hands, but if he's naked, and like right not, not hard, the tip of his penis drags along the backs of her thighs when he moves, and that sends welcome murmurs of pleasure through him, and makes her shiver.
He presses his thumbs into her shoulders, finding those tense spots, and rolling over them.
"Mmmmmm..." She wriggles against him as she moans happily. "That's good."
Yeah it is. Her bottom squirming against him is starting to take care of the whole not hard issue.
He keeps working on her shoulders, kneeding and stroking, feeling the tension start to melt under his hands. From there he slides further down, working her back, finding those stiff points along her spine and coaxing them to loosen.
She twitches when he hits one of them, so he slows down, dribbles a little more oil there, and concentrates on that spot. He ripples his knuckles over it, then soothes it with his full hand. When he can press full into it without her jerking, he moves to the next spot, slightly further down.
He finishes with her back and scoots a little further down, nudging her legs apart with his knee.
"Spread your legs." And she does. He starts by cupping her thigh in his hands, stroking his palms down her leg, then leans forward and kisses the small of her back.
His hands land at her sacrum, just below the bottom of the cross, and from there he begins to kneed her buttocks while he kisses his way up the cross.
He leans back, settling between her legs, and continues to massage her legs and rear. He's trying to do a good job of it, but he's getting distracted.
The streetlight glow might not be too bright, but between it, the moon, and the fact that they've been in here long enough for his eyes to adjust Tim can see pretty well, and what he's looking at is Abby's pussy. And seeing beautiful glistening folds of skin, he wants to touch. His fingers ghost against her, just enough contact to make her shiver a little.
He touches the back of her leg, presses gently, and manages to get across the idea that he wants her to hitch that leg up a bit. She does, which gives him a bit better access, and a much better view.
Her whole sex is visible to him and he has to touch, make real contact. His fingers slip along her clit, down her lips, teasing, briefly against her vagina, getting slick and slippery, to then stroke her anus.
She groans when he does that, and he knows that sound means she's liking what he's doing, so he does it again. No penetration with any of these touches, just petting, slipping, sliding along her.
He pulls her into doggy position and starts to lick. And he knows he's definitely going to get her off before and during the sex, because this is just too good not to. She's making extremely pleased sounds while his tongue explores, so he begins to use his fingers, too, slipping them over her clit while he laps at her anus.
She's making the noise that means oncoming orgasm, so he pulls away for a second and slips into her— because nothing on earth feels like her coming on him and he's not about to miss that— thrusting slow and sure, feeling her arch back against him, rippling and twitching, and God it feels good. He's kissing her neck and shoulder, trying to pay more attention to his lips on her skin than on what his dick's doing because while her getting off right now is a good time, him getting off spoils their plans.
She recovers quickly. That was a take-the-edge-off sort of orgasm, not the lay there unmoving for the next two hours sort. She's lying in his arms, her side against his chest.
They kiss, lips soft, wet, gentle, the slide of tongue on tongue, enjoying wet slip with minimal friction. His fingers find her nipple and begin to play. Eventually, she rolls away from him, snugging her back against his chest, drawing her top leg forward, and he figures that's a pretty clear sign that she wants him to get on with it.
He reaches behind himself, finds the lube and dribbles it onto his fingers, making sure they're all very slick, then pours a little more into the palm of his hand to spread on her.
He starts with the first finger, and as he's pressing in gently with it, feeling her body slowly giving around him, the idea of exactly what tighter means is starting to hit him. This is one finger, going very slowly, and it's the tightest, hottest thing he's ever had that finger in. And sure, he's done this to himself before, and he's got a degree in Bio-Medical Engineering—he's forgotten more anatomy than anyone on the team, save Ducky or Palmer, has ever known—so he's aware on a very intellectual level of what two rings of muscle means, but for the first time what exactly that means in a sexual sense is hitting him.
Single dirtiest use of this pic, ever!Specifically, it's hitting him that that's going to be wrapped around his dick soon, and his dick is extremely interested in having that happen. But not yet. Because right now it's only one finger and he's not about to rush this. He knows three fingers are just slightly smaller than his dick. (Of course he measured. How else was he supposed to know how many to use to stretch her out? Sure everyone says three fingers, but why? So he checked.) So absolutely nothing involving his dick is happening until all three fingers have gotten inside her and she's nice and relaxed around them.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, Tim. It's good. Different, but good."
