Keryl Raist's Blog, page 38

38 Weeks: The Thirty-Eighth Week

A/N: Burn Notice romantic fluff with a side of angst. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.



On the first day of the thirty-eighth week, Elise Westen came home, as babies often do, carried by her father.

Her mother got in the house, sat on the sofa, and promptly fell asleep. Between the pain meds and the fact that Elise seemed to be under the impression that meals should be served every two hours, Fi was beat.
So, it was three days after she was born, that Michael got his first moments really alone with his daughter.
Moments being the operative word because both his mother and Fi's showed up within minutes of each other, and him, and whisked Elise out of his arms, while tutting over Fi and making sure that she was properly comfy.
Then his mom shoo-ed him into his room, told him to get a nap, because he'd be on baby duty that night, and he'd need the sleep.
So he did.
Seven hours later, as he walked Elise around the house, through the blue-lit gloom of midnight, trying, praying, begging her to go to sleep, he was actually pretty glad he had gotten the nap.
And when she did fall asleep, all seven pounds of her curled between his collar bone and sternum, he very carefully lay down next to Fi, and got a quick nap as well, both of his ladies by his side. 

Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction

McGee centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here. Notice the Mature Audiences Only tag on this one? Skip it if you don't like explicit sex.


And then there was waiting. Waiting for the results, four hours. All was good on that front, much to no one's surprise. Depo Provera, or any hormonal birth control, for that matter, isn't the sort of thing you can just fetch and start using as soon as you like. So there was waiting for Abby's period to show up, to wander off, for the doctor's appointment that last day, and then one more day for it to fully kick in.
Okay, so it wasn't nine years, or two for that matter, and it wasn't like there was no sex at all, but Tim was really looking forward to saying goodbye to the condoms.
Finally, after a day of work that seemed to go on and on and on some more, he was back at his place, on his sofa, with Abby in his lap, kissing her intently.
She pulled back and unzipped his pants, and he looked up at her, kissing her again. "So, the thing is, this might be really fast."
"McGee?" She's looking at him, not understanding why he'd say that.
He looks a little chagrinned. "I've never done this without a condom."
"Never?" Curiosity replaces lack of understanding.
He shakes his head. "Never."
"You're a virgin!" And full on bubbly Abby excitement replaces curiosity.
He half shrugs. "I guess, sort of... But... anyway, I understand it's a lot more intense without one, so... things might be faster than usual."
"I can deal with that." She stands up, smiling gently, and he looks at her, question in his eyes. "Come on, if we're gonna deflower you, we might as well do it right, you know, in bed." She holds out her hand to him, and begins to loosen one of her pigtails with the other.
"Candlelight, flowers, and love poetry, too?"
She giggles. "Don't press your luck."
He sticks out his tongue at her, stands up, and gives her his hand. "I write you love poems."
"You're a writer," she says while they walk into his room. "The next time you want romantic lab work done, I'm your girl."
"What would romantic lab work be?" he asks while unbuttoning his shirt. She faces him, kissing his throat, and chest, shooing his hands away, taking over removing his clothing.
"I have no idea. Hearts on your computer keyboard?"
He smiles and kisses the side of her neck that doesn't have her hair falling down on it. "I'll hold you to that. I want little black hearts on my keyboard."
"Black?"
"Somehow I don't see you putting little pink ones on my keyboard."
"Prepare to be amazed, McGee. I shall romance you in the lab beyond your imagination." Her hands drop to the waistband of his pants, unbuttoning, finishing what she had started a few minutes ago. He kicks off the pants and toes off his socks, while Abby slowly drew her shirt over her head.
She had on the little red bra. It's all lace with demi cups, and he adores how she looks in it. His hands span her back and pull her close. "Keep the bra on?"
"I can do that."
He unbuttons the fly on her jeans, and skims the red and black plaid fabric down her legs, pulling them gently over each foot as she balances on one and then the other.  Tim kisses he thighs, her belly, and over her panties, also red and lacy.
"I love you in red. You look so amazing like this."
Her lips spread into a wide, pleased smile. "Thanks. Maybe I'll do my hair red one day."
Tim stands, pulling her flush to his chest, and grinds against her. "You feel how much I like that idea? Not saying I don't like your black hair, but I'd love to see you with red." He kisses her, sweetly this time, "I'd love to see your real hair color, too."
She strokes his face, fingers skimming cheekbones and eyebrows. Then she squirms out of her panties and gracefully falls back onto the bed.
He all but leaps after her, landing next to her, making the bed creak in protest. He's on his side, and so is she, his penis between her legs as they kiss and pet. Talking a little, making love a little, enjoying each other and not hurrying.
He likes being cradled between her legs, always has, it's warm and soft and snug, and he can thrust a bit to keep things focused properly. This time though, she hooks her leg over his hip, scooting down an inch so he's right against her, wet pubic hair tickling him, enticing him, and he sighs, knowing he doesn't have to roll over and fetch a condom.
Abby rolls him on top of her.

He props himself on his elbows while she squirms encouragingly against him. "Missionary?"
"Thought you might want to be able to control your speed and depth."
"Probably a good idea."
She reaches between them and gives him a little help on getting the right angle.  For a moment he just waits, because for the first time he can actually feel what it's like to be touching her and anticipate slipping in. It's wet and hot, and the softest thing he's ever felt, and just being against her feels better than he thought anything possibly could.
She kisses him sweetly, and pushes her hips at him. "It's even better inside."
He nods, biting his lip, looking into her eyes, and eases forward. He inhales sharply, almost whistling and exhales a long "Oh..." He settles into her, holding still, not too afraid of getting off instantly, but he definitely wants to enjoy this. He wants to fully feel it, so he can remember all of it.
"You're so beautiful right now," she says stroking his face. 
"God...That's... really nice."
"Really nice?" She's grinning, enjoying sharing this with him.
His eyes close, and he tries to focus. He's having a hard time talking. Tony's comment about not remembering his name would be springing to mind if he could remember it.  "Ask me later, when I can think."
She kisses him, and he begins to move, tentatively. Mostly just getting used to how hot and wet and slick she is. With a condom, there's just the sensation of warmth, pressure, and glide. And warm and pressure and glide are nice, but this is... This is beyond words good.
Her legs wrap around his hips and he can slip in a little deeper, and yeah, that's even better.  He tries a few really fast strokes, and decides for right now that's too much of a good thing. Slow gives him time to really feel, and he's enjoying that.
He lowers himself fully onto her, knowing he can't do that for too long without squishing her, but for right now he wants her whole body against his.
He's not really moving, he's just lying there, in her, feeling her on and around him.
He kisses her again, murmuring, "I love you, Abby," against her lips.
"Love you, too, Tim."
He thrusts again, slow, feeling her body clinging to his, sliding wetly along him. "God, this is so good. Love you, Abby. Love this. Just, fuck, love."
She kisses him again, her tongue wet and soft and slow, and he rolls her on top of them.
"Want to see you, all of you, as well as feel you."
She straddles him, his hands on her hips, giving her a good idea of what speed he wants, still slow, and she beings to finger herself, which is almost too much erotic input at one time. He takes her hands in his, kissing them. "Promise, you can do that later, but I'll get off if I watch you do it now."
"I don't mind if you get off."
"I do. I don't want this to end."
He sits up, holding her hands behind her back, face to face and belly to belly with her. "Want to touch all of you, too." He turns them a little, so he can see them in the mirror over the dresser.
He holds her close to him, kissing her, staring in her eyes, and periodically looking at her in the mirror. "Love this, I can feel you all over and see you at the same time."
"Love you, too."
They say that, a lot, and move slowly, for a long time, a very long time. And eventually he does lay back down, his hands on her hips, her fingers on herself, and he watches and thrusts and feels enveloped in an almost glowing orgasm. Like she was transmuted from flesh to light, and rising and falling on him became pure soul, and Tim might not be a terribly religious or spiritual man, but right that second he believed in angels with all of his heart.
Later, as she snuggled up next to him, and he discovered the highly overrated joys of laying on the wet spot he said to her, "That was worth waiting 35 years for." 

Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction

McGee centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.


Two days later, they're in Abby's lab with Palmer, and needles.
"I hate needles. I really hate them," he says staring at the tray with the syringes on it sitting in front of Abby's computer.
Abby squeezes Tim's hand. "You'll be fine."
"I'm good at blood draws. None of my patients ever complain," Jimmy says with a smile, soaking a cotton ball in alcohol.
"Jimmy, your patients are dead."
"Minor point.  Roll up your sleeve and let's get this done."
Tim was starting to think that doing this in Abby's lab wasn't the best idea ever. First of all, neither of them knows how to wield a hypodermic, which meant getting Palmer or Ducky involved, and well, if it was going to be one of them, Palmer was the obvious choice. Secondly, he's wondering if Director Craig is going to end up down here wondering why NCIS ordered two STD panels as well as two HIV tests.
Tim rolled up his sleeve and looked away. There's a tiny pinch, a miniscule burning sensation, and Jimmy says, "Flex your fingers."
"That's it?" Tim stares at the syringe in his arm, the vial slowly filling with his blood.
"I told you I was good at this. You forget I'm a doctor, which means I worked with live patients. I spent six months working out of a clinic where 95% of the cases I saw involved blood draws of one sort or another. I can do this blindfolded in my sleep."
Tim wonders a bit what having Jimmy Palmer for a doctor must have been like. "Why does Ducky call you Mr. Palmer?"
"Because I wasn't a doctor when I started here. By the time I had my MD, the name stuck, and he's been calling me Mr. Palmer ever since."
"Huh." The idea of Jimmy finishing up medical school while working here was nothing that had ever occurred to Tim. "You have hidden talents."
"I'm a good cook, too."
"Is there anything you can't do?" Abby asks.
"I'm a terrible ice skater. Can't stay up on skates to save my life. That's why the idea of naked ice hockey was so terrifying." He swaps out one of the tubes for another one. "You're almost done; then we can get Abby."
A minute later, Tim was holding a cotton ball to the crook of his arm, and Palmer was taking Abby's blood.
A minute after that Palmer handed the last tube to Abby. "Here you go. Good luck on the results."
"Thanks."
"It's pretty cool you're getting tested together," Palmer says while disposing of the sharps. "I had to do that quietly, on my own."
"Breena didn't get tested?" Abby asks.
"She waited until we got married. I had some skeletons in my closet that I had to make sure hadn't bit me, but she didn't."
Abby and Tim just stared at Palmer for a moment, then Tim said, "So that's what you meant about expectations being high."
He smiles a little sheepishly. "Yeah."
"I am really sorry you missed your honeymoon," Abby said.
"You have no idea!"
"I'm starting to get one. So, really, not until your wedding?" She seems amazed by the idea.
"Technically not until a week after." Palmer says a few extraordinarily rude things about Harper Dearing under his breath followed by, "Longest two years of my life. But so worth it, you've got no idea what releasing that kind of build-up is like."
Tim looks at Abby, quickly kisses her, and says to Palmer, "Nine years. I've got a clue."

38 Weeks: The Thirty-Seventh Week

A/N: Burn Notice romantic fluff with a side of angst. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.



