Keryl Raist's Blog, page 4
September 26, 2014
Shards To A Whole: Politics
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 391: Politics
Gibbs gets a text from Abbi as he's opening up Jimmy's computer. I can get a flight now, hop all over the US, and be there by seven tomorrow morning, or I can wait, catch a red-eye, fly direct, and be there by nine.
Take whichever works best. Two hours won't kill me.
Probably nine then. How's Tim?
Sleeping. Probably. Gibbs looks over at Tim, who's laying in the bed, quiet. His eyes don't open easy, too much swelling from the broken nose, so even when he's awake, they're closed. He's not talking right now, and looks pretty relaxed, so asleep. I hope.
He can feel Abbi nod. He looks at Jimmy's computer. He's gotten himself logged in, and there's everything, just like Burley promised.
Would you look at something for me?
Sure.
Tim's case.
Certainly. Send what you've got over.
He does, and after a minute she sends back. Am I looking for anything in particular?
Nail John to the fucking wall. He texts that in, and then stops, and then deletes. I'm too close to this one. Tell me how it looks from the outside?
Sure, Jethro. Have you been awake since you left?
Yeah.
I've got the notes. I'm leaving for the plane at 4:00 AM. Between now and then, you sleep. You can bone up on the notes then and we'll talk them through when I get there. But you get some sleep.
Can't.
Jimmy's still there, right?
Yeah.
Have him give you something if you can't fall asleep on your own. I'll text when I leave for the airport. Sleep.
Yes Ma'am.
Time stops in a hospital. Night, day, who the hell knows? Everything slows down, the light never changes, and the routine continues twenty-four seven.
Abby's sleeping.
Gibbs is sleeping. (Or doing a convincing job of pretending to be asleep. And in that he gave Gibbs a horse-tranquilizer-sized dose of sleeping pills, Jimmy's thinking he's not faking.)
Jimmy's watching McGee's interrogation, over and over and over.
Other than the thirty seconds when Tim was seeing him for the first time in years back in '13 ('12? Jimmy doesn't remember, it was a while ago.) but with the exception of that less than a minute long encounter where he caught the tail end of Tim seeing John, and more or less going white, then storming off in a cloud of snark, he's never seen John.
Never had a clear image to go with the stories.
And now he does.
It's funny. Jimmy's never actually wanted to kill anyone before. He's thought he has. He's certainly been mad. But, especially since he shot Lincoln, and really felt that weight of an ended life in his hands, even though it was a life trying to end his, he's had no desire to kill anyone.
He does now. He can feel exactly how different this is. He cannot, on any level, connect with the idea that John is human.
He watches the interview again. It's not long, but he's catching layers of McGee each time he sees it again. That little flicker of disgust at the idea of Tim being bi. The lack of any horror at the sight of him beaten to a pulp. The shock at the idea that Tim managed to keep those four men from killing him. The fact that he is furious at being accused of sleeping with his secretary but, at most, and this is a charitable read, mildly disconcerted at the idea that his secretary ordered his son killed.
Jimmy doesn't have a "gut" per se. And he's not Ducky; he can't read a guy just by looking at him, but right now, he'd bet everything he owns on the idea that John ordered the assault on Tim. He'd bet just as much that he never had to say the words, because saying the words would be… inappropriate or something, but by voice, or by look, or the same way that Ducky could sort of think 'microscope slides for a histology report' to Jimmy and he'd go grab it without a word. Somehow, John made it clear that this was what he wanted.
Except, as he looks up at Tim, sleeping, this isn't what he wanted because Tim's still alive.
In addition to no "gut" Jimmy's not a cop, and he's not a lawyer, but even with that, he knows this can't be taken to court. There's nothing here. At all. Wanting someone hurt or dead isn't illegal.
The fucker's going to get away with it. That's the beginning and middle of the story. And right now, Jimmy's perfectly happy with the idea that one day, with a rifle in his hands, he'll be the end.
He hears Tim shift a little, like he's trying to roll toward Jimmy, followed by a soft grunt of pain, and then, "You've watched it, what? Six times now? Turn it off."
"Oh, God, sorry. Thought you were asleep." Jimmy takes his ear buds out and closes his computer. He's got the volume low, but when John starts yelling, it's probably slightly audible even with his earbuds in.
Tim turns his head toward Jimmy and opens his eyes. "And I thought you were Gibbs."
Jimmy smiles ruefully. "Not today." He takes Tim's hand in his. "How are you feeling?"
"Like shit."
"Want more pain meds?"
"Yeah."
Jimmy hits the call button.
"Think they'll let me eat something?"
"We'll find out." Yes? Comes from the voice on the other end of the call button. "Hi. Room 245 here, could we get some more pain medication?"
Sending someone to you.
"Thanks."
"You're not going to find anything," Tim says when Jimmy puts the call button down. "You don't get to Admiral by being the guy who makes stupid impulsive decisions. Mane's fucked. It'll all fall on him. But he'll have made sure it can't touch him."
Jimmy thinks about that, not sure what Tim knows/remembers from the last few days. "Mane's dead, Tim."
"Right." Tim winces a little. "I remember that. Sort of. Burley was here, right?"
"Yeah, he was."
"Obviously, he interviewed The Admiral, and it didn't go well."
Jimmy shakes his head. "Vance is giving us until tomorrow to try and find something."
"It won't be there, Jimmy."
"Gotta do something."
Tim squeezes his hand gently. "You are doing something. You're here."
He snorts a bit at that. "Doesn't feel like much."
"It's enough. Right now, this is all I need."
Jimmy's fingers stroke over the back of Tim's hand, careful not to brush the tender bruised skin, or the sore spot where the IV leads into him. "And later?"
"We'll talk about later when I'm sober."
"Okay."
Tim sighs, he's starting to go from the steady everything aches pain level to being aware of each individual pain, too. He's hoping that nurse shows up soon. "What's going on back east?" he asks to distract himself.
"Oh… Um…" It takes Jimmy a second to switch gears. "Everyone hopes you get well soon. Penny's wrecked. No one's said anything about this to your sister, yet. Don't even know what to say or how…"
"Probably a better in-person conversation."
"Yeah. Abbi's on her way here. Going to get in in the morning. I think Gibbs has her looking over the case as well."
"The girls?"
"Busy being babies. Breena tells me Kelly keeps asking where you and Abby are. Might try a call tomorrow, maybe not skype, maybe just a voice, see if that doesn't freak her out."
"Call would be good. Not skype. Don't want her to see me like this."
"You're looking a little better. Swelling's going down some. The worst parts are just really bad now." Jimmy thinks about that, looking at Tim. "You haven't seen yourself yet, have you?"
"No."
"Want to?" Jimmy asks. He can find that mirror Abby keeps in her purse.
"Do I?"
"Eh… I don't know. Not sure if your idea of how you look is better or worse than reality."
Tim looks at his left arm. "How's this compare to my face?"
"Face is worse."
Tim stares at the mottled blue, green, purple black of his one "good" arm. If this is better, his face has to look like it was tenderized with a meat hammer. "I can wait."
Gibbs feels halfway between drunk and hung over when he wakes up. He's got no idea what the hell Jimmy gave him, but whatever it was did the job.
He jerks on the sofa as his eyes find a clock. It's already 10:30, and he's way late to pick Abbi up.
Then a hand squeezes his gently. "I take it you needed the sleep," Abbi says dryly, kissing him.
He blinks once, twice, and once more, trying to put this right. She smiles gently and shakes her head. "Abbs called a bit before I landed. None of you have a car, would have made it tricky to meet me. I rented one and came over here."
He stretches, rubbing his eyes, wincing at the pain in his back.
"Got a room, too. Tonight you sleep on a real bed."
He looks around. Tim's still on the bed (like he'd be anywhere else.) Abby and Jimmy are gone.
"Where…"
"Sent them to use the room. Get some real sleep, on real beds. Showers. Go eat a real meal. Tim had to tell them to go, too, but they eventually got out of here."
Abbi kisses him again, and hands him a large cup of coffee.
He takes a deep drink. "Thank you."
"No problem. Though, if you want to give that back to me and sleep some more, I'm thinking you could use it."
Gibbs stands up and starts slowly walking around, trying to work some of the kinks out. "Not sure I'll ever move again if I sleep on that sofa again."
Abby points to the far side of the room. "Cot's free. Like I said, Abbs and Palmer are catching some zs at the hotel. Nurse said Tim could start having real food tonight, so they're sacking out, and'll come back with dinner for all of us."
Gibbs looks at the cot. He can feel drugged sleep clinging to him.
"Come on," Abbi says, pulling him to the cot, "You're asleep on your feet. Nothing's happening right this second that needs you awake. I'm on watch."
He nods and lets her tuck him in.
Several minutes pass, and when Gibbs starts to snore again, Tim quietly says, "You're really good for him. You know that, right?"
"When'd you wake up?" she asks, half sitting on the side of his bed. After she got Abby and Jimmy out, it looked like Tim had drifted off, too.
"Few minutes ago. Heard what you were saying, figured he wouldn't go back to sleep if I was up."
"Good figuring. How are you feeling?"
He half-smiles, wryly. "Like I've been asked that five hundred times in the last two days."
"Got at least another thousand more coming."
"Yeah. First time I've woken up in… Fuck… What day is it?"
"Sunday."
"First time I've woken up since Friday and not felt stoned off my ass or in serious pain."
"Non-serious pain or only mildly stoned?"
"Everything aches. But that's actually better than it's been. And the room doesn't want to swim around whenever my eyes move, so I'll put that in the mildly-stoned column."
"Healing up in leaps and bounds."
Tim rolls his eyes a little. "Oh yeah." He looks around a bit, and sort of glares at that little table that's got his water on it. If he could reach over, he could get it, but he's not even remotely tempted to try reaching, because between his ribs, shoulder, and right arm, his torso is firmly convinced that it is going to stay in the position he's in, and any sort of moving is a very bad idea. "Can you hand me the water?"
"Sure." She scoots the tray table in front of him. "Here." Not only can he reach the water (which he now can, and does) but the broth the nurse brought him last night is also in reach. He's slow, and his hand is shaky, but he does manage to feed himself some.
And yes, it's slow. And he does spill some on himself. But right now, this is the first thing he's done for himself in days, and he is very glad that Abbi's letting him do it. "He got you looking over the case, right?" Tim asks between spoonfulls of broth.
She nods, not looking happy. She knew where Jethro wanted to take this, and she knows what they've got evidence for, and she knows those two are not the same thing.
"There's nothing on him, is there?"
"Your dad, you mean?"
"Yeah."
She shakes her head. "Nothing I saw. Nothing Burley saw." She holds up Gibbs' phone. "He texted an hour ago, Mane's autopsy is done, and there's nothing to suggest it wasn't a legitimate suicide. He did it cold sober."
"Yep." Tim was expecting that. (Or would have been if he thought about it.) "Can I have that?"
"Sure." She hands over Gibbs' phone, and he goes scrolling through, looking for Leon's number. Takes a moment (He has to look through three times before he locates Vance, exactly where it should be, in the V section. He bumps his mental assessment from mildly-stoned to stoned), but he finds Vance, hits the button, and after a few rings gets him.
"Got something, Gibbs?"
"It's me, and no."
"McGee?"
"Yeah. Up and talking, for the moment, at least. There's nothing left on this one. Pull Burley out. Give him authorization to get my stuff from the brig, and…" he looks at his left hand, his wedding ring is there, but the wrist cuff is gone. Of course, the IV tube is taped to the back of his hand and where the cuff would go, and as best as he can remember he's had that IV the whole time he's been in and out of consciousness. "The infirmary. Then… Then that's it, case over."
"You sure, McGee?"
"I'm sure. You're not going to find anything. Not on him. Not like this."
"Okay. I'll make some calls. Any news on when you can come home?"
Tim thinks about that. "I think they said Wednesday. Arm gets out of traction on Tuesday, so… Wednesday, I hope."
"Okay. I'll make the calls."
"Thanks, Director."
"Not a problem. You take as long as you need to heal up, got me?"
"Got you. I'll be in on Thursday."
"McGee!"
"It's a joke."
"Good, or I will order you home until at least July."
"Noted, sir."
"Damn right," Leon says, hanging up.
"So there are people you still call, sir?" Abbi asks.
"It's been known to happen."
She laughs a little at that.
Leon holds his phone, debating on how exactly to do this. Finally he settles for an email. His official address to Jarvis'. It's a very formal, stilted, precise email, listing exactly where the case is, and what's happened.
Jarvis knows how the game is played; he'll understand what Vance hasn't written, what he won't write.
And while it's true that Jarvis is a political animal. It's also true that he knows that right now Vance can bring a whole lot more hurt onto him than John can, so even if Jarvis' natural inclination would be to drop and bury this, he'll go the extra mile to make sure it's taken care of, as well as it can be.
He gets a call from Clayt about an hour later. Short conversation, apparently he's rallied all the players on the board and is "handling it."
"Eat slow and easy. You haven't had any real food in days, so don't just gobble it down."
"Yes, Mom." Tim says to Jimmy, mouth watering at the plate in front of him. Any other day, two pieces of sourdough toast with butter would not be anywhere near this interesting to him, but right now, golden brown toast with a light smear of butter looks like absolute heaven.
Everyone else has bowls of cioppino, rich with shrimp and crab and scallops, and if this stays down, rumor has it he can have some of that, too.
But he can enjoy the smell of the seafood stew, and the taste of the toast, exploding in his mouth all buttery and sour and crispy, and food has never, ever been this good before.
His lizard brain thinks that, maybe, eventually, if they ever unhook him and let him shower again, sex might be really good, too. (Assuming he can find a way to do it that doesn't involve moving, or well, anything other than his dick getting touched… Might have to hold off on that.)
Which is when it occurs to him that he hasn't gotten up for three days. He knows liquids have been going into him. He can see the IV bag, and he's been drinking water and juice and broth, so… He looks around a bit and notices that, yes, there's a tube heading out from under the blankets.
He doesn't want to think too hard about that, but is rather pleased to see that apparently a catheter doesn't hurt once it's in place.
Burley's gotten the call from Leon. He's not surprised by it. There really was nothing left to do on this one. They've hit the point where the JAGs are doing their bit, quarreling among themselves about who faces what charges and how long in prison and all the rest of it.
Their job, finding the facts, is over.
Almost.
Burley heads to John's quarters on his own. He relieves the MA's that have been standing watch, making sure he's remained in his quarters.
He knocks quickly, and just as quickly hears, "Enter."
Stan steps in. John's at his desk, reading something, not bothering to look up at him. Burley does not wait. He should. Waiting to be acknowledge would be showing proper respect for McGee's rank, so he doesn't.
"As of ten minutes ago, your son's case is officially closed. You are back to active duty. Your ship may disembark whenever you desire."
John looks up at Burley and nods.
"My team and I will be gone within the hour. Seamen Manz, Ylyns, Nordstrom, and Chase, as well as Petty Officer Weis have been removed from the ship."
"Lt. Mane?"
"His remains have been transferred to the mortuary at Alameda, and his family has been notified of his suicide."
John blinks, but doesn't allow any other outward display of emotion. After a moment he says, "And would that be what you meant by Lt. Mane wasn't talking?"
"Yes. He left a note saying that he had to stop Tim's lies and then blew his head off in the enlisted mess. But he's just your secretary, right? Everyone has a secretary ready to blow his head off to protect his boss's career. You're just fond of him."
It was fairly satisfying to see John's eyelid start twitching at that, but in that he's not whipping out the cuffs, it's a hollow victory.
"Whole ship's talking about it. Had to do some damage control. After all, Tim's mission is classified. Most of your ship, fortunately, doesn't have a clue as to what actually happened with that. Just that some poor son of a bitch got beaten in the brig. As for Mane, scuttlebutt has it you two had a serious lover's quarrel. Apparently you're leaving him for someone younger and hotter. Even set up his transfer to a different ship. Broke the poor bastard's heart." Burley shakes his head. All of that's a cold lie. Sure there are lots of rumors flying around about Mane right now, but to the best of his knowledge that isn't one of them.
"Goodbye, Admiral." And with that, he turns and leaves.
It's a bit before breakfast time on Monday when Jarvis comes to visit again. Gibbs and Abbi haven't come back yet, so it's just him, Abby, Jimmy, and the nurse who is in charge of Tim's morning routine right now.
Jarvis makes all the right noises while the nurse is in the room, but when she asks how Tim's pain level is he flashes a significant look at Tim, who does manage to catch it, so he says he's doing okay now.
When she leaves Tim asks, "What was that?"
"A serious conversation that has to happen now rather than later, and you need to be as close to all here as you can get for it."
Tim rubs his eyes. He's starting to really ache all over again, and he can feel his pulse through his whole right arm, so right now not being all here sounds awfully good.
"Does it have to be now?"
Jarvis looks at Abby. "Yeah, it does."
"Fine."
Jarvis glances at Jimmy, not entirely sure where he fits into this whole thing. "Doctor, now might be a really good time for you to take a walk."
The glare Jimmy gives him could peel the skin off an orange.
"Or not. It's this cut and dried, you cannot prove, beyond a reasonable doubt, that Admiral McGee ordered the attack."
Jimmy and Tim and Abby know this. And it's very obvious in their collection of no shit glances that they have aimed at Jarvis.
"Tim, if you want your day in court, if you want to smear him, you can press charges. And I can make sure the judge who gets the case won't dismiss it out of hand. And yes, it will be excruciatingly embarrassing for your father. But you cannot win the case, and in addition to your father it will be horrendously embarrassing for everyone else involved. Specifically, it is an election year and we are gearing up for the final push before the convention, so it will be horrendously embarrassing for the President and for Mrs. Clinton, as the former Secretary of State, if their pet drone warrior starts to look bad. So, I am asking you to let it lie."
That's not going over well.
Jimmy snorted at that, and Abby shoots out, "He just gets to walk away?"
"No." Jarvis pats a file that's sitting on his lap. "No, if you are quiet and discrete, I will make it beyond well worth your while. I was there, so I know he's behind it, and I know we can't prove it, and I want to see some sort of justice for this, too. So, you guys be quiet and I will make a promise."
"And what is this promise?" Tim asks, disappointed. Politics. He hates politics, and now he's smack dab in the middle of it.
"First of all, your father will never become Secretary of Defense. In fact, he's also been asked to step down from the Commission on Drone Warfare. The President and Hillary are both disassociating from him as fast as possible. He's no longer on the invite list for any of the fundraisers, his spot at the nominating convention as a speaker is gone."
That's not satisfying anyone. Yes, that will infuriate John, but that's not the level of payback Tim was hoping for.
"Eventually Leon will retire and there will be an opening at NCIS for a new Director. Short of you dying between now and then, it's yours."
Abby and Jimmy look impressed by that, but right now Tim's arm is hurting too much for that to really matter.
"You're trying to buy me off," Tim says, annoyed. Trying to hit him with politics when he hurts this bad is a terrible idea.
Jarvis looks at him, frustrated. Then it really hits him that this is the exact wrong time to do this, but that it also can't be put off, so the straight ahead no possible bullshit route is the way to handle this. "Of course, I'm trying to buy you off! This is politics, the gentle art of buying off as many groups as possible, as cheaply as possible, so you and yours get to do the stuff you want to do.
"Me and mine want to win the election and stay in power. It's that simple, and things that will make that difficult are issues to be taken care of.
"Let me be painfully blunt about this: If you go forward with this case on a criminal or civil level it will embarrass everyone involved, during an election campaign. In that that Paul guy is pulling voters away from the Democratic side by tacking hard left on the pacifist/isolationist side, by, among other things, hawking pictures of innocent people being killed in drone strikes, I have been told, in no uncertain terms, to offer you anything you want to keep you silent and to make sure that Admiral McGee does not end up with a bullet in him until after November 9th. You want Director of NCIS? When Leon retires, it's yours. Want a bigger budget? You've got it. Feeling burned on this whole thing? Your pension is vested, and you've got your full thirty years in benefits. Hell, they keep talking about spinning off a CyberTerror Division separate from Homeland. You want to head it up? It's yours. My job, right now, is to come up with something so grand that you will shut up about this and let it sleep until after the election. Novemember 10th, you can do whatever you like and still reap every reward I'm offering, but if anything happens before then, you are on your own."
"I want him publicly stripped of rank."
Jarvis shakes his head. "That's the one thing I can't give you. Can't do it now, and unless he screws the pooch again, I won't have standing for it later."
"You won't let me kill him, so that's what I want."
Jarvis takes a breath. Time for the big guns. Wouldn't be the first time he's done something like this. Unlikely to be the last, either. "Position's not the only thing on the table. You shut up, and sometime, next year, your father will have heart attack. It will happen after an appointment with me. It will appear to have happened by natural causes, and in that your grandfather also died of a heart attack around the same age, no one will question it.
"Your Grandmother and sister will never have to wonder if they are sitting at a table with the man who killed their family. You will never have to worry about someone deciding that it's awfully convenient that the man who did you wrong ran into a sniper's bullet. No one will even notice that people who hurt Gibbs' family tend to have fatal accidents involving sniper's bullets. Leon won't have to cover anything up to make sure your tracks stay clean.
"So, yes, I am trying to buy you off. If you want public revenge more than actual justice and the safety and peace of mind of your family, I cannot stop you from running that play, but I will also make it immensely worth your while to decide to sit on your own hands for five months." Jarvis hands over the file. "This is my CV. This is what I did when I was on active duty. I'm sure that after reading it, you'll know that I've got the skills and connections to do exactly what I just said and get away with it clean. Read up. Think. Talk amongst yourselves—"
"Yes."
Abby and Jimmy both blink. Neither of them expected Tim to take the offer.
"This will never come back to us, right?"
"Right."
"Tim!" Jimmy says.
Tim flashes him the we'll talk about it later look. Much later, when they're alone and his body isn't throbbing with every heart beat. "Anything ever happens to him and our whole family is the prime suspect. Drops dead of a heart attack sounds just fine to me. No career advancement'll hurt him." Tim looks at Jarvis. "There's really no way to strip him of rank?"
Jarvis shakes his head. "Not with as connected as he is, not without proof. Now, if he goes on the warpath and does something stupid, we're going to go full bore on him, but, I don't think he's going to try anything. And I've made sure his new secretary has loyalties that are not primarily aligned with your father's, so someone will be watching him all the time."
Tim nods. He approves of that built in safety measure.
"So, what do you want?"
Tim's eyebrows raise.
"Dead body is only part of the deal."
"It's enough." Except it's not, there's a nagging sense of that not being the right answer, and it takes him a minute to find the issue. His budget, and Abby's, and Vance... too low. "No, it's not. Twenty percent increase for the NCIS budget, and we don't ever go on the cutting board again. If I ever make Director, it'll be on my own merit."
Jarvis looks deeply amused by the idea of 'merit.' "If you shut up about this, you'll have earned it. You're as high as anyone gets on talent alone. The next jump up requires going above and beyond for your agency, and something like this qualifies. Trust me, no one you've ever worked for made it to Director of NCIS based on being an excellent cop or administrator."
"That's depressing."
Jarvis shrugs. That's just how it is. Talent can take you so far. Talent and a closet full of skeletons and people who owe you will take you a whole lot further. "You were already on Leon's short list for his replacement, this bumps you to the top and keeps you there. We can cement it now, or you can wait the ten years and see if you still want it then."
"I'll wait."
"Then it will be yours to turn down." Jarvis taps the file again, and if he was hurting less, Tim might have gotten that was more than a 'check out how bad ass I really am' gesture. But he is hurting, and he's starting to lose focus, and Jimmy sees it, so he goes looking for the nurse again.
Jarvis excuses himself.
By the time Jimmy gets back, Tim can feel each and every single break in his entire arm, as well as foot, and nose, and ribs, and just about wants to throw up from how bad he's hurting. Pain's trying to sweep away every other thought in his head, but he knows Gibbs and Abbi are coming soon, so he's got to say this, now, before they get here.
He's staring at Jimmy and Abby while the nurse adds something to his IV which is taking way too damn long to get into his system. "Take the folder, stuff it somewhere, and don't mention this. At all," he says through gritted teeth.
"We're not telling Gibbs?" Abby asks, looking appalled at that, while Jimmy stuffs Clayt's folder into his go bag.
He nods, tears in his eyes. The nurse starts tutting about not waiting until you're hurting to ask for medication. "I'll keep that in mind," he whimpers, and then sighs as the first bit of whatever's in that IV starts to hit and the pain eases up a little.
By the time the nurse leaves he's back down to being able to feel his heart beat in throbs of pain in each broken bone, but that's an improvement, and he's still got two brain cells to rub together so he says, "I know you've got some sort of plan cooking. I know you're not moving on it until we can all talk. Just…" his eyes are trying to slide shut and everything's going sideways, whatever she gave him was really strong, "keep this quiet until the three of us can talk."
"Okay," Abby says from a very long distance away.
This time, John is not in his office, not waiting for Jarvis. So Jarvis waits there for him.
"Are you eager to get going?" he asks as John enters his office.
"Yes." It's clear by the look on his face that he'd be even happier if Jarvis were to fuck off and let him actually leave. "We're three days behind on our trip to Pearl."
"Yes, you are. Trips do tend to get delayed when someone's almost murdered on your ship. I take it you're not holding things up to offer your condolences to Mane's family in person?"
John's eyes narrow. "I've written them already. We're running late."
"Then I won't hold you long. Just some housekeeping to do to wrap this situation up. As I'm sure you know, as of this point in time, nothing can be pinned to you on the assault on your son."
This would be where most people would say something like, I had nothing to do with that! but John remains silent. He doesn't flinch or respond on any level to that comment. Jarvis isn't sure if that's just him refusing to even acknowledge this whole mess, or an implicit acknowledgement of the fact that he did have something to do with it, or in that it's patently obvious that Jarvis thinks he was involved, he's not going to bother arguing about it.
"However, in that this entire thing has blown up, and your history with Tim has come out, there are going to be a few changes in your circumstance. First of all, you are no longer on the Commission for Drone Warfare. That's touchy enough without possibly being linked to a child abuser. Secretary of Defense is gone. Were there to be a scandal of some sort on your watch, this too would come out, which would raise unfortunate questions as to the wisdom of the President in appointing you, so you can no longer pass the background check for it. Both Barack and Hillary have requested that I convey to you that they are deeply grateful for the aid you've offered them in their different political adventures, but in that you are currently political plutonium, and in that it is an election year, they don't want you anywhere nearby. Your invitation to speak at the Nominating Convention has been unissued. As of right now you have a "scheduling conflict."
"The President would like to suggest that you look into a well-deserved retirement. You've offered long and respected service to your country, and while no one will force you out, it would be… prudent… if you were to just vanish."
John blinks at that, looking like he's been stabbed in the chest. He still refuses to say anything.
Jarvis sees that. He knows what the President requested on this, but he doesn't want to see John go. If he moves, then it'll be more difficult to find him again, say, in January after the swearing in, when the wider world is no longer watching.
And seeing the way John's responded, the look of betrayal, the straightening of his shoulders, the set of his eyes, Jarvis knows what he needs to do to make sure that John stays right where he is.
"Now I'm going to offer my own suggestion, one I would certainly take if I were you. Retire. Now. While you've still got you rank and commission intact. Then go find somewhere far, far away, well outside of the United States. Change your name, consolidate your holdings, kiss your daughter goodbye, run there, and don't ever come back."
John's not impressed by that and it shows in his face.
"You know how I got to where I am, right?" Jarvis asks.
John nods. "Some of your missions were run off of ships under my command."
"Good. Then you know I don't scare easy."
"Never thought you did."