"Not hurting?"
"Tight. Not hurting, though."
He kisses her neck and shoulders. "Touch yourself while I do it?"
She shifts her leg, hooking it back over his hip, and he feels her fingers brush his. When her hips start slowly rolling, he figures that means she's feeling turned on enough to try the second finger.
He eases that one in and she goes still while he does it. "Still good?"
"Yeah. Burns a little, but it's not bad."
He knows that sensation, felt it more than a few times, not a huge fan of it. "Want me to stop?"
"No! It feels like... there's something after the burning, or through it maybe, that I really want."
"You sure?"
She grinds back against his fingers and he gets that message loud and clear.
"Okay. Just hold up for a sec." He grabs the lube and adds more to his ring finger. When she starts to move again, he begins with that one, and once again, while he's easing it in, she goes still.
She sighs and he feels her relax against him. She wriggles a little, touching herself slow and easy, and once more her hips start up that long slow roll.
"Feels good, Tim. Really intense, but good."
"Good. Ready for more?"
"Yeah. I think so."
He lubes himself up, and taking his fingers out, adds more lube to her as well. And yeah, the angle is a bit different, and it he's concentrating so hard on going slow that he misses a lot of how slipping in really feels, but once he's set it's amazing.
It's one of the most intense sensations he's ever felt. Hot and tight, okay he was expecting that, but this is like a tiny mouth slowly pulling him in and he's never felt anything like this before. And it's slick, but not wet, and if you had asked him half an hour ago if such a thing was possible, he'd have said no, but right now he can feel the difference and it's really amazing.
He's starting to feel afraid that he'll lose it and start thrusting too hard and too fast because he knows that he'd like nothing better than to just go full out right now and really take advantage of how this feels.
He goes very still, not wanting to do that. He lets her set the pace and depth, pressing back against him. She's rocking against him, shallow thrusts that feel like hot, slick gel wrapped tight around him.
He reaches around, fingering her clit, looking to get her off, and as he does that she begins to move faster.
"God, Tim, I want you to move!"
Yes!
"Here." He pulls out and shifts so he's kneeling, butt on his feet, facing the headboard. He pats his lap and she gets the idea. Modified reverse cowgirl. She'll face away from him, so he'll have easy access to her whole front. She can brace against the headboard for better balance. And they can both thrust.
She straddles him, and slowly slips down on him. And this time, because she's in charge of the motion, he can just relax and let himself feel it.
His head drops against her shoulder. "It's insane how good that feels."
"Yeah." She pulls up on him, and he meets her on the downstroke. Slow, liquid thrusts, the sort that feel like silk unraveling in oil. His finger slips over her clit, also slow, and he knows how this is going to go. Long rich thrusts, the sort that feel like they don't end or begin but just move through continuous arcs of slippery friction while setting sparks up his spine and making his thighs clench.
Her hands are clenched on the headboard and her head's dropped forward to rest against it. He kisses her neck and back, one hand on her nipple, the other still sliding, over and over, on her clit.
He can look down and see it, watching her body take him in, and that always kills him. He's moving faster, losing control, but she's tightening against him, arching back, meeting every thrust, increasing her speed, as well.
He's never heard her sound like this, it's almost keening, as her whole body spasms against him.
And that's enough for him. One more fast, burying thrust and he's gone, orgasm just racing through him.
A bit later, he's got no idea how long, a minute? ten seconds? anyway, she's resting on his lap, back against his chest, and he's holding her gently while she shakes. He's feeling pretty shaky himself, but not shuddering. He strokes her arms and legs, feels her twitch as he does that, and murmurs something soft and soothing sounding.
Eventually she stops shaking. "You all right?" he asks.
"Yeah. I'm really all right." After a minute she slips off of him and heads to the bathroom. He cleans himself up a little, and when she gets out, he goes in and finishes up.
Shortly they lay together in their bed, and he spoons behind her, arms wrapped around her, and one leg over hers, holding her in a full body hug.
"You're really okay."
"I'm really okay."