On Monday, Doctor Johnson said, "The baby is still in breech position. We might want to think about an eventual c-section. If she moves, things will be fine, but in my experience babies usually flip into head down position long before this, and the ones that don't usually have a reason for not doing it, like a short umbilical cord, or" and Doc Johnson looks at Fi meaningfully, "a very tight pelvis is making it hard to maneuver."
Which is why, two days later, as Michael stood in a hallway next to the surgical theater in the obstetrics ward at Miami Dade General, dressed in disposable surgical scrubs, he's not in any way surprised to be there.
But not being surprised is having very little effect on his nerves. He's been preparing for this for two days, trying to be calm about it. As Dr. Johnson said, it happens all the time, that one in three babies in the US is born by a c-section, and for Fi's age group the numbers are even higher, but right now, as he's standing there, on the other side of that door a stranger is shoving a needle into Fi's spine, and Michael is having a very hard time being calm about it.
He almost wishes he smoked, or could smoke, because he'd at least have something to do with his hands besides clench them.
The door swings open as another scrub bedecked person heads in. He can hear dull voices, a quick laugh, Fi's, and that helps to relax him a little, whatever is happening in there can't be that bad if she's laughing, and then she shrieks which blows relaxed all to hell and gone, and only the fact that him bursting in is likely to startle the guy with THE NEEDLE IN HER SPINE keeps him from kicking open the door and strangling whoever made her sound that way.
The longest minute of his life passes before he hears her voice again. She's not yelling, and then there's another laugh, which is probably good, followed by retching, which makes his hands clench again.  
Ten more minutes pass before the door opens and one of the nurses lets him in.
She's lying on a surgical table. When she hears him come in, her head turns toward him.
"Hi."
"How are you feeling?"
"Really good, right now. Getting the epidural wasn't fun, but it was so worth is. Nothing hurts at all. I'd forgotten how great that is."
He stands next to her head and strokes her cheek, trying not to burst into scared questions about why there's an oxygen tube in her nose.
"She did just fine with the epidural," a nurse chimes in. "A contraction hit right while he was inserting the needle and she stayed perfectly still through it."
"Is that why you shrieked?"
Fi gives him an indignant look, or at least as close as a person in a hospital gown, with a paper bonnet over her hair and an oxygen tube in her nose can. "I did no such thing."
He can see them setting up a drape between him and the top half of Fi and where the surgery takes place. It's probably a good thing he won't be able to see them cut her open.
"We're going to get started. In a few minutes, you'll have a baby."
One of the nurses offers him a rolling stool, so he can sit next to her head. He does, one hand on hers, which is strapped to an extended arm on the table, and the other touching her forehead. Her eyes are closed, and he's focused on her eyelashes, trying not to hear what the doctors are saying to each other. He already has nightmares of Fi cut open and bloody, no reason to try and imagine what's happening on the other side of the drape.
After what was either a very slow few minutes or a very fast half hour (he's not sure which, though Elise's official time of birth would seem to indicate about seven minutes went by) a small cat meow sounding cry fills the room, and a nurse is asking if he'd like to cut the cord.
Fi's eyes are open now, so he kisses her and tells the nurse no. Elise won't remember this moment. But Fi might, so he'll stays with her, holding her hand until a woman in green scrubs hands him a very small, very warm bundle of tightly wrapped blankets, and both of them get to see their daughter's face for the first time, together.
She's tiny. He finds himself thinking that and feeling silly for it. Of course she's tiny. That's what newborn babies are. If they weren't tiny, that'd be a problem.
She's also pink, very warm, and quiet. Her eyes are open, the murky gray-blue of a newborn, and not really focused on anything, but moving around, looking at everything avidly.
Fi can't move her arms, so he holds Elise close, so she can nuzzle and kiss her. Fi does, whispering something, he's not entirely sure if they're words, and if they are words, if they're English or Irish Gaelic, but he figures that doesn't matter.
"Does she have hair?"
Michael peeks under the crocheted cap they put on Elise. "Yes. Lots of it. And it's black."
"Good." Fi giggles a little. "She's squinting at me; the same way you do when you run into something you find confusing."
"I'd imagine this whole thing is confusing to her."
Fi laughs at that, too. The morphine might be making her a little silly.
For a long minute, they just look at her.
"She's got your nose," Fi says.
Michael smiles. "I was just thinking how much she looks like you."
"Mr. Westen," the voice sounds almost hesitant to break into this moment.
Michael looks up and sees one of the nurses standing next to him.
"We're going to be moving Ms. Glenanne to the recovery room now. If you've got some people in the waiting area, now might be a good time to let them know the baby is here."
And for the first time in probably three hours, it occurs to Mike that Madeline and Katherine, and probably Sam, maybe Jesse, are in the waiting room.
"Oh. Yes." He starts to hand Elise to the nurse.
"You can take her with you. I'm sure your family wants to see her."
"Right." And it hits him. This is hisdaughter. He'll be taking her home in a few days.  He'll be there for her first steps, first words, first day of school, first date, and a flood of other images come crashing onto him.
It's a good thing he's sitting down, because he feels his knees go week and his hands start to shake.
Now the nurse looks like she wants to take Elise from him. "Are you all right?"
"Yes. Just—"
"Sit tight for a moment. Do you need me to take her?" Michael shakes his head no. "Okay. Don't stand up until you can do it without dropping her."
"Michael?" Fi's voice.  He can hear the unspoken echo of the nurse's question.
He strokes Elise's face, crying. "She's real, Fi."
"Lean down here." Michael does, and Fi kisses him. "I know. She's real, and she's here, and she's perfect."
"Oh God. She's is." His breath is coming fast, and for once he's not feeling any need to try and calm himself down. He can see the nurses and Doctor Johnson all want to get moving. And someone probably needs or will need this room soon, but he sits on the stool and says, "Can we have another minute?"
Doctor Johnson says, "Sure. But we do need to get moving soon."
"I know. Just..."
"We understand. Take your minute."
Michael holds her, looking at this tiny pink person with dark blue eyes, his nose, and a baby version of Fiona's face, and he can't imagine how he could have possibly been this blessed or lucky. He's not a religious man, though he's always believed in God, and for the first moment in his life he understands the idea of reverence, because it's the only word he can think of to describe how this moment feels.
After a few seconds, he feels his control coming back. He kisses Fi one more time. "I'll see you in a few minutes." She nods, and he stands.
He holds Elise against his chest, and whispers against her head, "Time to meet your grandmas. And probably Uncle Sam and Uncle Jesse." 

Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction

They're lying on Abby's bed during the hour or so between brushing teeth and going to sleep. She's on her side reading, wearing a pair of black boxer shorts and the top of her black men's pajamas with the little sleeping skeletons in night caps on it. He's on his stomach, wearing a pair of red and black flannel pajama bottoms, propped on a pillow and his elbows, typing away on his laptop.

One change that having a relationship wrought on Tim was switching from the typewriter to a word processor for his fiction. He certainly prefers the process of writing on the typewriter, but he'd also gotten so far behind his deadline by only writing when he was at his place, that he had to change because lugging his typewriter to and from Abby's just wasn't practical.

Meanwhile, his editor has just about jumped joy of having an actual electronic document to work with.

Abby looked up from her book, marking the page with her finger. "I was thinking..."

His fingers don't stop typing. "One sec, I'm in the middle of a thought." He winds down three minutes later, and takes his ear buds out, silencing the jazz that had been accompanying his thoughts. "Thanks. They never come out quite right if you stop in the middle. Okay, I'm all yours, what are you thinking?"

"How would you feel about both of us getting tested and then ditching the condoms?"

For a second he doesn't say anything. He's quite surprised and very happy. "I'd really like that." Then he thinks a moment longer. "Are you thinking of going on another sort of birth control, or are you thinking babies?"

She laughs at that. "I was thinking it'd be nice to feel your skin on mine, and not having to stop and fetch them. Not much beyond that. So, yeah, starting up on Depo or something."

"Okay. Yeah, I'd really like that."

They sit there without saying anything for a long minute. He's looking at his screen, but not typing, that turn of conversation more or less derailed any thoughts of what Tibbs was about to do next.

She puts her book down, rolls onto her stomach and scoots a few inches closer to him, her right shoulder against his left. "Do you want babies?"

Tim met her eyes and then leaned forward, kissing her lips. "I want babies with you."

She appears pleased, a little startled, and there might be a hint of fear in her eyes. "Now?"

He smiles. "Now's good. Later is good. Whenever it happens is good."

"What if I don't want babies?"

He thinks about that for a long time. Being a father is certainly something he wants, but it's not integral to his self-concept. "If you don't want them, I'll skip them. But I'd like to make some McSciutos with you."

Pauley &Sean mixed and babied.

Now she looks amused. "McSciutos? Plural? How many are you thinking?"

