Keryl Raist's Blog, page 39

38 Weeks: The Thirty-Fifth Week

On Thursday night, Fi asked, "Do you want to have sex?"
Michael looks up from his book.  Because of the hip pain, Fi hasn't been interested in sex in a while, and she doesn't exactly look like she's craving it right now, either. In fact, the look on her face is much closer to dread than take-me-to-bed-and-do-things-to-me-that-were-illegal-in-half-a-dozen-states.
But he's not entirely sure how to answer this, because he doesn't want her thinking he's rejecting her.
He smiles, buying himself another second to think, puts the book down, and kisses her. "Yes. But, I don't think what I want really matters this time. I think the real question is, do you?"
She seems pleased by that answer. And Michael feels a weight lift off his shoulders.
"I don't want you to feel neglected."
"I do not feel neglected. I know you're hurting. I know you're not really into sex these days. That's fine."
"It's just, with as bad as I'm feeling now, and it's not going to get better anytime soon, this might be the last chance for a long time."
"Not a problem. I want to have sex with you when you're feeling good and want to have sex with me. I don't want you to feel like you need to provide me with sex when you're not into it."
"It's been two weeks since we last had sex, and it might be four months before we do again."
"Fi, do you want to have sex?"
"No, not really."
"Then I can wait four and a half, or however many, months. I have before, and longer than that. You didn't notice me dating other women while we weren't together, did you?"
"That's true, you didn't."
He looks at her meaningfully. She smiles at him.
"What's the longest you've gone?"
"You mean, besides the first seventeen years?"
"Longest you've gone since your first time."
"Two years, twice."
"Twice?"
"I was in Afghanistan for two years, and while there are women there, the ones you don't have to pay are likely to get you and them killed, and the ones you do have to pay aren't likely to be in the business because they want to be. I was never so horny I wanted to die for it, and never wanted to feel like I had forced a girl."
"And the other two years?"
"After I left Ireland."    
She nods.
"How about you?"
"Not that long. Of course, I've never been in a place where available men were few and far between."
He decides he doesn't want to know too much about how long not that long is. And he really doesn't want to know if she slept with half of Ireland after he left.
"You mentioned not wanting to die for it. But have you ever paid for it?" Amsterdam red light district at night.
He looks chagrined. "Just remember, I joined the Army at seventeen and was eighteen the first time I was stationed in Germany. Trips to Amsterdam, where prostitution, pot, and alcohol are legal, were fast and cheap. So, yes, I partied like a hormone-crazed eighteen-year-old-with-money-to-burn when I was a hormone-crazed-eighteen-year-old-with-money-to-burn, and some of those parties involved hookers, drugs, and bar fights."
She laughs at that. "Hard to imagine you as a hormone-crazed-eighteen-year-old."
"I was still me. Just a version of me that thought mostly with my dick."
"What I would have paid to see that."
"It really wasn't pretty. For example, back then no sex would have made me pout." Which he demonstrates for her, and then grins. "It would have never occurred to me that if we aren't going to be having sex, to suggest that either you keep me company while I have sex with myself, or if it's just the penetration aspect, that you lay back, relax, and let me do you." He kisses her shoulder as he says that, tongue flicking along the skin, reminding her of what he can do with it.
"I'll happily keep you company while you have sex with yourself, but right now I hurt from my knees to my neck, and nothing inbetween wants to be touched."
"Fair enough."
"I am curious, how do you envision me keeping you company working?"
He scoots out of his pajama bottoms and kicks off the covers. "Roll onto your side so you're facing me." She does so, and he relaxes onto his back, one hand on his cock, the other holding hers. "Let me talk to you, tell you what I will very happily do to you when you're feeling better again. Tell me what you'd like to do to me when you're feeling up to it."
"So, phone sex, in person."
"Yeah."
In the end it wasn't quite just Michael on his own. She couldn't not touch him as he got closer and closer. So her hand joined his as he shuddered and spurted. And by the time that had happened, she was feeling like maybe some very gentle oral sex might be in order as well, which he was more than happy to provide.

Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfic

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

Tim's never been to Tony's place. But it doesn't take long for him to find out where it is. After all, the guy who can hack the CIA doesn't have any problems getting into the NCIS human resources database.

He debates knocking, but decides not to. Tony broke into his house last night; last thing he needs to do is be polite.

It's a matter of a minute to pick Tony's lock. The fact that Tony has a chain on his door stops Tim, though. Two thoughts occur to him, one he should get one of those for his place. Two, now he has to be nice and knock.

Another minute and Tony answers. He looks tired and maybe a little hung over. He doesn't say anything; he just stares at Tim, like he'd never seen him before, and it occurs to Tim that Tony never really has seen him before. He's seen an image of Tim that fits his own ideas and prejudices of who Tim should be.

"I told you, you didn't want to know."

Tony's too rattled to bluster. "I was worried about you."

"I get that. But I can take care of myself."

"Yeah. So... um... you and Abby?"

"Yep. If you had minded your own business, we were going to tell you tonight."

Tony thinks about that. "Aren't the Palmers going out with us tonight, too?"

"Yeah. They already know."

"Wait, you told Palmer? Before me?"

"Yeah, Tony. I told Palmer. I'm not just fooling around here. So, before this even got started, I asked him for advice."

"What sort of advice could Autopsy Gremlin have?" Tony looks somewhat insulted and disappointed right now.

"I don't know? What could our married friend possibly know that might be useful to me? Hmmm... Maybe he'd know something about how to actually create a relationship that works?"

"Cut the sarcasm."

"You picked my lock and walked in on me having sex with Abby! I think I deserve a little sarcasm."

"I'm sorry I did that."

"Good."

They stand there, quiet for a moment. Finally DiNozzo says, "So, you really are serious about this?"

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you talk to me?"

"Seven hundred hook-ups in the last three years does not make you the guy I go to for relationship advice. I don't need advice on how to hook-up. I don't want a hook-up. They bore me."

"Yeah McKinky, I got that. But that's not what I meant. We're partners, supposedly friends, we talk about important things."

"McKinky? Tony, on a one to ten scale of kink, that was a two five maybe three. And as for why not say anything, you can't keep a secret to save your life. This matters to me, and if it didn't go right, I didn't want to be mocked. I certainly didn't want you telling Abby or worse, Gibbs, about it before anything got going."

Tony closes his eyes. "A three? God, McGee, I didn't need to know that about you."

"Yeah, well, I told you, you didn't want to know. Why did you assume I was wrong about that?"

"I wanted to know on a general level. Like, 'Hey, Tony, I don't want you in my apartment all the time because I'm doing horrifically freaky things to Abby.'"

"Seriously, you have no idea of what horrifically freaky is. How on earth is it you've slept with every woman in the greater DC area and you're so sheltered?"

"Just, stop. Okay." Tony looks genuinely hurt. "This isn't about my sex life."

Part of Tim feels like he should pull back, let it lie. Part of him wants to know what's really going on here. And part of him knows that if they don't have this out properly it'll just sit there and fester, and he doesn't want that, so he says, "Really? Okay. We're partners. We talk about important things. Why are you at my place all the time these days? Why, after hearing, because you had to be able to hear what we were doing, after all, I don't see any reason to be quiet when I'm having sex in my locked apartment, did you walk into my room? What's going on with you?"

Tony looks deeply uncomfortable. He sighs and gestures to the sofa. Tim sits down. "You want a drink or anything?"

"I'm good." Tony vanishes into the kitchen and comes back a moment later with a beer. "Beer? It's ten in the morning."

"It's a beer conversation." He sits down heavily on the piano bench. "And I'm still trying to kill the brain cells that remember what I saw last night. How am I ever going to look Abby in the eyes again?"

Tim shrugs. "You're looking at me."

"You weren't the one tied up like a—"

"The ropes, that's what has you freaked?"

"No... It's just...Okay... I don't look at Abby like that. She's my asexual little sister."

"She's really not."

"Yeah. I know that, now. But I didn't want to know that. I could have, very happily, gone my whole life without ever knowing that. Think about it, do you want to know what your sister gets up to with her boyfriends?"

"Ergh..." Tim winces. There are some things he'd really rather not know about his sister. "No, which is part of why I never walk in on her unannounced. And once again, I told you, you didn't want to know."

"Yeah, and if you ever tell me I don't want to know something again, I'll listen."

"Good. So really, what's going on? Why are you at my place? Why did you walk in?"

"I don't know." Tony's staring at the beer, like it might somehow have the answers to all of his issues. "It's just... lately...I don't know, the chase isn't doing it for me. It's hollow and empty and... I guess I want something more."

Tim smiles, looking amused, he knows now probably isn't a great time to tease Tony, but he can't resist. "And you're looking for it at my place? I'm flattered, but I think after last night it's pretty clear I don't swing that way."

"Yeah. I get that." Then it hit's Tony what Tim's really said. "I'm not gay! I enjoy being with you, okay. We're friends, and spending time with you isn't cheap or hollow."

"So, you're looking for a deeper human connection—"

"You sound like Oprah when you say it that way."

"You got a better way to put it?"

"No."

"And you're hanging out at my place..."

"Not just yours. I'm spending a decent amount of time with Gibbs."

"And Ziva?"

"No. Not Ziva."

"Uh huh. So, you're lonely. And to remedy lonely, you're hanging out with your guy friends."

"Yeah."

"Instead of chasing women."

"It's not working anymore."

Tim leans back on the sofa. "Sounds like you need a girlfriend."

"I've had girlfriends."

"No, not a hook-up. Not a series of hook-ups with one woman. Do you remember what being engaged felt like?"

"Yeah. That's part of what prompted this."

"You know, when I told Gibbs about Abby and I—"

"You told Gibbs, too? Did anyone besides Ziva and I not know?"

"First of all, of course I told Gibbs. Between his relationship with Abby, and his relationship with me, I wasn't about to spend too long going behind his back. You walk in on the two of us and it's uncomfortable. He walks in, and I get killed."

Tony nods at that and takes another swig of his beer. "Yeah, could you imagine dating his daughter?"

"I sort of am. Which is another reason for not telling everyone and seeking advice on how to run a successful, long-term relationship. Pissed off Gibbs avenging Abby is really low on my list of people I want to spend time with."

"Okay, yeah. Got that."

"Anyway, when I told him, I asked about rule number twelve, because, well, you know, Gibbs... And he said something interesting. 'McGee, DiNozzo is your partner. You start dating him, and I'll have something to say to you.'"

"Of course I'm your partner."

"Right." Tim sits there, expectantly, waiting for the light to dawn on Tony. Tony sits there stubbornly not getting it.

"Tony, if I'm your partner, who is Ziva's?" The light dawns and Tony's eyes grow wide. "Exactly. Look, you don't have to be lonely, but you do have to figure out how to deal with a woman as a sexual person and not freak out about it. You can't just have two columns, hook-ups and sisters. If you don't want to be lonely, you have to figure out how to value sex as part of a person, and enjoy it as something you do fully with someone else."