"You want to do that again?"
"Oh yeah. That's definitely going into the regular rotation. And next time, I want you to tie me down and spin me out, too."
He moans at that, pressing his hips against her, even though he's completely limp right now, that action gets across that really likes that idea.
51. Weekend Sex (Almost)
For Tim there's weeknight sex and weekend sex. For the most part, ropes, toys, anything that takes serious prep is weekend sex.
Pretty much, they sleep in on Saturday, rest, put the rest of the week behind them, and go at it fresh.
So, first time anal with Abby is definitely weekend sex.
Well, Friday night sex. "Research" and playing with the Spunk has certainly gotten Tim significantly more interested in the idea of being on the doing end of the equation. And waiting another day... There is such a thing as too much anticipating and not enough doing.
Plus, this isn't going to be much of a props night. He's wary enough about accidentally hurting her, so he's sure as hell not tying her up for this.
Tonight, she's in charge.
They're starting out in the shower, first off because it's fun, and also, hygiene and all. He'll happily lick any part of Abby that might want to be licked, but, especially for this, he'd also like to know it's clean first.
So, this is, without a doubt, the most thorough shower she's ever gotten. He's enjoying just touching her all over. Stroking from her scalp to her toes. Kissing where the suds have rinsed free.
He holds her flush to him. Her back against his chest, and lightly, gently, trails his index finger down the curl of her ear, over the plane of her neck, and the slope of her shoulder, down her arm to her hand, taking it is his, twining his fingers with hers, and then lifting it, kissing her palm.
She relaxes against him as he does that, her head against his.
"So, how do you want to do this?" he asks, kissing her temple.
"Haven't decided. Debating between reverse cowgirl, with you propped up against the headboard, so you're sort of sitting and I'm in your lap, or basic spoons."
"You'll have more control in cowgirl."
"Yeah, but I'll also need more control. Only so deep you can go spooning."
"True. Only one angle that works at, too." Best he can do spooning is about three inches. Though for this the angle will be a bit steeper, so, maybe three and a quarter, three and a half.
"You have a preference?" she asks.
"Probably spooning. That works well we can pretty easily shift into cowgirl."
She nods. Spooning is usually morning sex. Slow, gentle, sleepy. Something to get them both ready for the day. But slow, gentle, and sleepy doesn't always end that way. Spooning has been a launch pad to some fairly impressive sex.
"So..." She leans over and turns off the shower. "You ready?"
He smiles. "If you are."
They get out, and he dries her off, watching the soft, fluffy cotton towel stroke along her skin and devour droplets of water.
He's kneeling in front of her, blotting her calves, drying her off more thoroughly than she's ever been dried off before, when she strokes his cheek, signaling for him to look up at her. "You really okay with this?"
He half-smiles. "Nervous."
She nods. "I really want to."
"I know." He holds her hips in his hands, looking up into her eyes. "I'm terrified of being the asshole who makes you cry and doesn't notice for two minutes."
She kneels next to him, smiles, and kisses him gently. "You aren't him."
"You'll tell me if it hurts. I mean, at all."
"I will. I've never done this with anyone else because I've never trusted anyone else enough to do it. I trust you. If it's not fun, we'll stop. That's how we play, and this won't be different."
"Good."
He stands up, and she quickly dries him off. "Come on, bedtime."
He nods. "Yes."
While it's true that the research he did had about a thousand different ideas for what to do once you actually achieved penetration, they all pretty much agreed on the before and during part. Very relaxed, very turned on, very slow, lots and lots and lots of lube.
She'd had wine with dinner, which was step one on relax. He'd skipped it. He didn't want anything that would dull his sense of touch, or lower his control or motor skills. And he's already got the massage oil sitting on the bedside table, next to the lube, because to the degree it's in his control, she is going to be relaxed, and massage helps with that.
He's been debating about getting her off before and during the sex or just during. Getting her off will certainly help with relaxed. But, while it's true that she can get off over and over, he knows that building her up slowly, spinning her out, and then getting her off results in a higher level of arousal than a whole bunch of fast orgasms.
He'll just have to play that one by ear.
"Lay down on your stomach." And she does. Laying down gracefully, head to the right, so she can see him.