Jarvis steeples his fingers together, tapping the tips lightly. "Then trust me on this, there are very few men in this world who scare me. Very few men who can burn hot long enough, and keep enough of their mind in place, to act on that and get away with it. Leroy Jethro Gibbs is one of them. And since I don't have the proof to toss your ass in jail, he is going to kill you."
John laughs. "He can try. I met him once, wasn't that impressed."
Jarvis shakes his head. "Men have hurt his family before. They're dead now. And if you think somehow Tim isn't his family... or that he won't kill for him… I never took you for a fool. But if you think that, you are one. If memory serves you haven't seen combat since the '90s. I sent him on a wet work mission back in '12. Your son took on four combat ready sailors, at once, bare handed, and lived. Who do you think trained him? So, get it right in your head, if you do not vanish, Gibbs will kill you.
"Not today, not tomorrow. He's a sniper and has a sniper's patience. But one day, you're going to die, and he's going to do it."
"I don't back away from threats."
Perfect. He's got John focused on the wrong threat now. "Of course not. But you should. If you value being alive, you will run. Or, of course, you may request a protection detail, which would require you to explain why Gibbs is trying to kill you. But, let me be clear, if you remain an Admiral, then like before this happened, your movements and locations will always be known, anyone with any connections to the Navy will be able to locate you at any time, so I am suggesting that now would be a very good time to return to civilian life."
"Is that an order?"
"No. It is a suggestion from someone who doesn't want to see an Admiral murdered."
"An Admiral?" John asks, dryly.
"After the shit you just pulled on your son, I don't give a fuck if you get murdered. It didn't really hit me when he was doing it, but at three separate times, in understated ways, Tim suggested we not do this on your ship. In retrospect, I now know why.
"I was in the damn room when Mane came in, and I watched your face as he took Tim away. You know how you looked?" Jarvis smiles, brilliantly cold. "Like a predator about to kill. But, because my observation of your satisfaction at seeing your son dragged off to be murdered will not stand in court as proof of guilt, you are still a Four Star Admiral of the United States Navy, and it is my job as Secretary of the Navy to keep everything in order and looking good, so I will do that. Your current commission is up in '17. If you do not elect to retire, you will not be allowed to re-up."
"I will take your advice under consideration."
Jarvis knows the correct polite military code for fuck off when he hears it, so he nods and leaves, absolutely certain that he has made sure that John McGee will stay on active duty and under his gaze as long as need be to arrange a heart attack.
Next
Chapter 391: Politics
Gibbs gets a text from Abbi as he's opening up Jimmy's computer. I can get a flight now, hop all over the US, and be there by seven tomorrow morning, or I can wait, catch a red-eye, fly direct, and be there by nine.
Take whichever works best. Two hours won't kill me.
Probably nine then. How's Tim?
Sleeping. Probably. Gibbs looks over at Tim, who's laying in the bed, quiet. His eyes don't open easy, too much swelling from the broken nose, so even when he's awake, they're closed. He's not talking right now, and looks pretty relaxed, so asleep. I hope.
He can feel Abbi nod. He looks at Jimmy's computer. He's gotten himself logged in, and there's everything, just like Burley promised.
Would you look at something for me?
Sure.
Tim's case.
Certainly. Send what you've got over.
He does, and after a minute she sends back. Am I looking for anything in particular?
Nail John to the fucking wall. He texts that in, and then stops, and then deletes. I'm too close to this one. Tell me how it looks from the outside?
Sure, Jethro. Have you been awake since you left?
Yeah.
I've got the notes. I'm leaving for the plane at 4:00 AM. Between now and then, you sleep. You can bone up on the notes then and we'll talk them through when I get there. But you get some sleep.
Can't.
Jimmy's still there, right?
Yeah.
Have him give you something if you can't fall asleep on your own. I'll text when I leave for the airport. Sleep.
Yes Ma'am.
Time stops in a hospital. Night, day, who the hell knows? Everything slows down, the light never changes, and the routine continues twenty-four seven.
Abby's sleeping.
Gibbs is sleeping. (Or doing a convincing job of pretending to be asleep. And in that he gave Gibbs a horse-tranquilizer-sized dose of sleeping pills, Jimmy's thinking he's not faking.)
Jimmy's watching McGee's interrogation, over and over and over.
Other than the thirty seconds when Tim was seeing him for the first time in years back in '13 ('12? Jimmy doesn't remember, it was a while ago.) but with the exception of that less than a minute long encounter where he caught the tail end of Tim seeing John, and more or less going white, then storming off in a cloud of snark, he's never seen John.
Never had a clear image to go with the stories.
And now he does.
It's funny. Jimmy's never actually wanted to kill anyone before. He's thought he has. He's certainly been mad. But, especially since he shot Lincoln, and really felt that weight of an ended life in his hands, even though it was a life trying to end his, he's had no desire to kill anyone.
He does now. He can feel exactly how different this is. He cannot, on any level, connect with the idea that John is human.
He watches the interview again. It's not long, but he's catching layers of McGee each time he sees it again. That little flicker of disgust at the idea of Tim being bi. The lack of any horror at the sight of him beaten to a pulp. The shock at the idea that Tim managed to keep those four men from killing him. The fact that he is furious at being accused of sleeping with his secretary but, at most, and this is a charitable read, mildly disconcerted at the idea that his secretary ordered his son killed.
Jimmy doesn't have a "gut" per se. And he's not Ducky; he can't read a guy just by looking at him, but right now, he'd bet everything he owns on the idea that John ordered the assault on Tim. He'd bet just as much that he never had to say the words, because saying the words would be… inappropriate or something, but by voice, or by look, or the same way that Ducky could sort of think 'microscope slides for a histology report' to Jimmy and he'd go grab it without a word. Somehow, John made it clear that this was what he wanted.
Except, as he looks up at Tim, sleeping, this isn't what he wanted because Tim's still alive.
In addition to no "gut" Jimmy's not a cop, and he's not a lawyer, but even with that, he knows this can't be taken to court. There's nothing here. At all. Wanting someone hurt or dead isn't illegal.
The fucker's going to get away with it. That's the beginning and middle of the story. And right now, Jimmy's perfectly happy with the idea that one day, with a rifle in his hands, he'll be the end.
He hears Tim shift a little, like he's trying to roll toward Jimmy, followed by a soft grunt of pain, and then, "You've watched it, what? Six times now? Turn it off."
"Oh, God, sorry. Thought you were asleep." Jimmy takes his ear buds out and closes his computer. He's got the volume low, but when John starts yelling, it's probably slightly audible even with his earbuds in.
Tim turns his head toward Jimmy and opens his eyes. "And I thought you were Gibbs."
Jimmy smiles ruefully. "Not today." He takes Tim's hand in his. "How are you feeling?"
"Like shit."
"Want more pain meds?"
"Yeah."
Jimmy hits the call button.
"Think they'll let me eat something?"
"We'll find out." Yes? Comes from the voice on the other end of the call button. "Hi. Room 245 here, could we get some more pain medication?"
Sending someone to you.
"Thanks."
"You're not going to find anything," Tim says when Jimmy puts the call button down. "You don't get to Admiral by being the guy who makes stupid impulsive decisions. Mane's fucked. It'll all fall on him. But he'll have made sure it can't touch him."
Jimmy thinks about that, not sure what Tim knows/remembers from the last few days. "Mane's dead, Tim."
"Right." Tim winces a little. "I remember that. Sort of. Burley was here, right?"
"Yeah, he was."
"Obviously, he interviewed The Admiral, and it didn't go well."
Jimmy shakes his head. "Vance is giving us until tomorrow to try and find something."
"It won't be there, Jimmy."
"Gotta do something."
Tim squeezes his hand gently. "You are doing something. You're here."
He snorts a bit at that. "Doesn't feel like much."
"It's enough. Right now, this is all I need."
Jimmy's fingers stroke over the back of Tim's hand, careful not to brush the tender bruised skin, or the sore spot where the IV leads into him. "And later?"
"We'll talk about later when I'm sober."
"Okay."
Tim sighs, he's starting to go from the steady everything aches pain level to being aware of each individual pain, too. He's hoping that nurse shows up soon. "What's going on back east?" he asks to distract himself.
"Oh… Um…" It takes Jimmy a second to switch gears. "Everyone hopes you get well soon. Penny's wrecked. No one's said anything about this to your sister, yet. Don't even know what to say or how…"
"Probably a better in-person conversation."
"Yeah. Abbi's on her way here. Going to get in in the morning. I think Gibbs has her looking over the case as well."
"The girls?"
"Busy being babies. Breena tells me Kelly keeps asking where you and Abby are. Might try a call tomorrow, maybe not skype, maybe just a voice, see if that doesn't freak her out."
"Call would be good. Not skype. Don't want her to see me like this."
"You're looking a little better. Swelling's going down some. The worst parts are just really bad now." Jimmy thinks about that, looking at Tim. "You haven't seen yourself yet, have you?"
"No."
"Want to?" Jimmy asks. He can find that mirror Abby keeps in her purse.
"Do I?"
"Eh… I don't know. Not sure if your idea of how you look is better or worse than reality."
Tim looks at his left arm. "How's this compare to my face?"
"Face is worse."
Tim stares at the mottled blue, green, purple black of his one "good" arm. If this is better, his face has to look like it was tenderized with a meat hammer. "I can wait."
Gibbs feels halfway between drunk and hung over when he wakes up. He's got no idea what the hell Jimmy gave him, but whatever it was did the job.
He jerks on the sofa as his eyes find a clock. It's already 10:30, and he's way late to pick Abbi up.
Then a hand squeezes his gently. "I take it you needed the sleep," Abbi says dryly, kissing him.
He blinks once, twice, and once more, trying to put this right. She smiles gently and shakes her head. "Abbs called a bit before I landed. None of you have a car, would have made it tricky to meet me. I rented one and came over here."
He stretches, rubbing his eyes, wincing at the pain in his back.
"Got a room, too. Tonight you sleep on a real bed."
He looks around. Tim's still on the bed (like he'd be anywhere else.) Abby and Jimmy are gone.
"Where…"
"Sent them to use the room. Get some real sleep, on real beds. Showers. Go eat a real meal. Tim had to tell them to go, too, but they eventually got out of here."
Abbi kisses him again, and hands him a large cup of coffee.
He takes a deep drink. "Thank you."
"No problem. Though, if you want to give that back to me and sleep some more, I'm thinking you could use it."
Gibbs stands up and starts slowly walking around, trying to work some of the kinks out. "Not sure I'll ever move again if I sleep on that sofa again."
Abby points to the far side of the room. "Cot's free. Like I said, Abbs and Palmer are catching some zs at the hotel. Nurse said Tim could start having real food tonight, so they're sacking out, and'll come back with dinner for all of us."
Gibbs looks at the cot. He can feel drugged sleep clinging to him.
"Come on," Abbi says, pulling him to the cot, "You're asleep on your feet. Nothing's happening right this second that needs you awake. I'm on watch."
He nods and lets her tuck him in.
Several minutes pass, and when Gibbs starts to snore again, Tim quietly says, "You're really good for him. You know that, right?"
"When'd you wake up?" she asks, half sitting on the side of his bed. After she got Abby and Jimmy out, it looked like Tim had drifted off, too.
"Few minutes ago. Heard what you were saying, figured he wouldn't go back to sleep if I was up."
"Good figuring. How are you feeling?"
He half-smiles, wryly. "Like I've been asked that five hundred times in the last two days."
"Got at least another thousand more coming."
"Yeah. First time I've woken up in… Fuck… What day is it?"
"Sunday."
"First time I've woken up since Friday and not felt stoned off my ass or in serious pain."
"Non-serious pain or only mildly stoned?"
"Everything aches. But that's actually better than it's been. And the room doesn't want to swim around whenever my eyes move, so I'll put that in the mildly-stoned column."
"Healing up in leaps and bounds."
Tim rolls his eyes a little. "Oh yeah." He looks around a bit, and sort of glares at that little table that's got his water on it. If he could reach over, he could get it, but he's not even remotely tempted to try reaching, because between his ribs, shoulder, and right arm, his torso is firmly convinced that it is going to stay in the position he's in, and any sort of moving is a very bad idea. "Can you hand me the water?"
"Sure." She scoots the tray table in front of him. "Here." Not only can he reach the water (which he now can, and does) but the broth the nurse brought him last night is also in reach. He's slow, and his hand is shaky, but he does manage to feed himself some.
And yes, it's slow. And he does spill some on himself. But right now, this is the first thing he's done for himself in days, and he is very glad that Abbi's letting him do it. "He got you looking over the case, right?" Tim asks between spoonfulls of broth.
She nods, not looking happy. She knew where Jethro wanted to take this, and she knows what they've got evidence for, and she knows those two are not the same thing.
"There's nothing on him, is there?"
"Your dad, you mean?"
"Yeah."
She shakes her head. "Nothing I saw. Nothing Burley saw." She holds up Gibbs' phone. "He texted an hour ago, Mane's autopsy is done, and there's nothing to suggest it wasn't a legitimate suicide. He did it cold sober."
"Yep." Tim was expecting that. (Or would have been if he thought about it.) "Can I have that?"
"Sure." She hands over Gibbs' phone, and he goes scrolling through, looking for Leon's number. Takes a moment (He has to look through three times before he locates Vance, exactly where it should be, in the V section. He bumps his mental assessment from mildly-stoned to stoned), but he finds Vance, hits the button, and after a few rings gets him.
"Got something, Gibbs?"
"It's me, and no."
"McGee?"
"Yeah. Up and talking, for the moment, at least. There's nothing left on this one. Pull Burley out. Give him authorization to get my stuff from the brig, and…" he looks at his left hand, his wedding ring is there, but the wrist cuff is gone. Of course, the IV tube is taped to the back of his hand and where the cuff would go, and as best as he can remember he's had that IV the whole time he's been in and out of consciousness. "The infirmary. Then… Then that's it, case over."
"You sure, McGee?"
"I'm sure. You're not going to find anything. Not on him. Not like this."
"Okay. I'll make some calls. Any news on when you can come home?"
Tim thinks about that. "I think they said Wednesday. Arm gets out of traction on Tuesday, so… Wednesday, I hope."
"Okay. I'll make the calls."
"Thanks, Director."
"Not a problem. You take as long as you need to heal up, got me?"
"Got you. I'll be in on Thursday."
"McGee!"
"It's a joke."
"Good, or I will order you home until at least July."
"Noted, sir."
"Damn right," Leon says, hanging up.
"So there are people you still call, sir?" Abbi asks.
"It's been known to happen."
She laughs a little at that.
Leon holds his phone, debating on how exactly to do this. Finally he settles for an email. His official address to Jarvis'. It's a very formal, stilted, precise email, listing exactly where the case is, and what's happened.
Jarvis knows how the game is played; he'll understand what Vance hasn't written, what he won't write.
And while it's true that Jarvis is a political animal. It's also true that he knows that right now Vance can bring a whole lot more hurt onto him than John can, so even if Jarvis' natural inclination would be to drop and bury this, he'll go the extra mile to make sure it's taken care of, as well as it can be.
He gets a call from Clayt about an hour later. Short conversation, apparently he's rallied all the players on the board and is "handling it."
"Eat slow and easy. You haven't had any real food in days, so don't just gobble it down."
"Yes, Mom." Tim says to Jimmy, mouth watering at the plate in front of him. Any other day, two pieces of sourdough toast with butter would not be anywhere near this interesting to him, but right now, golden brown toast with a light smear of butter looks like absolute heaven.
Everyone else has bowls of cioppino, rich with shrimp and crab and scallops, and if this stays down, rumor has it he can have some of that, too.But he can enjoy the smell of the seafood stew, and the taste of the toast, exploding in his mouth all buttery and sour and crispy, and food has never, ever been this good before.
His lizard brain thinks that, maybe, eventually, if they ever unhook him and let him shower again, sex might be really good, too. (Assuming he can find a way to do it that doesn't involve moving, or well, anything other than his dick getting touched… Might have to hold off on that.)
Which is when it occurs to him that he hasn't gotten up for three days. He knows liquids have been going into him. He can see the IV bag, and he's been drinking water and juice and broth, so… He looks around a bit and notices that, yes, there's a tube heading out from under the blankets.
He doesn't want to think too hard about that, but is rather pleased to see that apparently a catheter doesn't hurt once it's in place.
Burley's gotten the call from Leon. He's not surprised by it. There really was nothing left to do on this one. They've hit the point where the JAGs are doing their bit, quarreling among themselves about who faces what charges and how long in prison and all the rest of it.
Their job, finding the facts, is over.
Almost.
Burley heads to John's quarters on his own. He relieves the MA's that have been standing watch, making sure he's remained in his quarters.
He knocks quickly, and just as quickly hears, "Enter."
Stan steps in. John's at his desk, reading something, not bothering to look up at him. Burley does not wait. He should. Waiting to be acknowledge would be showing proper respect for McGee's rank, so he doesn't.
"As of ten minutes ago, your son's case is officially closed. You are back to active duty. Your ship may disembark whenever you desire."
John looks up at Burley and nods.
"My team and I will be gone within the hour. Seamen Manz, Ylyns, Nordstrom, and Chase, as well as Petty Officer Weis have been removed from the ship."
"Lt. Mane?"
"His remains have been transferred to the mortuary at Alameda, and his family has been notified of his suicide."
John blinks, but doesn't allow any other outward display of emotion. After a moment he says, "And would that be what you meant by Lt. Mane wasn't talking?"
"Yes. He left a note saying that he had to stop Tim's lies and then blew his head off in the enlisted mess. But he's just your secretary, right? Everyone has a secretary ready to blow his head off to protect his boss's career. You're just fond of him."
It was fairly satisfying to see John's eyelid start twitching at that, but in that he's not whipping out the cuffs, it's a hollow victory.
"Whole ship's talking about it. Had to do some damage control. After all, Tim's mission is classified. Most of your ship, fortunately, doesn't have a clue as to what actually happened with that. Just that some poor son of a bitch got beaten in the brig. As for Mane, scuttlebutt has it you two had a serious lover's quarrel. Apparently you're leaving him for someone younger and hotter. Even set up his transfer to a different ship. Broke the poor bastard's heart." Burley shakes his head. All of that's a cold lie. Sure there are lots of rumors flying around about Mane right now, but to the best of his knowledge that isn't one of them.
"Goodbye, Admiral." And with that, he turns and leaves.
It's a bit before breakfast time on Monday when Jarvis comes to visit again. Gibbs and Abbi haven't come back yet, so it's just him, Abby, Jimmy, and the nurse who is in charge of Tim's morning routine right now.
Jarvis makes all the right noises while the nurse is in the room, but when she asks how Tim's pain level is he flashes a significant look at Tim, who does manage to catch it, so he says he's doing okay now.
When she leaves Tim asks, "What was that?"
"A serious conversation that has to happen now rather than later, and you need to be as close to all here as you can get for it."
Tim rubs his eyes. He's starting to really ache all over again, and he can feel his pulse through his whole right arm, so right now not being all here sounds awfully good.
"Does it have to be now?"
Jarvis looks at Abby. "Yeah, it does."
"Fine."
Jarvis glances at Jimmy, not entirely sure where he fits into this whole thing. "Doctor, now might be a really good time for you to take a walk."
The glare Jimmy gives him could peel the skin off an orange.
"Or not. It's this cut and dried, you cannot prove, beyond a reasonable doubt, that Admiral McGee ordered the attack."
Jimmy and Tim and Abby know this. And it's very obvious in their collection of no shit glances that they have aimed at Jarvis.
"Tim, if you want your day in court, if you want to smear him, you can press charges. And I can make sure the judge who gets the case won't dismiss it out of hand. And yes, it will be excruciatingly embarrassing for your father. But you cannot win the case, and in addition to your father it will be horrendously embarrassing for everyone else involved. Specifically, it is an election year and we are gearing up for the final push before the convention, so it will be horrendously embarrassing for the President and for Mrs. Clinton, as the former Secretary of State, if their pet drone warrior starts to look bad. So, I am asking you to let it lie."
That's not going over well.
Jimmy snorted at that, and Abby shoots out, "He just gets to walk away?"
"No." Jarvis pats a file that's sitting on his lap. "No, if you are quiet and discrete, I will make it beyond well worth your while. I was there, so I know he's behind it, and I know we can't prove it, and I want to see some sort of justice for this, too. So, you guys be quiet and I will make a promise."
"And what is this promise?" Tim asks, disappointed. Politics. He hates politics, and now he's smack dab in the middle of it.
"First of all, your father will never become Secretary of Defense. In fact, he's also been asked to step down from the Commission on Drone Warfare. The President and Hillary are both disassociating from him as fast as possible. He's no longer on the invite list for any of the fundraisers, his spot at the nominating convention as a speaker is gone."
That's not satisfying anyone. Yes, that will infuriate John, but that's not the level of payback Tim was hoping for.
"Eventually Leon will retire and there will be an opening at NCIS for a new Director. Short of you dying between now and then, it's yours."
Abby and Jimmy look impressed by that, but right now Tim's arm is hurting too much for that to really matter.
"You're trying to buy me off," Tim says, annoyed. Trying to hit him with politics when he hurts this bad is a terrible idea.
Jarvis looks at him, frustrated. Then it really hits him that this is the exact wrong time to do this, but that it also can't be put off, so the straight ahead no possible bullshit route is the way to handle this. "Of course, I'm trying to buy you off! This is politics, the gentle art of buying off as many groups as possible, as cheaply as possible, so you and yours get to do the stuff you want to do.
"Me and mine want to win the election and stay in power. It's that simple, and things that will make that difficult are issues to be taken care of.
"Let me be painfully blunt about this: If you go forward with this case on a criminal or civil level it will embarrass everyone involved, during an election campaign. In that that Paul guy is pulling voters away from the Democratic side by tacking hard left on the pacifist/isolationist side, by, among other things, hawking pictures of innocent people being killed in drone strikes, I have been told, in no uncertain terms, to offer you anything you want to keep you silent and to make sure that Admiral McGee does not end up with a bullet in him until after November 9th. You want Director of NCIS? When Leon retires, it's yours. Want a bigger budget? You've got it. Feeling burned on this whole thing? Your pension is vested, and you've got your full thirty years in benefits. Hell, they keep talking about spinning off a CyberTerror Division separate from Homeland. You want to head it up? It's yours. My job, right now, is to come up with something so grand that you will shut up about this and let it sleep until after the election. Novemember 10th, you can do whatever you like and still reap every reward I'm offering, but if anything happens before then, you are on your own."
"I want him publicly stripped of rank."
Jarvis shakes his head. "That's the one thing I can't give you. Can't do it now, and unless he screws the pooch again, I won't have standing for it later."
"You won't let me kill him, so that's what I want."
Jarvis takes a breath. Time for the big guns. Wouldn't be the first time he's done something like this. Unlikely to be the last, either. "Position's not the only thing on the table. You shut up, and sometime, next year, your father will have heart attack. It will happen after an appointment with me. It will appear to have happened by natural causes, and in that your grandfather also died of a heart attack around the same age, no one will question it.
"Your Grandmother and sister will never have to wonder if they are sitting at a table with the man who killed their family. You will never have to worry about someone deciding that it's awfully convenient that the man who did you wrong ran into a sniper's bullet. No one will even notice that people who hurt Gibbs' family tend to have fatal accidents involving sniper's bullets. Leon won't have to cover anything up to make sure your tracks stay clean.
"So, yes, I am trying to buy you off. If you want public revenge more than actual justice and the safety and peace of mind of your family, I cannot stop you from running that play, but I will also make it immensely worth your while to decide to sit on your own hands for five months." Jarvis hands over the file. "This is my CV. This is what I did when I was on active duty. I'm sure that after reading it, you'll know that I've got the skills and connections to do exactly what I just said and get away with it clean. Read up. Think. Talk amongst yourselves—"
"Yes."
Abby and Jimmy both blink. Neither of them expected Tim to take the offer.
"This will never come back to us, right?"
"Right."
"Tim!" Jimmy says.
Tim flashes him the we'll talk about it later look. Much later, when they're alone and his body isn't throbbing with every heart beat. "Anything ever happens to him and our whole family is the prime suspect. Drops dead of a heart attack sounds just fine to me. No career advancement'll hurt him." Tim looks at Jarvis. "There's really no way to strip him of rank?"
Jarvis shakes his head. "Not with as connected as he is, not without proof. Now, if he goes on the warpath and does something stupid, we're going to go full bore on him, but, I don't think he's going to try anything. And I've made sure his new secretary has loyalties that are not primarily aligned with your father's, so someone will be watching him all the time."
Tim nods. He approves of that built in safety measure.
"So, what do you want?"
Tim's eyebrows raise.
"Dead body is only part of the deal."
"It's enough." Except it's not, there's a nagging sense of that not being the right answer, and it takes him a minute to find the issue. His budget, and Abby's, and Vance... too low. "No, it's not. Twenty percent increase for the NCIS budget, and we don't ever go on the cutting board again. If I ever make Director, it'll be on my own merit."
Jarvis looks deeply amused by the idea of 'merit.' "If you shut up about this, you'll have earned it. You're as high as anyone gets on talent alone. The next jump up requires going above and beyond for your agency, and something like this qualifies. Trust me, no one you've ever worked for made it to Director of NCIS based on being an excellent cop or administrator."
"That's depressing."
Jarvis shrugs. That's just how it is. Talent can take you so far. Talent and a closet full of skeletons and people who owe you will take you a whole lot further. "You were already on Leon's short list for his replacement, this bumps you to the top and keeps you there. We can cement it now, or you can wait the ten years and see if you still want it then."
"I'll wait."
"Then it will be yours to turn down." Jarvis taps the file again, and if he was hurting less, Tim might have gotten that was more than a 'check out how bad ass I really am' gesture. But he is hurting, and he's starting to lose focus, and Jimmy sees it, so he goes looking for the nurse again.
Jarvis excuses himself.
By the time Jimmy gets back, Tim can feel each and every single break in his entire arm, as well as foot, and nose, and ribs, and just about wants to throw up from how bad he's hurting. Pain's trying to sweep away every other thought in his head, but he knows Gibbs and Abbi are coming soon, so he's got to say this, now, before they get here.
He's staring at Jimmy and Abby while the nurse adds something to his IV which is taking way too damn long to get into his system. "Take the folder, stuff it somewhere, and don't mention this. At all," he says through gritted teeth.
"We're not telling Gibbs?" Abby asks, looking appalled at that, while Jimmy stuffs Clayt's folder into his go bag.
He nods, tears in his eyes. The nurse starts tutting about not waiting until you're hurting to ask for medication. "I'll keep that in mind," he whimpers, and then sighs as the first bit of whatever's in that IV starts to hit and the pain eases up a little.
By the time the nurse leaves he's back down to being able to feel his heart beat in throbs of pain in each broken bone, but that's an improvement, and he's still got two brain cells to rub together so he says, "I know you've got some sort of plan cooking. I know you're not moving on it until we can all talk. Just…" his eyes are trying to slide shut and everything's going sideways, whatever she gave him was really strong, "keep this quiet until the three of us can talk."
"Okay," Abby says from a very long distance away.
This time, John is not in his office, not waiting for Jarvis. So Jarvis waits there for him.
"Are you eager to get going?" he asks as John enters his office.
"Yes." It's clear by the look on his face that he'd be even happier if Jarvis were to fuck off and let him actually leave. "We're three days behind on our trip to Pearl."
"Yes, you are. Trips do tend to get delayed when someone's almost murdered on your ship. I take it you're not holding things up to offer your condolences to Mane's family in person?"
John's eyes narrow. "I've written them already. We're running late."