"Two? Three? At least one, fewer than five." He shrugs as well as he can lying propped on his elbows. "We still haven't settled on if you want them at all, so maybe it's a good idea to get that figured out first. Do you want them at all?"

It's her turn to think. For a few seconds her head rests on his shoulder, and he can feel her hair brushing along his naked back. "Yeah. I think I do. I guess I never really thought much about it. Beyond knowing I didn't want to do it alone."

He kisses her again and then pulls back, squeezing her hand. "If we do this, as long as I'm alive, you'll never be alone."

She kisses him, eyes closed, enjoying the promise of those words. "Yes. McSciutos." She started to smile, the idea becoming more real. "But not right now. I'd like to enjoy just being us for a while longer."

He grins, a wide happy gesture that beams off of him. "I like that idea, too."

Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction

McGee centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.

Two quick chapters in this post.

Tim was right, the next time they gathered together to mourn, he was the one she turned to.

And he had been hoping that it would have been later rather than sooner.

But it happened, because nothing holds death at bay for good. It's always there, waiting to jump out.

They made food for Ziva, kosher jambalaya, because it's a mitzvah to feed those who mourn, and took it to her, something to eat for the flight home. And she stood by his side, head on his shoulder, when they helped lay Mrs. Vance to rest.

And the one thing Death does, always does, though the further it slips out of memory the duller it gets, is sharpen priorities and make personal frictions seem insignificant.

Hours later, when the funeral was over, and Ziva flying home, Tim said to Tony, who looked like he might be contemplating doing something stupid and romantic, "Tony, I want you to remember something, she's an orphan now. She's thirty-one and has buried every other member of her immediate family. She's hurting. She's vulnerable. And if you don't want to screw this up, you'll pull back, lay low, and be a good friend."

"When she cries, I want to hold her," Tony says, looking beyond Tim to the memory of Ziva's back as she boarded the plane.

"Then hold her. But for right now, shove her in the sister column and keep her there."

Tony nods, that he can do. That he has been doing. Though when he mentioned thinking about everything all the time, he'd come awfully close to saying something... maybe not stupid, but given the timing, unwelcome.

"We okay?" Tim asks, pulling him back to the here and now.

"Yeah."

"Good."

"Tim?" He focuses on Tim, and sees McGee look a little startled, probably because this is likely the first time he's used his first name in a year or three.

"Yeah?"

"I am happy for you and Abby."

"Thanks, Tony."
 ************************ It was a sheet of heavy, good quality stationary, folded in half, and propped on Abby's keyboard. On it was her name in Tim's handwriting.

She opened it and found, also handwritten:

For Abby: Lying Naked In My Arms

You're sleeping right now,
and I'm not about to wake you to tell you this.
So, I'll write it, if I remember when I wake.
(Looks like I did.)
But I feel like
with you curved into my arms
that you were made for me.
I know that's not right.
You were made for no one but you.
So maybe it's coincidence,
(Though we don't believe in coincidence.)
or possibly luck, amazingly good luck,
(Because we do believe in luck.)
that your neck is the exact right length for my arm to fit under it.
Or that your back snugs perfectly against my chest,
and that our legs tangle together seamlessly.
I lie here, in what's rapidly becoming our bed,
feeling you breathe against me,
smelling the cucumber perfume of your hair,
and I know what peace is,
and blessed is suddenly more than a trite syllable to express fortune,
and I drift off, never wanting to sleep alone again.

—Tim
 

38 Weeks: The Thirty-Sixth Week

Week Thirty-Six                       "Mike, I've got some bad news for ya, buddy."
Michael eyes Sam apprehensively. Sam had called an hour earlier, and asked to meet him, alone. "What, Sam?"
"Elsa noticed this in the paper yesterday." Sam hands Mike a piece of the newspaper.

Michael looks down and sees that there is indeed a problem, and understands why he didn't want to do this with Fi around. Sure, she hasn't been doing the traditional pregnant woman mood swing from hell routine, but she has been a bit easier to upset than normal.
"That's my house."
"Yeah, brother."
It's a notice in the paper for an auction. A foreclosed upon property is being sold tomorrow, and the house in question is the one Mike and Fi are currently living in.
"Your landlord doesn't really own that house. I had Barry do some digging for you, and well, no one's owned that house in three years. It's up for auction because the bank wants to get rid of it on the cheap."
"Great." No one in his right mind would call Michael Westen a coward, but that does not mean that he's got any desire to tell his extremely pregnant, likely to go into labor any minute now wife about how the house they live in is about to be sold out from under them, and how the bank that owns said house is likely to be extremely displeased about some of the modifications he's made to the place over the last five months.
Sam smiles at him. "Here's the good news. Barry got you a seat at the auction."
"Sam?"
"If you want to, you can buy it. You've got the funds, and Barry's got the corporation set up."
Which is how Westanne Holdings LLC., a subsidiary of RobinHobb Limited, which was part of the Finley Group, gained its first asset: a single family home just outside of Little Havana.

Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction

McGee centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.


Gibbs expects certain things to happen with his team. Tim and Abby, he'd been waiting for that for years, and he was honestly surprised that it took them that long to get 'round to it. Tony and Ziva, he's got a feeling where that's going, and it worries him.

And whatever the hell that's going on with Tony and Tim has him boggled. Tim dating Abby should not be sending Tony into a sulk. But something happened, and now the two of them aren't working together properly.

So it's got to get fixed.

He's in the car with Tim, driving to question a suspect. "What's going on with you and DiNozzo?"

Tim shrugs. "He saw something he shouldn't have, and it's got him rattled."

"Unrattle him."

"I can't. It's all about him on this one."

"This is why you tell your partner about what is going on in your life."

Tim sighs. "You're my boss. You're pretty much Abby's dad, and for that matter, mine. So, no I was not going to tell Tony before I told you. It would have been disrespectful." Gibbs digests that, feeling very proud of Tim at that moment. But, he's got to get this back on track.

"You told Ziva and Palmer."

"I asked Palmer for advice, and Ziva caught me. Otherwise she would have found out after you, too."

Gibbs thinks about that, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. "Is that why Tony's sulking? You went behind his back, and he was last to know?"

"No. Literally, he saw something he shouldn't have. I told you Friday night, then went home, Abby was over. We had plans with Tony, Ziva, and the Palmers for Saturday, and we were going to tell him then. I had the door locked, but he broke in and then walked into my room when he should have turned around. And if he had just turned around when he heard what was up, I assume he'd be fine with this. But he walked into my room and saw, so he's rattled."

Gibbs can see from the way Tim is looking at him that he hopes that's enough to get the idea across that fixing this is outside of his hands. Gibbs thinks about it. If Tony saw something that really freaked him out, it's possible that Tim might not be able to fix this. His eyes scanning the road in front of them, he slips the car into the next lane of traffic which looks like it's moving a little bit faster.