June in DC means it's very pleasant out. They've got the windows open, enjoying warm breezes that smell like the promise of summer. He keeps the lights off. They're on the third floor, so there's not a whole lot of chance of anyone seeing in, but keeping it dark'll make sure no one does. Besides, the street lights from the parking lot provide a steady yellowish glow.
He sits down next to her, and gently gathers her hair off of her shoulders, tucking it next to her neck.
She makes a pleased sound, which grows louder as he trails his fingers down her back. He strokes them over her rear, and down her legs, trailing just the tips of his fingers against her, raising goosebumps on her skin.
Abby's skin. It amazes him how much he can enjoy something as simple as gently touching her skin. Amazes him how she squirms against his touch, and how seeing her skin respond to him makes him feel happy. His hands hover over her back, not touching, just letting the heat build-up between his palms and her skin, and then strokes them over her, just brushing the almost invisible hairs along her skin.
"Mmmmmm..." He loves hearing that, loves knowing how something as simple as his hand on her back makes her purr.
He straddles her, settling just below her hips. Then drips some of the oil onto his hands and sweeps it along her back. Doing this naked is always a treat. Not just the pleasure of her stretched out below him, not just the smooth pull of her skin under his hands, but if he's naked, and like right not, not hard, the tip of his penis drags along the backs of her thighs when he moves, and that sends welcome murmurs of pleasure through him, and makes her shiver.
He presses his thumbs into her shoulders, finding those tense spots, and rolling over them.
"Mmmmmm..." She wriggles against him as she moans happily. "That's good."
Yeah it is. Her bottom squirming against him is starting to take care of the whole not hard issue.
He keeps working on her shoulders, kneeding and stroking, feeling the tension start to melt under his hands. From there he slides further down, working her back, finding those stiff points along her spine and coaxing them to loosen.
She twitches when he hits one of them, so he slows down, dribbles a little more oil there, and concentrates on that spot. He ripples his knuckles over it, then soothes it with his full hand. When he can press full into it without her jerking, he moves to the next spot, slightly further down.
He finishes with her back and scoots a little further down, nudging her legs apart with his knee.
"Spread your legs." And she does. He starts by cupping her thigh in his hands, stroking his palms down her leg, then leans forward and kisses the small of her back.
His hands land at her sacrum, just below the bottom of the cross, and from there he begins to kneed her buttocks while he kisses his way up the cross.
He leans back, settling between her legs, and continues to massage her legs and rear. He's trying to do a good job of it, but he's getting distracted.
The streetlight glow might not be too bright, but between it, the moon, and the fact that they've been in here long enough for his eyes to adjust Tim can see pretty well, and what he's looking at is Abby's pussy. And seeing beautiful glistening folds of skin, he wants to touch. His fingers ghost against her, just enough contact to make her shiver a little.
He touches the back of her leg, presses gently, and manages to get across the idea that he wants her to hitch that leg up a bit. She does, which gives him a bit better access, and a much better view.
Her whole sex is visible to him and he has to touch, make real contact. His fingers slip along her clit, down her lips, teasing, briefly against her vagina, getting slick and slippery, to then stroke her anus.
She groans when he does that, and he knows that sound means she's liking what he's doing, so he does it again. No penetration with any of these touches, just petting, slipping, sliding along her.
He pulls her into doggy position and starts to lick. And he knows he's definitely going to get her off before and during the sex, because this is just too good not to. She's making extremely pleased sounds while his tongue explores, so he begins to use his fingers, too, slipping them over her clit while he laps at her anus.
She's making the noise that means oncoming orgasm, so he pulls away for a second and slips into her— because nothing on earth feels like her coming on him and he's not about to miss that— thrusting slow and sure, feeling her arch back against him, rippling and twitching, and God it feels good. He's kissing her neck and shoulder, trying to pay more attention to his lips on her skin than on what his dick's doing because while her getting off right now is a good time, him getting off spoils their plans.
She recovers quickly. That was a take-the-edge-off sort of orgasm, not the lay there unmoving for the next two hours sort. She's lying in his arms, her side against his chest.