Tim thinks for a moment, and then gets up and grabs a beer. Some things really are just too damn hard to say without some alcohol to dull the part of your brain that keeps you quiet.

He drinks down half of it fast, hoping it'll catch up to him soon, and sits back down on the sofa, elbows on his knees, leaning toward Tony. "You know why I don't like hook-ups?"

"You're bad at them?

Tim flips him the bird and takes another deep drink of the beer. "Because they're basically masturbation, and I can do that for myself just fine. And Tony, you're not seventeen, hell, you aren't thirty-seven anymore. You've jerked-off enough. Time to find a partner and figure out what's involved in real sex." Tim takes one last drink, finishing off the beer. "Now, here's rule number one for my place: Unless you think I am in mortal peril, do not ever just walk in. If I do not answer the door or my phone, turn the hell around and leave. If you thought what you walked in on was disturbing, what happens when Abby and I really get going would make you wet your pants."

They sat quietly for a few minutes. Tim was on the verge of saying something like, 'You know this really is a nice apartment', but curiosity got the better of him. If you asked him, he'd say the beer went to his head, and that's why he asked. And, if you asked Tony, he'd tell you that's why he answered, in fact, Tony would blame this entire conversations, including the parts that happened before he was drinking, on the beer, but really, neither of them is such a lightweight that one beer will get them talking if they don't want to talk.

"So, why did you go in? I mean, I know we weren't being quiet, and even if it's been a while for you, you still remember what sex sounds like. What were you expecting to see?"

Tony shakes his head. "I don't know. Something sort of awkward and romantic? Candles, flowers, missionary position. Not ropes and tattoos and sharp pointy shoes."

"What we were doing didn't look romantic to you?"

"No, it looked like porn. Strangely artistic porn."

"Tony, what do you think romance is?" Tony seriously thinks about it for a moment, but doesn't say anything. "Why do women like candles and flowers and chocolates?" Tim hopes the extra question will clarify what he's getting at.

"They just do?"

"There's part of your problem. Romance has three parts: effort, showing that you've paid attention, and trust.

"So, effort: they don't just sell satin ropes at the corner hardware store. I had to go to three craft stores before I found a place that had the right stuff in the exact same color as the laces on Abby's stockings. But it wasn't strong enough to support her weight, so I had to braid it into something that could do that. Twice, because I needed two ropes. I had to measure to make sure it was the right length. I had to find the joist in my ceiling and then sink the hook into it. Then I had to move the dresser and the mirror that goes over it, and also find the exact angle where the mirror on my closet door would let Abby see what was going on.

"Oh, and by the way, there were candles and flowers, and I got dinner, too, but apparently you didn't notice that.

"Paying attention: I know Abby likes knots. I know how she likes to be tied up. I know she likes to watch. And I know she likes roses in red, white, and black, so that's the colors I got. I know she prefers spicy scents to flowery ones, so the candles are a cinnamon-vanilla mix.

"Trust: Do you have any idea how much trust it takes to let someone tie you up like that? Let alone take pictures."

"Oh God, you took pictures?"

"Did you not see how hot that looked? Of course I took pictures! But that's beside the point. Tony, that might not have looked like your idealized hearts-and-flowers-Hallmark-card-Valentine's-day, but trust me on this, you've never seen anything more romantic than that in your life."

"Huh. I've never thought about it like that."

"I get that. And I've got nothing against missionary style, straight-up sex. It's good for talking to each other."

"You talk during sex?"

"Sometimes."

"Like, kinky talk?"

"Sometimes. Get her mind involved in the sex, and you'll both have a better time for it. But no, not always. Sometimes we just talk."

"Weird."

"Really? You think talking to someone who is letting you into her body is weird?"

"I think being able to come up coherent sentences when you're in someone else's body is weird. I can barely remember my name when I fuck." Tim kind of shrugs to indicate, that, yeah, he sort of gets that.

"So, let me see if I get this, you two, you're having dinner, maybe a bottle of wine, talking about whatever it is you two talk about, and then at some point, you just chirp up with, 'Hey, Abby, how about I tie you up and fuck you blind?"

"We'd planned on it a few days ahead of time, but yeah, that's the basic idea."

"You plan sex?"

"How long do you think it takes to braid two thirteen foot long ropes? Of course we planned it ahead of time! That's not the sort of thing you excuse yourself for and whip up in five minutes. Here's lets add a fourth plank to romance: anticipation. If you plan ahead of time, you get to anticipate what comes next."

Tony sighs and shakes his head. "Nerd sex."

"Nerd sex is a lot of fun."

"So you say."

"I was right about Call of Duty and Laser Tag."

"You were."

Tim looks at Tony meaningfully for a long moment, and then says, "So, this is a really nice apartment."

Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction

McGee centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here. Grown up stuff in this chapter, skip if you don't like.



Normally, Tony wouldn't do this. But, to quote Abby, something "hinky" is going on with McGee, and as a good friend and a good partner, it's his job to get to the bottom of it.

Tony is standing outside of Tim's apartment. He knows Tim is home, because his car is parked in its normal spot. But it's not supposed to be in that spot. He's supposed to be out tonight.

He knocks, and there's no answer. Not that he expected one. Tim had already told him that no, they couldn't get together tonight, because he had some sort of unnamed errand. Something quote, "Really, Tony, you don't want to know," about.

It's got to be a woman. And really, honestly, it worries Tony. This isn't just a matter of curiosity. Between his own personal experience on how badly everyone involved can get hurt with a secret romance, and McGee's unerring ability to hook-up with psychos, a secret romance has all the ingredients for them to end up hunting down McGee's killer.

Plus, they're partners, and okay, yeah, he'll tease McGee about a girlfriend, or hell... boyfriend?—Oh, God, is that why he keeps saying it's not a girl? Okay, some of Abby's hints sort of leaned that way. Is that why McGee thinks he really doesn't want to know? Oh well, no biggie if it is. Unless he's about to walk into something he'd really rather not see.—but he should be honest about stuff like this.

He knocks one more time—maybe McGee's in the head or something—and two more minutes go by with no answer.

Lock picking isn't his best skill. Usually he's got Ziva or Gibbs around for doing that. But not his best skill and can't do it at all are not in any way the same thing. So, yeah, he's not setting any records for getting into McGee's apartment, but eventually the door opens.

He shuts it behind himself quietly, and is about to yell out "Hello" when he realizes what he's hearing. Sex. Fast, hard, and from the sounds of it, hot, sex. Sex loud enough that he's sure no one in that apartment heard him knock. Tony's honestly embarrassed that it takes him a few seconds to identify the sounds. Obviously he's been on the shelf too damn long if he's actually got to think about it to figure out what he's hearing.

He supposes that he should turn around, walk out, and then verbally beat the hell out to McGee tomorrow for not telling him.

But his feet are pulling him toward McGee's room. Really, he should leave. It's one thing to break into a guy's home to prove he's lying to you. It's a whole other thing to treat his sex life as your own personal peep show.

The fact that he's thinking that has in no way altered the path his feet are taking. It's like his brain is sitting in his head, giving orders, but nothing below his ears is paying attention to it.

The door to McGee's room is open, and he steps through it.

The sight before his eyes is so shocking to him that he cannot process it. He literally cannot attach people he knows to the image in front of him.

It's beautiful, artistic, and ridiculously erotic.

The girl, he can't wrap his mind around the idea that this might be Abby, so he thinks of her as 'the girl' is on top of a waist high dresser, wearing black stockings with red ribbons lacing up the back. Her legs seem impossibly long, one of them wrapped around 'the guys,' hip—Once again, his mind refuses to attach the identity of McGee to what he's seeing, so he thinks of the male as 'the guy.'—the other stretched straight up, along his chest, her foot, clad in a red stiletto heel, near his ear. Her back is arched, her head back, long black hair lightly brushing the top of the dresser with each thrust.

The guy is naked. He has one hand on her hip helping to steady her, the other on the calf near his ear. His face is turned toward that leg, kissing it. He's moving fast, nothing slow or gentle about the sex, but the look on his face is intense and reverent.

From Tony's place next to the door, he can see there's some sort of red rope, it looks soft and shiny, across the girl's back, just below her shoulder blades. Each strand of the rope extends up her arms, crisscrossing, mirroring the lacing of the stockings, until her hands meet above her head, and the ropes come together, securing her hands to each other. From there the rope twists around itself, terminating in a fairly complex, and very secure-looking, knot on a hook in the ceiling.

Tony can see the girl is in front of a mirror, so the guy can look at her in front of him, and see her back at the same time.

The mirror. Tony's looking at this in the mirror and he realizes that both of them have their eyes open.

The guy is looking at him. Not slowing down, not stopping, not acting flustered or embarrassed. He's just staring at Tony, saying nothing, and fucking like a porn star.

And that's when the fact that this is McGee and Abby snaps into Tony's mind.

"Oh my God." He whispered it the first time. "Oh my God!" The second time was in a regular voice. "OH MY GOD!" He thinks he might have shrieked it as he tripped over his feet running out of McGee's apartment.

Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction

So, on Friday, instead of driving to his own home, he turned his car toward Gibbs' place.

Gibbs' basement is one of the most male places Tim's ever been. And he's been in a lot of guy only places over the course of his life.

One of the things he likes about Gibbs' basement is that it's not aggressively masculine. It's not his dad or grandfather's offices, which were covered in images of things that kill people, awards for killing people, citations, praises, and headlines for killing people.

Gibbs kills people, too. In a more up-close and personal way than either his father or grandfather ever did. And Tim understands the necessity of it, the value of men who are willing to end life, as well as protect it. But there should be more than that. And, for Gibbs, there is. Here, in his basement, in the space where he does what he loves; he builds things. Here, in this basement, is masculine energy that creates, that tames chaos, and coaxes beauty out of everyday objects and the will of man.

Tim likes to think of his writing that way, as well.

Though Gibbs and his father are similar when it comes to the being the calm, quiet, deadly type, Tim prefers that Gibbs creates in his off time, while his father works on new ways to destroy.

He stands on the bottom step for a moment, watching Gibbs work a plane over a piece of wood.

Part of him wants to fluster and bluster and hide from this. Another part knows that Gibbs will respect blunt and to the point a lot more than any flowery words or excuses.

"Abby and I are dating again."

Gibbs looks up, and, like Palmer, he couldn't have been less surprised if he tried. "Yeah."

Tim waits for a minute, wondering if there'll be anything else. But Gibbs is just looking at him, almost daring him to break into a long, flustered chain of words.

"That's it?" Tim asks.

"Yeah."

"Nothing about rule twelve, or possibly breaking up the team or..."

"McGee, DiNozzo's your partner. You two start dating; I'll have something to say about it. Abby's the love of your life. Now get out of here and go see her."

"Yes, Boss."

"Tim."

"Yeah?"

"Make her happy."

"Will do, Boss."

He's half-way up the stairs when two thoughts occur to him. One he decides to save for a little while, namely, if he's Tony's partner, who is Ziva's? The second thought is more personal.

"Boss?"

"Yeah, McGee?"