"Then I won't hold you long. Just some housekeeping to do to wrap this situation up. As I'm sure you know, as of this point in time, nothing can be pinned to you on the assault on your son."
This would be where most people would say something like, I had nothing to do with that! but John remains silent. He doesn't flinch or respond on any level to that comment. Jarvis isn't sure if that's just him refusing to even acknowledge this whole mess, or an implicit acknowledgement of the fact that he did have something to do with it, or in that it's patently obvious that Jarvis thinks he was involved, he's not going to bother arguing about it.
"However, in that this entire thing has blown up, and your history with Tim has come out, there are going to be a few changes in your circumstance. First of all, you are no longer on the Commission for Drone Warfare. That's touchy enough without possibly being linked to a child abuser. Secretary of Defense is gone. Were there to be a scandal of some sort on your watch, this too would come out, which would raise unfortunate questions as to the wisdom of the President in appointing you, so you can no longer pass the background check for it. Both Barack and Hillary have requested that I convey to you that they are deeply grateful for the aid you've offered them in their different political adventures, but in that you are currently political plutonium, and in that it is an election year, they don't want you anywhere nearby. Your invitation to speak at the Nominating Convention has been unissued. As of right now you have a "scheduling conflict."
"The President would like to suggest that you look into a well-deserved retirement. You've offered long and respected service to your country, and while no one will force you out, it would be… prudent… if you were to just vanish."
John blinks at that, looking like he's been stabbed in the chest. He still refuses to say anything.
Jarvis sees that. He knows what the President requested on this, but he doesn't want to see John go. If he moves, then it'll be more difficult to find him again, say, in January after the swearing in, when the wider world is no longer watching.
And seeing the way John's responded, the look of betrayal, the straightening of his shoulders, the set of his eyes, Jarvis knows what he needs to do to make sure that John stays right where he is.
"Now I'm going to offer my own suggestion, one I would certainly take if I were you. Retire. Now. While you've still got you rank and commission intact. Then go find somewhere far, far away, well outside of the United States. Change your name, consolidate your holdings, kiss your daughter goodbye, run there, and don't ever come back."
John's not impressed by that and it shows in his face.
"You know how I got to where I am, right?" Jarvis asks.
John nods. "Some of your missions were run off of ships under my command."
"Good. Then you know I don't scare easy."
"Never thought you did."
Jarvis steeples his fingers together, tapping the tips lightly. "Then trust me on this, there are very few men in this world who scare me. Very few men who can burn hot long enough, and keep enough of their mind in place, to act on that and get away with it. Leroy Jethro Gibbs is one of them. And since I don't have the proof to toss your ass in jail, he is going to kill you."
John laughs. "He can try. I met him once, wasn't that impressed."
Jarvis shakes his head. "Men have hurt his family before. They're dead now. And if you think somehow Tim isn't his family... or that he won't kill for him… I never took you for a fool. But if you think that, you are one. If memory serves you haven't seen combat since the '90s. I sent him on a wet work mission back in '12. Your son took on four combat ready sailors, at once, bare handed, and lived. Who do you think trained him? So, get it right in your head, if you do not vanish, Gibbs will kill you.
"Not today, not tomorrow. He's a sniper and has a sniper's patience. But one day, you're going to die, and he's going to do it."
"I don't back away from threats."
Perfect. He's got John focused on the wrong threat now. "Of course not. But you should. If you value being alive, you will run. Or, of course, you may request a protection detail, which would require you to explain why Gibbs is trying to kill you. But, let me be clear, if you remain an Admiral, then like before this happened, your movements and locations will always be known, anyone with any connections to the Navy will be able to locate you at any time, so I am suggesting that now would be a very good time to return to civilian life."
"Is that an order?"
"No. It is a suggestion from someone who doesn't want to see an Admiral murdered."
"An Admiral?" John asks, dryly.
"After the shit you just pulled on your son, I don't give a fuck if you get murdered. It didn't really hit me when he was doing it, but at three separate times, in understated ways, Tim suggested we not do this on your ship. In retrospect, I now know why.
"I was in the damn room when Mane came in, and I watched your face as he took Tim away. You know how you looked?" Jarvis smiles, brilliantly cold. "Like a predator about to kill. But, because my observation of your satisfaction at seeing your son dragged off to be murdered will not stand in court as proof of guilt, you are still a Four Star Admiral of the United States Navy, and it is my job as Secretary of the Navy to keep everything in order and looking good, so I will do that. Your current commission is up in '17. If you do not elect to retire, you will not be allowed to re-up."
"I will take your advice under consideration."
Jarvis knows the correct polite military code for fuck off when he hears it, so he nods and leaves, absolutely certain that he has made sure that John McGee will stay on active duty and under his gaze as long as need be to arrange a heart attack.
Next
Shards To A Whole: Support
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 389: Support
"Burley." Stan answers.
"What do you have, Stan?"
"Gibbs?" Burley's confused. This whole thing has been confusing. He got a call just as it was quitting time, from the Director of NCIS, no less, demanding he get his team on a ship that was way the hell out of his jurisdiction, for something, Vance didn't say what, just that the Lt. James, (whoever the hell that is) and the Agent Afloat Sarah Angua would get him up to date as soon as he got there. And now, from nowhere, Gibbs is calling for an update.
Asking for an update before he's even begun the case. This feels like morphing back in time.
"Yeah. What'd'ya have?" He's sounding impatient, and ready to start biting the heads off of things.
"Nothing, I'm still in the air. Gibbs, I haven't even been briefed on what I'm investigating yet. I just know I was told to get my team to the Stennis ASAP and the Agent Afloat would get me up to speed. I'm on a cargo plane, still an hour out."
Gibbs bites his lip. "You remember my retirement party?"
"Lot of it's pretty hazy. After the second bottle, things started to go sideways. Can't party like I used to."
"Not that one. The one at the diner that everyone went to."
The one that wasn't really a party. "Oh. Yeah. Okay. Enough."
"Tall, thin guy, married to Abby, little baby girl, one of my kids."
"Yeah. Tim, right? Think I've worked with him once, twice maybe?"
"Right. That's his dad's ship." He says the next bit voice low, trying to not broadcast this all over the hospital, but his voice is very hot, and Leon notices, watches, as he says, "Son of a bitch abused him as a kid, but he got an assignment on that ship, and he didn't say anything because he's a pro and he'll do his job wherever that job takes him, so he went and that…" there aren't words foul enough for McGee, "thing tried to have him killed while he was on the ship."
"Holy fuck! Tried?"
"He's alive. I'm in the hospital with him, and Abby, his pregnant wife."
"Okay. Got it."
Vance has taken three steps closer to Jethro and motions for the phone, he hands it over.
"Agent Burley, this is Director Vance."
"Director." Burley's confused, and then he's impressed. He was impressed that whatever this was the Director was handling it. He's more impressed now. The Director of NCIS is in the hospital with McGee, which means McGee is connected. Which blows Burley's mind, because the last time he saw McGee at work the only real impression he had was of a somewhat timid guy doing his job quietly.
"Agent Burley, I know you have a reputation for the highest standards of professionalism. No matter how painful this case is and how personally satisfying it would be to absolutely destroy anyone even remotely related to it, you are to do your job, as a professional. You are an officer of the law and you will act like one."
"Yes, sir."
"The Admiral," Oh God, Tim's father is an Admiral? This is going to be a mess. "is a well-respected member of the Navy. He is on the President's Drone Task Force. He is on good terms with the Former Secretary of State, who is, as you know, currently running for President. So this investigation will be letter perfect, do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"You will investigate as long, and as hard, and as deeply as you need to. If anyone tries to pull rank on you, shoot them down. If you do not receive the fullest cooperation on every single aspect of this case feel free to charge everyone with obstruction of justice. The Secretary of the Navy has your back on this, but you will also follow all the rules, fill out all the forms, dot all the is, cross all the ts, and make sure that when this goes to trial that no one can claim any sort of partiality was involved."
"Yes, sir."
Vance hands the phone back to Gibbs. Gibbs doesn't have anything to add to that.
Apparently Burley can tell the difference between them by the quality of the silence on the other side of the phone. "I'll give you a call once I get on board and start figuring out what's going on."
"Thanks, Stan."
Leon's staring at Gibbs, and Gibbs knows why.
"Some of us know, the outside world doesn't. Hell, even DiNozzo doesn't have the whole story. It's need to know, and you didn't."
"He should have—" Gibbs cuts Vance off as Leon remembers that Tim did suggest a different ship.
"Mentioned it? Asked for a different ship because his dad was on it? Open this up for everyone to see? You know how private he is. Abby didn't know about it until last year."
"God." Vance shakes his head.
"He hates ships, gets seasick something fierce, his Dad was a nightmare before this, but the job was on that ship so he went on that ship to do the job. Abby didn't want him to go. I didn't want him to go. Lots of other ships in the Navy. He could run the attack from anywhere, but…"
Jimmy steps out of Tim's room. Gibbs looks at him, as if he's got some answers. "Still asleep. Been reading his medical records, looks like they're doing a good job. Supposedly there's an orthopedic specialist around here somewhere. The guy who took care of his arm. I'm going to hunt him down and talk to him."
Gibbs and Vance nod at that.
Jimmy takes a detour on the way to finding the surgeon. He heads for the bathroom, locks the door, sits down, and lets himself break down.
Couldn't the shit with Tony have been enough? Did this really have to run right on its heels?
He's sobbing as quietly as he can, pouring out this, and well, everything. Right now he wants Breena so badly, needs to bury his face against her neck and just let go, but she's corralling the crew back home.
He knew, as he was reading the medical records, that he wasn't going to be able to handle this, not the way he needs to handle it. He was only in there for ten minutes, and was having a hell of a time staying calm.
He's a doctor, emotions shut down, logic, calm, healing, that's supposed to take over.
And it's not. That's why you don't treat your family.
He wipes his eyes, which isn't useful, he's still crying. He wants to rage. He wants to break people. Wants to break everyone who laid a hand on Tim. And he can't.
He hears a soft knock. "Occupied," Jimmy chokes out.
"It's me." Gibbs' voice.
He gets up slowly, wiping his eyes, and takes the two steps to the door, opening it.
"Trying to not lose it in front of Abby." His voice cracks on that.
Gibbs nods, shutting the door and locking it behind him. "You lasted longer in there than I could." Gibbs wraps him in a hug, and Jimmy sobs more.
After a minute, he steps back. Taking a deep, shuddering breath. "I heard what Vance said to you."
Gibbs raises an eyebrow.
"About the rifle. And come on, I know what your go bag looks like. You don't need a duffle for however long we're going to be here. So, I know what's in there. And I know you can't take the shot."
Gibbs is looking stunned and angry at that.
"And you can't get close enough to him for a knife."
Gibbs' eyes narrow. "Why can't I take the shot?"
"Because you're a fucking sniper, Jethro! People who hurt your family end up dead by a sniper's shot, and unless at least fifty people can place where the hell you are when the Admiral bites it, you're going to jail for the rest of your life. And it's basically the same goddamned reason why Ziva and Tony can't take the shot, either." Jimmy swallows hard. "First time Tim took me shooting, I said to him, 'It's like yoga with explosions. Relax, find your center, slow down, focus, target, gently squeeze.' He said not to let you know that, because you'd turn me into a sniper." Jimmy's staring at Gibbs, eyes red and puffy, very determined.
"It's a patience and focus skill, right?"
Gibbs is staring at Jimmy, really seeing him, thinking. "Yeah, it is. Some math, too. Some mechanics. Mostly it's waiting until it's time to pull the trigger, not rushing."
"And by this point, my vision's not much worse than yours is. Probably better when I've got my glasses on than yours is. Just you and me. The rest of them don't need to know. Take an hour or so to practice every time when we're supposed to be working on the house. Got lots of room out there. Take Shannon out, teach me how to sail, too, shoot down the water, no one to see, no risk of hitting anyone."
Gibbs shrugs. "You won't pick it up fast."
"It's a patience skill. It doesn't have to happen overnight. One day, something'll happen to John. And Leon'll hand it over to whoever, Metro, so that he can claim everything is above board, no cover up. Every cop'll show up at your door, asking lots of questions, but you'll have a solid alibi, in public, probably with Penny. They'll poke around Tony and Ziva, hell, maybe even Ducky, he's got a military background. But they aren't going to ask about me, not deep. They'll run a quick check, and I'll have cover for it, and that'll be that. Never solved."
Gibbs licks his lips. "We telling Tim?"
"Were you planning on telling him what you were going to do?"
"No, but he'd know."
"Permission. We're asking permission and leaving it there. He gets to decide what happens to John. But if he says yes, one day, something is going to happen, and you're going to be with Penny when it happens, so she won't think you killed him, so she'll be able to… pretend or whatever."
Gibbs nods. "You and Tim have just done handguns, right?"
Jimmy nods, too.
"It's different than a handgun."
"I'd imagine." Jimmy heads to the sink and begins to wash off his face, hoping cool water will help with the swelling.
"Say the words, Jimmy."
He looks at Gibbs in the mirror, unsure of what Gibbs is telling him to do. "Not teaching you how to do this if you can't even say the word."
"Show me how to take the shot, and I will kill John McGee with it."
"Okay." Jimmy straightens up, grabs a paper towel, dries his face off, and then turns to Gibbs. "Your turn."
"If you'll kill John McGee, I'll teach you how to take the shot."
"Um… No." Jimmy steps closer and hugs Gibbs. "Your turn to let it out. We need to be her rock to cry on, doesn't mean we don't get to cry, too."
For a second Gibbs stands there, stiff, uncomfortable, but Jimmy is holding him, gently rubbing the back of his head, and from the feel of it, isn't letting go anytime soon.
"You can't spend the whole time we're here hiding in the hall or raging about this. Which means you need to do something with it. We're not killing anyone today, so let go. I've got you."
And eventually, after a few more breaths, Jimmy feels Gibbs start to shake.
It takes another half hour or so for Jimmy to get himself (and Gibbs) entirely back together, but he does, and he gets his phone out, noticing it's only a bit past eight thirty at home, and texts Breena.
We're here, got him taken care of. Who's at home?
A minute later he gets. Everyone but Sarah and Glenn. Decided to hold off on calling them until we know how he is. How is he?
Bad. Alive and he'll heal, but it's bad. Going to talk to his surgeon next, find out exactly how bad his arm is.
How bad does it look?
Jimmy rubs his eyes. Did Ducky bring his computer?
Yeah.
Tell him to log onto the Federal Medical Records database and use my ID. He used to specialize in hands surgery, ask him to give it a good going over.
Breena knows when he doesn't want to answer a question. Jimmy, how bad is it?
Bad enough I'm crying, too.
Shit. Any idea when he'll be able to come home?
No. Not today. Not tomorrow. Maybe Monday, Tuesday is more likely. Got to get his arm out of traction before he can move.
Oh God. Ducky just got logged in.
Go, read. Gibbs and I are going to talk to the surgeon. I'll text back when I know more.
Okay.
Breena waited until 7:00 to give everyone a call. And by everyone, she meant Ziva, who will have no problem corralling the rest of the crew and getting them over to her place, because honestly, getting three kids under the age of 2 ½ and a dog all fed breakfast at once while on the phone is just too damn much.
She talks to Ziva briefly, explains that everyone needs to be at her house as soon as they can, and Ziva, who is always rock solid in a crisis asks just enough questions to know that no one is dead, and who qualifies as everyone, and then takes over.
Tony is stalking around Breena's house like a caged tiger. A deeply unhappy caged tiger. Ziva's still, but no less agitated. Ducky's getting his computer set up and logged onto the Palmers' Wi-Fi so they've got ready communications.
And then…
And then there's nothing to do but wait.
And waiting is not Tony's strong suit.
"Why are we not on that jet?"
Breena shrugs. She assumes that there's a reason why Vance didn't call them to run the case, but off the top of her head, she doesn't know what it is.
"We should be on that jet, and then on that ship, and then making every single other person on that ship sing. We should be hanging John up by his toenails, getting a confession out of him, we should be…" He shakes his head and pulls his phone out of his pocket.
Vance feels like a seventh wheel. He's not family, and doesn't want to go into Tim's room by himself with just Abby. But he doesn't want to leave either. Doesn't have anywhere to go. He's thinking of heading off to find all of them some sort of breakfast when he gets a call and sees the name on the ID. DiNozzo.
"Agent DiNozzo, calling in to brief me on your current case?"
"Director—"
"No time for that right now. I'm eager to hear about it, but kind of busy. I should be back on the East Coast late tonight, so how about you, Agent DiNozzo, and Dr. Mallard all join me at my house for breakfast tomorrow morning say, 07:00 to tell me all about it?"
"Director—"
"Splendid. I'll see you then." And he hangs up.
"What was that?" Ziva asks. She expects Tony to get more than two words out. They all do.
"He won't say anything. Didn't let me get a word in. We've got a breakfast date at his place tomorrow at 07:00."
Ziva looks puzzled, but Ducky gets it. "Oh."
"Oh?" Breena asks.
"Do you remember a few years ago when the IRS conveniently lost all communications between its Director and certain outside groups?"
Ziva nods, Tony doesn't. He doesn't pay all that much attention to larger politics.
Penny already knows where this is going so she says, "Last year, after the fall-out from that settled down, all communications for any Director of a Federal Agency is now copied and kept off-site. I'd bet that includes any conversations on their cell phones, or at least phone logs.
"Ah. Breakfast tomorrow, then." Ziva says.
"When we won't be overheard." Tony nods. "I get it." And suddenly he does. Suddenly furious and scared clear enough that he does get it. "We're not on this so that it looks proper. Has to look by the books because he's an Admiral. He'll have top lawyers and there can't be any wiggle room for him." Then he gets the deeper level, the reason why they aren't going to wait to see what whoever actually is investigating this manages to find. There's probably nothing to find to link John to this. They're going off the books on this one, way, way off the books. "Whatever we're really going to do, that'll be what we talk about tomorrow."
Breena's phone beeps, and she spends a few moments texting.
"Ducky, can you log onto the Federal Medical Records Database? Use Jimmy's account. Tim's stuff is in there."
Ducky nods, and gets to it. He reads the notes out-loud, voice getting angrier with every sentence. While Tony, Penny, Ziva, and Breena hover around, listening, getting paler and more furious by each word.
Ducky's last word falls, and for a second there's just silence then Tony says, "He's dead. John's dead. And if Gibbs doesn't do it, I will." Then he realizes Penny's sitting right next to him. "Oh, Penny… I—" he doesn't know what to say. John's dead. That's a fact, and it's a fact he's in no way sorry about. He will destroy that man if Gibbs doesn't, and he will enjoy every second of it. But his mom is sitting right next to him. Tony weakly says, "Tim's really hurt."
She nods. Ducky explained each bit as he read it. And there's more stuff that isn't in those records, yet. She knows exactly how bad this is. "I know Tony." She rubs her eyes and stands up, heading to the back porch. Ducky follows. They hear the door open, then close, and the faint sound of Ducky's voice, along with the louder sound of Penny sobbing.
No one has ever accused Penny Langston of being a weak woman. A raving bitch, oh yes, but weak? No.
But right now she hurts so bad she just wants to collapse.
She's sitting on the Palmer's back porch, sobbing, face buried in Ducky's shoulder as he holds her and gently pets her back.
Whether John did it or not, they're going to kill him. She wants to believe he's not responsible. She needs to believe it.
But she doesn't. She knows her son, and she knows the man he was raised and trained to be. Nothing happens on his ship without his approval.
"They're going to kill my son," she says quietly, to Ducky.
He holds her a little tighter, kissing her gently.
"He's my son, and I know… I know… But…" Sobbing replaces words. A moment later she gets out, "I've already outlived one child; I don't think I can do it again."
"Shhh… None of that. Whatever comes next, we'll get through, together."
"No we won't. You didn't raise a monster. It's not your child that tried to destroy your grandchild. It's not your family that's going to murder your son."
"I know. And I'm not going to pretend I can even imagine I know how this feels. But I'm here, and I will be here, with you, for you. And if we are even remotely lucky, John will have the good sense to do the right thing and take this out of our hands."
When Jimmy and Gibbs get back from talking to the surgeon, Vance also heads into Tim's room. He figures they can all get each other up to date in one run.
He feels his blood boil at the sight of McGee again, and forces it down.
Tim is, fortunately, asleep.
Vance has three large cups of coffee, and… and he doesn't know what Abby likes when she's pregnant, but he's fairly sure Caf-Pow is not what the doctor ordered right now, so he's also got a large iced-green tea.
There's a bag in his other hand, it's filled with muffins and pastries. He knows that besides Jimmy, none of them have eaten, and they could probably all use food.
"Jarvis and James have headed back to DC." Vance says, quietly, as Gibbs and Abby pick through the pastries. Jimmy shakes his head at them. "He's called John Ramis," none of them recognize that name, "highest ranking Naval Doctor, personal physician to the Vice President. He's looking over the case and will be giving you a call, Jimmy.
"Agent Burley just texted me to let me know he's aboard the Stennis, has met with Agent Angua, and is reading through all the notes they currently have on the case, and will soon be beginning to interrogate the three who assaulted Tim who can talk. Angua is still running the hunt for Lt. Mane. They have Tim's computer, but they think it's been so damaged they can't get anything off of it."
Tim slowly shakes his head, eyes still shut. "Can't figure out how to open it."
"How long have you been awake?" Abby asks, stroking his wrist.
"I don't know. Is that food?" Abby looks at Jimmy. Can he eat? on her face.
Jimmy shrugs. "Yeah Tim, Vance brought us some muffins and pastries. If the nurse says it's okay, there's a bear claw in there that's all yours." Jimmy gets off the sofa and hits the call button. "How are you feeling?"
"Like someone beat the shit out of me and then made me eat the shit."
Vance looks slightly alarmed by that. Jimmy catches his eye and mouths, pain medication. "How badly are you hurting?"
One of Tim's eyes slowly slides open and meanders toward Jimmy. It takes a few seconds to fully focus on him. "Was beat the shit out of me unclear?"
Jimmy snorts slightly at that, hand gently resting on the unbruised bit of Tim's shoulder. "You're fun when you're stoned."
"I'm hurting too bad to be stoned."
"I'll make sure you get more pain medication. Need anything else?"
That eye slides shut again. "Water?"
"Yeah, I think we can get you some water. Drink slow, okay?"
"Okay."
A moment later Abby's holding a cup to his lips, letting him have a few sips of water.
"More?" he asks when she pulls back.
Jimmy shakes his head. "Give it a few minutes, see if this stays down."
"I'm so thirsty."
"You want one of those—" Jimmy's reaching for one of those sponge lollipop things when Tim cuts him off.
"No, I want a fucking drink! I don't care if I throw it up."
"Too bad. Five minutes. And don't pout at me about it. You're not cute enough to pull it off today," Jimmy says. He kept his voice joking, but the three of them who have their eyes open can see this is killing Jimmy. He wants to give Tim a drink. He doesn't want him retching and puking with broken ribs and his arm in traction.
That one eye of Tim's opens again (which is when it occurs to Jimmy the other one is probably too swollen to open easily) and he tries to glare at Jimmy.
"Glaring's not going to do it either. Your ribs are broken and puking with broken ribs is going to make the pain you're in right now look like a field day. So, hold on for a few minutes, suck on the damn sponge, and pretend I know something about this what with the whole went to medical school thing."
Tim sighs and closes his eye again. "Sponge tastes like lemon juice and vinegar."
"I'll rinse it out and soak it in water."
"Thanks."
"What was that about not being able to open your computer?" Vance asks.
Both of Tim's eyes open this time. He's looking at Vance, bleary and confused. "Director. You're here?"
Vance nods.
"Wow. Must have been pretty fucking close to dead if you're here. Um… You asked me something, didn't you?"
"Doesn't matter," Vance replies, shaking his head.
Abby looks over to Vance. "Give me your phone."
Abby here: She texts to Burley. What happens when you try to make his computer work?
A minute later Stan replies: Hit the power button, the computer whirs a little, screen goes from black to blue for five seconds, then everything goes black again.
)9pfhrubgTHF64^^
What?
Type it in when the screen goes blue. His computer locks and encrypts if he hits a certain key on it. He probably locked it. That'll unlock it.
Thanks.
Jimmy returns with the de-lemoned lollisponge, just the same time the nurse comes in.
"Can he have solid food?" Jimmy asks.
"Not yet," he answers. "Solid food for dinner, maybe tomorrow depending on how you're feeling. We've got chicken broth and beef broth, though."
"Beef," Tim says. "More pain meds would be good, too. And would you please tell him I can have more water."
"How much did you give him?"
"About a tablespoon," Abby answers.
"Keep that down for about five minutes and you can have more water, broth, and jello if you like."
Tim's not looking happy about that, though with as messed up as his face is right now Jimmy's not sure if he's reading an expression so much as just knowing what he's feeling.
"Pain meds?" Jimmy asks.
The nurse nods, and then checks Tim's charts. "We can up the dosage."
"Good," Tim says. "Is Jethro here?"
"Yeah, Tim." He'd been standing at the end of Tim's bed. He very gently touches the sole of Tim's unbroken foot.
His head turns a few degrees toward where Jethro is, but his eyes stay shut. "Oh. Good. Thought I was kind of dreaming it. Could sort of feel you in here, but couldn't see or hear you."
"I'm here."
The nurse heads off, and it looks like it was just a matter of sheer luck, because the possibility that Tim was even remotely aware of her being in or out of the room was nil.
"Don't kill him, okay? That's mine. You, too Abby. No one's dying today, okay?"
"Not killing anyone today, and we're not talking about this until we're home, and you're off the drugs, Tim."
"Oh. Right." He nods. "Shit, is the nurse still in here?"
"No, Tim," Vance says.
"But you are, fuck. Ummm... Yeah, off the drugs. When'll that be?"
"We just got back from talking to your doctor," Jimmy says. "Good news, they're not just laying down words to make you happy, that arm really will heal up."
"Isn't that usually followed by bad news?" Tim asks.
"Mediocre news. Your hand's going to be in traction until Tuesday, so not getting home before Wednesday."
Abby's looking at Jimmy, checking to make sure he's not whitewashing it. He nods. Tim's looking at a ton of PT, some of which he's already planning, but, given the time to let it really heal, and working at it, he'll get the use of his hand back.
"By the time Sean shows up, you should be able to bring your diaper changing A game to the party."
Tim smiles a little at that.
Eventually there's nothing left to do. They've got the official news. They're off the case, so it's not like they can do any work on it. They're waiting for Vance to get back to even get any word, and sure, they could hack Burley's notes, except, oh no, they can't, because the guy who does that for them is the victim. And right now Tony doesn't trust Draga enough to call him in to do the hacking for this.
Penny's still crying on the porch. Ducky's trying to comfort her. After another moment of that, Ziva stands up and heads out there. It hits Tony that Ziva's got some insight in someone you love going very, very wrong.
And more insight than anyone should ever want to have about doing something about it.
Ducky comes back in, looking wrought out, shoulders slumped, caught between anger and grief. He picks up Anna who's been relaxing in a sort of laid back way, and snuggles her. (Through all of this Molly and Kelly have been watching, transfixed (because neither of them gets to watch a lot of TV) Dragon Tales. Say whatever you want about children's TV, when you need some time with your kids paying attention to something other than you, it works a treat.)
Breena sits next to him, arm around him. "How's she doing?"
"Wretched."
Breena kisses him, squeezing him a little tighter. "You got them?" She looks at the girls, and Tony nods. Then Breena gets up and heads out, too.
Ten minutes of nothing but just sitting around passes. Finally Tony says, "A while back, he told me he was dealing with stuff, old stuff, he didn't want to talk about it, but if I wanted to know I could ask Gibbs or Jimmy. They're not here, but… I mean… Look, I'm not blind, I could see how on edge they were about Tim getting on that ship, especially Gibbs. That's not just they don't get along, so… Do you know?"