They kiss, lips soft, wet, gentle, the slide of tongue on tongue, enjoying wet slip with minimal friction. His fingers find her nipple and begin to play. Eventually, she rolls away from him, snugging her back against his chest, drawing her top leg forward, and he figures that's a pretty clear sign that she wants him to get on with it.
He reaches behind himself, finds the lube and dribbles it onto his fingers, making sure they're all very slick, then pours a little more into the palm of his hand to spread on her.
He starts with the first finger, and as he's pressing in gently with it, feeling her body slowly giving around him, the idea of exactly what tighter means is starting to hit him. This is one finger, going very slowly, and it's the tightest, hottest thing he's ever had that finger in. And sure, he's done this to himself before, and he's got a degree in Bio-Medical Engineering—he's forgotten more anatomy than anyone on the team, save Ducky or Palmer, has ever known—so he's aware on a very intellectual level of what two rings of muscle means, but for the first time what exactly that means in a sexual sense is hitting him.
Single dirtiest use of this pic, ever!Specifically, it's hitting him that that's going to be wrapped around his dick soon, and his dick is extremely interested in having that happen. But not yet. Because right now it's only one finger and he's not about to rush this. He knows three fingers are just slightly smaller than his dick. (Of course he measured. How else was he supposed to know how many to use to stretch her out? Sure everyone says three fingers, but why? So he checked.) So absolutely nothing involving his dick is happening until all three fingers have gotten inside her and she's nice and relaxed around them."You okay?"
"Yeah, Tim. It's good. Different, but good."
"Not hurting?"
"Tight. Not hurting, though."
He kisses her neck and shoulders. "Touch yourself while I do it?"
She shifts her leg, hooking it back over his hip, and he feels her fingers brush his. When her hips start slowly rolling, he figures that means she's feeling turned on enough to try the second finger.
He eases that one in and she goes still while he does it. "Still good?"
"Yeah. Burns a little, but it's not bad."
He knows that sensation, felt it more than a few times, not a huge fan of it. "Want me to stop?"
"No! It feels like... there's something after the burning, or through it maybe, that I really want."
"You sure?"
She grinds back against his fingers and he gets that message loud and clear.
"Okay. Just hold up for a sec." He grabs the lube and adds more to his ring finger. When she starts to move again, he begins with that one, and once again, while he's easing it in, she goes still.
She sighs and he feels her relax against him. She wriggles a little, touching herself slow and easy, and once more her hips start up that long slow roll.
"Feels good, Tim. Really intense, but good."
"Good. Ready for more?"
"Yeah. I think so."
He lubes himself up, and taking his fingers out, adds more lube to her as well. And yeah, the angle is a bit different, and it he's concentrating so hard on going slow that he misses a lot of how slipping in really feels, but once he's set it's amazing.
It's one of the most intense sensations he's ever felt. Hot and tight, okay he was expecting that, but this is like a tiny mouth slowly pulling him in and he's never felt anything like this before. And it's slick, but not wet, and if you had asked him half an hour ago if such a thing was possible, he'd have said no, but right now he can feel the difference and it's really amazing.
He's starting to feel afraid that he'll lose it and start thrusting too hard and too fast because he knows that he'd like nothing better than to just go full out right now and really take advantage of how this feels.
He goes very still, not wanting to do that. He lets her set the pace and depth, pressing back against him. She's rocking against him, shallow thrusts that feel like hot, slick gel wrapped tight around him.
He reaches around, fingering her clit, looking to get her off, and as he does that she begins to move faster.
"God, Tim, I want you to move!"
Yes!
"Here." He pulls out and shifts so he's kneeling, butt on his feet, facing the headboard. He pats his lap and she gets the idea. Modified reverse cowgirl. She'll face away from him, so he'll have easy access to her whole front. She can brace against the headboard for better balance. And they can both thrust.
She straddles him, and slowly slips down on him. And this time, because she's in charge of the motion, he can just relax and let himself feel it.
His head drops against her shoulder. "It's insane how good that feels."
"Yeah." She pulls up on him, and he meets her on the downstroke. Slow, liquid thrusts, the sort that feel like silk unraveling in oil. His finger slips over her clit, also slow, and he knows how this is going to go. Long rich thrusts, the sort that feel like they don't end or begin but just move through continuous arcs of slippery friction while setting sparks up his spine and making his thighs clench.