He turns and goes down the stairs, leaning against the railing.

"May I ask you a personal question?"

Normally this is so far away from something he's allowed to do that he'd never do it, but especially after that very long chat with Diane, it occurs to him that Gibbs might have some real insight into this.

He half expects Gibbs to give him that 'back off' look, but Gibbs gives him that look that says 'go ahead.' It occurs to Tim that it's likely the only reason he's getting the go ahead is because this is related to Abby, and a lot of Gibbs' walls fall when it comes to Abby.

"When you got married the second, third, and fourth times, did you mean your vows?"

Gibbs looks very startled and quite annoyed by that.

Oh shit! Tim quickly adds, "I'm not calling you a liar, it's just... Look, you're a good guy. You're brave and loyal, and you put yourself on the line for other people all the time. From everything I can see, you're the definition of an honorable man. But you've got three ex-wives, all of whom you promised to love forever. Did you really love them, and did it just go wrong? Or did you know it wasn't quite right from the start?"

Gibbs puts down the plane, goes to his work bench, and pours two glasses of bourbon. He gestures and Tim comes closer. He hands one of them to Tim.

Tim holds his glass, waiting to see how, or if, Gibbs will answer. Gibbs shoots his back. Maybe some things can only be said slightly drunk.

"Truly loving someone is..." He lets that trail off, maybe he doesn't have a good way to explain what really being in love is, or maybe it really is just too personal to say out loud. "And when it's gone, you crave it. Not having it carves a hole so deep inside you; you'll do anything to make that go away. I made some awfully bad choices trying to ease that ache. And every time I got up there to say my vows, I meant them, heart and soul... just not to the woman standing in front of me.

"Did I know? Not then. But I know now. The thing is, you love someone like that, there'll never be another person to fill that hole. There are other people, who could be perfectly good partners, who could make you happy, but it can't happen if you keep trying to turn them into the person you lost."

Tim sips his drink. "I'm sorry you lost her."

"Me, too. So, now, take my advice, quit wasting your time. You and Abby aren't getting any younger."

"Yes, sir." Once again halfway up the stairs, he has to add another question. "Boss..."

"Yeah, McGee?"

"Who is Ziva's partner? I mean, if I'm Tony's..."

Gibbs smiles. "I am. And maybe one of these days DiNozzo will get up the nerve to ask me that for himself."

"Probably sooner rather than later. He's over at my place two-three times a week now."

Gibbs nods and then, finally, Tim leaves.

38 Weeks: The Thirty-Fourth Week

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



Week 34
Michael woke and found himself alone in bed. And, while waking in the middle of the night isn't unusual for him, finding himself alone in bed is.
He can see dim light from under the door, which means Fi must be in the living room. He doesn't hear anything and eases the door open gently. Sure, there's probably nothing scarier than Fi getting a midnight snack on the other side of that door, but still, he's not about to advertise what he's doing.
She's kneeling on the floor, the top half of her resting against the exercise ball, rocking back and forth. Blue-white light flickers off the TV. He can't hear it, so either she's got it on mute or has earbuds in.
Relieved to see she's okay, he goes to take care of what woke him up in the first place.
A minute later, he joins her.
She turns her head toward him as soon as one of his feet hits the kitchen floor, obviously no earbuds.
"Feeling okay?"
"Not really." She's still rocking slowly, and he sees her face tighten. Contractions. According to the doctor having them on and off like this is normal.
"Can I help?"
"I wouldn't mind a back rub."
"No problem." He slides his hands over her back and hips. She's got on a tank top and a pair of his pajama pants. He pushes the tank top up, and the pants down, so his hands can glide over skin. He kisses her tattoo, gently pressing his thumbs into the flesh on both sides of it.
"How often are they?"
"Tenish minutes."
"So, not time to go to the hospital, then?"
"I don't think so. I'll have three little ones in ten minutes, and then go twenty minutes with nothing, then another one in fifteen minutes, then a few quick ones. Beyond making sure I don't sleep, there's no pattern to it."
"Okay." He rubs gently for a while, feeling her skin tight and warm under his fingers. "What are you watching?"
"No idea. It's just on."
He nods, rubbing over the crest of her hip, fingers pressing firmly into her sacrum.  "So, what is this tattoo?"
"Mandarin for fire."
He smiles at that. "When did you get it?" She hadn't had it, or any of the tattoos, when they were in Ireland. He knows she got the little one of the harp on her foot after he got outed as a spy and she couldn't go back. And he knows the one on her wrist was a memento of a lost fight in New York and turning her life to a new path. But somehow he's never asked about this one before.
"2003. I didn't have any of them back then, and I wanted something cute, but still me."
He kisses the tattoo again. "It is cute, and it's very much you."
"Did you ever think of getting one?"
"Back when I was in the Rangers, sure. Most of the guys had at least one, if not more, and all of the sharp-shooters had one."
"Why didn't you?"
"Don't know. Never got around to it? Spending hours having someone inject ink into my skin didn't sound fun? Turned out to have been a good thing. The fewer identifying marks the better."
She smiles at that. "You should get one."
"What, now?"
"Not this second. But I remember looking at your death certificate, and there was one mistake on it. Jason Bly apparently didn't remember what your eye color was and had it listed as hazel-brown. Anyway, get a tattoo, quietly, and that'll be another clue as to if the papers I'm looking at are legit or not."
"I'll keep that in mind. He really thought my eyes were hazel?"
"It was on the certificate. And, I guess, in some light, if you're wearing the right shirt, they look that color."
"And, it's not like he was spending too long gazing into my eyes." 
"True."
They sit, quietly. Fi's no longer rocking on the exercise ball; she's just using it as something to rest the top half of her body against. He feels her muscles tense under his hands, and works on soothing them. Though there isn't a clock within easy view, he counts the seconds to see how long this one lasts.
"Forty seconds."
"Not too bad. I'm not really looking forward to the ones that come later."
"Me either."
She laughs when he says that and turns her head toward him. "Yeah, I know, those men's contractions are a real bastard."
He laughs, as well. "What would you like to see me tattoo onto myself?"
"A chameleon on your hip."
"You've actually thought about this?"
"Not really, it's just the first thing that comes to mind. But you are a chameleon, and your hip is one of the few bits of you that never sees the light of day. I'd know about it, the guy who did it would, and no one else."
"Fiona..."
"Yes, Michael?"
"I'm not gay."
"I've never thought you were gay."
"Good. Straight guys don't get cute little lizards tattooed onto their hips."
"Okay, a big, fire-breathing dragon with swords, guns, fire, and bombs standing over a naked woman."
He laughs. "I'm not a pirate, either."
"What would you do, then?" She asks. He spends a moment looking at himself. She's right, his pelvis and hips are pretty much the only parts of him that never see the light of day. And he just cannot see putting a tattoo of any sort on any of those parts of him.
"No idea. Probably another reason why I never got one. There hasn't been anything I wanted to burn into my skin." As he says that he notices something, his wedding band is fairly wide, and these days he's always wearing it. Sure, he'll take it off for future jobs, but he's got other rings, there's no reason why that bit of him should need to see the light of day again.
"How about this: 4, 2, 97, and whatever day Elise shows up, 13, around my ring finger, under the ring?"
"I know we met in April of '97, but how do you know the exact date?"
He smiles. "That's the day my whole life changed, why wouldn't I remember it?"
She laughs at that. "Liar."
He shrugs. "I wrote a report about meeting you, and the day stuck in my mind."
"Better. So, the day we met and the day our daughter is born?"
"Yeah. You'll know it's there, and that can be a test. Someone claims to have me, and you ask for proof. They can't come up with the right numbers, and you know they don't actually have me."
"I like that."
"Me too."
Michael yawns.
"How about you go get some sleep? There's no need for both of us to be tired tomorrow."
"It already is tomorrow, and there'll be time for sleep later."
 

Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction

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


"This is it?" Abby asked, eyes wide.
"That's it." Tim nodded.
Abby stood in front of her Christmas tree, a tall, wide spruce, boxes of ornaments next to it, starting at the one lone ornament in Tim's hand.
"You have one Christmas tree ornament?" She took it out of his hands and looked at it. It was an abstract spire of red and clear glass, with the price tag still on it. "And it's from this year."
"Yes. Got it on the way over."
"I thought the idea was we'd decorate the tree with our"And we will. They'll just mostly be yours. This is the first year I've ever bought one."
Abby seemed puzzled by this.  Of course, previous to this year what Tim might or might not have been doing for Christmas was pretty much entirely private. Sure there was It's A Wonderful Life and dinner at Gibbs' place, but beyond that, she'd never asked and he's never told.
"Don't you celebrate Christmas at all?"
Tim nodded. "I send out emails and presents. A Wonderful Life at MTAC. Open the presents I get Christmas morning. Call my mom, sister, and Penny around lunch. Christmas dinner at Gibbs'. But, no, I don't decorate or anything."
"No stockings by the hearth?"
"No hearth."
"No childhood ornaments?"
"I think my mom still has them."
Abby sighed. "I was kind of thinking the idea was decorate the tree, talk about Christmas memories, sharing stories that go with each ornament."
"I'll listen to your stories."
"None of your own?"
He shrugged. "How many variations of my dad was on a ship somewhere, and Santa never brought him home do you want to hear?"
"Oh."
"That was my childhood. Or how about during my teen years when he was home and we'd end up fighting because I wasn't turning into the perfect little sailor I was supposed to be? Or the massive, flaming, screaming argument the Christmas I turned down Annapolis and sent in my acceptance to Johns Hopkins?"
She stood behind him, wrapping her arms around him, and resting her head against his back. "I'm sorry."
She was still holding his ornament in the one hand, so he twined his fingers with the fingers of her free hand. "That's long past. But, no, I don't have any Christmas ornaments, and I don't have a lot of happy, warm, fuzzy Christmas memories."
She held him a little tighter.
He squeezed her hand. "So tell me about your Christmasses. You and Luca and stockings by the chimney with care."
Abby pulled back from him, ornament in hand, and laid it carefully on the table by the tree. "We'd always start with the lights. That's how Christmas began, the first Sunday of Advent, finding the box full of lights..." And while they wrapped the lights around the tree, Abby told him about midnight mass, Reveillion Dinner, Papa Noël, bonfires on the levees, and opening presents with her brother on Christmas morning while her parents sipped coffee with chicory.
Each ornament had a story. Tales of aunts, uncles, grand and great grandparents, many of which Abby had never personally met, made blown glass orbs come to life.
She talked about the family she no longer had, and here and there Tim remembered some of his own better memories and started to tell her about them: laying under the tree, looking up at the lights, eating candy canes with Sarah. The Christmas he was sixteen his dad was once again on a float, so their mom took them to the mountains, because they were stationed out of San Fran, and there's no snow in San Fran, so they were up in Northern California, in a cabin, watching the snow fall and drinking cocoa.
The tree looked pretty done to Tim, but his ornament was still lying on the table.
Abby looked it over, critically eyeing their work. "The last one is yours. Where does it go?"
One of the higher up branches appeared fairly empty, and it was near the ornament that had been Abby's favorite as a child, so he reached up and hung his there.
"It's like a family tree of memories. Not names or dates so much, but ideas, and bits of histories, and traditions." She says while wrapping an arm around him. He gazed down at her, brushing his palm against her cheek. "You belong on my tree, McGee."
"Thanks."
She reached up to kiss him. "You don't have to thank people when you come home to them. Home's where you belong. And you belong here."
"Yeah, I do."
****************
Midnight Mass isn't precisely something Tim's eagerly anticipating. Not the least because Tony was late with It's A Wonderful Life, so it's already 11:30, which means driving straight to St. Sebastian's on his own, instead of heading over to Abby's, hanging out for a bit, and then going together.
But Midnight Mass is part of what makes Christmas for Abby, so he's driving across DC, hoping that the place isn't so packed that he can't find parking.
The last time he went to church for anything that wasn't a wedding or funeral was six years ago, when Ziva was asking about how Christmas was celebrated, and they were telling her, and she asked, "Is there not some sort of worship service?" A quick survey of DiNozzo, Sciuto, and McGee rapidly found that yes, church was often involved, and given this particular group, that church would be Catholic.
So, that year, Abby, the only one of the group with a church she regularly attended, took them all to Mass, and they talked Ziva through the Christmas service. They ended up finding out that there are pretty large differences between Tim's Irish Catholic background versus Tony's New York Italian Catholic, and Abby's New Orleans Creole Catholic.
Then, later that evening, during dinner at Gibbs' they got him talking about growing up Lutheran in small town PA, which was an entirely different set of traditions. Followed by Ducky talking about a proper Presbyterian Christmas in Scotland.
The one thing they all agreed on was large quantities of food would be involved as well as some sort of evergreen and lights.
He pulls his car into a spot, luckily not too far from the church, and heads for the door. He's feeling horribly underdressed. Mass with the Admiral always meant wearing a suit, but Abby's promised him that he's fine in jeans, a jacket, and a nice button down.
"Sister Rosita says God doesn't care about what you're wearing," she had said, "just as long as you come." 
He sees Abby waiting by the door for him. She takes his hand, and begins to lead him in. She's heading toward a front aisle seat, and while he's got nothing against the front, he knows communion is going to be an issue if he's sitting near the aisle. So he steers them toward the far edge, where an entire pew full of people won't have to step over him to get to the Host.
They sit. "Why are we over here?"
"I don't take Communion, and this way no one has to trip over me to get to it."
She nods. He's guessing she's about to ask why he doesn't take communion, but the lights go down, the Priest comes forward, and suddenly they're in a softly glowing candle-lit chapel, filled with beautiful music.
It's true that Tim doesn't have a lot of use for church. He thinks that might even be true if weekly attendance hadn't been a sticking point for the Admiral. Hard science degrees at John Hopkins and MIT weren't exactly kind to religious faith, and his own need for logic and rules to explain what happens and how don't particularly mesh well with mysteries and taking things on faith. But he's also old enough and has seen enough to believe that grace, whether human or divine, does indeed exist.  So, these days, he considers himself a confirmed agnostic.
But it's also true that Tim understands the value of ritual, the need for magic, and the aesthetics of the sacred.  And sitting next to Abby, singing the hymns, kneeling when kneeling is called for, in a room decked with sweet, cold smelling pine, lit by candles, and filled by people celebrating love and family, he certainly understands the beauty of this, and the desire for it.
After, Abby introduces him to her pet nuns. An immensely serene woman, Sister Rosita, clasps his hands, smiling, and says, "You're Abby's McGee! We've heard so much about you over the years. I hope we'll be seeing you again."
And while it's true this isn't something he would do on his own, he's feeling very sure this is something he will be doing again, so he says, "Yes, I think you will."
********************* She left the Christmas tree lights on. So as they settle into bed, her room is lit by the glow of hundreds of tiny yellow-white lights.
He's on his side, spooned up against her, snug under warm blankets, feeling extremely content and peaceful. His right arm is under her neck, the left draped around her waist, hand clasped with hers, curled under her chin.
Abby kisses the tip of his index finger and asks, "So, why don't you take communion?"
He thinks about how to put that into words. Better yet, words that sound like something more intelligent than 'I don't want to be my father.' He kisses her shoulder, buying himself a few more seconds.
"Symbols should matter. If you're going to get up there and partake, it should be important. Maybe you don't have to literally believe that the bread and wine turn into the body and blood of Christ, but the idea behind that should matter to you. It should be important to who you are and how you understand the world. It shouldn't just be an exercise in going through approved motions to look like everyone else in the herd."
"And those symbols don't matter to you."
"No. Not for a long time, if ever."
"Then why go at all?"
"They matter to you. And going with you is another symbol, one I do believe in, that I'll be there for the things that are important for you."
He can't see her face, but he can feel her smile at that. She kisses his fingertips again.
"What symbols do matter to you?"
He has to think about that for a while. Sure, like any good role playing geek, he did design his own crest, with symbols that mattered to him, but that was back in junior high, and he's a somewhat different person now. Eventually he says, "My badge. The idea that I'm part of the line between order and chaos. That there's an agreed upon idea of how we'll interact with each other, and I'm part of what protects the people who follow the rules from those who don't. That I'm a gun or knife, an instrument of violence, but bound by honor, in the service of justice, for the protection of others. That matters to me.
"Words... They're the tool we use to try and expand the universe we know and see. How we share it with each other." 
She squeezes his hand. "They're good symbols, McGee."
"Thanks."
********************
He's dreaming of sixty-nining with Abby.  It's lazy and slow, and so so good. It's the kind of sex he can only have in dreams, the sort where he's completely focused on how good it feels, but still able to pay enough attention to what he's doing to keep her happy too.
He loves sixty-nine, but in real life it's an either or sort of thing. He can either pay enough attention to what he's doing to get her off, and miss a lot of what she's doing to him, or he can lay back and just enjoy it, which results in some less than coordinated tongue work on his part.
But in the dream, he's more or less swimming in sex. Her body is all around him, wet, fragrant, and beautiful. He can taste, see, feel, smell and hear sex. And it's perfect.
Sliding out of the dream takes a while. Probably because at least half of what he was dreaming about was happening, so he was having a hard time sorting out what was real and what was imaginary.
But eventually he figured out he was in bed, Abby sucking away on him, doing wonderfully erotic things with her tongue. He sighed and said, "Best possible way to wake up."
She let go of him, running her tongue up his dick in one long sweep, and said, "Merry Christmas," with a wide grin.
"Merry Christmas. Is this my present?"
"One of them."
"I like the way you do Christmas presents." She licked him again. "Flip around?"
She sits up so she's kneeling between his legs, shimmies out of the mistletoe bedecked boxer shorts she had slept in, keeping on the dark blue flannel pajama top she'd stolen from him, and flipped around to straddle his shoulders.
He sighs again when his lips make contact with her pussy. Regular sex happens kind of far away from the parts of him that he experiences most of the world through. Oral sex means that all of his sense organs are up close and involved in making love. Add in her going down on him at the same time, and it's full body, full brain, sex.
And it's also clear that this is going to be done a whole lot sooner for him than it is for her. She likes going down on him, enjoys it, but it doesn't turn her on the same way going down on her turns him on. She's just getting warmed up by the time she's got him on the edge of getting off.
So he relaxes back into it, letting it flow over him, licking and sucking because he enjoys it. Because the taste of her on his tongue, the sight of her pussy against him, and the smell drive him wild.
A few minutes later, when he's breathing normally again, he starts to work on her in earnest.  This time focusing on her isn't an issue, so he knows exactly where his tongue goes and how fast it should be going when it gets there. He adds his fingers to the mix, because stretch, slide, and pressure are always a good thing, too.
And when she's crying out on top of him, high-pitched breathy sounds of pleasure, he's thinking this is definitely the best Christmas morning of his life.
******************** Abby's stirring the roux while he chops onions and talks to his mom on the phone. She just about shrieked with joy at the idea that he's spending Christmas with his girlfriend, cooking at her house, getting ready for the yearly dinner at Gibbs'. Likewise his sister and Penny took the news well. Sarah seemed especially amused by this, probably because she heard about Abby the first time they were dating, and has paid more than enough attention to Tim to notice that he's been sweet on Abby for years.
A bit later, while the aromatics brown, she calls Luca and tells him about Tim, which wasn't much of a bid deal, and Kyle, which involved about a two hour long conversation. Among other things, she's going to be sending Luca a few swabs and some sterile packaging, so she can find out if the three of them are biological siblings, or just her and Kyle.
Meanwhile he's rolling little balls of cookie dough, getting them ready to bake for that night.
Tim doesn't remember exactly when the first Christmas Dinner at Gibbs' happened. He knows it was the year the first day of Chanukah and Christmas were the same day, but he's got no idea which year that was. Ziva was new enough that she hadn't had an American Christmas yet, but had been with them long enough to have gone from an outsider to family.
The first year, it was just the six of them.  And the tradition of doing it pot luck, each of them bringing something that meant "Christmas" to them was born. (Okay, Ziva brings Latkes, and now, in what is probably an ironic turn of events, it's not really Christmas for Tim until he's had a few Latkes.)
Tim makes cookies. Mostly because, while he's not a bad cook, he's also not a great one, and he can make a ton of really good cookies. They're just like chocolate chip cookies, but instead of chocolate chips he uses chopped up Andes mints. And, if they aren't anything that was part of any sort of traditional McGee Christmas, they're tasty, everyone likes them, and they travel well.
It's not Christmas for Abby without Jambalaya, so that's gently bubbling away on the stove.
Gibbs is always in charge of the turkey. It's his house, so he gets main course duty. (And often most of the side dishes.)
Tony usually brings mulled wine and cider. 
Ducky brings shortbread and the traditional Mallard Christmas Carrot and Coriander soup.
And for two years that's how it went. Then Jenny joined the dinner. And eventually the Franks clan joined in. Leyla and Amira still come. Fornell, some years with Emily, some years without, started attending four years ago.  Three years ago Palmer started to attend and last year he brought Breena. The year before last, Gibbs senior started to make it. This year LJ and DiNozzo Senior will be in attendance, as well.
It is, in all the best possible ways, a packed house.
***********************
Tim pulls up to Gibbs' place. Cars line the road and the driveway. He's not the last one there, but he's probably close. Heading from Abby's all the way across town back to his place (so he could pick up one of his own plates to put his cookies on, plus get some fresh clothing for today and another change for tomorrow) and then all the way back again to Gibbs', which is about fifteen minutes from Abby's, was annoying. He's thinking killing this whole stealth romance thing sooner rather than later is a very good plan. This weekend, definitely.
He walks in and notices one major change from previous years. This year, it looks like an entire grove's worth of mistletoe has been scattered about the place. Tim suspects that Senior had something to do with that. Not that he really needs an excuse to kiss the girls, but he probably likes it. Or maybe he's working on setting something up for Tony... The way he had looked when Ziva said she had never been to Tony's place certainly indicated he had plans for his son and Ms. David.
Tim's fairly sure that when Gibbs is in charge of decorating on his own there are just lights and a tree. But, like with the food, over the years the decor has changed, as well. Different members of the family coming over earlier and earlier to add to the atmosphere.
He knows Abby was here last week, adding her own touches to the place. He wonders idly if there's some special shop online that sells Goth oriented Christmas gear, because he frankly doesn't know where she got the little grim reaper in a Santa suit that she's got on Gibbs' mantle.*
It sounds like the party is in full swing, the buzz of many happy voices echoing out of the living room and kitchen. Tim threads his way through people, offering hellos and the occasional hug of greeting as he heads toward the kitchen. These days there are too many people for seated dinner, so it gets served buffet-style out of the kitchen, with everyone grabbing plates and nibbles.
Gibbs is carving the turkey in the kitchen, while Fornell stirs the gravy. Tim adds his plate of cookies to the piles of food on the table and says, "Anything I can do to help?"
"Green platter under the sink," Gibbs says, looking up and smiling a hello at him. Fornell sort of grunts something that could be taken to mean hello, or I'm still pissed you slept with my wife.
He grabs it, and takes the white one, now covered in turkey, putting that on the table and setting the green one next to Gibbs.
"Anything else?"
"Let everyone know food's on in five."
"I can do that." And he does.
*******************
He's leaning against the archway between the entry and the living room, talking with Ducky, feeling especially fine and mellow, (he's already had a few cups of Jackson Gibbs' addition to the menu: eggnog) when Abby walks by him.
"I think, Timothy, tradition must be served."
Tim gives him a questioning look, and Ducky points up at the mistletoe. It occurs to Tim that not only does Ducky know about the two of them, but he's had a few eggnogs as well.
His hand reaches out, fast, well before his brain got involved in the matter, and snagged Abby by the wrist, dragging her back a few steps.
"McGee?" He's still holding her wrist, his index finger gently stroking the skin just above her wrist cuff. He's thinking that a little playful wickedness is allowed at a Christmas party.  Not like he's going to take her upstairs for a quickie in Gibbs' bed.  Although... NO! NO! NONONONONO! Bad Tim, stop that! He'll headslap you with a brick if you do that. Plus you don't have a condom. Don't need one for oral. She's got those little red lace panties on under that plaid skirt, you could just—Really, stop that, she's staring at you, and you haven't answered her.
"Ducky thinks we have traditions to uphold."
Abby smiles at Ducky, and he beams back, a very mischievous glint in his eye.
Tim looks at Abby, a small smile on his lips, tilts his head a little and raises one eyebrow just a bit. She smiles at him, so he leans over and kisses her on the lips. It's just a kiss. Not making out or anything like that. He's not hugging her or anything. The only places they're touching are their lips and the hand he has on her wrist. It's just two sets of lips touching for a few seconds, and okay hers might have been slightly open, and it's possible that his tongue might have snuck out and given her a very fast lick, but still, there was nothing obscene about it. Long enough to appreciate the contact, not so long as to cause talk. And then he pulls back, lets go of her wrist, and continues talking to Ducky as she went on her way, both of them acting like this was entirely normal.
A second later Tony's standing right next to him. "Woah, McHotlips! What the hell was that?"
He grins at Tony, enjoying this way too much. "Mistletoe, and if you don't want to get kissed, you should take a step back."
Tony takes a giant step back. "That wasn't just a friendly peck on the cheek. You got Ziva earlier tonight and Breena, too, and there was no lip on lip action."
Tim smirks. Yeah, this is way too much fun. Push him further? Oh yeah. "Got a somewhat different history with Abby." Tony's just staring at him, looking like he's not buying this. So Tim calls out, "Hey, Abby."
"McGee?" She looks over at him from talking to Amira and Emily. Gibbs had made Amira a chess set, and she's showing the girls how to play.
"I ever kiss you before?"
She laughs. "Yeah, couple of times." And goes back to talking to the girls like nothing just happened.
Tim gives Tony a happy and satisfied look. Tony continues to stare at him, and then says, "What's gotten into you?"
Tim looks at the cup in his hand. "About three of these eggnogs. I think I've figured out the Gibbs family secret ingredient. Bourbon to go with the rum."
"Bite your tongue, boy," Jackson says, joining them. "It's whiskey and nothing but!"
"Yes, sir." Tim nods. "And it's delicious."
"As well it should be. But even if it wasn't, anything that gets you kissing pretty girls is worth drinking!"
"Indeed!" Ducky says, and the two of them begin talking about their younger years of lying in wait at Christmas parties, hunting the pretty girls. DiNozzo Senior wandered over, and from there the conversation got fairly bawdy, which Tim was actually enjoying, but mortified Tony, who scuttled away at the first opportunity.
*********************He's lying in Abby's bed again. This time on his back while she cuddles against his side, her head on his shoulder. His fingers are idly petting her hair, and she's gently stroking his chest.
"Good Christmas?" she asks.
"Yeah, that really was." He takes her hand in his, slipping his fingers between hers, watching the way they fit together. "How about on Friday, after work, I tell Gibbs about us, and then we take this full on public?"
"I'd like that. It'd be nice to show up at a party with you, leave with you, and really kiss you while we're there."
"Yeah, it would." He smiles and kisses the back of her hand. "Friday then?"
"Friday." _______________________________________________
*For some reason, Tim hasn't actually read Hogfather. Why, I don't know, but somehow, he just hasn't. Perhaps one day Abby will take him in hand and remedy this frankly perplexing lack in his geek cred. 