"You should get a chain on your door."

"Already installed it. And one at Abby's. And on my bedroom door, too." Gibbs nods at that, appreciating the thoroughness. "Though, honestly, I don't think he's walking in again anytime soon, and I hope, for that matter, you and Fornell aren't, either."

Gibbs smiles.

"You know nothing happened with Diane, right? I'm not going to screw your ex-wife, and I'm never fooling around on Abby."

Gibbs gets that exasperate look. "McGee, do you think I might know what Diane looks like in the morning after having sex?"

"Yeah."

He gives Tim the leave it alone look.

"So we never have to talk about that again?"

Gibbs nods. "If you can't fix this thing with DiNozzo, what can?"

Tim has that especially frustrated look he gets when he runs into something he doesn't know how to even being dealing with. "I don't know. We talked a few times, but I think that might have made it worse. You could try talking to him. He's got an idea of himself, and he saw something to challenge that, and doesn't know how to deal with it."

Gibbs' look is questioning. Unfortunately if he's going to fix this he's got to find out what actually happened, and right now, he really doesn't want to know. Tim can see his first idea of what might be going on and shakes his head. "No, not like he saw Abby naked and suddenly he's madly jealous. Nothing like that."

"What then? I need you two working together."

"Fine. Okay." Tim's blushing from his forehead all the way down his neck but he sounds more exasperated than embarrassed. "He basically found out he doesn't have the biggest dick, and he can't handle it." Gibbs' eyes go wide, that wasn't on the list of things he thought might have been going on, and Tim has the satisfaction of seeing him utterly dumbstruck. "Not literally, well, maybe he did, I don't know, and I don't want to know. But I'm using it as a metaphor, 'cause honestly, you don't need to know what precisely he saw."

If anything Gibbs' eyes get wider, but then it seems to click, and he settles further back into the car seat. He nods, getting a plan together for dealing with this.

"You gonna talk to him?" Tim asks.

"Yeah."

Tim takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, opens them slowly and turns to face Gibbs. "Look, if the words 'doing freaky things to Abby' come up, before you kill me, I'd like you to remember, Tony thinks it's freaky, not me or Abby, and it's with Abby not to her."

Gibbs massages his temples and sighs. This might not be why he wrote rule number twelve in the first place, but it's certainly proving to be yet another excellent reason for it. Rule Number 12A: Do not walk in on your partner having sex.

But McGee is staring at him, looking a bit worried, so he's got to get the man in his car calmed down, and then he can get the next one taken care of. "Tim, you make her cry, I might kill ya. You break her heart, and I will. But I'm not going to do anything to you for something you both want to do."

"I told him that. But... look, no matter what he says, I'm not hurting her."

Gibbs is suddenly feeling very old and very unhappy to have to get that far into Tim and Abby's private life. "I didn't want to know this."

"Yeah, well, talking to you about this wasn't on my list of dearest hopes, either." Gibbs looks at Tim as he says that and smiles, liking that response very much.

Hours later, he's in the car with Tony.

Usually Tony is the easier of the two them to deal with. A few quick words, the occasional slap upside the head, and Tony's good to go. But right now Tim seems pretty firmly wrapped in a blanket of confident, I'm in the right, and Tony doesn't look like he knows what to do with himself.

"What's going on with you and McGee?"

Tony continues to stare out the window, not answering.

"Come on, out with it. I need you two working together."

"Talking about it won't fix it."

"Why not?" Okay, sure, Gibbs is in favor of not talking issues to death and just letting them fade away. But this is his team, and his boys don't work that way. They need to talk, get things out, deal with them, and then move on.

Tony shakes his head.

Time for the big guns. "Fornell and I didn't talk for five years." Which was exactly as long as they needed to not talk about it to let it fade into an annoying chapter of their mutual history that they can both occasionally poke each other with.

"Whoa, Boss, McGee's not sleeping with...or... wait... Where the hell are you going with this?"

"Tobias slept with mine, and that hits you hard, hits your idea of being a man."

"Oh God, you talked to McGee first." Tony sounds disgusted at that.

Gibbs looks says, 'Well, that's obvious, now, isn't it?"

"Look, he's got this crazy idea..."

Gibbs' look shifted to, Really? Crazy?

"Okay, maybe it's not totally insane, but that doesn't mean it's right."

"Then get over it."

"I'm trying."

"Try harder. I don't want my team going to hell, and you're going to regret spending years not getting along with McGee over something as silly as sex."

"It's not sex, really. It's... I don't know...It's what sex represents? What if Tim's not the guy you think he is?"

Good Lord, what the hell did Tony walk in on? He worked vice for God's sake, nothing's new to... Oh... And Gibbs suddenly gets it. Tony worked vice. Tony worked homicide. Tony's seen everything, broken up domestic disputes, and like most cops probably beaten the hell out of a few guys when their wives or girlfriends wouldn't press charges. He's seen everything at least once, everything done by bad guys to hurt women. But Tim's a computer guy who likes to get dressed up, pretend to be someone else, and play games. Hell, it's possible that Tim doesn't even get the idea that for some people things like this aren't a game. Gibbs can see it: Tim and Abby were playing. For them, whatever Tony walked in on was just a game: fun, innocent (or at least as innocent as whatever they were doing can get) and a little (or maybe not so little) kinky. For Tim this is some sort of indecipherable issue where Tony's just being really weird. For Tony this is something he used to arrest scumbags for.

Then Gibbs gets the next level of it. Tony's already had one partner who seemed like a decent guy but was screwing around behind his back.

Shit!

Gibbs makes sure he's got eye contact with Tony when he says, "Tim's exactly the man I think he is."

"Are you sure about that?" And he can see that Tony is deadly serious in the question and desperately wants Gibbs' answer to erase his own doubts.

Gibbs stops the car. Right now he's got to have enough certainty to wipe out the memory of Tony's last partner and enough conviction to override however many years Tony might have in his head of seeing guys who do things like whatever they were doing as perverts.

"Yeah, Tony. He is. No matter what he's doing with Abby, he's still a decent, honorable, hardworking, trustworthy man. He's still a damn good agent. He still has my back and yours. He is still the man who will take a bullet for you, or put one in someone else for you. He's still our family."

Tony sighs and seems to relax a little. "What if I'm not the guy I think I am?" Gibbs feels mildly surprised to see there was more under that top layer and settles in, sure they aren't going anywhere for a while, because he's got the feeling this one is going to go deep.

"You are. No matter what Tim's doing, you're still the guy you think you are. No matter what you're doing, he's still himself. Measuring yourself against him won't help."