Her hands are clenched on the headboard and her head's dropped forward to rest against it. He kisses her neck and back, one hand on her nipple, the other still sliding, over and over, on her clit.
He can look down and see it, watching her body take him in, and that always kills him. He's moving faster, losing control, but she's tightening against him, arching back, meeting every thrust, increasing her speed, as well.
He's never heard her sound like this, it's almost keening, as her whole body spasms against him.
And that's enough for him. One more fast, burying thrust and he's gone, orgasm just racing through him.
A bit later, he's got no idea how long, a minute? ten seconds? anyway, she's resting on his lap, back against his chest, and he's holding her gently while she shakes. He's feeling pretty shaky himself, but not shuddering. He strokes her arms and legs, feels her twitch as he does that, and murmurs something soft and soothing sounding.
Eventually she stops shaking. "You all right?" he asks.
"Yeah. I'm really all right." After a minute she slips off of him and heads to the bathroom. He cleans himself up a little, and when she gets out, he goes in and finishes up.
Shortly they lay together in their bed, and he spoons behind her, arms wrapped around her, and one leg over hers, holding her in a full body hug.
"You're really okay."
"I'm really okay."
"You want to do that again?"
"Oh yeah. That's definitely going into the regular rotation. And next time, I want you to tie me down and spin me out, too."
He moans at that, pressing his hips against her, even though he's completely limp right now, that action gets across that really likes that idea.
Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction
McGee centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
50. Research
He's at the stove, finishing up dinner when he hears the door open. She had court today, and some days that means she beats him home, others it means she doesn't. And while there's not a ton or rhyme or reason to who gets home first, whichever one of them does ends up in charge of dinner.
"Hey."
She walks in and kisses his cheek. "Smells good."
"Thanks." He puts the spatula down, turns from the stove and kisses her hello properly. "How'd court go?"
"Pretty well. Can't say much beyond that because you're on the witness list for Friday."
"That case."
"Yeah." Witnesses usually are not allowed to watch each other testify. That way they can't take notes and support or deconstruct each other's testimony. Somewhere in the tens of hundreds of pages of evidence, depositions, and disclosures NCIS hands over at the beginning of each trial, there's a clause about how the two of them are living together now, but so far no lawyer has tried to bring that into play.
He's got his sleeves rolled up, something he usually does when cooking. Her fingers trail over the cuff he's wearing on his left wrist. "I really like this on you."
He looks at it and shrugs. It's the plainest one she had, just black leather imprinted with an arabesque, with silver snaps. He's not a jewelry kind of guy, but he does kind of like it on him. It's a somewhat subtle signal that maybe he's not quite as mild and buttoned up as his clothing would suggest. "I'm liking it, too. When this heals up," The bruise on his left wrist was a yellowish ghost of its former self. "I think I'll keep wearing it."
She smiles. "Sexy. If you're going to keep wearing one, I think we need to get one specially for you."
He kisses her again. "Thanks. I like this one, and I like the fact that it's yours."
"Awww... That's so cute." She gives him a quick pat on the tush. "How long before it's ready?"
He looks at the salmon, pokes it gently. "Five minutes?"
"Okay, I've got to get out of this. I'll be back soon."
Part of him wants to go watch her get out of her court suit. The rest of him knows she hates that outfit and doesn't want anyone, let alone him, to see her in it. So he grabs some glasses and pours their drinks.
[image error] She comes back to their kitchen a minute later in her bathrobe, a long, ornate black kimono with white branches and cherry blossoms on it. She's holding a small black bottle labeled Spunk in her hand and staring at it.
She's found the newest addition to their toy box.
"McGee?"
"Yeah?"
"What is this?"
"Lube."
"Uh huh..." She's still staring at it. Like it's some exotic specimen she's never seen before.
"So, I was doing some research, and I think I might know why it hurts when I do it. Apparently glycerin based lube can dry out pretty fast. It's fine for straight sex or the inside of a condom, but the anus doesn't make any of its own lubrication, so you end up sore."
"Okay."
"So, I started researching silicone lubes. And this was the highest ranked one I could find."
"Ranked by whom?"