Ducky nods, wearily. "He said you could ask?"
"Yeah. He didn't want to talk about it personally, but I could ask if I wanted to. Said, I'd wait until he could tell me himself, but…"
"It's not that they, as you said, 'don't get along.'" Ducky looks away for a moment. "From everything I've been told, from everything Timothy is saying, it was never physical. But John is just as good with words at Timothy is, and he used them, and his power, to keep Timothy terrified more or less the entire time he lived at home. He abused Timothy verbally from the age of six until Timothy stopped talking to him. He made… exceptionally painful threats involving dragging Timothy onto his ship and physically maiming him and sexually torturing him. There is a very good reason why Timothy gets seasick practically before he gets on the ship, and that it doesn't matter if it's moving or not."
"Oh God."
Ducky nods. "He's had some rough times dealing with it over the last year."
"And you guys let him get back on that fucking ship?"
"Let?" Ducky says mildly. "Did you somehow miss how he was talking about that test? He wanted to get on that ship. He wanted to go up against his father as an adult and show him that he wasn't going to take it anymore. You saw how pleased he was when he called us. It backfired spectacularly."
Tony rubs his face.
"Sometimes when you go into the dragon's den to face the monster, the dragon wins."
"Like fuck. He is not winning!"
Ducky gives Tony a very tired look. "Anthony, at this point, there are no winning moves, for anyone, left on the board. Every possible version of this ends in more pain for everyone."
"Oh, God, Duck."
"Exactly."
Abbi stretches, feeling very rested, awfully content, and… alone. As she gets more awake it hits her that she's really alone.
"Jethro?"
Nothing. No smell of coffee, no soft clicking sound of Mona's claws on the floor coming up to say Hello.
She checks the clock. It's a bit after ten. About her usual Saturday off wake up time. She sits up, wondering what's going on. Sometimes they'll go out for their run, grab some breakfast, and come back before she's up, but… usually she's up after they're back.
She gets up and pulls on one of his t-shirts, slipping into her own pj bottoms, and heads downstairs. Nothing. No coffee. No hint that anyone is here. She checks Mona's bowls, wanting to see if she's eaten yet, and they're missing.
A quick check of the driveway shows that Jethro's truck is still there, so…
Okay, there's got to be a note somewhere.
Where would he put a note?
Borin heads back upstairs and checks her phone. No note. She looks at her clothing from yesterday. No note. Damn it!
Okay, where else… Usual morning routine. She heads into the bathroom. The first thing she does when she wakes up is hits the head and brushes her teeth, and sitting on her toothbrush is a piece of paper with her name on it.
She unfolds it.
Abbi—
Had to go to California. Tim's alive, hurt. Don't know when I'll get back. Will call when I get a chance.
Love,
Jethro.
She closes her eyes and sighs. He'd been worried about it for the last two weeks and it came true. Shit.
She heads over to her phone and sends him a text. Wake me up before you run off in the middle of the night.
She's done with her morning routine when she gets back. Okay.
Want me to call? Tell me what's up?
Tim's sleeping, text is better.
Okay, what happened?
He got onto that ship and his… The Admiral tried to have him killed. Stuck him in a cell and four guys jumped him. He's alive. In the hospital, broken arm, foot, ribs, nose, something else I'm forgetting. His whole body is one big bruise. But he's alive, and they say he'll heal.
Shit. She knew something was up between the two of them. Knew it had to be more than the version Gibbs had told her, that they didn't get along. The Admiral's an Admiral, and Tim didn't want anything to do with the Navy. But, given what all Jethro's been willing to tell her about Tim's life, the fact that he wouldn't get into the details on this one made her decide not to ask too deeply.
When next they talk, she's going to ask.
Yeah.
But he'll be okay? she asks.
Jimmy says he will. Right now he's sleeping a lot.
Probably the best thing for him. Where are you guys?
Alameda
You want me to come?
You've got work.
She snorts at that and rapidly texts back. Screw work, they owe me three months of vacation time, anyway. You want me there?
There's a two minute long pause, where she sits there staring at the words realizing she not only wrote them but meant them, and she's thinking he's probably feeling something similar seeing that. Then she gets back, and is amazed at how one word can convey so much, Please.
On my way.
Thanks, Abbi.
You're welcome. Wake me up next time.
Didn't think you'd want to come.
She feels slightly irked by that, and then actually understands what that means. Didn't want me to see you that upset?
She can feel his look, and the nod that went with it. He wouldn't be easy with all the emotions of this stuff. He'd been trying to keep it under wraps, badly, for weeks, and now it just blew up.
I'll let you know when I'm in the air.
Okay. I'll be here. Vance doesn't want to let me near the ship.
Wise move on his part.
Why is wise always such a pain in the ass?
Next
Chapter 389: Support
"Burley." Stan answers.
"What do you have, Stan?"
"Gibbs?" Burley's confused. This whole thing has been confusing. He got a call just as it was quitting time, from the Director of NCIS, no less, demanding he get his team on a ship that was way the hell out of his jurisdiction, for something, Vance didn't say what, just that the Lt. James, (whoever the hell that is) and the Agent Afloat Sarah Angua would get him up to date as soon as he got there. And now, from nowhere, Gibbs is calling for an update.
Asking for an update before he's even begun the case. This feels like morphing back in time.
"Yeah. What'd'ya have?" He's sounding impatient, and ready to start biting the heads off of things.
"Nothing, I'm still in the air. Gibbs, I haven't even been briefed on what I'm investigating yet. I just know I was told to get my team to the Stennis ASAP and the Agent Afloat would get me up to speed. I'm on a cargo plane, still an hour out."
Gibbs bites his lip. "You remember my retirement party?"
"Lot of it's pretty hazy. After the second bottle, things started to go sideways. Can't party like I used to."
"Not that one. The one at the diner that everyone went to."
The one that wasn't really a party. "Oh. Yeah. Okay. Enough."
"Tall, thin guy, married to Abby, little baby girl, one of my kids."
"Yeah. Tim, right? Think I've worked with him once, twice maybe?"
"Right. That's his dad's ship." He says the next bit voice low, trying to not broadcast this all over the hospital, but his voice is very hot, and Leon notices, watches, as he says, "Son of a bitch abused him as a kid, but he got an assignment on that ship, and he didn't say anything because he's a pro and he'll do his job wherever that job takes him, so he went and that…" there aren't words foul enough for McGee, "thing tried to have him killed while he was on the ship."
"Holy fuck! Tried?"
"He's alive. I'm in the hospital with him, and Abby, his pregnant wife."
"Okay. Got it."
Vance has taken three steps closer to Jethro and motions for the phone, he hands it over.
"Agent Burley, this is Director Vance."
"Director." Burley's confused, and then he's impressed. He was impressed that whatever this was the Director was handling it. He's more impressed now. The Director of NCIS is in the hospital with McGee, which means McGee is connected. Which blows Burley's mind, because the last time he saw McGee at work the only real impression he had was of a somewhat timid guy doing his job quietly.
"Agent Burley, I know you have a reputation for the highest standards of professionalism. No matter how painful this case is and how personally satisfying it would be to absolutely destroy anyone even remotely related to it, you are to do your job, as a professional. You are an officer of the law and you will act like one."
"Yes, sir."
"The Admiral," Oh God, Tim's father is an Admiral? This is going to be a mess. "is a well-respected member of the Navy. He is on the President's Drone Task Force. He is on good terms with the Former Secretary of State, who is, as you know, currently running for President. So this investigation will be letter perfect, do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"You will investigate as long, and as hard, and as deeply as you need to. If anyone tries to pull rank on you, shoot them down. If you do not receive the fullest cooperation on every single aspect of this case feel free to charge everyone with obstruction of justice. The Secretary of the Navy has your back on this, but you will also follow all the rules, fill out all the forms, dot all the is, cross all the ts, and make sure that when this goes to trial that no one can claim any sort of partiality was involved."
"Yes, sir."
Vance hands the phone back to Gibbs. Gibbs doesn't have anything to add to that.
Apparently Burley can tell the difference between them by the quality of the silence on the other side of the phone. "I'll give you a call once I get on board and start figuring out what's going on."
"Thanks, Stan."
Leon's staring at Gibbs, and Gibbs knows why.
"Some of us know, the outside world doesn't. Hell, even DiNozzo doesn't have the whole story. It's need to know, and you didn't."
"He should have—" Gibbs cuts Vance off as Leon remembers that Tim did suggest a different ship.
"Mentioned it? Asked for a different ship because his dad was on it? Open this up for everyone to see? You know how private he is. Abby didn't know about it until last year."
"God." Vance shakes his head.
"He hates ships, gets seasick something fierce, his Dad was a nightmare before this, but the job was on that ship so he went on that ship to do the job. Abby didn't want him to go. I didn't want him to go. Lots of other ships in the Navy. He could run the attack from anywhere, but…"
Jimmy steps out of Tim's room. Gibbs looks at him, as if he's got some answers. "Still asleep. Been reading his medical records, looks like they're doing a good job. Supposedly there's an orthopedic specialist around here somewhere. The guy who took care of his arm. I'm going to hunt him down and talk to him."
Gibbs and Vance nod at that.
Jimmy takes a detour on the way to finding the surgeon. He heads for the bathroom, locks the door, sits down, and lets himself break down.
Couldn't the shit with Tony have been enough? Did this really have to run right on its heels?
He's sobbing as quietly as he can, pouring out this, and well, everything. Right now he wants Breena so badly, needs to bury his face against her neck and just let go, but she's corralling the crew back home.
He knew, as he was reading the medical records, that he wasn't going to be able to handle this, not the way he needs to handle it. He was only in there for ten minutes, and was having a hell of a time staying calm.
He's a doctor, emotions shut down, logic, calm, healing, that's supposed to take over.
And it's not. That's why you don't treat your family.
He wipes his eyes, which isn't useful, he's still crying. He wants to rage. He wants to break people. Wants to break everyone who laid a hand on Tim. And he can't.
He hears a soft knock. "Occupied," Jimmy chokes out.
"It's me." Gibbs' voice.
He gets up slowly, wiping his eyes, and takes the two steps to the door, opening it.
"Trying to not lose it in front of Abby." His voice cracks on that.
Gibbs nods, shutting the door and locking it behind him. "You lasted longer in there than I could." Gibbs wraps him in a hug, and Jimmy sobs more.
After a minute, he steps back. Taking a deep, shuddering breath. "I heard what Vance said to you."
Gibbs raises an eyebrow.
"About the rifle. And come on, I know what your go bag looks like. You don't need a duffle for however long we're going to be here. So, I know what's in there. And I know you can't take the shot."
Gibbs is looking stunned and angry at that.
"And you can't get close enough to him for a knife."
Gibbs' eyes narrow. "Why can't I take the shot?"
"Because you're a fucking sniper, Jethro! People who hurt your family end up dead by a sniper's shot, and unless at least fifty people can place where the hell you are when the Admiral bites it, you're going to jail for the rest of your life. And it's basically the same goddamned reason why Ziva and Tony can't take the shot, either." Jimmy swallows hard. "First time Tim took me shooting, I said to him, 'It's like yoga with explosions. Relax, find your center, slow down, focus, target, gently squeeze.' He said not to let you know that, because you'd turn me into a sniper." Jimmy's staring at Gibbs, eyes red and puffy, very determined.
"It's a patience and focus skill, right?"
Gibbs is staring at Jimmy, really seeing him, thinking. "Yeah, it is. Some math, too. Some mechanics. Mostly it's waiting until it's time to pull the trigger, not rushing."
"And by this point, my vision's not much worse than yours is. Probably better when I've got my glasses on than yours is. Just you and me. The rest of them don't need to know. Take an hour or so to practice every time when we're supposed to be working on the house. Got lots of room out there. Take Shannon out, teach me how to sail, too, shoot down the water, no one to see, no risk of hitting anyone."
Gibbs shrugs. "You won't pick it up fast."
"It's a patience skill. It doesn't have to happen overnight. One day, something'll happen to John. And Leon'll hand it over to whoever, Metro, so that he can claim everything is above board, no cover up. Every cop'll show up at your door, asking lots of questions, but you'll have a solid alibi, in public, probably with Penny. They'll poke around Tony and Ziva, hell, maybe even Ducky, he's got a military background. But they aren't going to ask about me, not deep. They'll run a quick check, and I'll have cover for it, and that'll be that. Never solved."
Gibbs licks his lips. "We telling Tim?"
"Were you planning on telling him what you were going to do?"
"No, but he'd know."
"Permission. We're asking permission and leaving it there. He gets to decide what happens to John. But if he says yes, one day, something is going to happen, and you're going to be with Penny when it happens, so she won't think you killed him, so she'll be able to… pretend or whatever."
Gibbs nods. "You and Tim have just done handguns, right?"
Jimmy nods, too.
"It's different than a handgun."
"I'd imagine." Jimmy heads to the sink and begins to wash off his face, hoping cool water will help with the swelling.
"Say the words, Jimmy."
He looks at Gibbs in the mirror, unsure of what Gibbs is telling him to do. "Not teaching you how to do this if you can't even say the word."
"Show me how to take the shot, and I will kill John McGee with it."
"Okay." Jimmy straightens up, grabs a paper towel, dries his face off, and then turns to Gibbs. "Your turn."
"If you'll kill John McGee, I'll teach you how to take the shot."
"Um… No." Jimmy steps closer and hugs Gibbs. "Your turn to let it out. We need to be her rock to cry on, doesn't mean we don't get to cry, too."
For a second Gibbs stands there, stiff, uncomfortable, but Jimmy is holding him, gently rubbing the back of his head, and from the feel of it, isn't letting go anytime soon.
"You can't spend the whole time we're here hiding in the hall or raging about this. Which means you need to do something with it. We're not killing anyone today, so let go. I've got you."
And eventually, after a few more breaths, Jimmy feels Gibbs start to shake.
It takes another half hour or so for Jimmy to get himself (and Gibbs) entirely back together, but he does, and he gets his phone out, noticing it's only a bit past eight thirty at home, and texts Breena.
We're here, got him taken care of. Who's at home?
A minute later he gets. Everyone but Sarah and Glenn. Decided to hold off on calling them until we know how he is. How is he?
Bad. Alive and he'll heal, but it's bad. Going to talk to his surgeon next, find out exactly how bad his arm is.
How bad does it look?
Jimmy rubs his eyes. Did Ducky bring his computer?
Yeah.
Tell him to log onto the Federal Medical Records database and use my ID. He used to specialize in hands surgery, ask him to give it a good going over.
Breena knows when he doesn't want to answer a question. Jimmy, how bad is it?
Bad enough I'm crying, too.
Shit. Any idea when he'll be able to come home?
No. Not today. Not tomorrow. Maybe Monday, Tuesday is more likely. Got to get his arm out of traction before he can move.
Oh God. Ducky just got logged in.
Go, read. Gibbs and I are going to talk to the surgeon. I'll text back when I know more.
Okay.
Breena waited until 7:00 to give everyone a call. And by everyone, she meant Ziva, who will have no problem corralling the rest of the crew and getting them over to her place, because honestly, getting three kids under the age of 2 ½ and a dog all fed breakfast at once while on the phone is just too damn much.
She talks to Ziva briefly, explains that everyone needs to be at her house as soon as they can, and Ziva, who is always rock solid in a crisis asks just enough questions to know that no one is dead, and who qualifies as everyone, and then takes over.
Tony is stalking around Breena's house like a caged tiger. A deeply unhappy caged tiger. Ziva's still, but no less agitated. Ducky's getting his computer set up and logged onto the Palmers' Wi-Fi so they've got ready communications.
And then…
And then there's nothing to do but wait.
And waiting is not Tony's strong suit.
"Why are we not on that jet?"
Breena shrugs. She assumes that there's a reason why Vance didn't call them to run the case, but off the top of her head, she doesn't know what it is.
"We should be on that jet, and then on that ship, and then making every single other person on that ship sing. We should be hanging John up by his toenails, getting a confession out of him, we should be…" He shakes his head and pulls his phone out of his pocket.
Vance feels like a seventh wheel. He's not family, and doesn't want to go into Tim's room by himself with just Abby. But he doesn't want to leave either. Doesn't have anywhere to go. He's thinking of heading off to find all of them some sort of breakfast when he gets a call and sees the name on the ID. DiNozzo.
"Agent DiNozzo, calling in to brief me on your current case?"
"Director—"
"No time for that right now. I'm eager to hear about it, but kind of busy. I should be back on the East Coast late tonight, so how about you, Agent DiNozzo, and Dr. Mallard all join me at my house for breakfast tomorrow morning say, 07:00 to tell me all about it?"
"Director—"
"Splendid. I'll see you then." And he hangs up.
"What was that?" Ziva asks. She expects Tony to get more than two words out. They all do.
"He won't say anything. Didn't let me get a word in. We've got a breakfast date at his place tomorrow at 07:00."
Ziva looks puzzled, but Ducky gets it. "Oh."
"Oh?" Breena asks.
"Do you remember a few years ago when the IRS conveniently lost all communications between its Director and certain outside groups?"
Ziva nods, Tony doesn't. He doesn't pay all that much attention to larger politics.
Penny already knows where this is going so she says, "Last year, after the fall-out from that settled down, all communications for any Director of a Federal Agency is now copied and kept off-site. I'd bet that includes any conversations on their cell phones, or at least phone logs.
"Ah. Breakfast tomorrow, then." Ziva says.
"When we won't be overheard." Tony nods. "I get it." And suddenly he does. Suddenly furious and scared clear enough that he does get it. "We're not on this so that it looks proper. Has to look by the books because he's an Admiral. He'll have top lawyers and there can't be any wiggle room for him." Then he gets the deeper level, the reason why they aren't going to wait to see what whoever actually is investigating this manages to find. There's probably nothing to find to link John to this. They're going off the books on this one, way, way off the books. "Whatever we're really going to do, that'll be what we talk about tomorrow."
Breena's phone beeps, and she spends a few moments texting.
"Ducky, can you log onto the Federal Medical Records Database? Use Jimmy's account. Tim's stuff is in there."
Ducky nods, and gets to it. He reads the notes out-loud, voice getting angrier with every sentence. While Tony, Penny, Ziva, and Breena hover around, listening, getting paler and more furious by each word.
Ducky's last word falls, and for a second there's just silence then Tony says, "He's dead. John's dead. And if Gibbs doesn't do it, I will." Then he realizes Penny's sitting right next to him. "Oh, Penny… I—" he doesn't know what to say. John's dead. That's a fact, and it's a fact he's in no way sorry about. He will destroy that man if Gibbs doesn't, and he will enjoy every second of it. But his mom is sitting right next to him. Tony weakly says, "Tim's really hurt."
She nods. Ducky explained each bit as he read it. And there's more stuff that isn't in those records, yet. She knows exactly how bad this is. "I know Tony." She rubs her eyes and stands up, heading to the back porch. Ducky follows. They hear the door open, then close, and the faint sound of Ducky's voice, along with the louder sound of Penny sobbing.
No one has ever accused Penny Langston of being a weak woman. A raving bitch, oh yes, but weak? No.
But right now she hurts so bad she just wants to collapse.
She's sitting on the Palmer's back porch, sobbing, face buried in Ducky's shoulder as he holds her and gently pets her back.
Whether John did it or not, they're going to kill him. She wants to believe he's not responsible. She needs to believe it.
But she doesn't. She knows her son, and she knows the man he was raised and trained to be. Nothing happens on his ship without his approval.
"They're going to kill my son," she says quietly, to Ducky.
He holds her a little tighter, kissing her gently.
"He's my son, and I know… I know… But…" Sobbing replaces words. A moment later she gets out, "I've already outlived one child; I don't think I can do it again."
"Shhh… None of that. Whatever comes next, we'll get through, together."
"No we won't. You didn't raise a monster. It's not your child that tried to destroy your grandchild. It's not your family that's going to murder your son."
"I know. And I'm not going to pretend I can even imagine I know how this feels. But I'm here, and I will be here, with you, for you. And if we are even remotely lucky, John will have the good sense to do the right thing and take this out of our hands."
When Jimmy and Gibbs get back from talking to the surgeon, Vance also heads into Tim's room. He figures they can all get each other up to date in one run.
He feels his blood boil at the sight of McGee again, and forces it down.
Tim is, fortunately, asleep.
Vance has three large cups of coffee, and… and he doesn't know what Abby likes when she's pregnant, but he's fairly sure Caf-Pow is not what the doctor ordered right now, so he's also got a large iced-green tea.
There's a bag in his other hand, it's filled with muffins and pastries. He knows that besides Jimmy, none of them have eaten, and they could probably all use food.
"Jarvis and James have headed back to DC." Vance says, quietly, as Gibbs and Abby pick through the pastries. Jimmy shakes his head at them. "He's called John Ramis," none of them recognize that name, "highest ranking Naval Doctor, personal physician to the Vice President. He's looking over the case and will be giving you a call, Jimmy.
"Agent Burley just texted me to let me know he's aboard the Stennis, has met with Agent Angua, and is reading through all the notes they currently have on the case, and will soon be beginning to interrogate the three who assaulted Tim who can talk. Angua is still running the hunt for Lt. Mane. They have Tim's computer, but they think it's been so damaged they can't get anything off of it."
Tim slowly shakes his head, eyes still shut. "Can't figure out how to open it."
"How long have you been awake?" Abby asks, stroking his wrist.
"I don't know. Is that food?" Abby looks at Jimmy. Can he eat? on her face.
Jimmy shrugs. "Yeah Tim, Vance brought us some muffins and pastries. If the nurse says it's okay, there's a bear claw in there that's all yours." Jimmy gets off the sofa and hits the call button. "How are you feeling?"
"Like someone beat the shit out of me and then made me eat the shit."
Vance looks slightly alarmed by that. Jimmy catches his eye and mouths, pain medication. "How badly are you hurting?"
One of Tim's eyes slowly slides open and meanders toward Jimmy. It takes a few seconds to fully focus on him. "Was beat the shit out of me unclear?"
Jimmy snorts slightly at that, hand gently resting on the unbruised bit of Tim's shoulder. "You're fun when you're stoned."
"I'm hurting too bad to be stoned."
"I'll make sure you get more pain medication. Need anything else?"
That eye slides shut again. "Water?"
"Yeah, I think we can get you some water. Drink slow, okay?"
"Okay."
A moment later Abby's holding a cup to his lips, letting him have a few sips of water.
"More?" he asks when she pulls back.
Jimmy shakes his head. "Give it a few minutes, see if this stays down."
"I'm so thirsty."
"You want one of those—" Jimmy's reaching for one of those sponge lollipop things when Tim cuts him off.
"No, I want a fucking drink! I don't care if I throw it up."
"Too bad. Five minutes. And don't pout at me about it. You're not cute enough to pull it off today," Jimmy says. He kept his voice joking, but the three of them who have their eyes open can see this is killing Jimmy. He wants to give Tim a drink. He doesn't want him retching and puking with broken ribs and his arm in traction.
That one eye of Tim's opens again (which is when it occurs to Jimmy the other one is probably too swollen to open easily) and he tries to glare at Jimmy.
"Glaring's not going to do it either. Your ribs are broken and puking with broken ribs is going to make the pain you're in right now look like a field day. So, hold on for a few minutes, suck on the damn sponge, and pretend I know something about this what with the whole went to medical school thing."
Tim sighs and closes his eye again. "Sponge tastes like lemon juice and vinegar."
"I'll rinse it out and soak it in water."
"Thanks."
"What was that about not being able to open your computer?" Vance asks.
Both of Tim's eyes open this time. He's looking at Vance, bleary and confused. "Director. You're here?"
Vance nods.
"Wow. Must have been pretty fucking close to dead if you're here. Um… You asked me something, didn't you?"
"Doesn't matter," Vance replies, shaking his head.
Abby looks over to Vance. "Give me your phone."
Abby here: She texts to Burley. What happens when you try to make his computer work?
A minute later Stan replies: Hit the power button, the computer whirs a little, screen goes from black to blue for five seconds, then everything goes black again.
)9pfhrubgTHF64^^
What?
Type it in when the screen goes blue. His computer locks and encrypts if he hits a certain key on it. He probably locked it. That'll unlock it.
Thanks.
Jimmy returns with the de-lemoned lollisponge, just the same time the nurse comes in.
"Can he have solid food?" Jimmy asks.
"Not yet," he answers. "Solid food for dinner, maybe tomorrow depending on how you're feeling. We've got chicken broth and beef broth, though."
"Beef," Tim says. "More pain meds would be good, too. And would you please tell him I can have more water."
"How much did you give him?"
"About a tablespoon," Abby answers.
"Keep that down for about five minutes and you can have more water, broth, and jello if you like."
Tim's not looking happy about that, though with as messed up as his face is right now Jimmy's not sure if he's reading an expression so much as just knowing what he's feeling.
"Pain meds?" Jimmy asks.
The nurse nods, and then checks Tim's charts. "We can up the dosage."
"Good," Tim says. "Is Jethro here?"
"Yeah, Tim." He'd been standing at the end of Tim's bed. He very gently touches the sole of Tim's unbroken foot.
His head turns a few degrees toward where Jethro is, but his eyes stay shut. "Oh. Good. Thought I was kind of dreaming it. Could sort of feel you in here, but couldn't see or hear you."
"I'm here."
The nurse heads off, and it looks like it was just a matter of sheer luck, because the possibility that Tim was even remotely aware of her being in or out of the room was nil.
"Don't kill him, okay? That's mine. You, too Abby. No one's dying today, okay?"
"Not killing anyone today, and we're not talking about this until we're home, and you're off the drugs, Tim."
"Oh. Right." He nods. "Shit, is the nurse still in here?"
"No, Tim," Vance says.
"But you are, fuck. Ummm... Yeah, off the drugs. When'll that be?"
"We just got back from talking to your doctor," Jimmy says. "Good news, they're not just laying down words to make you happy, that arm really will heal up."
"Isn't that usually followed by bad news?" Tim asks.
"Mediocre news. Your hand's going to be in traction until Tuesday, so not getting home before Wednesday."
Abby's looking at Jimmy, checking to make sure he's not whitewashing it. He nods. Tim's looking at a ton of PT, some of which he's already planning, but, given the time to let it really heal, and working at it, he'll get the use of his hand back.
"By the time Sean shows up, you should be able to bring your diaper changing A game to the party."
Tim smiles a little at that.
Eventually there's nothing left to do. They've got the official news. They're off the case, so it's not like they can do any work on it. They're waiting for Vance to get back to even get any word, and sure, they could hack Burley's notes, except, oh no, they can't, because the guy who does that for them is the victim. And right now Tony doesn't trust Draga enough to call him in to do the hacking for this.
Penny's still crying on the porch. Ducky's trying to comfort her. After another moment of that, Ziva stands up and heads out there. It hits Tony that Ziva's got some insight in someone you love going very, very wrong.
And more insight than anyone should ever want to have about doing something about it.
Ducky comes back in, looking wrought out, shoulders slumped, caught between anger and grief. He picks up Anna who's been relaxing in a sort of laid back way, and snuggles her. (Through all of this Molly and Kelly have been watching, transfixed (because neither of them gets to watch a lot of TV) Dragon Tales. Say whatever you want about children's TV, when you need some time with your kids paying attention to something other than you, it works a treat.)
Breena sits next to him, arm around him. "How's she doing?"
"Wretched."
Breena kisses him, squeezing him a little tighter. "You got them?" She looks at the girls, and Tony nods. Then Breena gets up and heads out, too.