38 Weeks: The Thirty-Third Week

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



Week thirty-three:
Michael came home from the grocery store and found Fi rocking against the exercise ball.
"Hurting again?"
"Yeah. This helps some, but what I really need is about three extra vertabrae. I just need some more room for this kid to spread out."
"Well, how about you hop into your bathing suit and we hit the hot tub?"
"Michael, it's 110 degrees out there. The last thing I want to do is take my overheated body, go outside into the blazing heat, and then soak in water that's even hotter than that on top of it. I've got the AC set at 55, a frozen drink next to me, and I'm still sweating."
"I thought you might say that, so I got you a surprise."
"What?"
Michael lifted a bag of ice out of one of the grocery bags. "I've got four bags of ice here. Get in your suit, give me about ten minutes, and I should have a nice, cool hot tub for you."
Fi smiled. Full body immersion ice water sounded really good. "That's perfect." [image error]
Five minutes later, Michael had dumped the ice into the tub, put a few candles around it, lit them, and was waiting for Fi.
Five more minutes later, and she still wasn't out.
Five minutes after that, and he decided to go in and see what was going on.
"Fi?" He headed toward their bedroom. "You okay?"
She was sitting on the side of the bed, in her bathrobe, glaring at her bathing suit.
"It doesn't fit."
"The wall is high. I'll kill the lights, and you can go in naked. No one will see."
"You'll see."
"I've seen you naked, Fi." He shucks off his bathing suit. "I'll go in naked, too."
"What if I don't want you to see?"
"Why wouldn't you want me to see you?" Michael looks honestly perplexed by this, which seems to lift Fi's spirits, a little.
But not enough. "Because I'm fat and puffy and saggy."
Michael stands in front of her, taking her hands in his. "Stop that." He tugs gently until she's standing, and then turns them around so he's sitting on the bed, and she's standing between his legs.
"Do you know what I see when I look at you?" he asks as he skims his hands over her shoulders, under the robe, slipping it off of her.
Fi looks down at herself. "Flab, grotesque ankles, and ugly blue veins?"
"No. I see my woman," he touches her wedding ring, "and my child," and his fingers caress her stomach, "and I see how you got this way. And, since I don't know exactly which time did it, I remember a week of the best sex of my life. I see you on top of me, your head back, hair wild, breasts jiggling with each thrust. And I see you right after that, when you dropped to your hands, so your hair fell around us and all I could see was your face, and your eyes staring into mine. I see you under me, legs around my waist, and I hear the incredibly sexy things you were saying to me while we rocked together. I remember us on our sides, facing each other, and your back to me. I remember you on your hands and knees in front of me. I certainly remember you handcuffing me to the bedpost for the longest forty minutes of my life, while you blew my mind—"
She's smiling now. "Michael, that wasn't your mind I was blowing, and of all the things we did that week, that's one of the few I'm certain didn't get me pregnant."
He shrugs, grinning. "Still a good memory. And I do see it when I look at your mouth." His fingers ghost along her lips.  "I remember putting you on the tiny counter in the kitchenette and returning the favor. And, yes, I know that didn't get you pregnant, either. But all of those memories are still in my head, every time I see you.
"So, I don't see flab. I see luscious, soft," he traces over her tummy and hips, "curves. And I couldn't care less about blue veins," he leans forward to softly kiss each breast, "because I love the way these jiggle each time you move, and how sensitive they are now, and how I can drive you crazy by petting them," his hands cup her bottom, "and if your ankles are less than perfect, I'd have no idea, because I haven't looked below your ass in a very long time. It's round and soft and fits perfectly in my hands and snugs against me when we're spooning, so that when you lift your leg over mine, and we find that angle where I can just slide in and set both of us off, I get to slip through a warm and soft embrace and that feels ridiculously good. So, it attracts my attention." He takes her face in both hands, and kisses her deeply. "How about we go get into our now nice and cold hot tub and make some more memories?" 

Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction

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



[image error] "You look chipper, McGee."

"Thank you, Tony."

"So, what is it that has you in such a good mood this morning?"

The one thing Tim absolutely wasn't going to say was the truth: any day that started with sex was likely to see him in a very good mood. And any Friday that looked like it was going to end with him at Abby's for the weekend was even better.

"I'm just having a good day. Toast came out perfect. No traffic. As of this point, no one is dead."

"Uh huh... Your good mood wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that you weren't home three times this month."

"What, are you having me followed?"

"I... wait... no... Stick to the script, McLiar, we're talking about your mysterious disappearances."

"Tony, I do have a life beyond entertaining you."

"No you don't. You were home every night I came over for five years in a row. Suddenly you're gone. What's happening?"

"I have not been home every time you've come over."

"Yes, you have. Every night, for five years. Best I can tell, you never go out. Suddenly, a month ago, you start going out. What's up?"

"Really?" Tim thinks about that and comes to the distressing conclusion that Tony may indeed be right about that. Not that Tim never goes out, but if he is going out it's usually during the day over the weekend, and Tony usually drops by on weeknights. It's entirely possible that he has been home every single time Tony's come over in the last half-decade.

"Really. So, what gives?"

"You don't want to know."

"Yes I do! Is it a girl? Your mystery wedding woman?" Tony looks very excited at this prospect.

"No, Tony, it's not a girl." Tim stalls thinking of a good lie.

"Then what is it that has you away from home?"

"Seriously, Tony, you don't want to know."

"God, McGee, you're killing me. What is it?"

"Table top role playing. I've been hanging out with a few guys playing old school D&D."