"I checked out a few gay sex sites. I figured if anyone would know..."
"Yeah, that makes sense and all..." She opens the top and drips a little on her finger, then rubs it between them. "It's nicely slippery."
"Yep."
"Have you tried it out, yet?"
"Did the same thing you just did, but nope, waiting for you to get home to play with it."
"Didn't want me coming home and finding you jerking off with something called Spunk?"
The the expression on his face is somewhere between a smile and a smirk. "Something like that."
She's giving him a playful look, and he can feel the teasing subtext to it.
"I'm really not bi."
She's still staring at him, then looks at the dribble on her finger. It looks exactly like what a lube called Spunk should look like.
"And I don't have a bukkake kink."
She smiles and laughs at that.
"Really, it was very highly rated. Lots of guys love this stuff."
"Did any women love it?"
He smiles. "People claiming to be women wrote very pleased reviews on the website. And they sell the stuff in gallon jugs, so someone's gotta love it."
"Gallon jugs?" Her eyes are wide as she stares at the lube on her fingers.
"Yeah. I honestly don't want to think too hard about what you're doing if you need gallons of it."
She licks the finger she'd dripped some of it on. "No taste."
"I specifically looked for that. If I'm going to be licking you, I want to taste you, not whatever artificial flavoring they dump in."
"You like how I taste?"
He steps closer to her, sniffs where her neck and ear meet, and kisses gently. "I'd bottle it and use it to flavor lube for when I'm alone if I could."
Her eyes narrow a little, the way they do when she's curious, not angry. "What exactly do you do when I'm not here?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?" He grins and then takes the salmon out of the pan, putting it on plates.
"Yeah. I would."
"Honestly, these days, not all that much. If I jerk off, I'm less interested in sex after, sometimes for as long as a day or two. So, since we've been together, unless I know for a fact I'm not going to see you, like, say, Gibbs drags me to the other side of the planet again, I just don't. I'd rather spend the night horny and wake you up with a smile."
"You're saving up for me?"
"Yeah. Not nineteen anymore, so I can't get it up six times a day, and I'd rather not waste it."
"I don't know, after Jimmy's wedding would argue otherwise."
He grins. That day had been a personal best for him with six times in thirty-four hours. "I was feeling extremely motivated that day. I can't usually, or often, do that."
"You sure?"
"Yeah. Got home the Tuesday after, thought about jerking off, 'cause we had a case starting up and I didn't know when we'd have time together again, and lots of good memories for it, but my dick just looked at me and said, 'You're kidding, right?'"
"It talks to you?"
He laughs. "Sometimes."
She smiles at that. "So, after dinner, you want to put this stuff through its paces?"
"Oh yeah."
A/N: Spunk is real, and my gay buddies swear by it.
50. Research
He's at the stove, finishing up dinner when he hears the door open. She had court today, and some days that means she beats him home, others it means she doesn't. And while there's not a ton or rhyme or reason to who gets home first, whichever one of them does ends up in charge of dinner.
"Hey."
She walks in and kisses his cheek. "Smells good."
"Thanks." He puts the spatula down, turns from the stove and kisses her hello properly. "How'd court go?"
"Pretty well. Can't say much beyond that because you're on the witness list for Friday."
"That case."
"Yeah." Witnesses usually are not allowed to watch each other testify. That way they can't take notes and support or deconstruct each other's testimony. Somewhere in the tens of hundreds of pages of evidence, depositions, and disclosures NCIS hands over at the beginning of each trial, there's a clause about how the two of them are living together now, but so far no lawyer has tried to bring that into play.
He's got his sleeves rolled up, something he usually does when cooking. Her fingers trail over the cuff he's wearing on his left wrist. "I really like this on you."
He looks at it and shrugs. It's the plainest one she had, just black leather imprinted with an arabesque, with silver snaps. He's not a jewelry kind of guy, but he does kind of like it on him. It's a somewhat subtle signal that maybe he's not quite as mild and buttoned up as his clothing would suggest. "I'm liking it, too. When this heals up," The bruise on his left wrist was a yellowish ghost of its former self. "I think I'll keep wearing it."
She smiles. "Sexy. If you're going to keep wearing one, I think we need to get one specially for you."