Ten minutes of nothing but just sitting around passes. Finally Tony says, "A while back, he told me he was dealing with stuff, old stuff, he didn't want to talk about it, but if I wanted to know I could ask Gibbs or Jimmy. They're not here, but… I mean… Look, I'm not blind, I could see how on edge they were about Tim getting on that ship, especially Gibbs. That's not just they don't get along, so… Do you know?"
Ducky nods, wearily. "He said you could ask?"
"Yeah. He didn't want to talk about it personally, but I could ask if I wanted to. Said, I'd wait until he could tell me himself, but…"
"It's not that they, as you said, 'don't get along.'" Ducky looks away for a moment. "From everything I've been told, from everything Timothy is saying, it was never physical. But John is just as good with words at Timothy is, and he used them, and his power, to keep Timothy terrified more or less the entire time he lived at home. He abused Timothy verbally from the age of six until Timothy stopped talking to him. He made… exceptionally painful threats involving dragging Timothy onto his ship and physically maiming him and sexually torturing him. There is a very good reason why Timothy gets seasick practically before he gets on the ship, and that it doesn't matter if it's moving or not."
"Oh God."
Ducky nods. "He's had some rough times dealing with it over the last year."
"And you guys let him get back on that fucking ship?"
"Let?" Ducky says mildly. "Did you somehow miss how he was talking about that test? He wanted to get on that ship. He wanted to go up against his father as an adult and show him that he wasn't going to take it anymore. You saw how pleased he was when he called us. It backfired spectacularly."
Tony rubs his face.
"Sometimes when you go into the dragon's den to face the monster, the dragon wins."
"Like fuck. He is not winning!"
Ducky gives Tony a very tired look. "Anthony, at this point, there are no winning moves, for anyone, left on the board. Every possible version of this ends in more pain for everyone."
"Oh, God, Duck."
"Exactly."
Abbi stretches, feeling very rested, awfully content, and… alone. As she gets more awake it hits her that she's really alone.
"Jethro?"
Nothing. No smell of coffee, no soft clicking sound of Mona's claws on the floor coming up to say Hello.
She checks the clock. It's a bit after ten. About her usual Saturday off wake up time. She sits up, wondering what's going on. Sometimes they'll go out for their run, grab some breakfast, and come back before she's up, but… usually she's up after they're back.
She gets up and pulls on one of his t-shirts, slipping into her own pj bottoms, and heads downstairs. Nothing. No coffee. No hint that anyone is here. She checks Mona's bowls, wanting to see if she's eaten yet, and they're missing.
A quick check of the driveway shows that Jethro's truck is still there, so…
Okay, there's got to be a note somewhere.
Where would he put a note?
Borin heads back upstairs and checks her phone. No note. She looks at her clothing from yesterday. No note. Damn it!
Okay, where else… Usual morning routine. She heads into the bathroom. The first thing she does when she wakes up is hits the head and brushes her teeth, and sitting on her toothbrush is a piece of paper with her name on it.
She unfolds it.
Abbi—
Had to go to California. Tim's alive, hurt. Don't know when I'll get back. Will call when I get a chance.
Love,
Jethro.
She closes her eyes and sighs. He'd been worried about it for the last two weeks and it came true. Shit.
She heads over to her phone and sends him a text. Wake me up before you run off in the middle of the night.
She's done with her morning routine when she gets back. Okay.
Want me to call? Tell me what's up?
Tim's sleeping, text is better.
Okay, what happened?
He got onto that ship and his… The Admiral tried to have him killed. Stuck him in a cell and four guys jumped him. He's alive. In the hospital, broken arm, foot, ribs, nose, something else I'm forgetting. His whole body is one big bruise. But he's alive, and they say he'll heal.
Shit. She knew something was up between the two of them. Knew it had to be more than the version Gibbs had told her, that they didn't get along. The Admiral's an Admiral, and Tim didn't want anything to do with the Navy. But, given what all Jethro's been willing to tell her about Tim's life, the fact that he wouldn't get into the details on this one made her decide not to ask too deeply.
When next they talk, she's going to ask.
Yeah.
But he'll be okay? she asks.
Jimmy says he will. Right now he's sleeping a lot.
Probably the best thing for him. Where are you guys?
Alameda
You want me to come?
You've got work.
She snorts at that and rapidly texts back. Screw work, they owe me three months of vacation time, anyway. You want me there?
There's a two minute long pause, where she sits there staring at the words realizing she not only wrote them but meant them, and she's thinking he's probably feeling something similar seeing that. Then she gets back, and is amazed at how one word can convey so much, Please.
On my way.
Thanks, Abbi.
You're welcome. Wake me up next time.
Didn't think you'd want to come.
She feels slightly irked by that, and then actually understands what that means. Didn't want me to see you that upset?
She can feel his look, and the nod that went with it. He wouldn't be easy with all the emotions of this stuff. He'd been trying to keep it under wraps, badly, for weeks, and now it just blew up.
I'll let you know when I'm in the air.
Okay. I'll be here. Vance doesn't want to let me near the ship.
Wise move on his part.
Why is wise always such a pain in the ass?
Next
Shards To A Whole: The Eye of the Storm
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 388: The Eye of the Storm
It's after 01:00 Eastern Standard Time when Leon gets the call. He pulls himself awake, sits up, rubs his eyes, and then checks the name on his phone.
Jarvis.
"Vance."
He listens as Jarvis gets him up to date, nods a few times, and slips out of bed, quietly, hoping not to wake Lara.
"McGee's alive, right?"
"Yes. He's sedated. They're setting his arm, and wrist, and hand, and I think ribs, and then we're on the helio to Alameda. He didn't want his Dad's staff treating him."
Vance nods at that, too. He wouldn't want the guys who work for the guy who tried to kill him operating on him, either. "Okay, start at the beginning, Clayt."
"The test went off without a hitch. Everything was fine. John and Mane, his secretary, had left to go handle the aftermath of the Stennis 'firing' on the Borealis. Tim mentioned to me that he's had some issues with his father and that he had planted a false lead in their conversation. If the men on the Stennis did their job right, they'd trace the attack back to NCIS. But he said to John that if someone showed up to arrest him for espionage, we'd know they'd traced the attack back to him."
Leon gets to his desk and sits down, rubbing his eyes. "But the attack couldn't be traced back to him because he didn't attack from the ship."
"Right. After that test, he went to his quarters to monitor what the techs were doing, how they were responding, what they were doing to try and hunt him down. That's what he told me he was going to do. He also mentioned that he was nervous, doesn't get on with his dad, and was afraid that this would go badly.
"Mane shows up in the afternoon to do the inspection. He's talking, making hints that Tim may be a spy. I tell James that I want him sticking to McGee, and that if someone grabs him, he's to stay with him until he's safely locked in a cell."
"Should have stayed with him in the damn cell."
"I know that, now. Been a while since I ran an 'accident' in a prison and didn't expect them to try it here. This is a US Navy ship, for God's sake! We're supposed to be better than that."
Vance sighs. "Often looks different from my end."
"I know. Anyway, James stayed with him until he was locked in his own cell and Mane had left. Then he went to get me. I was already on my way there, so McGee was only alone for, three minutes, tops, but that was long enough for Mane to come back, unlock the other guys, let them into Tim's cell and go full out on him."
"What did they do to him?"
"You want the diagnosis?"
"Yeah." He hears Jarvis asking about it.
"His right arm's a mess. It was dislocated at the shoulder and wrist, broken in three places, three of his fingers are broken, and his hand is, too. As soon as he hits Alameda, they're gonna have a team of surgeons for that because… Assuming he wants any shot of really using it again, they're going to need specialists working on this. Broken nose, cracked ribs, and his left foot got stomped, bunch of little broken bones in there, too. He's black and blue from head to toe, but doesn't appear to have any damage to his internal organs. He'll live. His brain is still working. They didn't break his neck. His right arm's going to need a lot of PT, and he may never get full use of it again. But, they're saying he'll probably be up and walking again, with a crutch, in a few days."
"Okay, what's happening now?"
"We're in the infirmary. I'm about ten feet away from McGee, watching him get ready to travel. The four he went up against are in here, too, getting patched up. McGee mentioned he does MMA fighting, and that probably saved his life. Never would have guessed he could hurt four guys as badly as he did."
"He held his own?"
"The only one who doesn't have any broken bones is the guy he elbowed in the throat and took out of the fight in the first two seconds with that hit. He hit the rest of them as hard as they hit him."
"Good." Vance hopes they hurt, really, really hurt.
"Each of the attackers has his own MA keeping watch, and they aren't being allowed to speak to each other. Tim mentioned that. Once they get out of here, we'll get them squirreled away where they can't make up some story.
"The Agent Afloat isn't on this ship, she's on the Dewey, but she's getting here as fast as she can. The Admiral's been confined to quarters, and James is running the hunt to find Mane."
"Mane's vanished?"
"Yeah. Obviously, he's on the ship somewhere, but… Big ship."
"Okay. Was John in on it?"
"Not so anyone could ever prove."
"Is that a yes?"
"I'm sure the words, 'go attack my son' or any variation on that theme never crossed his lips. I'm sure no verbal hint of any sort along those lines ever occurred. I also know he was not dismayed about the attack when James told him about it, was not surprised about the attack, and did not ask James what condition Tim was in."
"I see." Leon nods. He knows that the stretch between I'd-approve-if-something-bad-were-to-happen and ordered-a-hit-on-my-son is going to be almost impossible to prove.
He thinks through who he has on the West Coast to send in. This is way more job than one Agent Afloat can handle. Then he thinks further west, because further west is the best option for this case, seeing that DiNozzo is out of the picture because he'll just go right in and kill everyone. "I'll give Agent Burley a call. His team will handle the investigation. How far out of Pearl are you?"
"Eleven days."
Not even remotely close then. "I'll have my guys there as fast as possible, and I'll call the Agent Afloat to let him…" No, Sarah Angua is the AA for the Stennis group. "Her know what's going on. If you can, get that ship back to San Fran."
"I can do that. I haven't called his family."
"I've got it. Let me know when you get moving toward Alameda. I'll have his family waiting for him there."
"Thanks, Leon."
Leon remembers the first time he met John McGee, first and only time. He remembers Gibbs saying that John didn't respect anything Tim was doing.
This is quite a few steps past 'didn't respect.'
He also remembers that John wasn't at Tim's wedding, nor was John ever mentioned by anyone talking to him. Granted, he's not part of the intimate family, but he is a cop, and he was paying attention, and at no point did he ever hear something like, "Gosh, it's a shame John couldn't be here for his only son's wedding."
And one other thought goes through his head. Gibbs killed the man who killed his girl. What on earth would he do with the man who hurt his son?
The frustrating part of this… One of them anyway, is that Vance is certain that Admiral McGee has made sure that a case cannot be made linking him to this attack.
He is absolutely certain that Admiral McGee never said that he wanted this to happen to Tim. He never suggested that such a thing would please him. He wouldn't have to. A secretary who's that good at his job knows his Boss inside and out; he'd never need the order. (Just like Vance's secretary wouldn't need instructions for something along those lines, either. The major difference is, Karen wouldn't kill a man for him.)
If Mane is the kind of man who would do that to McGee, then he's also the kind of man who will fall on a grenade to protect his Boss. He'll take the rap for this. He'll claim it was all on him.
Which means they'll have to break him, break him so bad he lies.
And that's going to be difficult. Maybe impossible.
But one way or another, Admiral McGee is going to pay for this. Because there was only one way Mane would have pulled this crap, and that's because he knew the Admiral would approve.
Vance is a good Boss; he's a very good administrator. He's good at finding talent and letting that talent do its job without him interfering.
The problem with that technique is that he's not as up to date with the seconds-thirds-and-fourths in command of his different teams as a micro manager would be.
He has a plan, he knows what he is going to do. What he doesn't know is who he needs to execute part of that plan. Normally, should a plan like this need to be executed, he'd call in McGee, and obviously that won't work.
At two in the morning, on the road to the Navy Yard, he's about to make a call to Abby, and then decides against it. While it's true that she's the person most likely to know who Tim's most trusted second-in-command is, it's also likely that if he calls her in the middle of the night looking for a tech, she will flip out. So, he is not calling Abby, instead he's making a call to Dr. Palmer, the man most likely to know what he needs to know.
"Nrgh." Sound of Jimmy rubbing his eyes. "I'm awake, Palmer here. What's going on?"
"Doctor Palmer. I have a question for you."
"Director?" Jimmy sounds surprised to hear Vance on the phone.
"Yes. I know McGee relies heavily on Ngyn and Howard, which one of the two of them is better with a secret?"
"Sir?"
"Ngyn or Howard, Dr. Palmer?"
"Why aren't you asking Tim?"
"Because the Stennis is under radio silence right now, as part of making sure that McGee's test doesn't get out." That's a complete lie, but one he doesn't mind. He doesn't need handling Palmer on top of Gibbs right now.
Jimmy thinks for a moment. "He tells us about how good Howard is all the time. I don't know if she can keep a secret. Ngyn's one of his wunderkinds, too. He likes both of them, trusts both of them. Ngyn's more likely to be in the office right now. Oh, and she's really shy, so she probably wouldn't enjoy blabbing about something."
"Thank you, Dr. Palmer." He hangs up before Jimmy can get enough brain cells together to wonder why Vance would be asking that in the middle of the night.
He doesn't have Ngyn or Howard on his personal phone. He does have McGee's desk. So he tries that. After four rings, "Cybercrime, McGee's desk."
"Who am I speaking to?"
"Sturm. Who is this?"
"Director Vance. Is Howard or Ngyn down there?"
"Yes, sir." A quiet moment passes. "Ngyn here."
"Ngyn, this is Director Vance, can you meet me in the evidence lock up in twenty-five minutes?"
"Uh… Sure…"
"Good. See you then."
Vance remembers one other thing as he walks toward the Navy Yard, another early morning, one very much like this, when he walked in through the bullpen and found McGee working on David's computer.
He remembers being told that McGee was making sure everything was nice and secure.
He remembers a few months later, when David walked into his office, handed him a bloody knife, and said, "For your wife."
She left, and he never asked. He didn't have to.
He knows that Gibbs' whole team handled the wet work.
He's sure McGee's the one who did the actual tracking.
And he knows, absolutely, that he owes McGee, all of them really, but right now he can repay one of them.
And he will.
The frustrating thing is that, even with Burley on it, and Vance knows Burley will hold this case and work it until he's out of case to work, is that John's secretary will fall on a grenade for him. And that the one thing they'll never know is if he was specifically ordered to make the call, or if John expressed displeasure and his secretary handled it, knowing, without being told, what his Boss wanted.
He thinks the play that Clayt is thinking of works like this. Once John no longer has the President's protection, Clayton will make a fuss, a private fuss, to John, one that will make it exceptionally clear that he will blast John's career and destroy his reputation if he does not step down immediately.
He doesn't know John McGee, but you don't get to be an Admiral unless you live and die for the Navy, so the embarrassment factor on having his name dragged through the mud, shaky case or not, should provide enough traction to get John out of his stars.
Leon thinks about that for a few minutes.
Then he thinks about what would have happened to McGee if Clayton hadn't gotten suspicious and decided to keep eyes on him.
Resigning is not good enough. It's a start. It has to happen because being forced to resign will, if John McGee is even half of the man he thinks he is, hurt like an amputation. But it's not nearly enough.
And he's got an idea of where enough begins.
Vance knows, on an intellectual level, that McGee'd revoked the dress code. But it'd been a while since he's been down in Cybercrime, so he was rather surprised to see this… girl… woman… he looks closer, she's a real adult, just small and dressing young, in jeans, a t-shirt, and oversized Converse All-Stars standing in front of the evidence lock up looking nervous.
"Director!"
He walks through the lock up, keying in his numbers, and goes to the back where the weapons they have confiscated are kept until they are destroyed. It takes him a moment, but he finds what he is looking for.
HTR 2000. Sniper rifle. Wanna-be Marine sniper who decided to show the world what he could do. Case pre-dates Vance as Director. Scheduled for destruction in three weeks. The last appeal had been exhausted in March. This gun is done.
For what he needs, it'll do.
"Agent Ngyn, I want everything regarding this gun destroyed. All records of ballistics, every case it was involved in, the fact that this gun ever existed needs to vanish."
"Sir?"
"Everything. Dr. Palmer tells me McGee thinks highly of your skills. I need this gun to vanish. I need the fact that you and I met down here, that I'm taking this gun out of here, all of it needs to evaporate. Can you do this?"
She's staring at him, very wide-eyed. "Yes, sir."
"Good. Up you go to my office. Use my computer." He quickly writes down his passwords. "Take care of it."
"Yes, sir. Sir?"
"Ngyn?"
"Why is Doctor Palmer recommending me on McGee's behalf? McGee's okay, right?"
"Yes, Ngyn." He smiles kindly. "He's fine. You know 'he's at a conference?'"
"Yes?"
"He's war gaming. Top secret. Right now, he and everyone on his ship is locked down for radio silence."
"Oh."
"Got an undercover op that just went hot and needs a clean gun, normally he does things like that, so I had to find out who he'd send in if he couldn't do it for me himself, and I figured that if anyone would know, it's Palmer."
"Huh. Okay. I'll get on it."
"Thank you."
It's slightly before 03:00 eastern time when Vance, with a rifle, opens Gibbs' door.
He almost breaks his nose when the door doesn't actually open as he steps forward.
So he knocks, wondering when on earth Gibbs got a lock and why.
Less than a minute later the dog, who's name he couldn't remember, had bounded down the steps and is barking vigorously at him. Suddenly the lock makes a lot of sense. He's awfully glad he didn't just walk into that. Three minutes later a sleepy, disheveled, and upside down looking Jethro ambles down the steps in a pair of shorts and Marines T-shirt.
Barking.
Gibbs sits up, rubbing his eyes. One shift from working Gibbs to retired Gibbs is that he actually sleeps when he sleeps now. Before some little part of his mind was always a few degrees awake, ready to leap into action.
He hears another knock on his door. Great.
Abbi rolls over, looking at him, little bit of curious in her eyes. He waves it off. "Go back to sleep. Probably Fornell. He crashes here when he's got a case he doesn't want to take home."
She nods, looking mostly asleep too, and he gets up slowly, heads to his dresser, finds some shorts and a t-shirt and, still pulling the shirt over his head, wanders down the steps.
"Mona, hush up."
One last bark, and she bounds up the steps to him, thumping on down with him as he goes to the door.
Through the leaded glass in his door, he can't see who's there, but with each step, he's feeling a little more awake, and as sleep clears from his mind, that little voice that's always been able to sense danger starts to scream.
For a second, he can't place it, there's just a sense of blind panic.
Then he opens the door and sees Leon standing there, holding a rifle case.
Gibbs feels his knees go week. One second he's standing up, the next he's on the ground. Leon kneeling next to him, case forgotten for a second. It takes a good thirty seconds before he can pull his voice together enough to ask, "When did it happen?"
"Oh." And Vance, who is fully in revenge and justice mode, snaps out of that, realizing how bad this would look to Jethro. "No. No. Jethro. No. He's alive. Tim'll be fine, eventually."
From there, everything goes cold. He stands up slowly, taking the rifle case into his living room. "What happened?"
Vance explains, and then he explains some more, and then he pats the case. "And if we can't get a case against him, there's this."
Gibbs nods slowly, and he opens the case, looks at the contents, nods, and heads up the stairs.
While he does that, Vance calls Karen. She's less than thrilled to be woken up at 03:45 with a request to get the Lear Jet up and running and ready to go to Alameda, but she doesn't ask questions. She knows if he's asking for the fastest transport the Navy has for civilians in the middle of the night, it's important.
"When will you be back in the office?"
"Tomorrow, I hope."
He calls Lara, telling her what's going on, why he's not in bed, why he's not going to be home for a while, hopefully tonight, but probably late. She understands.
By the time he's done, Gibbs is down, he's got a duffle packed. It's not very full. He stuffs the rifle case into it, too. Now it's full. He takes a moment and gets a second bag packed, stuffing two bowls, dog food, and some rawhide chews into it.
"Abby next, right?" Leon asks.
Gibbs nods. Then Palmers', someone has to take Kelly and Mona in.
This wasn't supposed to happen. That was the whole point of Cybercrime! Gibbs and Vance weren't supposed to be in her home at 04:23 with bad news. He could have stayed a cop if this…
She's barely awake, pregnancy tired clinging to her, trying to drag her back to warm dreams where everything is fine, battling the surge of adrenaline that goes with waking up, finding Gibbs in her room, Vance hovering at the door to her bedroom, looking ready to kill someone.
She's crying, sobbing, before she can even put together what's going on, really.
But she knows, in her gut, she feels it. They wouldn't be here if everything was all right.
Gibbs has got his arms around her, rocking her, gently, saying… something, but she can't get the words, she's too trapped in tired/pain/hormones/terror bawling.
"Abbs… Come on baby, pull out of it. Abby… he's alive." Gibbs has said that about three times now, but it's not breaking through the immediate horror of him at her door in the middle of the night, Leon behind him. "Come on, Abbs, you've got to pull it together, hear what I'm saying, baby, he's alive. He's alive, and we've got a jet waiting for us so we can get to him. We've got to get Kelly all packed up and over to Jimmy and Breena so we can get to him. Come on…"
Eventually 'he's alive' filters through. It'd be almost comical the way she jerks when it finally hits, but this is real, and someone you care about's abject, soul-deep horror isn't funny.
She sniffs, wipes her nose. "Alive?"
"Yeah, Abbs, he's alive. He's hurt. But he's alive. And we've got to get to him."
She nods and begins to get up out of bed, grabbing her robe. "I'll get dressed. Can you…" her voice is rough, and it cracks, but she keeps talking, "get a bag packed for Kelly."
"Yeah. Want me to call Breena, too, let her know she's got some visitors coming soon?"
"Yeah. That's… Yeah. He's alive?" There's desperate terror in her voice, and Gibbs suddenly gets that the last time someone showed up in the middle of the night at her home and told her someone was alive but hurt, it was her parents, and her mom was already dead, and her father only had hours left.
Gibbs nods, holding her tight, kissing her forehead. "He's alive. Vance says that as of 04:10 he was stable to travel and they were med-evacing him to Alameda."
"How badly hurt?"
"Vance has more details than I do. Get dressed, get packed, stuff for Tim, pajamas and clean clothes, and he can fill you in when we go to Jimmy and Breena's."
That gets her moving. Every minute talking is a minute they aren't getting closer to Tim.
The second time a phone rings in the middle of the night, Jimmy's awake, and scared. It's Breena's phone, but she's still pretty groggy, so he grabs it.
"No bullshit this time, what happened?"
Gibbs wasn't expecting that, but he answers, "Tim's hurt, we're going to California, can Mona and Kelly stay with you? Don't know how long it'll be."
"Hurt? Hurt how?"
"John had his men try to beat him to death."
Jimmy goes cold at that. "Fuck. Okay, no more talking to me. I'll pick up the details when we're on the plane. Get the girls here as fast as you can."
"Thanks Jimmy. Vance has more details than I do, he'll call when we're in the air."
"Okay." He hangs up.
"Was that my phone?" Breena blinks a few times and sees that Jimmy's so pissed he's shaking. "What happened?"
He's jumped up and is packing a bag. "Can you take a few days on your own with an extra kid and Mona?"
"Jimmy, you're scaring me."
"Tim got on that fucking ship, and his dad tried to have him killed. All I know right now is that he's alive and Gibbs and Abby and Vance are heading to California, and if you can handle the kids, I'm going with them."
"Okay. Mona and Kelly are coming here?"
"Yes."
"I will handle it. Ducky and Penny'll help."
"Yeah, they will."
Breena gets up, and wraps Jimmy in a hug. "Okay, you get a shower, and eat. You've just packed nine pairs of socks, two pairs of pants, two left shoes, no shirts, and no underwear. I'll get you set to go. You get calmed down because Abby's going to need calm people around her, got it?"
Jimmy swallows, takes a very deep breath, lets it out, shakily, and nods. "I've got it."
She kisses him, holding onto him, tight.
"I don't even know how hurt he is." Jimmy's somewhere between rage and about to cry. "It's got to be bad because he's not talking to us, though."
She nods, holding him close, cradling the back of his head, kissing him. "We'll find out, and you'll get there, and you'll be his doctor, making sure they treat him right and he comes home to us."
"Yeah." He wipes his eyes, takes another deep breath, and heads for the shower.
It's a quiet handover. Kelly sleeps through the whole thing, and no one is surprised to see Jimmy's up, packed, and ready to go. Mona's confused because she doesn't see Molly, and visits to this house always involve Molly, so there's some barking, but Breena swings into Bad Ass Mommy Mode (which is identical to Alpha Bitch mode) and has her calmed down and toeing the line in a matter of seconds.
She kisses and hugs Jimmy and Abby as they head off. "You bring our boy back."
They both nod, ready to go.
"I'll call Ducky and Tony when it's really morning. Let me know how he is as soon as you do."
More nodding, more hugs, more kisses, and they go.
Tim wakes in a panic, everything hurts, there's this weird whupping noise, and he has no idea where he is, how he got there, or why. On top of that, he finds he can't move.
Fortunately, before he gets the chance to even start yelling a face hovers into view, one he doesn't know.
"He's awake, sir."
Jarvis comes into view.
"You didn't want to stay on your dad's ship, so as soon as you were stable enough to move they got you on a medevac flight. We're en route to Alameda."
"Okay." That helps with some of the panic, and the whupping noise suddenly makes sense, he's got to be on a chopper.
The first face, probably some sort of medic comes back into view. "Are you in pain?"
"What the fuck do you think? I'm enjoying this?" Tim's eyes go wide as that comes out. He'd been thinking it, but apparently the pain meds he's already on have shot the filter between his brain and mouth to shit.
"Scale of one to ten, how bad is it?"
"Eight? I'm conscious, and I don't want to be."
"Okay. More pain medication coming up."
He can half-see out of his peripheral vision someone else messing with his IV. Then the medic comes back into view. "Do you know why you're here?"
"Sort of." He remembers fighting. He hurts all over, so he's got to be hurt bad. But he doesn't know how hurt he is.
Seems like Jarvis got that. "You remember the fight?"
"Images. Details are fuzzy."
"Do you remember after?"
"Not really." The image of his arm sprang to mind. "Oh God…" Fortunately the Medic is with it enough to figure out what that cue meant and gets the backboard he's strapped to tipped to the side, before he started to retch. No food in his system so it's just dry heaves. "My arm!" Tim manages to gasp when he stops retching. He remembers how it looked when the fight was over, but he's strapped down so he can't see it now, and he can't feel it, either.
"All bandaged up for travel. There's a team of orthopedic surgeons who are waiting for you in Alameda. The Stennis has a combat ready medical suite, and they say you should get full use of it back when it's healed up," Jarvis says.
"Can't feel it." There's a lot of panic in his voice as he says, "Everything hurts, but I can't feel my arm."
"You're on pain medication for your whole body, and a nerve block on your arm. You can't feel or move it." The Medic replies. That calms Tim down, he can't see his arm, but apparently it's still attached to him. "They assessed you in the infirmary. You have a concussion, a broken nose, chipped tooth, broken arm, and broken foot."
He'd nod if he could, but he can't. "Neck damage?"
"No, but we're not taking any chances for the trip. Your neck is braced and you're on a backboard. Once you get out of surgery you'll be able to move you head and neck again."
"Okay."
The Medic says a few other things, but by that point the pain medication is kicking back in again, and Tim checks out.
A Lear jet is the fastest transport NCIS has to offer for four people traveling together. There are lots of nifty goodies on board, the flight crew is beyond obsequious. On any other occasion, this would be a lovely trip.