"I know." Tony flashes him a limp smile. "He's smarter than I am. Fine, that was never a big deal. And he's better with computers. Great, he can compute all he wants. These days you need a geek on the team to do the job right. But I'm supposed to be better with women. But I'm alone, and he's got a girl who adores him. I'm supposed to be more experienced... and then I see him... Just... ugh... I just never expected him to be doing something like that."

"I felt the same way about Fornell romancing my wife." Gibbs smiles drily.

"Yeah, but it bit Fornell in the ass a few years later."

Gibbs smiles at Tony again. They don't say anything for a moment, and Gibbs is thinking this might be done so he reaches for the keys.

"McGee says you're Ziva's partner."

Gibbs nods, dropping his hand.

"He says you're cool with him and Abby."

Gibbs nods again. Because he is. Has been since they were dating the first time. DiNozzo sat McGee down and explained rule twelve to him, after he broke up with Abby. Gibbs never said anything about it to McGee, because he didn't want to scare Tim off of Abby.

That Tim will treat Abby the way she deserves to be treated is something Gibbs is certain of. That Tim would grow up enough to be able to handle Abby; that he hadn't been certain of, though it looks like that has indeed come true. But that he'd ever hurt her, no that had never been something Gibbs worried about.

"He's not sure you'd be cool with me and Ziva."

Gibbs sighs. It's easy to forget how much McGee sees about the world around him. And he thinks he sees more of what Tim missed about why Tony's in a funk.

"I'm not sure if I am."

"What, McGee's good enough to be your son-in-law, but I'm not?"

Oh yeah. Not just sex, but favorite son status as well. How did McGee manage to hit all of Tony's insecurities in one move? Gibbs spends a moment looking for how to say this so it won't sound like a comparison between Tim and Tony.

"It's not about you. Ziva needs this job. She has to protect people. She has to find the bad guys and hunt them down. You don't. You want to do it. But she has to do it. And I do, too. That's why she's my partner. In a few years they'll make me retire, and while you'll end up in charge of the team, she'll be the one who keeps it going. She gets in early, stays late, and rarely rests while we're on the hunt.

"And you're lonely right now. I get that. Been there. Done that. Got three ex-wives to show for it. But she might not be the person who can give you the attention you want. She's married to the job right now, which means she can't be married to you."

"Who's talking married?"

Gibbs decides to not bring up DiNozzo's son-in-law comment. "I am. And here's the re-written version of rule number twelve for you concerning Ziva, and, if she ever asks, for her concerning you. If you aren't willing to marry her, do not date her. You know her more than well enough at this point to figure out if it's an option, and if it's not, don't date her. You two fool around, and it doesn't work out, it will kill our team."

"So, you're worried about Ziva blowing this, not me?"

"No, Tony, it's not about anyone blowing anything. She just might not be the answer to the question you're asking."

"And that's not an issue for McGee and Abby?"

"No, it's not. Give it a few years and they'll have little McGees running around a house in the 'burbs."

"They will, won't they? Tiny baby McGees in pig tails and black diapers."

"Yeah. Three years, they'll force me to retire, and when that happens Vance already has McGee pegged to take over DC Cybercrime. He's hoping to get him to turn it into the main NCIS cybercrime unit and then shut down Okinawa. Norfolk is closing down and consolidating with us in the next two years, so Abby'll have lab help soon. They'll have regular hours. McGee'll have desk job. Abby won't be dreading the day you show up at the end of a hunt without him."

"Living the dream."

"Yeah."

"I want the dream."

"Then you've got to find someone who can dream it with you. Or you've got to change your version to fit hers."

Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction

McGee centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.