Tony looks disappointed. "You're right; I didn't want to know that." Then he thinks about it for a moment. "Is it fun?"

"Yeah. I like it."

"Could I come?"

Tim looks at Tony with horror, simultaneously dealing with the fact that now he needed yet another lie, and that Tony might be bored and lonely enough to want to play D&D.

He touches Tony's forehead. "You don't have a fever. Who are you, and what have you done with Tony?"

"Look, the Call of Duty stuff was actually pretty fun. So, maybe it's not impossible that the other stuff you like might be fun, too."

"Unfortunately for you, Tony, the reason I'm in such a good mood today is because we wrapped up our campaign last night. And you're right, it was a lot of fun. But it's done now."

"Oh. Wanna get some pizza tonight?"

No, not really. I want to go to Abby's and have dinner with her. "How about we all go out? Bring Ziva, Abby, and the Palmers along. Let's not end up with any unhappy co-workers. Hell, if you want to try something fun, let's do Laser Tag. We'll put Ziva on one team, and the rest of us on the other, and she'll still probably win, but it'll be fun."

"McGee, we're cops. We run around with people shooting at us in real life. Why would we want to do a fake version of it?"

"It's a lot more fun when no one is shooting bullets."

******************
"How about it, Jimmy? Pizza, beer, laser tag? Show off our manly fighting prowess for the girls?" Tim's asking, and Tony is standing next to him, looking like he's vastly too cool for this and trying to figure out how the hell he ended up involved in it.

"You mean get our collected asses kicked by Ziva," Tony adds.

"That, too."

Palmer grabs his phone and fires off a text. A minute later he gets one back. "We're in."

Tim grabs his phone and texts the address of the pizza place and the laser tag building to Palmer. "Eight at Del's?"

"We'll be there. Need anything special for laser tag?"

"Wear sneakers. Make sure Brianna's got something to tie her hair back with."

"We can do that."

Ducky comes into view. "And what has you three conspiring?"

"Run Ducky, run. They're getting their geek claws into me, and if you stick around, they'll get you, too!" Tony says with a laugh.

"Just making dinner plans. Pizza, beer, laser tag. You're welcome to come if you like." Tim says.

"Alas, Timothy, I already have plans for tonight, but thank you for the invitation. Perhaps another time?"

"Anytime you want to come."

Tim nodded, and he and Tony headed back up to their desks. As the door to autopsy was closing he heard Ducky say to Palmer, "Mr. Palmer, what, pray tell, is laser tag?"

***************
For once, he was home before seven. A Friday where work ended up early, traffic didn't kick his ass, and he had good things planned.

Okay, so dinner with everyone wasn't precisely what he'd been hoping for. He'd really been looking forward to heading to Abby's, but still, this worked, too.

And once again, he's carpooling with Ziva. This time he's waiting for her to pick him up.

He changes into a t-shirt, slipping on his sneakers. Not that he looks all that different from his usual work self, it's a tidy looking t-shirt, but if he's going to be running around, jumping about, ducking, weaving, and shooting, he might as well wear something really comfy.

He tosses a jacket on top, and is ready to go.

His phone buzzes, a text from Ziva letting him know she was waiting. Down in a sec.

Time to go play.

*******************
It's been a while since he played. It's just not all that much fun without the right group of people, and the group he used to play with kept getting married and having kids and next thing he knew six months could go by without a game.

So he wasn't entirely expecting to be recognized when he went in, but he was.

"Hey, Tim!" Seth Allane owned the place, and the two of them had been friendly. "It's been a while, where you've been man?"

"Just busy, Seth. These are my friends; we were hoping to play."

"Sure. Ten is open. They know how to do this, or should we do the safety routine?"

"I think I can get them through it just fine."

"Great." Seth hands them a bunch of clipboards. Usually he's required to go through the for-your-safety regulations and whatnot, but he knows Tim knows what he's doing, so he'll give him some leeway. "You know the drill, fill 'em out, grab your vests and guns, and out you go."

"Sounds good."

*********************
"I can't believe I agreed to this," DiNozzo says as he tugs on the vest.

"Just go with it, Tony. If you can get over what you think you look like, you'll have a lot of fun," Tim says, tightening his own vest. He turns to the girls. "Need any help?"

Palmer is already helping Brianna with the top straps. Not that she needs it, but he's enjoying the touch. He kisses the back of her neck gently while he snugs the velcro into place.

Ziva grins, wide and happy. "Sure, McGee." She turns her back to him, and he does a competent job of getting her strapped in.

"Abby?"

"I'm good." She was already in her own vest, and was playing with her gun.

Palmer and Tony looked ready, too.

"Okay, this is pretty easy." Tim picked up the gun. "Hold the gun like so." One hand under the stock, one on the trigger. "Point." He leveled it at Palmer's chest. "Pull the trigger." And one of the five lights on Palmer's vest lit up. "All five light up, and you're dead. When you're dead your gun won't work. You just sit where you fell until the game is over and we reset." Tim pointed to a switch on the panel in the middle of the vest. "Okay, see, there are four settings here, so we can set up teams, or play one on one on one on... You get the idea."

"Ohhh boys versus girls!" Brianna chirped, looking vastly more excited by this idea that Tim thought was warranted.

"Fine. Guys put yours on 1. Girls on 2. That way you can't shoot your own teammates. There's a switch on the side of the gun that does the same thing. Get it set. It'll be dark and loud and smokey with flashing lights in there, so you might be a little disoriented at first."

"It'll be a rave. No problem."

"A rave where you shoot people, Abby," Tim added.

She grinned at him. "Who says that's something new?"

"Come on, let's go!" Brianna said.

"One more thing," Tim said, "we get in there and the clock will count down from ten. Once it hits zero, it's go time."

"Great, let's go!" Brianna was more or less dragging Palmer toward the door, eager to get playing.

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

The girls were killing them. After the fun with her lab assistant, Gibbs made sure Abby was rated with every gun he was. Apparently Brianna's father was under the impression that good daddies take their daughters hunting, and that girl can shoot. And then there's Ziva, who in addition to being deadly with a spoon, let alone any form of firearm, has some of the best tactical training, especially for situations like this, that a person can get.

The three guys are pinned behind a large rectangle of foam. Smoke, flashing lights, and a pounding soundtrack add to the confusion.

"What I wouldn't give for Gibbs right now. He'd be up there." Tim points to a catwalk over them. "Somehow invisible, and picking off the girls."

Palmer looks up at the ceiling. "I've got an idea. I'm going to run out there like a maniac."

"This is different from your five other plans how?"

"Shut it, Tony, and listen. Look, I know I can't shoot for shit. I'll stay on this side, weaving, dodging, flinging shots left and right. That'll bring Ziva out of hiding, because she's their best distance shooter. While I'm running, Tim, head right. Tony, go left. Keep an eye on the far side. Ziva will pop out, and you guys light her up.

"Once she's out, I think you two can take Abby and Brianna."

Tim nods. "That's not a bad plan."

Tony thinks about it and begins edging to the left. "Ready when you are."

With a deep, full throated-yell, Palmer went running out from cover. Weaving, dodging, shooting anything and everything, hell, he even executed a decent roll at one point.

"When did Palmer turn into Rambo?" Tony asked as he skittered to the next cover.

"Doesn't matter, he's flushed out Ziva. Shoot, Tony, shoot!" Tim yelled back.

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

"I hate to say it, but that was fun," Tony said as they relaxed over beer after.

"Yes, it was. I am surprised how much fun that is when they do not shoot real bullets." Ziva said, leaning back in her seat.

"I can't believe you can shoot like that," Brianna said to Ziva. "How did you learn that?"

"That is a long story, and it's late." It was getting onto two. "Maybe next time?"

"Yeah. I want to hear that story," Palmer said. "How about we do this again the weekend after next?"

"I'd like that," Tim replied, fishing in his pocket for his wallet to cover his portion of the bill. "Ziva, you ready?"

"Sure. See you on Monday."

When they got into Ziva's car she asked, "Are you going home?"

"Yeah, she's heading back to my place after this."

"How much longer will you be hiding?"

"Not long, a week or two at most. Just waiting for the Diane debacle to die down."

"What actually happened? She had told me she wanted to do something exciting, stupid, and reckless, and then would not tell me if she had succeeded."

Tim shakes his head. "She wanted reassurance, and I was the closest male around. Maybe it was a good thing she was at my place. I'm pretty certain I'm the only one of the guys who would have only slept next to her."

"Really?"

"What does Tony do when a beautiful woman cries on him and wants to be told she's beautiful?"

Ziva nods. The likelihood of Tony refusing in a situation like that was more or less non-existent.

"And obviously Gibbs and Fornell found her attractive enough to marry. And the way they were trying to keep her out of their homes made me think both of them knew it'd end up in bed, and that would be a very bad thing."

Ziva nods at that.

"I wish she had gone to your house instead."

"I think he was testing you."

"Ziva?"

"You asked if I thought he knew about you and Abby, and I think he does. After your 'I had sex' morning, he knew. I think he was testing you. Because there is no reason why he shouldn't have sent her home with me. That's standard operating procedure. Females in protection only go to a male agent's home if there are no other options."

"So, did I pass or fail?"

"Passed?" Ziva shrugs. "He does not appear angry at you, mostly amused, so maybe it wasn't a train wreck."

"Fornell wants to kill me."

"Fornell looks at you like a puppy who had the gall to pee in his territory. Gibbs knows you're an adult and Diane isn't his."

"Small graces."

"So, the story about you and her and the blindfold, handcuffs, strawberry oil, and melted candles..."

Tim groans, rubbing his forehead. "Ugh. That strawberry goo is just nasty."

Ziva's looking at him like she found that comment to be very strange, and it occurs to him that for most people the strawberry oil would be the least objectionable thing on that list.

He smiles a little at her, and sees her look him up and down for a moment, like she's seeing him in a different light. So he says, quickly, "Anyway, Abby made that one up. Actually, any of the ones that don't go like this: Gibbs picked my lock, walked in, stared at us, Fornell showed up, started cursing, and then we woke up, completely dressed, and I nearly wet my pants because he was going to kill me, Abby made up."

"So, she was not worried about what might have happened?"

"No. She trusts me."

Ziva shakes her head. "Marry that girl, McGee. You are never going to do better."

"I know."

Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction

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



[image error] And then things went massively wrong. He was happily sitting in the lab, next to Abby, watching the train wreck happen, and then he was in the middle of it. 
The absolute last person he wanted in his home was Gibbs and Fornell's ex. Okay, maybe not the absolute last, if it's a question of say, Diane or his father, Diane wins hands down, but still, she's way, way down on his list.
She's bossy as all get out, which isn't something Tim really likes in a woman, hell, in people, because generally if you tell him to do something, he'll go do it. He likes making people happy, and being stuck in a room with a very unhappy person, who's also very scared and ultra-bossy is just not his idea of fun.
But, she said listen, so he listened. She wanted a shoulder to cry on, so his got cried on.
And, categorized under the heading of "no good deed goes unpunished," he got to wake up to the two scariest human beings he's ever known glaring down at him, with the single bossiest woman he's ever met, in his arms.
Not his finest hour.
Then he got to work, after Fornell made it pretty clear that if he was ever alone with Tim again, he was going to shoot him, and God, the stories... Seriously, does no one at NCIS have anything better to do than speculate on his love life? And why on earth does everyone assume he's the submissive one? He's not always, or even usually, the submissive one. Not to say being the submissive is a problem, it's not; he's had a lot of fun submitting. But still, if you think he'd end up tied up with Diane, you haven't studied how that kink works. Most dominant people in real life prefer the submissive role when it comes to sex. Really, who on Earth would think that Diane was attracted to Gibbs or Fornell because she likes men she can dominate?
And why does everyone always assume he's into kink? Okay, not that, under the right circumstance, and here he's thinking of with Abby, he'd mind being tied up, gagged with a stocking, though, really, stockings are ridiculously bad for that sort of thing, they're so stretchy it's hard to tie them properly, and if you do get one tied, it's impossible to untie one, you have to cut it...and... okay... probably better to stop thinking about doing that with Abby before he ended up embarrassing himself.
Palmer pulls him aside a few hours later and thwacks him, not very gently, upside the back of the head. "You know, one of the best techniques for maintaining a long-term relationship is not sleeping with other women!"
"I did not sleep with... Okay, I slept but nothing else happened."
He thinks Palmer believes him and was just teasing earlier. But right now it's hard to tell because the expression on Palmer's face is very serious. "Doesn't matter. It's not about sex, well, it is, but it's not just about sex. Most women I know don't appreciate it when you spend the night lying next to another person, pressed up against them, listening to their stories. Hours of horizontal touch are for you as a couple, and no one else."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"Sooo... how are things going with Abby? Brianna gave me an update after the reception. Apparently you two were absolutely darling dancing in the hallway."
"Either they're going fine, or I just completely destroyed them. I'll get to find out in a few hours when I can get into the lab on my own."
"Well, let me know. You doing anything for lunch tomorrow?"
"Don't think so."
"Good, you, Abby, and I will get something."
"Assuming she's talking to me, that sounds good."
**********************
Better to seek forgiveness than ask permission. That's repeating over and over in his mind as he trudges his way to Abby's lab. She had been teasing him about having the Ex-Mrs.Gibbs-Fornell in his home, and couldn't wait to find out what gossip he had. But that was last night, and this morning...
"McGee." She doesn't sound particularly pissed at him, but it's possible she hasn't heard yet.
"I am so, so, so sorry." He stops a few feet away from her, and she doesn't step in to him. Could be this is about maintaining a decent distance, which is something they try to do at work. Or she could be about to eviscerate him.
She grins at him, and he's on the verge of relaxing, but part of him thinks this might be the trap about to snap down and break his leg in two. "What are you sorry about?"
"Sleeping next to Diane."
"Diane? Huh. You're on a first name basis now? I suppose that happens when you sleep with someone." Spoiiing, snap, yes, he was in the trap. He felt nauseous. The first time they were together, about two months had passed without a date, and he had been flirting with a pretty young thing, and she noticed. And having noticed, she made it clear that two month break wasn't ending anytime soon.
"I am so sorry."
"You told everyone else you just slept."
"We did just sleep. She wanted to talk about her marriage, she cried on me some, and then we fell asleep."
"Then why are you apologizing?"
"Errr..." That left McGee completely flatfooted. "I'm supposed to?"
"McGee," And finally she stepped up to him, close but not touching. "you're a teddy bear. You're soft and warm and cuddly. You're a good listener. I am not in any way surprised that a sad woman, who is clearly still in love with Gibbs, and maybe her husband, a little at least, and possibly Fornell, would want to spend a night hugging you."
"Thank you."
"Besides, if you want to keep us quiet, I can't think of anything likely to cause more talk than you sleeping with Diane."
"I was in Autopsy... God... The stories..."
"I started five of them." She beams at him.
He looked startled. "Why would you do that?"
"It was fun." She smiled brilliantly. "The stories everyone else was making up were just so blah... You woke up on the sofa with Diane, completely dressed. Like you'd be on the sofa or dressed if you two had been at it!"
"We've done it on the sofa," he says, a knowing look on his face and some very good memories in mind.
"Yeah, but we certainly weren't dressed after, were we?"
"Good point."
"Just because the ex-Mrs. Gibbs-Fornell... Gorbell? Fibbs?... looks at you like a big, warm, asexual teddy-bear, doesn't mean I do. And I will never, ever be mad at you for comforting a hurting person."
Tim took a half-step closer to her, leaning his back against her desk so he could see the doorway. From there he takes her hand in his, and whispers in her ear, "So, how do you see me?"
She kissed him, quickly, you never know when someone, like, say, Gibbs, will manage to get into the lab without making a sound. "You are big and warm and cuddly. But you definitely aren't asexual." Her free hand gently ghosted along the front of his trousers and he closed his eyes and sighed. "You're the ex-Boy Scout who's forgotten more about knot tying than I've ever known. And you're the guy who is never scared to play games. You, McGee, are a whole lot of fun." He smiles at that. "And it's Diane's loss that she'll never get to find that out."
"Abby..."
"Yeah?"
"How would you feel about not keeping this quiet anymore? I think we've tortured Tony enough with my mystery woman."
"Rule number twelve be damned?"
"Yeah."
She thinks about it for a while. "I'd like that. But not right this second. Maybe wait a little while for the scuttlebutt on you and Diane to die down."
"I can do that. Jimmy wants to have lunch with us tomorrow."
"As long as no one else gets killed or kidnapped I think that can be arranged."

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

On Saturday they met the Palmers for lunch.

"So, does this count as your first real date?" Brianna asked after they ordered.

Tim looks at Abby, feeling a little perplexed at the question. It occurs to him that he's not even sure what would constitute a 'real date.'

Brianna smiles. "You know, first time out in public as a couple?"

"Nah. Anyone who saw us in that diner knew we were a couple." The hour or so they spent talking and making out wasn't what anyone would call subtle. "But this is our first time out with someone else as a couple."

"Well, congratulations anyway. And thank you for taking Jimmy into your confidence." Tim's amused that Brianna would thank him for that, but it pleases him as well. This whole trust thing has some nice side effects. One of which was being at a decent restaurant with Jimmy and Brianna, getting to know Palmer's bride.

Tim can see why Jimmy loves her. She's warm, friendly, beautiful, and as the four of them get talking shop, smart as a whip.
In some ways she puts him in mind of Abby. They have similar joyful personalities if very different aesthetics.

At one point, when the girls excused themselves, Tim said to Jimmy, "We are insanely lucky men."

Jimmy smiled and nodded. "Trust me, I know it. So, the rest of the world going to learn about your luck anytime soon?"

"Yeah, I think so. I'll let you know when it's not a secret anymore."

"Good. What do you think Gibbs is going to do?"

"I think he'll be fine with it. He might already know, but Ziva's not sure about that."

"Ziva knows?"

"She caught us at the wedding."

"Not that hard to do. Take a hint from someone who's done this a few times, don't wear cologne if you're planning on a secret quickie upstairs. Actually, for as long as you want to keep this a secret and can't keep your hands off her, skip your cologne."

"Hell."

"Yeah, she hugged me and Brianna right after her toast. And you were busted!" Jimmy beams at Tim as he said that, enjoying this way too much.

Tim gives Palmer a somewhat guilty smile and shrugs. "It was fun."

"I'll bet. Anyway, Ducky danced with her right after that and noticed, too. He asked me, and I didn't say anything, and then the thing with Diane happened, and he was really pissed at the idea that you might have been fooling around on Abby, so I let him in on what was going on."

"He didn't let on that he knows, at all."

"He's good at that. Think about it, he's known Gibbs forever, and do you know anything about Gibbs from before you started at NCIS?"

"Only the bits I could get out of Tony."

"Exactly. You want someone who will take a secret to the grave, go to Ducky."

"Hey, what are you two gossiping about?" Brianna asks as the girls come back.

"The excellent secret keeping skills of one Dr. Donald Mallard," Jimmy says with a smile and then proceeded to fill the girls in on the increasingly less secret nature of Tim and Abby's affair.  
 

Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction

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


The great thing about Ziva is that she gets up before dawn, so if you need to head over to her place around six in the morning to pick up your car, you don't have to worry about waking her up.
Abby stops her car in front of Ziva's building, and he kisses her, lips lingering on hers, debating seeing if he can get her to call in sick with him and spend another day in bed.  She pulls back and smiles at him. "See you in a few hours?"
"Yeah." One last fast kiss, and then he's out of the car, heading up to Ziva's apartment to get his keys.
He's in the elevator when he gets a text. Wrapping up run. Will be there in a minute.
If you were to ask Tim, prior to last weekend, to describe himself, the word sexy would not have crossed his lips.If anything, he's always assumed that he could be nice and friendly and maybe women would get to like him enough as a person that they might then decide to sleep with him, and having done so, figure out that he's actually kind of good at this sex thing.
But the idea that someone might want him, just off the bat, for sex, was nowhere in his self-concept.
It is now. After thirtyish hours of sex, napping, food, and more sex, after making Abby climax so intensely she scratched his back bloody, bit his chest so hard it bruised, and then blacked out, he's feeling like he might indeed qualify as sexy.
And it shows.
He's leaning against Ziva's door as she comes down the hall. She waves, and he waves back, languidly. She pauses mid-step, and looks him over intently.
"McGee, you cannot go to work like that," she says when she gets close enough to talk.
He rubs his face; he is a bit whiskery. He's got the top three buttons on his shirt undone, and the tail end of his tie is hanging out of his pocket, which is a lot more casual than he usually is. But he was planning on changing his clothing and getting a shower before going to work. "I was going to shave and change after I got my car."
"That is not what I mean. You look like the cat that ate the canary."
"Cat that got the cream?"
"Either way, you look like a big, fat, sassy cat that just ate something it really enjoyed and wasn't supposed to. You have practically got feathers sticking out of your mouth."
He grins. "It was a good weekend."
"I can see that. And so will everyone else. You need to act more itchy."
"Itchy?"
Ziva thinks about that. She's fairly sure it's the right word, but decides to try another one that might be closer. "Twitchy? You usually look like you're afraid you're about to get caught doing something you shouldn't. Or like a gazelle in one of those nature shows about lions. Right now you look like one of the lions."
He grins again, liking the idea of being one of the lions. She shakes her head.
"Tony will take one look at you and know. You practically have, I HAD SEX tattooed to your forehead."
That's gets through. She opens her door, and waves him in. He tries to look a little less relaxed and confident and muffs it entirely.
"A little more itchy, not paranoid schizophrenic."
"I don't think I can do this."
"You are going to need to do something." She hands him his keys.
"I'll tell him I let you drive my car. That should keep him distracted until Thursday, at least."
She laughs at that. "It is a nice car. I had never driven a Porsche before. It handles very nicely at over 120." Tim blanches. Ziva smiles, and he hopes she's kidding. "So, shall we talk now? No Tony around."
"Sure." He follows her into her kitchen area. She pours them both coffee. Ziva's not quite as picky about her coffee as Gibbs is, no one is, but she's pretty close. Hers is a lighter roast, and he thinks it's got some sort of hazelnut and cinnamon thing going on. Whatever it is, it smells good and wakes him all the way up.
"So, you and Abby are together again."
"Yes, about two months now."
Ziva nods. "And you are keeping this a secret. You know you can't do that forever."
"Yeah, we do. I doubt we'll keep this under wraps to Christmas, definitely not Valentine's Day. But for right now, the secret is sort of fun."
She smiles. "I understand that." Then she takes another drink. "So why don't you want Tony to know?"
"It'd be nice to enjoy this without mocking for a little while. Look, this is serious. We're not just fooling around, and, it... it really matters to me. I don't want to get constantly teased about this. And he'll tease like crazy because he won't know how to deal with it. We're all single, and he's comfortable with that. It's part of his idea of what we all are."
"He was fine with Gibbs dating."
"Gibbs is the Boss, and on top of that, Gibbs dating doesn't threaten the team. He's not going to go off, get married, and starta family. He has a family, and it's us."
Ziva drinks deeply and looks at Tim with a very warm and gentle smile on her face. "You really are serious about this."
"Yeah, I really am. I love her. This is get married, buy the house in Alexandria, have a few kids serious. It's us going off on our own, doing something he won't be able to be part of, not the way he likes to be part of us. It will change things, and I... I don't know how he'll deal with that."
"What about Gibbs?"
"Assuming he doesn't out and out kill me, I think he'll be fine with it." Tim thinks about that for a moment. 
"He'll be fine with it. I don't know, sometimes I think he sort of expects it. And I will tell him. When we go public with this, he'll be the first to know."
"If he doesn't already."
"Do you think he knows?"
"I can't tell. He seems to know everything that goes on with us, but I don't know if he has twigged to this, yet. After I figured it out, I watched how he watched you two, but I could not tell if he was seeing the same things I was."
Tim nods. "Palmer and Brianna know, too."
"Palmer?"
"I wanted to talk to someone who managed to successfully fall in love and stay in love. Not a lot of people I know have done that."
"That makes sense. So, what happens now?"
"I go home, get presentable, and go to work. Hopefully when I get there, Gibbs'll tell us to gear up and there'll be something besides me and Abby for everyone to focus on."
"And in the longer term?"
"Eventually we tell everyone. I bring her home to meet my mom. She introduces me to her brothers. Then ring hunting, a wedding, kids, grow old and die."
Ziva smiles at him. "Get going then, I would not want you to be late."
*******************************
Standing in front of his mirror, shaving, brings back memories. He had shaved at some point on Sunday, but he doesn't know when. He was stubbly enough that it was starting to leave marks, so they ended up in the bathroom, him shaving, Abby sitting on the counter between the sinks, watching.
He was wrapping up when she stood up and very gently touched the bruise on his chest, just above and to the left of his left nipple.
"I really bit you, didn't I?" Abby looked concerned.
He turned his back to the mirror and looked over his shoulder at the eight red lines paralleling his spine. "Scratched the hell out of my back, too."
"Sorry." She lightly kissed one of the scrapes.
"Oh no. No sorries from you. I earned these, and I'm proud to have them. I've got the memory of you climaxing so hard you blacked out burned into my skin, and I want it that way."
He blinks and refocuses. He's in his own bathroom, alone, getting ready for work.
Tim rapidly notices—as his mind wanders off while he's eating his breakfast (Abby sucking him off), pulling his car out of its parking space (Abby naked, sleeping spooned up behind him), driving toward the Navy Yard (trailing his fingers down her back), basically anytime he's not actively forcing it to think of something else—that he's going to have a very difficult time paying attention to anything that happens today.
At the same time, like Ziva noticed, he feels very calm, very relaxed and satisfied. Like right that moment there's nothing in the world that he wants that he doesn't have. There's an almost Zen feel to it, and he's enjoying that.
He gets into work. Ziva's at her desk, doing paperwork. "Morning," he says to her, the same way he would have if they hadn't just seen each other two hours earlier.
"Good morning, McGee." He settles into his own chair and looks around, hoping Gibbs will waltz in soon and get them moving, otherwise it's a paperwork day.
Gibbs' team has an unusually high rate of closedcases, but that still works out to about twenty cases a year. Some years more some less. They get that many closed cases by using the Gibbs method, which works something like this: find body, work full out, non-stop until someone confesses or dies, then shift into clean up and paperwork mode. So all in all, they actually only spend about sixty or seventy days a year in the field, talking to suspects, trailing people, etc. The rest of the time they do paperwork, or they prepare for court, or they testify in court, or they give depositions, or do more paperwork.
The average day at NCIS is much more likely to involve sitting at his desk filling in forms than sitting in a car with Tony on a stakeout.
Gibbs sweeps in, folders in hand, and begins to fill out his own paperwork.
So, no case.
Tim settles back, relaxes into his chair, winces a little bit when the scrapes sting, smiles a bit as he remembers again how he got them, and shifts into a comfortable position, feet on his desk, and takes his phone out of his pocket. Gibbs writes his notes on a pad. Tim writes his on his phone. This has the advantage of making his paperwork a lot faster.
When he's taking notes he uses a text-English-hybrid that has the advantage of being fast and practically illegible to anyone who isn't him. (Say a defense lawyer who might want to subpoena his notes.) So, his paperwork days usually begin with kicking back with his phone and translating his notes into real English, then uploading them into his computer, and from there cutting and pasting them into the forms.
Gibbs wanders off to refuel with more coffee as Tony comes in. He stops dead between his and Tim's desk and stares.
"You had sex!"
Tim looks up from his phone and decides that since there's no way he can pull off convincingly denying it, to go for straight out honesty, and hope no one but Ziva noticed what was going on with him and Abby.
"Yes."
Tony's eyes went wide, and he almost dropped his drink.
"Oh my God, you did."
"Yeah, Tony. It does happen, you know?"
"No it doesn't."
Tim smiles and wiggles his eyebrows. "It did."
Gibbs returns with a fresh coffee and that stops the conversation. Tony keeps shooting glances at him, but Tim stubbornly works on his notes.
One of the perks of keeping everything on his phone is that he can flash a quick text to Ziva and look like he's working. Good way to handle it?
Yes. He just about swallowed his tongue.
:) What's he doing now?
He keeps staring at you trying to figure out who it was.
Think he can?
I do not think he will.
Good.
 ***********************************
An hour later Gibbs went off for more coffee, and Tony practically sprang over to Tim's desk.
"Who was it? Delores from accounting? Brianna's hot sister? You were dancing with her at the wedding."
Tim shook his head. "No one I met at the wedding."
"But it was after the wedding?"
"Yeah." And during. Tim starts to grin again.
"Oh, God. Just look at him, Ziva! Our little Timmy finally popped his cherry."
"I've had sex before."
"So you say. But you don't look like it. You look like a man who just discovered the joys of women."
Gibbs comes back, fresh coffee in hand. "Now that we've determined that McGee's lost his virginity,—"Sixteen years ago," Tim adds under his breath.—do you think we could get some work done around here?"
A quick chorus of "Yes, Boss," and "On it," ends the discussion again. At least, until Gibbs needs a fresh round of coffee.
**********************
At lunch Tony says, "So, really, tell me."
"I don't kiss and tell, Tony."
"No, but you should."
Tim's shaking his head. "No, really, no, bad idea!"
"Oh, you're killing me."
"Why are you so interested?"
Tony thinks about that. "Probably because my own sex life is so depressingly empty right now." Tim looks really startled by that, and Tony smirks it off. "Really, just curious. It must have been one hell of a night. You look really different."
"It was the best weekend of my life."
Tony's eyes went wide. "The whole weekend?"
Tim shrugs. "Most of it. It was so good, I let Ziva drive herself home in my car."
"You let Ziva drive the Porsche?"
"Yeah, Tony."
And with that Tony scuttles away to interrogate Ziva about the Porsche.
****************************** Tim wanders down to the lab a bit after lunch. The downside of paperwork days is that he's got no good excuse to go hang out with Abby. When they're actively investigating, he usually gets his main computers working, and then heads to the lab to work on hers as well. But he only needs one computer for paperwork.
But, excuse or not, he's heading down. She looks up at him as he walks in, a huge smile on her face. "So, rumor has it you got laid."
"I heard that."
Abby giggles, kisses him quickly, and then looks at him for a moment. "Yeah, you look like it."
Tim smiles. "It's probably a step past rumor. Tony flat out asked, and I said yes."
"Stealthy." She's still grinning at him, so he kisses her one more time.
"Oh yeah. There was absolutely no chance of me pulling off a lie, so I decided going with the literal truth and just being misleading about it was a better idea."
"And how is that working?"
"Tony should be down here any minute to find out if you know anything about my mystery hook-up. On the upside, he has no idea who I might have been with. And, okay, it's mean, but I'm enjoying this way too much. It's like perfect payback for every annoying thing he's ever done to me. Not knowing is absolutely torturing him."
"So what did you tell him?"
"That yes I had sex, no it wasn't my first time, and it wasn't with someone I met at the wedding, and it was the best weekend of my life. How's that for vague?"
"First time?"
He rolled his eyes. "Apparently I was looking awfully laid back this morning. 'You look like you've just discovered the joys of women.' Granted, Ziva said basically the same thing."
"Best weekend of your life?"
"Yes!" he answers, eyes warm and mischievous. They heard the bong of the elevator, and Tim let his hand, which had somehow, without him noticing, twined itself with hers, drop.
"Abby! Tell me you've gotten it out of him!" Tony says as he sweeps in, Caff Pow in hand.
Abby made the sign for zipping her lips sealed and tossed away the key. "I keep secrets with my life, Tony, and this one... You'd just explode if you knew."
"You told her!"
Tim shrugs. "She knows everything about me."
"You know McGee and I have no secrets."
"Please, please tell me. I'll provide you with hand delivered Caff-Pows for life. Think about it, you'll be ninety and I'll be rolling into your nursing home in my wheelchair, Caff-Pow in hand." He offers her the cup and she takes it.
Abby laughs at that and looks at Tim. "You know, that's a very tempting offer. Can you give me a better one to keep the secret?"
"Yes." He leans forward and whispers in her ear. "Honestly, I don't have anything off the top of my head, but doing this will drive him insane, so please play along, look really shocked, and agree that this is totally worth it."
Abby pulled back, eyes wide. "McGee! Sold. You're secret is safe with me."
Tim smirks at Tony and heads back up to his desk, thinking that perhaps he too has a spring in his step. In the elevator he begins texting. Is he still trying to wheedle it out of you?
Of course. I'm hinting it's a guy.
What!
Oh, come on, this is so much fun. I'm going to toss in a few other false clues too. You might come out of this with a date with Dornagent, though.
NOOOOOOO
I'm kidding. Dinner?
Yeah, I hope so.