But it's not, because anything other than Star-Trek style transporters is too damn slow. (And honestly, even if they could be beamed to California, it'd still be too slow.)
Gibbs is sitting next to Abby, keeping an arm around her. Right now she's praying, and from the looks of it, Gibbs is, too.
Jimmy's got Tim's medical records up on his computer. The rough version they filled out aboard the Stennis. He finishes reading, carefully shuts his computer, stands up, and kicks his seat, hard, three times.
Gibbs, Abby, and Vance stare at him as he does it. When he gets done he rubs his eyes, then stalks over to the bar, finds the strongest alcohol they've got (Vodka) pours three shots of it, and hands one to Gibbs, one to Vance, and shoots his back.
He picks up his computer, sits next to Abby, and says. "I'd have poured one for you, but I figured you wouldn't want it." She nods, face a mask of fear. Vance looks curious about that, but no one says anything, so he puts two and two together and decides Abby's pregnant again.
Jimmy opens his computer and begins to go over the details with them.
They're racing the sunrise, and winning. Perpetual dark of near dawn envelops the jet as it continues westward.
It's a bit after 06:00, by Vance's watch (Eastern time, he's not sure what local time is, or for that matter where they are) when they get confirmation that Tim's in Alameda, in surgery, and that they're in the process of putting his arm back together.
He gets up and asks the pilot how far out they are, and he says they're about an hour from starting the descent.
His mouth tastes really bad. That's the first thing that hits Tim as he starts to inch toward awake. His mouth tastes bad and is really, excruciatingly, dry.
He wants a drink.
A lot of drinks.
Hurting. That comes up next. Not as bad as last time, but everything, including his right arm, aches. Must be out of surgery.
There's a weird tugging sensation on his hair, and that finally gets him to open his eyes.
"Oh, you're awake. Hi. I'm Amelia Clark, one of the post-op nurses," says a woman in scrubs who's hovering over him.
"Water."
"Not yet. You'll just throw it up. I can give you a damp sponge to suck on."
"Okay." That weird sensation is in his hair, and he hears clicking. Tim gingerly turns his head. Oh. I'm being processed.
Jarvis is standing in the corner of the room. There are two other people, in scrubs, so nurses maybe. One of them is taking pictures of him. He still can't see most of himself, but the photographer is getting shots of his left foot and leg, which are awfully black and blue.
He thinks the medic on the trip said something about a broken foot. "Is that the broken foot?"
"Yes." The nurse who is photographing him replies. "Amelia has a walking cast we're going to get you set for in a moment. Just have to get the shots."
He nods, and then feels more tugging on his hair. "There's DNA from three of four of them on my clothing. Have you scraped my nails?"
"Yes." The nurse who is combing through his hair answers.
"Are they in custody?" Tim asks Jarvis.
"Everyone but Mane. The four you were fighting are all being kept apart from each other."
"Good."
"Vance is calling in Agent Burley to handle the case. Do you know him?"
Tim's a bit surprised and dismayed that it's not Tony handling the case, but he knows Stan, he'll do a good job.
"Yeah, I do. He's a good guy. Gibbs' first Probie."
Jarvis doesn't seem to know what that means, and Tim isn't feeling like explaining.
The nurse who is combing out his hair glances to Jarvis, and then says quietly, "Do you need a rape kit?"
"No." He wonders exactly how badly thrashed he looks if she'd ask that, and then it hits him that his leg is bare, he tries to touch his leg, see if he's got his shorts on, but comes to the conclusion that's not going to happen. His right arm isn't going anywhere, and the IV is in his left. He can't tell, but he's guessing he's naked under the sheets, and may have come in that way.
The photographer nurse steps to the side, lifting the blanket off of his other leg, taking photos. Apparently that leg's all bruised up, but nothing's broken. Amelia, the only one he's got a name for, carefully eases a cast under his right foot and ankle and begins to strap him into it.
"You'll get written instructions, too, but you can get this wet and walk on it. In six weeks, when you're home, they'll re-xray make sure everything is properly healed, and if it is, you'll be out of this." She then tucks his leg under the blanket as the photographer finishes with his leg.
He knows what comes next, but Amelia's glancing at Jarvis, silently asking if he wants Jarvis out of the room. "He can stay. Just take the blanket off and do them all at once, okay?"
The photographer strips him down, and begins shooting. He's bruised all over, and it does look like at least one of them got him in the balls. (Good thing there's no food in his stomach, just seeing the swelling and bruising is making him nauseous again.) That might also explain part of why the nurse wondered if he needed a rape kit.
(It's also making him wonder how much pain medication he's on. Everything right now aches, but… Well, he's taken a shot to the balls before, a much less severe one, and that hurt about ten times more than he does now.)
He can't see much of his chest, it's wrapped in tight bandages. But Amelia notices him looking. "Three cracked ribs. They were already wrapped when you got here, and we're not unwrapping you. Open your mouth."
She pops something that looks like a lollipop in his mouth. It's wet, which is good, and god-awful sour. He'd spit it out if it wasn't for the fact that his mouth is so damn dry.
She nods, apparently that's a common reaction to whatever this thing is.
"Keeps you from trying to swallow the liquid. Looks like Barb is done with the photos." She begins to pull the blanket back over him.
"Back, gotta get my back."
"Can't. Your arm is in traction for the next two days."
Right, the arm. He finally turns his head to look at it and… He can't really see it. There's this wodge of bandages, and some sort of pulley system attached to the tips of his fingers, and a black vinyl thing that looks a bit like his walking cast for his leg, and some other soft foam thing keeping his arm elevated, and another strap across his chest so that it can't flop around and…
"Am I ever going to move it again?"
The nurse waves that away. "Of course. Hon, you're in a trauma ward for the US Navy. Please, that's barely a flesh wound by our standards. Last week we put an arm that was clean torn off back on a Sargent. You're gonna be fine."
That's reassuring.
"We're pretty much all done here. How about you get a nap, and when you wake up, your family'll be here."
That also takes him by surprise, somehow the idea that they'd be on the way didn't hit him.
"Vance tells me they landed a few minutes ago. Still have an hour's drive to get here, but they'll be here soon," Jarvis say.
Tim nods slightly, closes his eyes, and finds that falling asleep, even aching from head to toes, isn't that tricky when you've got this much pain medication in your system.
It's a long hallway. A really long hallway. They come in from one end and find Jarvis, he leads them toward Tim, at the other end.
Solid door, they can't see in, and it's closed, so they don't know what's on the other side.
Abby hugs Gibbs and Jimmy, and then says, "I'll… I need to… Alone."
"Okay. We'll wait, right out here," Jimmy says. Gibbs just gives her another hug.
Her first thought upon entering the room, stupid, silly thought, she sat next to Jimmy as he read the different files, she knew, intellectually, how bad he was, but it didn't stop her from almost turning right around, walking out and saying, "This is the wrong room. That's not Tim."
His face is so battered and swollen and bruised, she couldn't have identified him by looking at it.
They cut his shirt off and didn't put a gown over him, so she can see the tattoo on his delt, marred, swollen, black ink merging into black, red, blue, purple bruises, and knows it has to be him.
She makes herself look, makes herself see, analyze, and plan, because she cannot just throw herself on the bed, weeping, wrapping around him.
His face is black, some spots are purple or green, one tiny patch along his right ear is still skin-colored. There's a brace on his nose. His lips are split, swollen, bruised.
There are choke marks on his throat. His collarbones are black and blue, both shoulders covered in greenish-yellow-purple. Upper chest doesn't look too bad, comparatively. Little patches of skin colored skin. Middle and lower chest are wrapped up tight in some sort of bandage.
His left hand is black-purple-green, knuckles bandaged. Left elbow in similar shape. There's an IV leading to the back of his left hand, which she's praying is sending powerful pain medication into him.
His right hand and wrist are in traction, his right shoulder is propped up, and strapped to the bed to keep it immobile. There's some sort of black vinyl thing, a cast of some sort, covering from his armpit to mid-forearm, and another device cradling his wrist. Each finger is braced, and wrapped in bandages, with a web of lines pulling on his hand, keeping the tension on it.
She can feel the tears pouring down her face. She can't hold him. She can't lie down next to him, rest her head on his chest and just soak up him being alive. She's crying, trying to be quiet, because she doesn't want to wake him up, though she's fairly sure they drugged him enough that he won't wake for anything short of the Apocalypse.
Abby spends a few minutes sitting there, next to him, fingers on his left wrist, stroking very gently over unbruised skin. For a moment she wonders where the cuff went. He's got his wedding ring, but beyond that appears to be naked under the blankets.
Her fingers find his pulse, feeling it, strong and steady. She spends a few moments thanking God that he's still alive.
There's another spot on his left shoulder, about the size of her palm. She lays a kiss to that little patch of un-hurt Tim, about to get up and let Jimmy and Gibbs in, and hears, voice very rough, "I must look like complete shit if you won't kiss my lips."
She snaps up, hand reaching to touch his cheek and then pulling back.
He sees her face, no makeup, red and puffy from tears. Sees her almost touch, but not quite.
She swallows hard. "I didn't think you'd wake up."
"Not sure if I am. I'm half-sure this is a dream."
She kisses his leg again. "I'm here. Jimmy and Gibbs and Vance are outside. Once you can travel, we're going to take you home."
"Today?"
She shakes her head. "No."
"Tomorrow?"
"No."
"What's the day after that?"
"Monday. Maybe. We just got here, haven't gotten to talk to anyone, yet. Whenever they can unhook your arm, then you get to go home."
"Okay. Why are you kissing my shoulder?"
She wipes away her tears and tries to smile. "No bruises. I couldn't stand to do anything that might hurt you more."
His tongue slips over his lip, mapping the splits and the puffy, swollen flesh around them. She leans in and kisses the tip of his tongue.
"Do you have a mirror?"
She does but she says, "No," anyway. He doesn't need to see his face today.
He knows that she has a compact that lives in her purse and has a mirror on it, so she's lying to him. "Is it really that bad?"
She nods, more tears in her eyes.
"Okay. I don't need to see."
"Not until the swelling goes down some."
"Okay."
She kisses that bit of arm again. "I love you, Tim. Love you so much."
"Even ugly?" He tries to smile and that hurts, too, he can feel the skin of his lip separating again, so he stops.
"Tim!" She sniffles.
"I told you I'd fight to the last breath to come home to you."
"You did." Another sniff. "I love you so much, so much. Gibbs and Vance came at four in the morning and…" She's crying again.
"I'm alive, baby." His left arm seems free, so he very tentatively reaches up to stroke her face. That hurts bad. He doesn't know what's wrong with that arm, but it's not happy. However, her cheek in his palm, lips kissing him matters more than the hurt. He tries a very small smile. "I'm alive."
"I know. I do. Now." She wipes her eyes again. "Jimmy and Gibbs are going to want to see you. You want them to come in?"
"Little bit, feeling tired again."
"Okay, little bit, then you sleep some more."
They're waiting right outside the door, but by the time Gibbs and Jimmy get into Tim's room, he's asleep again.
Gibbs looks at Tim, lying there, just… broken.
He very gently ruffles his hair, kisses the top of his head, sees Tim wince in his sleep, and pulls his hand back.
He looks over at Abby, realizes that the little bit of his shoulder that she's touching has to be the only part that's not hurt and swallows hard, staring at the ceiling. He blinks once, twice, and once more, forcing himself under control. He can't break down, not in front of Abby, not until he's on his own.
So, if he can't fall into a mess, he can get mad.
He kisses the top of Abby's head, squeezes her shoulders, and heads into the hallway, where Vance is, again.
Vance didn't go in. This is a quiet, intimate, family moment, and he's not going to crash it. At the same time, though, he did look in and felt every ounce of blood in his body boil as he looks at McGee.
Vance is a cop. He's been at NCIS thirty-five years. He has seen literally thousands of dead people, and a whole lot of them looked way better than Tim McGee does right now.
Gibbs comes out a few seconds later. "I want on that ship."
"No."
He's giving Leon the help me or get out of my way look. "Leon."
"No. Agent Burley is heading there, with his team. The ship is heading back to port, and when they land, you can talk to him, but you will not get within sight of Admiral McGee. We will handle this properly until we cannot handle it properly anymore." There's so much ice in Vance's voice that it gets through to Jethro. He actually listens.
"Jethro, what do you know about John McGee?"
There are a lot of things he could say, but most of them are private, for Tim and the family and that's it, so he says, "He's the man who didn't call to see if his son was alive or dead after the Deering bombing."
Vance nods. He hadn't known that, but isn't surprised.
"Here's what I know about you: if I let you on that ship, you'll kill him. Here's what I know about me: Dying by your hands will not be nearly as slow or painful as what I want to happen to him will be. Here's what I know about him: He loves his rank, his ship, and his job, more than anything on earth, so we will rob him of it. Hell is whatever hurts worst, Jethro, and we will make him hurt. That rifle I gave you, use it, after he's been stripped of his rank and dishonorably discharged."
And Gibbs has to admit, that's something he can wait for.
Next
Chapter 388: The Eye of the Storm
It's after 01:00 Eastern Standard Time when Leon gets the call. He pulls himself awake, sits up, rubs his eyes, and then checks the name on his phone.
Jarvis.
"Vance."
He listens as Jarvis gets him up to date, nods a few times, and slips out of bed, quietly, hoping not to wake Lara.
"McGee's alive, right?"
"Yes. He's sedated. They're setting his arm, and wrist, and hand, and I think ribs, and then we're on the helio to Alameda. He didn't want his Dad's staff treating him."
Vance nods at that, too. He wouldn't want the guys who work for the guy who tried to kill him operating on him, either. "Okay, start at the beginning, Clayt."
"The test went off without a hitch. Everything was fine. John and Mane, his secretary, had left to go handle the aftermath of the Stennis 'firing' on the Borealis. Tim mentioned to me that he's had some issues with his father and that he had planted a false lead in their conversation. If the men on the Stennis did their job right, they'd trace the attack back to NCIS. But he said to John that if someone showed up to arrest him for espionage, we'd know they'd traced the attack back to him."
Leon gets to his desk and sits down, rubbing his eyes. "But the attack couldn't be traced back to him because he didn't attack from the ship."
"Right. After that test, he went to his quarters to monitor what the techs were doing, how they were responding, what they were doing to try and hunt him down. That's what he told me he was going to do. He also mentioned that he was nervous, doesn't get on with his dad, and was afraid that this would go badly.
"Mane shows up in the afternoon to do the inspection. He's talking, making hints that Tim may be a spy. I tell James that I want him sticking to McGee, and that if someone grabs him, he's to stay with him until he's safely locked in a cell."
"Should have stayed with him in the damn cell."
"I know that, now. Been a while since I ran an 'accident' in a prison and didn't expect them to try it here. This is a US Navy ship, for God's sake! We're supposed to be better than that."
Vance sighs. "Often looks different from my end."
"I know. Anyway, James stayed with him until he was locked in his own cell and Mane had left. Then he went to get me. I was already on my way there, so McGee was only alone for, three minutes, tops, but that was long enough for Mane to come back, unlock the other guys, let them into Tim's cell and go full out on him."
"What did they do to him?"
"You want the diagnosis?"
"Yeah." He hears Jarvis asking about it.
"His right arm's a mess. It was dislocated at the shoulder and wrist, broken in three places, three of his fingers are broken, and his hand is, too. As soon as he hits Alameda, they're gonna have a team of surgeons for that because… Assuming he wants any shot of really using it again, they're going to need specialists working on this. Broken nose, cracked ribs, and his left foot got stomped, bunch of little broken bones in there, too. He's black and blue from head to toe, but doesn't appear to have any damage to his internal organs. He'll live. His brain is still working. They didn't break his neck. His right arm's going to need a lot of PT, and he may never get full use of it again. But, they're saying he'll probably be up and walking again, with a crutch, in a few days."
"Okay, what's happening now?"
"We're in the infirmary. I'm about ten feet away from McGee, watching him get ready to travel. The four he went up against are in here, too, getting patched up. McGee mentioned he does MMA fighting, and that probably saved his life. Never would have guessed he could hurt four guys as badly as he did."
"He held his own?"
"The only one who doesn't have any broken bones is the guy he elbowed in the throat and took out of the fight in the first two seconds with that hit. He hit the rest of them as hard as they hit him."
"Good." Vance hopes they hurt, really, really hurt.
"Each of the attackers has his own MA keeping watch, and they aren't being allowed to speak to each other. Tim mentioned that. Once they get out of here, we'll get them squirreled away where they can't make up some story.
"The Agent Afloat isn't on this ship, she's on the Dewey, but she's getting here as fast as she can. The Admiral's been confined to quarters, and James is running the hunt to find Mane."
"Mane's vanished?"
"Yeah. Obviously, he's on the ship somewhere, but… Big ship."
"Okay. Was John in on it?"
"Not so anyone could ever prove."
"Is that a yes?"
"I'm sure the words, 'go attack my son' or any variation on that theme never crossed his lips. I'm sure no verbal hint of any sort along those lines ever occurred. I also know he was not dismayed about the attack when James told him about it, was not surprised about the attack, and did not ask James what condition Tim was in."
"I see." Leon nods. He knows that the stretch between I'd-approve-if-something-bad-were-to-happen and ordered-a-hit-on-my-son is going to be almost impossible to prove.
He thinks through who he has on the West Coast to send in. This is way more job than one Agent Afloat can handle. Then he thinks further west, because further west is the best option for this case, seeing that DiNozzo is out of the picture because he'll just go right in and kill everyone. "I'll give Agent Burley a call. His team will handle the investigation. How far out of Pearl are you?"
"Eleven days."
Not even remotely close then. "I'll have my guys there as fast as possible, and I'll call the Agent Afloat to let him…" No, Sarah Angua is the AA for the Stennis group. "Her know what's going on. If you can, get that ship back to San Fran."
"I can do that. I haven't called his family."
"I've got it. Let me know when you get moving toward Alameda. I'll have his family waiting for him there."
"Thanks, Leon."
Leon remembers the first time he met John McGee, first and only time. He remembers Gibbs saying that John didn't respect anything Tim was doing.
This is quite a few steps past 'didn't respect.'
He also remembers that John wasn't at Tim's wedding, nor was John ever mentioned by anyone talking to him. Granted, he's not part of the intimate family, but he is a cop, and he was paying attention, and at no point did he ever hear something like, "Gosh, it's a shame John couldn't be here for his only son's wedding."
And one other thought goes through his head. Gibbs killed the man who killed his girl. What on earth would he do with the man who hurt his son?
The frustrating part of this… One of them anyway, is that Vance is certain that Admiral McGee has made sure that a case cannot be made linking him to this attack.
He is absolutely certain that Admiral McGee never said that he wanted this to happen to Tim. He never suggested that such a thing would please him. He wouldn't have to. A secretary who's that good at his job knows his Boss inside and out; he'd never need the order. (Just like Vance's secretary wouldn't need instructions for something along those lines, either. The major difference is, Karen wouldn't kill a man for him.)
If Mane is the kind of man who would do that to McGee, then he's also the kind of man who will fall on a grenade to protect his Boss. He'll take the rap for this. He'll claim it was all on him.
Which means they'll have to break him, break him so bad he lies.
And that's going to be difficult. Maybe impossible.
But one way or another, Admiral McGee is going to pay for this. Because there was only one way Mane would have pulled this crap, and that's because he knew the Admiral would approve.
Vance is a good Boss; he's a very good administrator. He's good at finding talent and letting that talent do its job without him interfering.
The problem with that technique is that he's not as up to date with the seconds-thirds-and-fourths in command of his different teams as a micro manager would be.
He has a plan, he knows what he is going to do. What he doesn't know is who he needs to execute part of that plan. Normally, should a plan like this need to be executed, he'd call in McGee, and obviously that won't work.
At two in the morning, on the road to the Navy Yard, he's about to make a call to Abby, and then decides against it. While it's true that she's the person most likely to know who Tim's most trusted second-in-command is, it's also likely that if he calls her in the middle of the night looking for a tech, she will flip out. So, he is not calling Abby, instead he's making a call to Dr. Palmer, the man most likely to know what he needs to know.
"Nrgh." Sound of Jimmy rubbing his eyes. "I'm awake, Palmer here. What's going on?"
"Doctor Palmer. I have a question for you."
"Director?" Jimmy sounds surprised to hear Vance on the phone.
"Yes. I know McGee relies heavily on Ngyn and Howard, which one of the two of them is better with a secret?"
"Sir?"
"Ngyn or Howard, Dr. Palmer?"
"Why aren't you asking Tim?"
"Because the Stennis is under radio silence right now, as part of making sure that McGee's test doesn't get out." That's a complete lie, but one he doesn't mind. He doesn't need handling Palmer on top of Gibbs right now.
Jimmy thinks for a moment. "He tells us about how good Howard is all the time. I don't know if she can keep a secret. Ngyn's one of his wunderkinds, too. He likes both of them, trusts both of them. Ngyn's more likely to be in the office right now. Oh, and she's really shy, so she probably wouldn't enjoy blabbing about something."
"Thank you, Dr. Palmer." He hangs up before Jimmy can get enough brain cells together to wonder why Vance would be asking that in the middle of the night.
He doesn't have Ngyn or Howard on his personal phone. He does have McGee's desk. So he tries that. After four rings, "Cybercrime, McGee's desk."
"Who am I speaking to?"
"Sturm. Who is this?"
"Director Vance. Is Howard or Ngyn down there?"
"Yes, sir." A quiet moment passes. "Ngyn here."
"Ngyn, this is Director Vance, can you meet me in the evidence lock up in twenty-five minutes?"
"Uh… Sure…"
"Good. See you then."
Vance remembers one other thing as he walks toward the Navy Yard, another early morning, one very much like this, when he walked in through the bullpen and found McGee working on David's computer.
He remembers being told that McGee was making sure everything was nice and secure.
He remembers a few months later, when David walked into his office, handed him a bloody knife, and said, "For your wife."
She left, and he never asked. He didn't have to.
He knows that Gibbs' whole team handled the wet work.
He's sure McGee's the one who did the actual tracking.
And he knows, absolutely, that he owes McGee, all of them really, but right now he can repay one of them.
And he will.
The frustrating thing is that, even with Burley on it, and Vance knows Burley will hold this case and work it until he's out of case to work, is that John's secretary will fall on a grenade for him. And that the one thing they'll never know is if he was specifically ordered to make the call, or if John expressed displeasure and his secretary handled it, knowing, without being told, what his Boss wanted.
He thinks the play that Clayt is thinking of works like this. Once John no longer has the President's protection, Clayton will make a fuss, a private fuss, to John, one that will make it exceptionally clear that he will blast John's career and destroy his reputation if he does not step down immediately.
He doesn't know John McGee, but you don't get to be an Admiral unless you live and die for the Navy, so the embarrassment factor on having his name dragged through the mud, shaky case or not, should provide enough traction to get John out of his stars.
Leon thinks about that for a few minutes.
Then he thinks about what would have happened to McGee if Clayton hadn't gotten suspicious and decided to keep eyes on him.
Resigning is not good enough. It's a start. It has to happen because being forced to resign will, if John McGee is even half of the man he thinks he is, hurt like an amputation. But it's not nearly enough.
And he's got an idea of where enough begins.
Vance knows, on an intellectual level, that McGee'd revoked the dress code. But it'd been a while since he's been down in Cybercrime, so he was rather surprised to see this… girl… woman… he looks closer, she's a real adult, just small and dressing young, in jeans, a t-shirt, and oversized Converse All-Stars standing in front of the evidence lock up looking nervous.
"Director!"
He walks through the lock up, keying in his numbers, and goes to the back where the weapons they have confiscated are kept until they are destroyed. It takes him a moment, but he finds what he is looking for.
HTR 2000. Sniper rifle. Wanna-be Marine sniper who decided to show the world what he could do. Case pre-dates Vance as Director. Scheduled for destruction in three weeks. The last appeal had been exhausted in March. This gun is done.For what he needs, it'll do.
"Agent Ngyn, I want everything regarding this gun destroyed. All records of ballistics, every case it was involved in, the fact that this gun ever existed needs to vanish."
"Sir?"
"Everything. Dr. Palmer tells me McGee thinks highly of your skills. I need this gun to vanish. I need the fact that you and I met down here, that I'm taking this gun out of here, all of it needs to evaporate. Can you do this?"
She's staring at him, very wide-eyed. "Yes, sir."
"Good. Up you go to my office. Use my computer." He quickly writes down his passwords. "Take care of it."
"Yes, sir. Sir?"
"Ngyn?"
"Why is Doctor Palmer recommending me on McGee's behalf? McGee's okay, right?"
"Yes, Ngyn." He smiles kindly. "He's fine. You know 'he's at a conference?'"
"Yes?"
"He's war gaming. Top secret. Right now, he and everyone on his ship is locked down for radio silence."
"Oh."
"Got an undercover op that just went hot and needs a clean gun, normally he does things like that, so I had to find out who he'd send in if he couldn't do it for me himself, and I figured that if anyone would know, it's Palmer."
"Huh. Okay. I'll get on it."
"Thank you."
It's slightly before 03:00 eastern time when Vance, with a rifle, opens Gibbs' door.
He almost breaks his nose when the door doesn't actually open as he steps forward.
So he knocks, wondering when on earth Gibbs got a lock and why.
Less than a minute later the dog, who's name he couldn't remember, had bounded down the steps and is barking vigorously at him. Suddenly the lock makes a lot of sense. He's awfully glad he didn't just walk into that. Three minutes later a sleepy, disheveled, and upside down looking Jethro ambles down the steps in a pair of shorts and Marines T-shirt.
Barking.
Gibbs sits up, rubbing his eyes. One shift from working Gibbs to retired Gibbs is that he actually sleeps when he sleeps now. Before some little part of his mind was always a few degrees awake, ready to leap into action.
He hears another knock on his door. Great.
Abbi rolls over, looking at him, little bit of curious in her eyes. He waves it off. "Go back to sleep. Probably Fornell. He crashes here when he's got a case he doesn't want to take home."
She nods, looking mostly asleep too, and he gets up slowly, heads to his dresser, finds some shorts and a t-shirt and, still pulling the shirt over his head, wanders down the steps.
"Mona, hush up."
One last bark, and she bounds up the steps to him, thumping on down with him as he goes to the door.
Through the leaded glass in his door, he can't see who's there, but with each step, he's feeling a little more awake, and as sleep clears from his mind, that little voice that's always been able to sense danger starts to scream.
For a second, he can't place it, there's just a sense of blind panic.
Then he opens the door and sees Leon standing there, holding a rifle case.
Gibbs feels his knees go week. One second he's standing up, the next he's on the ground. Leon kneeling next to him, case forgotten for a second. It takes a good thirty seconds before he can pull his voice together enough to ask, "When did it happen?"
"Oh." And Vance, who is fully in revenge and justice mode, snaps out of that, realizing how bad this would look to Jethro. "No. No. Jethro. No. He's alive. Tim'll be fine, eventually."
From there, everything goes cold. He stands up slowly, taking the rifle case into his living room. "What happened?"
Vance explains, and then he explains some more, and then he pats the case. "And if we can't get a case against him, there's this."
Gibbs nods slowly, and he opens the case, looks at the contents, nods, and heads up the stairs.
While he does that, Vance calls Karen. She's less than thrilled to be woken up at 03:45 with a request to get the Lear Jet up and running and ready to go to Alameda, but she doesn't ask questions. She knows if he's asking for the fastest transport the Navy has for civilians in the middle of the night, it's important.
"When will you be back in the office?"
"Tomorrow, I hope."