Five days later they're on a stakeout and Tony says, "So, if you're my partner, who is Ziva's?"
"According to Gibbs, it's him."
"Hmmm..."
"Why are you asking?"
"Just, thinking about it."
"Okay. Can I suggest something?"
"Suggest away McSuperfreak."
"Before you do anything beyond think, talk to Gibbs."
"He was cool with you and Abby."
"His exact words were, "McGee, DiNozzo's your partner. Abby's the love of your life. Now go make her happy.'"
"Sounds like he was cool."
"Yeah, but that doesn't mean he'll be cool with you and Ziva. He trusts me not to screw this up. I don't know if he trusts you with that, not yet."
"Why wouldn't he trust me with this?"
"Because you've got a horrible track record with women."
"And you don't?"
"Not the same kind you do. I pick the wrong girl. Stop picking the wrong girl, and I'm an ideal boyfriend. You're emotionally closed off and treat women like objects. Big, big difference. Look, he loves us." Tony doesn't look like he buys that. "You didn't see the way he looked at me when he thought I was hurt, or the way he was asking about you and Ziva when you were missing. He loves us. But we're boys. So, we get treated like sons, you know, hands off, not too protective unless we really need it. But Abby and Ziva, they're his girls. And if it's one of us or one of them, they win. Hands down. You screw things up with Ziva, and he will kill you."
"Like he'd get the chance. She'd kill me so dead so fast he'd just be standing there with the tape to mark where my body had been."
"Good point. Still, talk to him first. He'll appreciate it, you know in an old-fashioned-calling-on-my-daughter sort of way."
They sit there staring at a brownstone, waiting for someone, anyone to go in or come out.
"You want me to get us some lunch?" Tony asks.
"Sure, that sounds good."
Tony comes back to the car with two hamburgers, fries, and drinks. Tim pops a fry into his mouth. "Ahh... stakeout food. Yum!" His tone is about three quarters sarcastic. He likes burgers and fries, but they've been on stakeout for a while, and they're getting repetitive.
Tony's fiddling with his burger, not really eating it.
"What's wrong, Tony?"
"Nothing."
"You sure?"
"I'm... Okay, no, not nothing. The thing with the ropes, how does that work?"
"They're ropes. You tie knots in them. It's not rocket science."  Okay that came out sharper than was probably warranted, but the way Tony's looking at him has him on edge. Tony's looking at him like he doesn't like what he sees when he looks at Tim.
"No... I mean... why? Is it a power thing? You're in charge, she can't leave? Your little inner rapists gets to play?"
Tim's eyes go wide and his burger drops out of numb fingers. He's never been more insulted by anything Tony's said to him. "Tony, what the hell is wrong with you?"
Tony looks really disturbed and very confused. "You don't have to tie them up if they like you!"
"I don't haveto tie Abby up. I like tying her up. She likes being tied up. And she does it to me just as often as I do it to her. I likegetting tied up. She likes tying me up. No inner rapists." He slaps Tony's shoulder. "It's a game. It's fun. I don't get basketball, that doesn't mean that I think you want to go run around and assault people."
"I just don't get it." Tony's looking at his burger, but that expression of disgust aimed at Tim has vanished.
Tim takes a deep breath and tries to think of how to explain this. "Okay, ropes. If you're using a rope, it's for the aesthetics." He grabs his phone and clicks on a hidden file. This is where he keeps his super secure items, mostly pictures of Abby, but bank statements, his password folder, stuff like that is in here, too. A screen pops up asking for the password. If you type anything into it, it destroys the phone, and not just in a wipes the memory sort of way, but shortly after watching Sherlock Season Two, he wired a tiny explosive into it as well. Type a password in and the phone goes boom. You have to wait a full minute for the password request to vanish. The screen goes black, it looks like it just powered down, then you type in the password. It's one letter: J. Type in the wrong letter, boom. Type in more than one letter, boom. Take more than five seconds to type in the password, boom. Open the phone, boom. It's probably the most secure phone in the western hemisphere.
He sorts through the images, keeping them out of Tony's view. Even though Tony's already seen this, he stood there for a minute before running out screaming, he doesn't want to share most of the images with him.
Just the one of Abby's forearms and hands. "Look Tony, take a moment and really look at it. It's beautiful. The red of the rope, the sheen of the satin, the way the knots make her hands and arms look so long and delicate. Look at her fingers, and the way they're twined in the rope. Look at her nails, crimson nails on scarlet rope. Look at the contrast between her skin and the rope. White skin, black ink, red satin ropes. The Japanese call it Kinbaku-bi, the beauty of tight binding. In Japan the rope would usually be jute or hemp, but they're sharp and itchy, so I go for silk or satin. This has a long tradition, and there are a lot of words to go with it. Shibari is a more common one, but doesn't indicate the same level of emotional attachment Kinbaku-bi does.
"Some people are really into this. Lots of specific knots, lots of tradition. Some of them like pain to go along with it, but that's not Abby or I, so I always make sure the knots are comfortable, once again, no hemp ropes. But for the most part, with a rope, it's about how it looks.
"Just look at it, Tony." He flicks to the next pic, this one just of her hands holding the rope. "Look at her hands, look at how they caress the rope. Look at how erotic and expressive just that image is. It's just two hands and a rope, but they tell a story, and it's beautiful. There's nothing hurtful or painful or scared or non-consensual about that."
Tony's face is pointed toward the image on the phone, but he doesn't seem to be seeing it. "That's how you see it. I see bound hands clenched against a rope, and that looks like pain to me."
Tim looks at the picture again and points it back at Tony. "Her hand isn't clenched."
"Okay, not that picture, but when I was... there..."
"Oh." Fuck! Tim rubs his eyes, taking a moment to think about what that might have looked like if you didn't know what you were seeing. "I wasn't hurting her Tony. You know that, right?"
"Yeah. But..."
"It looked painful to you?"
"Yeah."
Okay, how to explain this... "You ever really watch a woman's face when she gets off? She looks like she's in pain."
"No she doesn't!"
At this point it occurs to Tim that either the kind of woman he sleeps with is in some way fundamentally different than the sort Tony sleeps with, or their technique is so radically different as to produce very different results. Either way, this isn't the road to take. "Okay, fine. She doesn't." Tim picks up his burger, and flicks the crumbs off his trouser leg. "That's gonna stain."
"You're just gonna leave it at that?"
"I'll bow to your superior experience in this matter. I've only seen three women get off."
"Three?" Now Tony's looking a bit happier.
Tim can feel him warming up for some serious teasing, so he gets ready to shut him down. "Yeah, three. I had one steady girl in grad school. My next two longest relationships have been with the same woman. I haven't hooked up with every woman in the metro area. And you can't see her face if it's too dark, your eyes are closed, you're behind her, you're going down on her, or she doesn't get off." That last bit makes Tony scoff. "Oh stop that. Eighteen-year-old virgin Tony did not get his first girl off, either."
"I was sixteen, and you're probably right about that."
"Probably?" Tim gives him his cut the bullshit look.
"Okay, yes, you're right about that. So, you do it because it's pretty?"
Okay, this is better. Tony's looking more curious than bothered right now. "You use the rope because it's pretty. If it's just about not moving, well, I've got handcuffs for that, and they're a lot faster."
And that shot curious to Hell. "Oh God, am I ever going to be able to look at your cuffs without imagining—"
"I don't use my work cuffs for that."
"Thank God. But you do use cuffs?"
"Sometimes. You know, for when we don't plan things out days in advance, but still want to do something different."
"Sounds rapey."
"Rapey?" Tim puts his head in his hands and groans in frustration. Then he looks up again. "You've never actually done anything like this with a girl, have you?"
"No! If I come at a girl with handcuffs, she's gonna run away, because that's a sign things are about to go very wrong."
"That's because you don't get to know the women you sleep with! Okay, Binding 101: trust. Her good time is, literally, in my hands... or mouth, I guess..." Tony's getting that disturbed look again. "Anyway. She's trusting me to treat her right. She's letting me control everything, and putting her body in my hands for our mutual pleasure. Can you get how big of a deal that is?" 
Tony shrugs.
"Maybe it can't be explained. Either you get it or you don't. I get it. Abby gets it. And honestly, beyond the fact that nothing is happening that she doesn't want to happen, you don't need to get it."
"I want... Damnit... You're my best friend, and I want to get it. I don't want to think of you doing bad things to your girlfriend." Tony looks shockingly earnest as he says that, and it freaks Tim out on several levels.
"It's not bad!" And it's not, and he hates the idea that Tony might think it is. He's used to people thinking he's weird. That's more or less his default setting. But, with the exception of his dad, no one he's cared about has ever thought his interests were 'bad.' Granted with the exception of Abby, no one else has ever really known about this particular set of interests.
"So you say."
"God, you are such a prude." And yeah, that was probably mean, but he's feeling very defensive right now.
"I'm a prude because I don't like whips or chains?"
"No whips, no chains, and you're a prude because you can't get over the idea that if you don't like something no one else is allowed to like it either! Seriously, do you think Gibbs or Ducky or Palmer would be freaking out about this?"
"McGee, just, yuck, okay. I don't want to know what sorts of things Autopsy Gremlin gets up to with his wife, and I'm sure Ducky has an at least 3,000 word long monologue about the art of erotic knot tying, but I don't want to hear it, and Gibbs wouldn't freak out, he'd just calmly kill you if he knew what you were doing to Abby."
"WithAbby, not to her, and no he wouldn't. He'd just get that exasperated look and file it under 'stuff McGee likes I don't understand' and leave it at that. And you should, too. It's just another sort roleplaying, sexy D&D for grown-ups. Shove it in your own 'stuff McGee likes I don't understand' file and let it go."
"It's creepy."
Tim tries very hard not to roll his eyes and ends up looking at the roof of the car as a result.  He sighs. "Okay, Tony, what sort of sex should I like?"
"You know, plain, normal, American sex."
"The kind of sex you like?"
"Yes!"
"Meaningless casual encounters with women who won't remember me more than two days later? Why would I want that? Why should I like the same kind of sex you do? I'm not having sex with you!
"Look, I don't like the same movies you do. I don't like the same books. I only like some of the same foods." Tim stares at Tony for a while, getting the sense that this is close to something important, but not really there. He's having a hard time getting it just by looking so he switches from the DiNozzo in front of him to the version in his stories, and tries to figure out what would be motivating Tommy if he was freaking out like this. "Is it the idea that of the two of us, you're not the most sexually experienced, is that what's bothering you?"
"Not the most... Every girl in the greater DC area! They've got to ship 'em in from Baltimore and Richmond to find women I haven't slept with."
"Having exactly the same encounter with seven hundred different women doesn't count as variety or experience."
"It should."
"But it doesn't. This isn't about me or Abby. It's you. You've got this idea of yourself, worldly, experienced, sophisticated, and you walked in on something you've not only never done, but being done by me, someone you consider naive. You expect that if I've done it, you've done it too, a thousand times over, and probably better. No, that's not right. You couldn't care less about most of the stuff I've done, you aren't angsting about novels or code; you never expect to do it. If I've done something that matters to you, you assume you've done it, too, a thousand times over, and better."
Tony doesn't say anything, but Tim can see from his expression this is hitting him, hard. He's thinking about it. Out of the corner of Tim's eye he catches something moving. "We gotta go; the guy in the blue jacket just left the house."
And with that the conversation ended as they began tailing a suspect.

Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction

McGee centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.



Eight hours later, they're out, getting pizza before their bi-weekly Laser Tag game. Abby walks over to DiNozzo and slaps him upside the back of the head, quite a bit harder than Gibbs does it.

"Owww..." he gently rubs the back of his head.

"It's polite to knock."

"I knocked."

"It's polite to wait for someone else to answer."

"Yes, Ma'am. Will wait for someone to answer next time."

"Good. Dinner's on you tonight."

Ziva watched the exchange with an amused smile on her face. "What happened?"

"DiNozzo picked McGee's lock and walked in on us last night."

Ziva stood up and smacked him upside the back of the head, as well, and, damn, she does it harder than Gibbs, too. "What's that for?"

"Not respecting their privacy."

"Did you just miss what she said, 'Walked in on us!'"

"I heard, I knew."

"Everyone knew but me?"

"Looks like it, Tony," Jimmy says as he picks ups a slice.

"And you didn't tell me?" Tony asked Ziva.

"What's to tell? You could see it just as easily as I could."

"Apparently not." He's rubbing the back of his head. "Meanwhile, I keep telling you I'm worried about McGee's mysterious disappearances..."

Ziva takes a dainty bite of her pizza. "And I kept telling you to mind your own business, that he'd tell you when it was time."

"Which was supposed to be tonight," Tim chimed in.

"So, everyone knows we're dating?" Abby added.

"Vance," said Ziva.

"Ducky?" asked Tony.

"Figured it out at the wedding," Palmer answered.

"At the wedding?" Tony's sounds wounded by that. "So, for the record, you are the mystery woman?"

Abby smiles. "Yeah."

"How did I miss that?"

"You were busy hitting on my sister," Breena said. "She thinks you're cute, by the way, and wouldn't mind if you were to call her at some point."

Tony nods. "Glad to see someone's been appreciating me."

"We love you, Tony" Abby hugged him, "and if it wasn't for the fact that all of you are much too observant for your own good, the Palmers and Gibbs would have been the only ones to find out before you did."

Ziva shrugs at that while Palmer says, "If Tim wasn't making rookie mistakes, it would have been harder to tell."

Breena gives Jimmy a long look, something that seems to say, And what precisely would you know about running a clandestine affair? and Jimmy blushed.

"So, you do have to tell Vance," he says by way of getting off that topic. "It's policy. You've got to tell your immediate supervisors."

"Oh... I'm not looking forward to that," Tim added.

Breena looked at both of them. "Can't you just send him a memo?"

"Yeah, NCIS, at least our team, doesn't work that way. I wasn't kidding about the family thing. Leon's sort of a distant and imposing Great Uncle, but he's still part of the family, so no matter how uncomfortable it is, you've got to tell him in person," Abby replied.

"Yay! Monday morning." Tim said sarcastically. "I think you should tell him."

"Why me?"

"He's your direct supervisor, not mine. And I already told Gibbs."

"There is that." Abby says.

"Really?" Breena asked.

"Really. She outranks all of us except Ducky. She outranks Gibbs," Tim says, enjoying this.

Abby shrugged. "It'd be a bigger deal if I had employees or something. But, the lab is mine, which means I'm head of my own department. So, below Vance, equal to Ducky, above all of my very favorite special agents."

"How did you end up in charge of the lab?" Breena asked, and from there the conversation flowed about how Abby ended up with her science kingdom in the basement at NCIS.

******************

"Give me a lift home, Tony?" Ziva asks at the end of the game.

"Sure." She had carpooled with Abby and McGee on the way there, but having gotten there and seeing how Tony was doing, she wanted some time alone with him.

"You've been very quiet all night," she says as she gets into his car.

He nods, turning on the ignition and shifting into reverse.

"Talk to me?"

"None of you trusted me with it."

"Would you have kept quiet? Could you have not teased McGee about it?"

"Yes, I would have kept quiet. I'm not going to screw up his chances with Abby. And no. Teasing McGee is like breathing, I can't not do it."

"But you're still bothered he didn't tell you earlier."

"He told Palmer before me. Palmer? They're barely friends. He doesn't work ten hours a day with Palmer. Palmer doesn't have his back."

"Palmer is married."

"Yeah. So what? He's supposed to tell me things like that. I'm his partner, Ziva."

Ziva squeezes his hand. She completely understands Tim's desire to keep his heart to himself, and she utterly understands Tony's disappointment and hurt at not being chosen for this secret.

"Does he know Wendy left you?"

"No."

"Did you ever tell him the whole story about Jeanne?"

"No."

"Any of it?"

Tony shakes his head. "You, Jenny, and Gibbs knew I loved her. That was it."

Ziva nods. She doesn't have to say any more about that. Tony's gotten the message. So she shifts topic a little to something else she's been noticing. "Do you miss her sometimes?"

"Yeah. Sometimes."

"Especially lately?"

"Yeah."

"You could try looking her up again. Enough time has passed, maybe you could..."

"No. That bridge is burned. I don't want to go back, not to her, not to Wendy." He looks at Ziva sitting next to him, seeing her in the orange glow of halogen street lights. "Just not sure how to get to where forward is."

"You'll find it Tony, just give it some time."

"Sure."