He kisses her again. "Thanks. I like this one, and I like the fact that it's yours."
"Awww... That's so cute." She gives him a quick pat on the tush. "How long before it's ready?"
He looks at the salmon, pokes it gently. "Five minutes?"
"Okay, I've got to get out of this. I'll be back soon."
Part of him wants to go watch her get out of her court suit. The rest of him knows she hates that outfit and doesn't want anyone, let alone him, to see her in it. So he grabs some glasses and pours their drinks.
[image error] She comes back to their kitchen a minute later in her bathrobe, a long, ornate black kimono with white branches and cherry blossoms on it. She's holding a small black bottle labeled Spunk in her hand and staring at it.
She's found the newest addition to their toy box.
"McGee?"
"Yeah?"
"What is this?"
"Lube."
"Uh huh..." She's still staring at it. Like it's some exotic specimen she's never seen before.
"So, I was doing some research, and I think I might know why it hurts when I do it. Apparently glycerin based lube can dry out pretty fast. It's fine for straight sex or the inside of a condom, but the anus doesn't make any of its own lubrication, so you end up sore."
"Okay."
"So, I started researching silicone lubes. And this was the highest ranked one I could find."
"Ranked by whom?"
"I checked out a few gay sex sites. I figured if anyone would know..."
"Yeah, that makes sense and all..." She opens the top and drips a little on her finger, then rubs it between them. "It's nicely slippery."
"Yep."
"Have you tried it out, yet?"
"Did the same thing you just did, but nope, waiting for you to get home to play with it."
"Didn't want me coming home and finding you jerking off with something called Spunk?"
The the expression on his face is somewhere between a smile and a smirk. "Something like that."
She's giving him a playful look, and he can feel the teasing subtext to it.
"I'm really not bi."
She's still staring at him, then looks at the dribble on her finger. It looks exactly like what a lube called Spunk should look like.
"And I don't have a bukkake kink."
She smiles and laughs at that.
"Really, it was very highly rated. Lots of guys love this stuff."
"Did any women love it?"
He smiles. "People claiming to be women wrote very pleased reviews on the website. And they sell the stuff in gallon jugs, so someone's gotta love it."
"Gallon jugs?" Her eyes are wide as she stares at the lube on her fingers.
"Yeah. I honestly don't want to think too hard about what you're doing if you need gallons of it."
She licks the finger she'd dripped some of it on. "No taste."
"I specifically looked for that. If I'm going to be licking you, I want to taste you, not whatever artificial flavoring they dump in."
"You like how I taste?"
He steps closer to her, sniffs where her neck and ear meet, and kisses gently. "I'd bottle it and use it to flavor lube for when I'm alone if I could."
Her eyes narrow a little, the way they do when she's curious, not angry. "What exactly do you do when I'm not here?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?" He grins and then takes the salmon out of the pan, putting it on plates.
"Yeah. I would."
"Honestly, these days, not all that much. If I jerk off, I'm less interested in sex after, sometimes for as long as a day or two. So, since we've been together, unless I know for a fact I'm not going to see you, like, say, Gibbs drags me to the other side of the planet again, I just don't. I'd rather spend the night horny and wake you up with a smile."
"You're saving up for me?"
"Yeah. Not nineteen anymore, so I can't get it up six times a day, and I'd rather not waste it."
"I don't know, after Jimmy's wedding would argue otherwise."
He grins. That day had been a personal best for him with six times in thirty-four hours. "I was feeling extremely motivated that day. I can't usually, or often, do that."
"You sure?"
"Yeah. Got home the Tuesday after, thought about jerking off, 'cause we had a case starting up and I didn't know when we'd have time together again, and lots of good memories for it, but my dick just looked at me and said, 'You're kidding, right?'"
"It talks to you?"
He laughs. "Sometimes."
She smiles at that. "So, after dinner, you want to put this stuff through its paces?"
"Oh yeah."
A/N: Spunk is real, and my gay buddies swear by it.
![[image error]](http://www.spunklube.com/thumbnail.asp?file=assets/images/spunk-lube-pure-silicone-2oz_thumbnail.jpg&maxx=150&maxy=0){kind=link}