He calls Lara, telling her what's going on, why he's not in bed, why he's not going to be home for a while, hopefully tonight, but probably late. She understands.
By the time he's done, Gibbs is down, he's got a duffle packed. It's not very full. He stuffs the rifle case into it, too. Now it's full. He takes a moment and gets a second bag packed, stuffing two bowls, dog food, and some rawhide chews into it.
"Abby next, right?" Leon asks.
Gibbs nods. Then Palmers', someone has to take Kelly and Mona in.
This wasn't supposed to happen. That was the whole point of Cybercrime! Gibbs and Vance weren't supposed to be in her home at 04:23 with bad news. He could have stayed a cop if this…
She's barely awake, pregnancy tired clinging to her, trying to drag her back to warm dreams where everything is fine, battling the surge of adrenaline that goes with waking up, finding Gibbs in her room, Vance hovering at the door to her bedroom, looking ready to kill someone.
She's crying, sobbing, before she can even put together what's going on, really.
But she knows, in her gut, she feels it. They wouldn't be here if everything was all right.
Gibbs has got his arms around her, rocking her, gently, saying… something, but she can't get the words, she's too trapped in tired/pain/hormones/terror bawling.
"Abbs… Come on baby, pull out of it. Abby… he's alive." Gibbs has said that about three times now, but it's not breaking through the immediate horror of him at her door in the middle of the night, Leon behind him. "Come on, Abbs, you've got to pull it together, hear what I'm saying, baby, he's alive. He's alive, and we've got a jet waiting for us so we can get to him. We've got to get Kelly all packed up and over to Jimmy and Breena so we can get to him. Come on…"
Eventually 'he's alive' filters through. It'd be almost comical the way she jerks when it finally hits, but this is real, and someone you care about's abject, soul-deep horror isn't funny.
She sniffs, wipes her nose. "Alive?"
"Yeah, Abbs, he's alive. He's hurt. But he's alive. And we've got to get to him."
She nods and begins to get up out of bed, grabbing her robe. "I'll get dressed. Can you…" her voice is rough, and it cracks, but she keeps talking, "get a bag packed for Kelly."
"Yeah. Want me to call Breena, too, let her know she's got some visitors coming soon?"
"Yeah. That's… Yeah. He's alive?" There's desperate terror in her voice, and Gibbs suddenly gets that the last time someone showed up in the middle of the night at her home and told her someone was alive but hurt, it was her parents, and her mom was already dead, and her father only had hours left.
Gibbs nods, holding her tight, kissing her forehead. "He's alive. Vance says that as of 04:10 he was stable to travel and they were med-evacing him to Alameda."
"How badly hurt?"
"Vance has more details than I do. Get dressed, get packed, stuff for Tim, pajamas and clean clothes, and he can fill you in when we go to Jimmy and Breena's."
That gets her moving. Every minute talking is a minute they aren't getting closer to Tim.
The second time a phone rings in the middle of the night, Jimmy's awake, and scared. It's Breena's phone, but she's still pretty groggy, so he grabs it.
"No bullshit this time, what happened?"
Gibbs wasn't expecting that, but he answers, "Tim's hurt, we're going to California, can Mona and Kelly stay with you? Don't know how long it'll be."
"Hurt? Hurt how?"
"John had his men try to beat him to death."
Jimmy goes cold at that. "Fuck. Okay, no more talking to me. I'll pick up the details when we're on the plane. Get the girls here as fast as you can."
"Thanks Jimmy. Vance has more details than I do, he'll call when we're in the air."
"Okay." He hangs up.
"Was that my phone?" Breena blinks a few times and sees that Jimmy's so pissed he's shaking. "What happened?"
He's jumped up and is packing a bag. "Can you take a few days on your own with an extra kid and Mona?"
"Jimmy, you're scaring me."
"Tim got on that fucking ship, and his dad tried to have him killed. All I know right now is that he's alive and Gibbs and Abby and Vance are heading to California, and if you can handle the kids, I'm going with them."
"Okay. Mona and Kelly are coming here?"
"Yes."
"I will handle it. Ducky and Penny'll help."
"Yeah, they will."
Breena gets up, and wraps Jimmy in a hug. "Okay, you get a shower, and eat. You've just packed nine pairs of socks, two pairs of pants, two left shoes, no shirts, and no underwear. I'll get you set to go. You get calmed down because Abby's going to need calm people around her, got it?"
Jimmy swallows, takes a very deep breath, lets it out, shakily, and nods. "I've got it."
She kisses him, holding onto him, tight.
"I don't even know how hurt he is." Jimmy's somewhere between rage and about to cry. "It's got to be bad because he's not talking to us, though."
She nods, holding him close, cradling the back of his head, kissing him. "We'll find out, and you'll get there, and you'll be his doctor, making sure they treat him right and he comes home to us."
"Yeah." He wipes his eyes, takes another deep breath, and heads for the shower.
It's a quiet handover. Kelly sleeps through the whole thing, and no one is surprised to see Jimmy's up, packed, and ready to go. Mona's confused because she doesn't see Molly, and visits to this house always involve Molly, so there's some barking, but Breena swings into Bad Ass Mommy Mode (which is identical to Alpha Bitch mode) and has her calmed down and toeing the line in a matter of seconds.
She kisses and hugs Jimmy and Abby as they head off. "You bring our boy back."
They both nod, ready to go.
"I'll call Ducky and Tony when it's really morning. Let me know how he is as soon as you do."
More nodding, more hugs, more kisses, and they go.
Tim wakes in a panic, everything hurts, there's this weird whupping noise, and he has no idea where he is, how he got there, or why. On top of that, he finds he can't move.
Fortunately, before he gets the chance to even start yelling a face hovers into view, one he doesn't know.
"He's awake, sir."
Jarvis comes into view.
"You didn't want to stay on your dad's ship, so as soon as you were stable enough to move they got you on a medevac flight. We're en route to Alameda."
"Okay." That helps with some of the panic, and the whupping noise suddenly makes sense, he's got to be on a chopper.
The first face, probably some sort of medic comes back into view. "Are you in pain?"
"What the fuck do you think? I'm enjoying this?" Tim's eyes go wide as that comes out. He'd been thinking it, but apparently the pain meds he's already on have shot the filter between his brain and mouth to shit.
"Scale of one to ten, how bad is it?"
"Eight? I'm conscious, and I don't want to be."
"Okay. More pain medication coming up."
He can half-see out of his peripheral vision someone else messing with his IV. Then the medic comes back into view. "Do you know why you're here?"
"Sort of." He remembers fighting. He hurts all over, so he's got to be hurt bad. But he doesn't know how hurt he is.
Seems like Jarvis got that. "You remember the fight?"
"Images. Details are fuzzy."
"Do you remember after?"
"Not really." The image of his arm sprang to mind. "Oh God…" Fortunately the Medic is with it enough to figure out what that cue meant and gets the backboard he's strapped to tipped to the side, before he started to retch. No food in his system so it's just dry heaves. "My arm!" Tim manages to gasp when he stops retching. He remembers how it looked when the fight was over, but he's strapped down so he can't see it now, and he can't feel it, either.
"All bandaged up for travel. There's a team of orthopedic surgeons who are waiting for you in Alameda. The Stennis has a combat ready medical suite, and they say you should get full use of it back when it's healed up," Jarvis says.
"Can't feel it." There's a lot of panic in his voice as he says, "Everything hurts, but I can't feel my arm."
"You're on pain medication for your whole body, and a nerve block on your arm. You can't feel or move it." The Medic replies. That calms Tim down, he can't see his arm, but apparently it's still attached to him. "They assessed you in the infirmary. You have a concussion, a broken nose, chipped tooth, broken arm, and broken foot."
He'd nod if he could, but he can't. "Neck damage?"
"No, but we're not taking any chances for the trip. Your neck is braced and you're on a backboard. Once you get out of surgery you'll be able to move you head and neck again."
"Okay."
The Medic says a few other things, but by that point the pain medication is kicking back in again, and Tim checks out.
A Lear jet is the fastest transport NCIS has to offer for four people traveling together. There are lots of nifty goodies on board, the flight crew is beyond obsequious. On any other occasion, this would be a lovely trip.
But it's not, because anything other than Star-Trek style transporters is too damn slow. (And honestly, even if they could be beamed to California, it'd still be too slow.)
Gibbs is sitting next to Abby, keeping an arm around her. Right now she's praying, and from the looks of it, Gibbs is, too.
Jimmy's got Tim's medical records up on his computer. The rough version they filled out aboard the Stennis. He finishes reading, carefully shuts his computer, stands up, and kicks his seat, hard, three times.
Gibbs, Abby, and Vance stare at him as he does it. When he gets done he rubs his eyes, then stalks over to the bar, finds the strongest alcohol they've got (Vodka) pours three shots of it, and hands one to Gibbs, one to Vance, and shoots his back.
He picks up his computer, sits next to Abby, and says. "I'd have poured one for you, but I figured you wouldn't want it." She nods, face a mask of fear. Vance looks curious about that, but no one says anything, so he puts two and two together and decides Abby's pregnant again.
Jimmy opens his computer and begins to go over the details with them.
They're racing the sunrise, and winning. Perpetual dark of near dawn envelops the jet as it continues westward.
It's a bit after 06:00, by Vance's watch (Eastern time, he's not sure what local time is, or for that matter where they are) when they get confirmation that Tim's in Alameda, in surgery, and that they're in the process of putting his arm back together.
He gets up and asks the pilot how far out they are, and he says they're about an hour from starting the descent.
His mouth tastes really bad. That's the first thing that hits Tim as he starts to inch toward awake. His mouth tastes bad and is really, excruciatingly, dry.
He wants a drink.
A lot of drinks.
Hurting. That comes up next. Not as bad as last time, but everything, including his right arm, aches. Must be out of surgery.
There's a weird tugging sensation on his hair, and that finally gets him to open his eyes.
"Oh, you're awake. Hi. I'm Amelia Clark, one of the post-op nurses," says a woman in scrubs who's hovering over him.
"Water."
"Not yet. You'll just throw it up. I can give you a damp sponge to suck on."
"Okay." That weird sensation is in his hair, and he hears clicking. Tim gingerly turns his head. Oh. I'm being processed.
Jarvis is standing in the corner of the room. There are two other people, in scrubs, so nurses maybe. One of them is taking pictures of him. He still can't see most of himself, but the photographer is getting shots of his left foot and leg, which are awfully black and blue.
He thinks the medic on the trip said something about a broken foot. "Is that the broken foot?"
"Yes." The nurse who is photographing him replies. "Amelia has a walking cast we're going to get you set for in a moment. Just have to get the shots."
He nods, and then feels more tugging on his hair. "There's DNA from three of four of them on my clothing. Have you scraped my nails?"
"Yes." The nurse who is combing through his hair answers.
"Are they in custody?" Tim asks Jarvis.
"Everyone but Mane. The four you were fighting are all being kept apart from each other."
"Good."
"Vance is calling in Agent Burley to handle the case. Do you know him?"
Tim's a bit surprised and dismayed that it's not Tony handling the case, but he knows Stan, he'll do a good job.
"Yeah, I do. He's a good guy. Gibbs' first Probie."
Jarvis doesn't seem to know what that means, and Tim isn't feeling like explaining.
The nurse who is combing out his hair glances to Jarvis, and then says quietly, "Do you need a rape kit?"
"No." He wonders exactly how badly thrashed he looks if she'd ask that, and then it hits him that his leg is bare, he tries to touch his leg, see if he's got his shorts on, but comes to the conclusion that's not going to happen. His right arm isn't going anywhere, and the IV is in his left. He can't tell, but he's guessing he's naked under the sheets, and may have come in that way.
The photographer nurse steps to the side, lifting the blanket off of his other leg, taking photos. Apparently that leg's all bruised up, but nothing's broken. Amelia, the only one he's got a name for, carefully eases a cast under his right foot and ankle and begins to strap him into it.
"You'll get written instructions, too, but you can get this wet and walk on it. In six weeks, when you're home, they'll re-xray make sure everything is properly healed, and if it is, you'll be out of this." She then tucks his leg under the blanket as the photographer finishes with his leg.
He knows what comes next, but Amelia's glancing at Jarvis, silently asking if he wants Jarvis out of the room. "He can stay. Just take the blanket off and do them all at once, okay?"
The photographer strips him down, and begins shooting. He's bruised all over, and it does look like at least one of them got him in the balls. (Good thing there's no food in his stomach, just seeing the swelling and bruising is making him nauseous again.) That might also explain part of why the nurse wondered if he needed a rape kit.
(It's also making him wonder how much pain medication he's on. Everything right now aches, but… Well, he's taken a shot to the balls before, a much less severe one, and that hurt about ten times more than he does now.)
He can't see much of his chest, it's wrapped in tight bandages. But Amelia notices him looking. "Three cracked ribs. They were already wrapped when you got here, and we're not unwrapping you. Open your mouth."
She pops something that looks like a lollipop in his mouth. It's wet, which is good, and god-awful sour. He'd spit it out if it wasn't for the fact that his mouth is so damn dry.
She nods, apparently that's a common reaction to whatever this thing is.
"Keeps you from trying to swallow the liquid. Looks like Barb is done with the photos." She begins to pull the blanket back over him.
"Back, gotta get my back."
"Can't. Your arm is in traction for the next two days."
Right, the arm. He finally turns his head to look at it and… He can't really see it. There's this wodge of bandages, and some sort of pulley system attached to the tips of his fingers, and a black vinyl thing that looks a bit like his walking cast for his leg, and some other soft foam thing keeping his arm elevated, and another strap across his chest so that it can't flop around and…
"Am I ever going to move it again?"
The nurse waves that away. "Of course. Hon, you're in a trauma ward for the US Navy. Please, that's barely a flesh wound by our standards. Last week we put an arm that was clean torn off back on a Sargent. You're gonna be fine."
That's reassuring.
"We're pretty much all done here. How about you get a nap, and when you wake up, your family'll be here."
That also takes him by surprise, somehow the idea that they'd be on the way didn't hit him.
"Vance tells me they landed a few minutes ago. Still have an hour's drive to get here, but they'll be here soon," Jarvis say.
Tim nods slightly, closes his eyes, and finds that falling asleep, even aching from head to toes, isn't that tricky when you've got this much pain medication in your system.
It's a long hallway. A really long hallway. They come in from one end and find Jarvis, he leads them toward Tim, at the other end.
Solid door, they can't see in, and it's closed, so they don't know what's on the other side.
Abby hugs Gibbs and Jimmy, and then says, "I'll… I need to… Alone."
"Okay. We'll wait, right out here," Jimmy says. Gibbs just gives her another hug.
Her first thought upon entering the room, stupid, silly thought, she sat next to Jimmy as he read the different files, she knew, intellectually, how bad he was, but it didn't stop her from almost turning right around, walking out and saying, "This is the wrong room. That's not Tim."
His face is so battered and swollen and bruised, she couldn't have identified him by looking at it.
They cut his shirt off and didn't put a gown over him, so she can see the tattoo on his delt, marred, swollen, black ink merging into black, red, blue, purple bruises, and knows it has to be him.
She makes herself look, makes herself see, analyze, and plan, because she cannot just throw herself on the bed, weeping, wrapping around him.
His face is black, some spots are purple or green, one tiny patch along his right ear is still skin-colored. There's a brace on his nose. His lips are split, swollen, bruised.
There are choke marks on his throat. His collarbones are black and blue, both shoulders covered in greenish-yellow-purple. Upper chest doesn't look too bad, comparatively. Little patches of skin colored skin. Middle and lower chest are wrapped up tight in some sort of bandage.
His left hand is black-purple-green, knuckles bandaged. Left elbow in similar shape. There's an IV leading to the back of his left hand, which she's praying is sending powerful pain medication into him.
His right hand and wrist are in traction, his right shoulder is propped up, and strapped to the bed to keep it immobile. There's some sort of black vinyl thing, a cast of some sort, covering from his armpit to mid-forearm, and another device cradling his wrist. Each finger is braced, and wrapped in bandages, with a web of lines pulling on his hand, keeping the tension on it.
She can feel the tears pouring down her face. She can't hold him. She can't lie down next to him, rest her head on his chest and just soak up him being alive. She's crying, trying to be quiet, because she doesn't want to wake him up, though she's fairly sure they drugged him enough that he won't wake for anything short of the Apocalypse.
Abby spends a few minutes sitting there, next to him, fingers on his left wrist, stroking very gently over unbruised skin. For a moment she wonders where the cuff went. He's got his wedding ring, but beyond that appears to be naked under the blankets.
Her fingers find his pulse, feeling it, strong and steady. She spends a few moments thanking God that he's still alive.
There's another spot on his left shoulder, about the size of her palm. She lays a kiss to that little patch of un-hurt Tim, about to get up and let Jimmy and Gibbs in, and hears, voice very rough, "I must look like complete shit if you won't kiss my lips."
She snaps up, hand reaching to touch his cheek and then pulling back.
He sees her face, no makeup, red and puffy from tears. Sees her almost touch, but not quite.
She swallows hard. "I didn't think you'd wake up."
"Not sure if I am. I'm half-sure this is a dream."
She kisses his leg again. "I'm here. Jimmy and Gibbs and Vance are outside. Once you can travel, we're going to take you home."
"Today?"
She shakes her head. "No."
"Tomorrow?"
"No."
"What's the day after that?"
"Monday. Maybe. We just got here, haven't gotten to talk to anyone, yet. Whenever they can unhook your arm, then you get to go home."
"Okay. Why are you kissing my shoulder?"
She wipes away her tears and tries to smile. "No bruises. I couldn't stand to do anything that might hurt you more."
His tongue slips over his lip, mapping the splits and the puffy, swollen flesh around them. She leans in and kisses the tip of his tongue.
"Do you have a mirror?"
She does but she says, "No," anyway. He doesn't need to see his face today.
He knows that she has a compact that lives in her purse and has a mirror on it, so she's lying to him. "Is it really that bad?"
She nods, more tears in her eyes.
"Okay. I don't need to see."
"Not until the swelling goes down some."
"Okay."
She kisses that bit of arm again. "I love you, Tim. Love you so much."
"Even ugly?" He tries to smile and that hurts, too, he can feel the skin of his lip separating again, so he stops.
"Tim!" She sniffles.
"I told you I'd fight to the last breath to come home to you."
"You did." Another sniff. "I love you so much, so much. Gibbs and Vance came at four in the morning and…" She's crying again.
"I'm alive, baby." His left arm seems free, so he very tentatively reaches up to stroke her face. That hurts bad. He doesn't know what's wrong with that arm, but it's not happy. However, her cheek in his palm, lips kissing him matters more than the hurt. He tries a very small smile. "I'm alive."
"I know. I do. Now." She wipes her eyes again. "Jimmy and Gibbs are going to want to see you. You want them to come in?"
"Little bit, feeling tired again."
"Okay, little bit, then you sleep some more."
They're waiting right outside the door, but by the time Gibbs and Jimmy get into Tim's room, he's asleep again.
Gibbs looks at Tim, lying there, just… broken.
He very gently ruffles his hair, kisses the top of his head, sees Tim wince in his sleep, and pulls his hand back.
He looks over at Abby, realizes that the little bit of his shoulder that she's touching has to be the only part that's not hurt and swallows hard, staring at the ceiling. He blinks once, twice, and once more, forcing himself under control. He can't break down, not in front of Abby, not until he's on his own.
So, if he can't fall into a mess, he can get mad.
He kisses the top of Abby's head, squeezes her shoulders, and heads into the hallway, where Vance is, again.
Vance didn't go in. This is a quiet, intimate, family moment, and he's not going to crash it. At the same time, though, he did look in and felt every ounce of blood in his body boil as he looks at McGee.
Vance is a cop. He's been at NCIS thirty-five years. He has seen literally thousands of dead people, and a whole lot of them looked way better than Tim McGee does right now.
Gibbs comes out a few seconds later. "I want on that ship."
"No."
He's giving Leon the help me or get out of my way look. "Leon."
"No. Agent Burley is heading there, with his team. The ship is heading back to port, and when they land, you can talk to him, but you will not get within sight of Admiral McGee. We will handle this properly until we cannot handle it properly anymore." There's so much ice in Vance's voice that it gets through to Jethro. He actually listens.
"Jethro, what do you know about John McGee?"
There are a lot of things he could say, but most of them are private, for Tim and the family and that's it, so he says, "He's the man who didn't call to see if his son was alive or dead after the Deering bombing."
Vance nods. He hadn't known that, but isn't surprised.
"Here's what I know about you: if I let you on that ship, you'll kill him. Here's what I know about me: Dying by your hands will not be nearly as slow or painful as what I want to happen to him will be. Here's what I know about him: He loves his rank, his ship, and his job, more than anything on earth, so we will rob him of it. Hell is whatever hurts worst, Jethro, and we will make him hurt. That rifle I gave you, use it, after he's been stripped of his rank and dishonorably discharged."
And Gibbs has to admit, that's something he can wait for.
Next
September 9, 2014
Shards To A Whole: Clouds on the Horizon
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 386: Clouds on the Horizon
Tim's all but bouncing as he takes the stairs up to Leon's office. Last prepping meeting before the test is today and he's really looking forward to it.
And not just because he's enjoying the idea of showing off exactly how the test will work, but because it'll also be really nice to talk to someone about this who isn't assuming he's going to get assaulted or killed the second he sets foot on the Stennis. Of his family members, the only one who knows about this trip and isn't worried is Penny. Because she also gets exactly how horrified John would be at the idea of ever disobeying a direct order.
Everyone else is varying from not sleeping (Jethro) to on edge (Ducky).
So, heading up, showing this off and talking to people who assume it's going to work splendidly is going to be fun. Showing off how damn good he is at his job to the Secretary of the Freaking NAVY, is awesome.
And, sure, he's worried, a bit, but mostly, he's really enjoying the idea of seeing the look on John's face when he steals his entire fleet, turns it inside out, kills his communications, and makes all the guys with all of their command experience and years in the Navy completely irrelevant as he uses the skills he spent decades honing to cripple everything his Dad loves.
For a few minutes, at least. Until he chooses to give it back to them. Just the idea makes him smile.
Karen waves Tim in when he gets to Vance's office. Vance is (obviously) already in there.
They greet each other, and Tim get his lap top set up.
"Not that I don't appreciate being kept in the loop on this, McGee, but why are you and Clayt meeting up here? You have an office of your own for a reason."
Tim nods. "Yep." He shrugs a bit. "Probably just being too cautious, but… This is supposed to be kept quiet, and the Secretary of the Navy coming to visit me'll cause talk. Him coming to visit you, doesn't. He happens to drop by while I'm briefing you… That happens, right?"
Vance smiles dryly at that. It is cautious. Too cautious, likely. The chance that anything that happens here getting out is minimal. But Vance does approve of this level of caution for what's supposed to be a classified test.
Tim looks up from his laptop. "Okay. Final report on how it's supposed to work is in your inbox. For a heads up, my team thinks I'm at Cybersecurity conference on a cruise ship. If they ping my phone and see I'm at sea, they won't wonder why. Manner and Howard are minding the store while I'm away. Nothing big's on deck for right now, and I'll be checking in when and as I can."
Vance nods along with that. "How's Manner liking that?"
"He's pleased. He's a good second-in-command, and he knows it. The difference between now and ten months ago is that he knows he's better at taking orders than giving them. So, he's got the DC Team and instructions for what to do with them. Howard's nominally keeping an eye on the rest of the techs. Ngyn's coordinating that, but having to deal with 130 plus people in person is her idea of Hell, so she's making sure everything keeps running, and if something SNAFUs, Howard'll handle the people while she and Ngyn wrangle the tech."
Vance approves of how Tim's handling his teams, playing to his people's strengths.
A second later, Jarvis and his secretary, a young Lieutenant named Remy James, enter Vance's office. They're both looking pleased to be in there, and after a few moments of pleasantries, James hands Tim a suit bag, which Tim opens.
"What did you do before you were SecNav?" Tim asks as he looks at the content of the suit bag in front of him.
Vance smiles at Jarvis. "Clandestine services. Clayt always did enjoy breaking out the costumes and cover IDs."
Clayt nods, pleased by that comment. It's true, too. He always did like slipping into new lives. "Cover is a good idea, but a cover is only as good as it's details, so..."
"So the details will be perfect." Tim's looking at the contents of the bag. It's a Captain's uniform, Irish Naval Service, proper insignia, McGee on the nametag, a few medals he's going to have to google because it'd be useful to be able to say what they are if anyone asks. James hands him a folder, which he opens. Or maybe there will be no googling. He's got a life history, a history of the Irish Naval Services, the meaning and history and what he did to get all of those medals. It's a complete backstory.
"I don't suppose you can fake an Irish accent?" Jarvis asks.
Tim shakes his head. "No. You don't even want to hear me try. It's, really, really bad." (The less that's said about that particular misadventure in role playing, the better. We'll leave it here, Gabriel McGee is not Irish. Abby wasn't laughing so hard she wet her pants, but only because she'd been to the bathroom recently.) Clayt takes the folder back from McGee, crosses a few lines out, and adds in, Moved to US as a baby. Back to Ireland late teens.
"Ah." Clayt looks up from the McGee notes and hands them back to Tim. "Add what you need to personalize it. Make it yours. Just give us a heads up if you really shift something. You're just a guy on a trip with us, so we wouldn't know you well, but major details would stick out."
Tim nods.
"Anyway, the plan is that we'll get on board. The XO generally meets me when we do this. John prefers to keep everything under his eye and doesn't like to be pulled away from his men if he can avoid it."
Tim nods again, that sounds right to him.
"So, on we'll go. We'll get settled. You'll do your thing. And then we'll call him in and let him see how they handle it."
"If his guys are on top of their game, at some point they'll pull him away from us," Tim says.
"That'll be fine. We can watch how he reacts… Don't suppose there's a way to do this without him knowing it's a hack?"
"Sure, I stay home." Tim supposes that would make Abby and Gibbs and Jimmy and Breena all really happy, but… Right now, he really wants to go. He wants to see the look on his Dad's face when this goes down. "The test is already set. Nothing any of us actually need to do, now. So, if you want him completely blindsided, you do your thing, and at 13:03:06 everything goes bonkers. Look alarmed when his XO starts yelling."
"And the downside to that is?" Because there has to be a downside.
"We won't be able to see how they respond. I need to get to a place where I can hack the security feeds and get us footage of his computer guys. I don't, technically, need to be on the ship to do that, either, but since you'll be on the ship, it'd be easier to show you what's going on if I'm there, too. If you just want a data feed, or just a report after, I can do that from my computer from pretty much anywhere."
"No." Jarvis shakes his head. "I want to see them in action, as well as get the data."
Tim grins. He wants to see the action, too. "That'll be easier in a room with a big screen TV."
"When McGee did it here, he was able to use the cameras to check everyone, see how they worked as a team in addition to tracking what they were doing with their computers," Vance adds.
"Okay. So we go. I'll request a pre-inspection briefing… Conference room on all of those ships has a big screen these days. Spin some bull about Irish Naval ships and what 'you guys' are looking for. That'll be the reason he'll be there. It'll be just him and his secretary. They'll be ordered to silence. And we'll watch the test from there."
"Sounds good." Tim looks at the uniform again, checking the tags. "How did you know my size?"
Jarvis smiles. "Once upon a time, I was really good at this."
Abby looks up at him as he heads down to the lab, suit bag over his shoulder. Then he realizes that he can't open the damn thing, because if he does, the cat goes leaping out of the bag, and sure, the Lab Techs aren't likely to talk, but…
Too late.
"Ohhh… what's that?" she asks, seeing the bag.
He grins at her. "Surprise." He looks around, everyone else is milling around, some low music is playing in the ballistics lab, but it doesn't have the active case feel. "You guys working late today?"
"Everyone should be out by six." She's smiling as she says that, getting a hint of what he's possibly thinking. Get all dressed up, head down to the lab, maybe carry her off to her office… He's smiling at that idea.
But, God… if someone sees… It's not obvious what, exactly, it is, and… not a lot of traffic down here, as long as the lab's officially closed…
No. Too much risk. And Heather probably wants to get home at normal time, and holding her late so they can fool around…
He leans in close and kisses her ear, whispering, "After dinner, dress up time," and heads out quietly humming Up Where We Belong from Officer and A Gentleman.
She catches it, and begins to giggle, having a very good idea of what might be in that bag.
"Gibbs?" Tim's at his desk. Right now he's not on deck for the job triaging system. (Since he can't reliably finish whatever he might start before quitting time tonight.) So, he's scanning through the jobs that are up, looking for ones that have been open for more than a few days, and hopping into them to give everything a quick look over. See if he can add anything useful.
So far, and this pleases him greatly, the answer is no. He's gone through two jobs, and both of them are on day three or four because they're sorting through absolutely massive wodges of data, and there's just no way to make the computers do that any faster than they already are.
Gibbs shuts the door behind him, and heads over to sit on the edge of Tim's desk.
He's not saying anything; he's just looking at Tim.
"Okay, at this point, you're making me a hell of a lot more nervous than the test is."
Gibbs nods. "Be nervous."
Tim sighs. "Okay, really, specifically. What is the gut sensing?"
Gibbs shakes his head. "Nothing specific. This feels bad. This feels like walking into a trap."
Tim slumps at that. He hates how worried and afraid Jethro is.
"You want me to ditch it?"
Gibbs shakes his head. "I know you won't. I know you want this, maybe need it."
"I do."
Gibbs sighs. "Be careful, Tim."
"I will. I'm not the one who takes the stupid risks."
Another sigh. "Yeah. I know."
Tim stands up and hugs Gibbs. "I'm fine. I'm going to keep being fine. Sunday or Monday I'm coming home, all in one piece."
Gibbs squeezes him tight, holding him quietly for a long minute before letting go. "You better."
"I will."
Gibbs swallows hard, nods, and heads off.
Tim exhales, low and deep, trying to chase away all the nervous Gibbs just dropped on him.
Almost done for the day. Just a few more keystrokes and…
"Hey."
Tim holds up one finger, letting Jimmy know he's almost done. A second later he hits enter, and then looks up.
"Hey, back. What's up?"
"Got something for you." Jimmy heads over, pulls an orange pill bottle from his lab coat pocket, and hands it to Tim.
Tim looks at them, nodding. More anti-nausea meds.
"Thanks. Still got plenty from last time, though."
Jimmy shakes his head. "Use these."
"Okay… The other one's expired or something?"
"These are stronger."
Tim nods at that, looking at the label. Sure he didn't memorize the bottle last time, but this looks exactly the same. "Stronger how? This is the same stuff, right?"
He looks up and sees Jimmy looking a little uncomfortable. "Last ones were ninety percent baking soda."
Tim blinks and sighs. "You gave me a placebo?"
"And it worked splendidly until you saw that body, right?"
"Well, okay, yeah."
"This time you're going to be on a moving ship, with your Dad around, and I thought maybe having something beyond a mild antacid would be useful."
Tim opens the bottle and notices that this time the pills are in a small blister pack, with labels. He puts the cap back on, noticing the Target logo on the bottle. Which is when it hits him that, yes, Jimmy can write prescriptions, but he doesn't have his own dispensary. "What do I owe you for these?"
Jimmy waves it away. "Call it a going away present."
Tim smiles at that. "Keep an eye on Gibbs for me? I don't want him getting Abby panicked during Shabbos tomorrow."
"I was going to do that anyway."
"He showed up today, pretty much just to hug me."
"He's really freaked out."
"I know. That's not keeping me any calmer, either."
"Yeah, well, I don't want you going into this calm and relaxed. I want you on full alert. Just because I'm not flipping out doesn't mean I'm not worried, too."
"I know, but short of emergency appendicitis, I'm not getting out of this."
Jimmy looks Tim dead on. "That can be arranged, you know?"
Tim flashes Jimmy his exasperated look.
"I know. I'm not helping." Jimmy pats the pill bottle. "This is helping. Call in if you get a shot, okay?"
"I will. Any luck I'll have a few minutes round about dinner time back here to give a quick call."
Jimmy nods and heads out.
Irish Naval Service Officer UniformsIt's black or navy blue. So dark he can't tell which. And if asked, he's sure it's not identical to US Navy Service Blues, but he couldn't tell you how. (If it's blue and not black, that'd be a difference.) But the cut looks the same, the double row of gold(ish) buttons on the front, the four gold stripes on the cuffs, same gold star above them, the white hat with the black (navy?) bill, to Tim, this looks like a US Naval Uniform.
Which is more or less the only piece of clothing he's never, ever wanted to have touching his body.
He looks at it more, the insignias are different, so there's something. Holding the hat, cap, whatever, he can see that where, on a US Naval Officer's hat there's an eagle and the shield, on the Irish cap there's some sort of big, gold two spread wings-looking things. Between them is an anchor, and above it is something that looks like a sun with two Fs in it. But just like it's US counter-part it's got the gold curly-cues on the bill and the gold stripe across the band.
He checks the jacket more carefully, and, if there's a difference between it and the US Naval equivalent, he can't see it. The stripes are the same. The stars are the same. The buttons are different, and that's it.
There's probably some sort of uniform manufacturer in China who makes a ton of these things and they just send them out for fine tuning the embroidery.
Enough dithering. If he doesn't put the damn thing on soon, he'll find Abby asleep in bed, dreaming about the sex they're going to have, instead of awake in bed, actually ready to have some sex.
When he steps out, in full uniform, with as close as he can get to the right posture, Abby just stares at him, blinks hard, stares some more, and finally says, "Wow!"
Tim nods, looking at himself in the full-length mirror on the back of the door.
She hops up, standing behind him, hands on his shoulders, gently slipping them down his arms. "Just, yeah… Wow!"
He takes the hat off, only part with anything really visibly not a US Uniform, and says, "This was supposed to be me."
Her chin is on his shoulder, but she shakes her head anyway. Her hand slips under the jacket, between the buttons of his shirt, and comes to rest on his chest. "This is who you're supposed to be." She strokes the uniform. "This is… I don't know. But not you. Not for more than a few nights. Not for more than play."
He smiles at that.
"It looks good."
He nods. It does. "Feels weird."
"Probably going to make your Dad pass out when he sees you. Especially if you're not wearing the hat."
He has to admit that makes him smile. Drive the old man apoplectic to see him in a Captain's uniform. And, while he's sure John would have some choice words that he'd love to say about him defiling the uniform, the fact that he's wearing it at the request of the Secretary of the Navy is awfully sweet.
"So," she nibbles her lip. "Are we playing with this, or is it too weird?"
"I think we're playing. If it gets weird, I know how to stop it."
She grins and nods. Then steps back, settling herself in the center of their bed. He's noticing that she's not her usual pre-bed naked. He's appreciating that she's got on a little teddy and cute little lace panties.
"Hello, Sailor," she says, voice lower than usual, come hither all over her tone.
He grins, liking that. "Hello back."
"Looking for company?"
He laughs, and then gets himself into the character. "Think I found some. What's the going rate?"
She stretches a little, rubbing one leg along the other, then shifts her weight onto her arms, pressing her breasts up and out. "Depends on what you like."
"I like lots of things." He says, stepping closer, unbuttoning the jacket, loosening his tie.
"Lots of things, huh? And let me guess, you've been away a long time, only your hand for company?"
"Communal showers, so not even a lot of that."
She shifts onto her knees, gesturing for him to come a bit closer, and then rests her hands on his chest. "Poor baby." She's close, lips a breath away from his, as she slips her tongue over them, it just, barely brushes against his lower lip. "I bet that's frustrating."
"You have no idea."
She nods.
"So, is it true what they say about sailors?"
"Which part?"
"That you're all really horny all the time?"
He takes her right hand, and places it on his cock. "What do you think?"
She moans quietly, and squeezes gently. His teeth clench and a sigh slips out of him. "Mmmm…"
"Know what'll feel even better?"
"What?" he asks.
"Not having pants on."
He nods. "That'll feel much better." She squeezes again, and he bites his lip.
"But you've got to tell me what you want, first, so we can get the business part done."
He closes his eyes and smiles a little, licking his lips. "Don't suppose you just charge by the hour?"
She shakes her head. "Nope. Gotta tell me what you want."
"Okay…" He looks her up and down, figuring that this is a pretty direct statement of 'You get to pick what we're doing tonight.' "Feeling kind of lazy tonight. Just want to lay back, sixty-nine until I'm about to come, and then have you slip off and ride me home."
"Sounds good. Two fifty, but if you can get me off, it's on the house."
He gently licks her lip. "Then I'll just have to get you off."
He's stripping off his uniform (carefully, it can't be all wrinkly for tomorrow) when she says, "You can try."
"Oh yeah." He grins. "I love a challenge."
A few seconds later he's naked, standing at attention (in more ways than one) next to their bed.
"Nice ink." She says.
"Thanks, like yours, too. You gonna let me see all of it?"
She carefully strips out of the teddy and panties, and his eyes trail all over her. He nods slowly, eyes lingering on her breasts and then pussy. "Yeah, like that a whole lot."
He sits down on their bed, wondering how 'realistic' this is going to be. Granted, he's never had sex with a hooker, so he's a bit fuzzy on the details, but he's assuming a lot of foreplay isn't part of the deal. Of course, given how sleepy she's been lately, quick is probably a selling point right now.
So, he just lays down, pulling her to him, careful not to crush her breasts between them. They're starting to get really sensitive again. "You kiss?" he asks.
She smiles and kisses him, soft and wet and deep. Then pulls back. "I do when I like the guy."
His hand twines in her hair and pulls her down for another kiss, also wet and deep. She's making soft, needy, happy noises in the back of her throat when she pulls back, and starts to flip around.
"Hold up. Change of plans." His hands urge her forward, up his body. "Still want to go down on you, but want to be able to touch more of you."
She's straddling his lips, exactly where he wants her. And for a few seconds he's just looking. Perfect pussy pouting at him, pink lips peeking between white labia, slight gleam of wetness, that smell hitting him so hard.
"Love pussy."
"You and every other sailor."
"Mmmm…" And he dives in. Kissing all over her. Starting gentle and easy, waiting for her body to start to rock in counter to his. Then licking, reveling in her flavor on his lips and tongue. His left hand strokes her, getting wet and slick, moving along with his tongue, finally, first two fingers slipping into her, pressing forward, finding her g-spot. His right hand reaches up, the reason for changing positions. Barely a month pregnant means very sensitive breasts, and he intends to take advantage of it.
Old, familiar dance, well-loved and satisfying. His lips and tongue and fingers know what to do, how to play her, how to touch so that in a matter of minutes she's going tight on him, hips moving fast as thighs tense. He's focused his touches, tongue on her clit, rolling over and over, fast and firm, keeping a steady pulse on her g-spot as his other hand pulls gently on her nipple.
She's moving faster, grinding against him, moans going high and breathy, and he knows she's almost there, just a little more, a few more seconds, bit more pressure. He sucks on her clit, pulling it between his lips, and pinches her nipple, firm, not too hard, and feels her hips and pussy twitch in response, slipping her over the edge.
Abby takes a minute to catch her breath, and then shimmies down him, kissing his lips. "Looks like you know your way around more than a ship."
He grins, sassy, at that. "Aviator. Don't like boats."
"How does a guy who doesn't like boats end up in the Navy?"
"It's where all the best toys are."
"Uh huh." She kisses him again. "So, ride you how? Facing you or turned away…"
"Ohhh… options…" His hands settle on her butt, and he leans up a bit to lick a nipple. "Tits or ass…" He kisses her nipple again, letting his teeth just drag over it, and she shivers. "Love this view, but… Turn around. Always been an ass man."
She turns around, wiggling at him, and then settles onto him in a long, slow stroke.
"Fuck!" he says it sincerely, voice low, hands settling on her ass.
She sets a quick pace. Not setting any endurance records tonight. And like before, it's an old, favorite dance. Motions mastered long ago and beloved. He holds her hips, rocking up to meet her, enjoying the view and the sublime pleasure of her body on his.
It's only a few minutes, but they're good minutes, happy minutes, and then he's also jerking and twitching as he comes.
She rests against him for a moment, both of them enjoying the glow, and then he reaches for the tissues, followed by quick cleaning up, and snuggling in close and sleepy.
They roll onto their sides, breathing slowing, and settle into sleeping position. He kisses her neck and shoulder, and she kisses his hand.
Another breath, one more, and the day ends in slumber.
Next
Chapter 386: Clouds on the Horizon
Tim's all but bouncing as he takes the stairs up to Leon's office. Last prepping meeting before the test is today and he's really looking forward to it.
And not just because he's enjoying the idea of showing off exactly how the test will work, but because it'll also be really nice to talk to someone about this who isn't assuming he's going to get assaulted or killed the second he sets foot on the Stennis. Of his family members, the only one who knows about this trip and isn't worried is Penny. Because she also gets exactly how horrified John would be at the idea of ever disobeying a direct order.
Everyone else is varying from not sleeping (Jethro) to on edge (Ducky).
So, heading up, showing this off and talking to people who assume it's going to work splendidly is going to be fun. Showing off how damn good he is at his job to the Secretary of the Freaking NAVY, is awesome.
And, sure, he's worried, a bit, but mostly, he's really enjoying the idea of seeing the look on John's face when he steals his entire fleet, turns it inside out, kills his communications, and makes all the guys with all of their command experience and years in the Navy completely irrelevant as he uses the skills he spent decades honing to cripple everything his Dad loves.
For a few minutes, at least. Until he chooses to give it back to them. Just the idea makes him smile.
Karen waves Tim in when he gets to Vance's office. Vance is (obviously) already in there.
They greet each other, and Tim get his lap top set up.
"Not that I don't appreciate being kept in the loop on this, McGee, but why are you and Clayt meeting up here? You have an office of your own for a reason."
Tim nods. "Yep." He shrugs a bit. "Probably just being too cautious, but… This is supposed to be kept quiet, and the Secretary of the Navy coming to visit me'll cause talk. Him coming to visit you, doesn't. He happens to drop by while I'm briefing you… That happens, right?"
Vance smiles dryly at that. It is cautious. Too cautious, likely. The chance that anything that happens here getting out is minimal. But Vance does approve of this level of caution for what's supposed to be a classified test.
Tim looks up from his laptop. "Okay. Final report on how it's supposed to work is in your inbox. For a heads up, my team thinks I'm at Cybersecurity conference on a cruise ship. If they ping my phone and see I'm at sea, they won't wonder why. Manner and Howard are minding the store while I'm away. Nothing big's on deck for right now, and I'll be checking in when and as I can."
Vance nods along with that. "How's Manner liking that?"
"He's pleased. He's a good second-in-command, and he knows it. The difference between now and ten months ago is that he knows he's better at taking orders than giving them. So, he's got the DC Team and instructions for what to do with them. Howard's nominally keeping an eye on the rest of the techs. Ngyn's coordinating that, but having to deal with 130 plus people in person is her idea of Hell, so she's making sure everything keeps running, and if something SNAFUs, Howard'll handle the people while she and Ngyn wrangle the tech."
Vance approves of how Tim's handling his teams, playing to his people's strengths.
A second later, Jarvis and his secretary, a young Lieutenant named Remy James, enter Vance's office. They're both looking pleased to be in there, and after a few moments of pleasantries, James hands Tim a suit bag, which Tim opens.
"What did you do before you were SecNav?" Tim asks as he looks at the content of the suit bag in front of him.
Vance smiles at Jarvis. "Clandestine services. Clayt always did enjoy breaking out the costumes and cover IDs."
Clayt nods, pleased by that comment. It's true, too. He always did like slipping into new lives. "Cover is a good idea, but a cover is only as good as it's details, so..."
"So the details will be perfect." Tim's looking at the contents of the bag. It's a Captain's uniform, Irish Naval Service, proper insignia, McGee on the nametag, a few medals he's going to have to google because it'd be useful to be able to say what they are if anyone asks. James hands him a folder, which he opens. Or maybe there will be no googling. He's got a life history, a history of the Irish Naval Services, the meaning and history and what he did to get all of those medals. It's a complete backstory.
"I don't suppose you can fake an Irish accent?" Jarvis asks.
Tim shakes his head. "No. You don't even want to hear me try. It's, really, really bad." (The less that's said about that particular misadventure in role playing, the better. We'll leave it here, Gabriel McGee is not Irish. Abby wasn't laughing so hard she wet her pants, but only because she'd been to the bathroom recently.) Clayt takes the folder back from McGee, crosses a few lines out, and adds in, Moved to US as a baby. Back to Ireland late teens.
"Ah." Clayt looks up from the McGee notes and hands them back to Tim. "Add what you need to personalize it. Make it yours. Just give us a heads up if you really shift something. You're just a guy on a trip with us, so we wouldn't know you well, but major details would stick out."
Tim nods.
"Anyway, the plan is that we'll get on board. The XO generally meets me when we do this. John prefers to keep everything under his eye and doesn't like to be pulled away from his men if he can avoid it."
Tim nods again, that sounds right to him.
"So, on we'll go. We'll get settled. You'll do your thing. And then we'll call him in and let him see how they handle it."
"If his guys are on top of their game, at some point they'll pull him away from us," Tim says.
"That'll be fine. We can watch how he reacts… Don't suppose there's a way to do this without him knowing it's a hack?"
"Sure, I stay home." Tim supposes that would make Abby and Gibbs and Jimmy and Breena all really happy, but… Right now, he really wants to go. He wants to see the look on his Dad's face when this goes down. "The test is already set. Nothing any of us actually need to do, now. So, if you want him completely blindsided, you do your thing, and at 13:03:06 everything goes bonkers. Look alarmed when his XO starts yelling."
"And the downside to that is?" Because there has to be a downside.
"We won't be able to see how they respond. I need to get to a place where I can hack the security feeds and get us footage of his computer guys. I don't, technically, need to be on the ship to do that, either, but since you'll be on the ship, it'd be easier to show you what's going on if I'm there, too. If you just want a data feed, or just a report after, I can do that from my computer from pretty much anywhere."
"No." Jarvis shakes his head. "I want to see them in action, as well as get the data."
Tim grins. He wants to see the action, too. "That'll be easier in a room with a big screen TV."
"When McGee did it here, he was able to use the cameras to check everyone, see how they worked as a team in addition to tracking what they were doing with their computers," Vance adds.
"Okay. So we go. I'll request a pre-inspection briefing… Conference room on all of those ships has a big screen these days. Spin some bull about Irish Naval ships and what 'you guys' are looking for. That'll be the reason he'll be there. It'll be just him and his secretary. They'll be ordered to silence. And we'll watch the test from there."
"Sounds good." Tim looks at the uniform again, checking the tags. "How did you know my size?"
Jarvis smiles. "Once upon a time, I was really good at this."
Abby looks up at him as he heads down to the lab, suit bag over his shoulder. Then he realizes that he can't open the damn thing, because if he does, the cat goes leaping out of the bag, and sure, the Lab Techs aren't likely to talk, but…
Too late.
"Ohhh… what's that?" she asks, seeing the bag.
He grins at her. "Surprise." He looks around, everyone else is milling around, some low music is playing in the ballistics lab, but it doesn't have the active case feel. "You guys working late today?"
"Everyone should be out by six." She's smiling as she says that, getting a hint of what he's possibly thinking. Get all dressed up, head down to the lab, maybe carry her off to her office… He's smiling at that idea.
But, God… if someone sees… It's not obvious what, exactly, it is, and… not a lot of traffic down here, as long as the lab's officially closed…
No. Too much risk. And Heather probably wants to get home at normal time, and holding her late so they can fool around…
He leans in close and kisses her ear, whispering, "After dinner, dress up time," and heads out quietly humming Up Where We Belong from Officer and A Gentleman.
She catches it, and begins to giggle, having a very good idea of what might be in that bag.
"Gibbs?" Tim's at his desk. Right now he's not on deck for the job triaging system. (Since he can't reliably finish whatever he might start before quitting time tonight.) So, he's scanning through the jobs that are up, looking for ones that have been open for more than a few days, and hopping into them to give everything a quick look over. See if he can add anything useful.
So far, and this pleases him greatly, the answer is no. He's gone through two jobs, and both of them are on day three or four because they're sorting through absolutely massive wodges of data, and there's just no way to make the computers do that any faster than they already are.
Gibbs shuts the door behind him, and heads over to sit on the edge of Tim's desk.
He's not saying anything; he's just looking at Tim.
"Okay, at this point, you're making me a hell of a lot more nervous than the test is."
Gibbs nods. "Be nervous."
Tim sighs. "Okay, really, specifically. What is the gut sensing?"
Gibbs shakes his head. "Nothing specific. This feels bad. This feels like walking into a trap."
Tim slumps at that. He hates how worried and afraid Jethro is.
"You want me to ditch it?"
Gibbs shakes his head. "I know you won't. I know you want this, maybe need it."
"I do."
Gibbs sighs. "Be careful, Tim."
"I will. I'm not the one who takes the stupid risks."
Another sigh. "Yeah. I know."
Tim stands up and hugs Gibbs. "I'm fine. I'm going to keep being fine. Sunday or Monday I'm coming home, all in one piece."
Gibbs squeezes him tight, holding him quietly for a long minute before letting go. "You better."
"I will."
Gibbs swallows hard, nods, and heads off.
Tim exhales, low and deep, trying to chase away all the nervous Gibbs just dropped on him.
Almost done for the day. Just a few more keystrokes and…
"Hey."
Tim holds up one finger, letting Jimmy know he's almost done. A second later he hits enter, and then looks up.
"Hey, back. What's up?"
"Got something for you." Jimmy heads over, pulls an orange pill bottle from his lab coat pocket, and hands it to Tim.
Tim looks at them, nodding. More anti-nausea meds.
"Thanks. Still got plenty from last time, though."
Jimmy shakes his head. "Use these."
"Okay… The other one's expired or something?"
"These are stronger."
Tim nods at that, looking at the label. Sure he didn't memorize the bottle last time, but this looks exactly the same. "Stronger how? This is the same stuff, right?"
He looks up and sees Jimmy looking a little uncomfortable. "Last ones were ninety percent baking soda."
Tim blinks and sighs. "You gave me a placebo?"
"And it worked splendidly until you saw that body, right?"
"Well, okay, yeah."
"This time you're going to be on a moving ship, with your Dad around, and I thought maybe having something beyond a mild antacid would be useful."
Tim opens the bottle and notices that this time the pills are in a small blister pack, with labels. He puts the cap back on, noticing the Target logo on the bottle. Which is when it hits him that, yes, Jimmy can write prescriptions, but he doesn't have his own dispensary. "What do I owe you for these?"
Jimmy waves it away. "Call it a going away present."
Tim smiles at that. "Keep an eye on Gibbs for me? I don't want him getting Abby panicked during Shabbos tomorrow."
"I was going to do that anyway."
"He showed up today, pretty much just to hug me."
"He's really freaked out."
"I know. That's not keeping me any calmer, either."
"Yeah, well, I don't want you going into this calm and relaxed. I want you on full alert. Just because I'm not flipping out doesn't mean I'm not worried, too."
"I know, but short of emergency appendicitis, I'm not getting out of this."
Jimmy looks Tim dead on. "That can be arranged, you know?"
Tim flashes Jimmy his exasperated look.
"I know. I'm not helping." Jimmy pats the pill bottle. "This is helping. Call in if you get a shot, okay?"
"I will. Any luck I'll have a few minutes round about dinner time back here to give a quick call."
Jimmy nods and heads out.
Irish Naval Service Officer UniformsIt's black or navy blue. So dark he can't tell which. And if asked, he's sure it's not identical to US Navy Service Blues, but he couldn't tell you how. (If it's blue and not black, that'd be a difference.) But the cut looks the same, the double row of gold(ish) buttons on the front, the four gold stripes on the cuffs, same gold star above them, the white hat with the black (navy?) bill, to Tim, this looks like a US Naval Uniform.Which is more or less the only piece of clothing he's never, ever wanted to have touching his body.
He looks at it more, the insignias are different, so there's something. Holding the hat, cap, whatever, he can see that where, on a US Naval Officer's hat there's an eagle and the shield, on the Irish cap there's some sort of big, gold two spread wings-looking things. Between them is an anchor, and above it is something that looks like a sun with two Fs in it. But just like it's US counter-part it's got the gold curly-cues on the bill and the gold stripe across the band.
He checks the jacket more carefully, and, if there's a difference between it and the US Naval equivalent, he can't see it. The stripes are the same. The stars are the same. The buttons are different, and that's it.
There's probably some sort of uniform manufacturer in China who makes a ton of these things and they just send them out for fine tuning the embroidery.
Enough dithering. If he doesn't put the damn thing on soon, he'll find Abby asleep in bed, dreaming about the sex they're going to have, instead of awake in bed, actually ready to have some sex.
When he steps out, in full uniform, with as close as he can get to the right posture, Abby just stares at him, blinks hard, stares some more, and finally says, "Wow!"
Tim nods, looking at himself in the full-length mirror on the back of the door.
She hops up, standing behind him, hands on his shoulders, gently slipping them down his arms. "Just, yeah… Wow!"
He takes the hat off, only part with anything really visibly not a US Uniform, and says, "This was supposed to be me."
Her chin is on his shoulder, but she shakes her head anyway. Her hand slips under the jacket, between the buttons of his shirt, and comes to rest on his chest. "This is who you're supposed to be." She strokes the uniform. "This is… I don't know. But not you. Not for more than a few nights. Not for more than play."
He smiles at that.
"It looks good."
He nods. It does. "Feels weird."
"Probably going to make your Dad pass out when he sees you. Especially if you're not wearing the hat."
He has to admit that makes him smile. Drive the old man apoplectic to see him in a Captain's uniform. And, while he's sure John would have some choice words that he'd love to say about him defiling the uniform, the fact that he's wearing it at the request of the Secretary of the Navy is awfully sweet.
"So," she nibbles her lip. "Are we playing with this, or is it too weird?"
"I think we're playing. If it gets weird, I know how to stop it."
She grins and nods. Then steps back, settling herself in the center of their bed. He's noticing that she's not her usual pre-bed naked. He's appreciating that she's got on a little teddy and cute little lace panties.
"Hello, Sailor," she says, voice lower than usual, come hither all over her tone.
He grins, liking that. "Hello back."
"Looking for company?"
He laughs, and then gets himself into the character. "Think I found some. What's the going rate?"
She stretches a little, rubbing one leg along the other, then shifts her weight onto her arms, pressing her breasts up and out. "Depends on what you like."
"I like lots of things." He says, stepping closer, unbuttoning the jacket, loosening his tie.
"Lots of things, huh? And let me guess, you've been away a long time, only your hand for company?"
"Communal showers, so not even a lot of that."
She shifts onto her knees, gesturing for him to come a bit closer, and then rests her hands on his chest. "Poor baby." She's close, lips a breath away from his, as she slips her tongue over them, it just, barely brushes against his lower lip. "I bet that's frustrating."
"You have no idea."
She nods.
"So, is it true what they say about sailors?"
"Which part?"
"That you're all really horny all the time?"
He takes her right hand, and places it on his cock. "What do you think?"
She moans quietly, and squeezes gently. His teeth clench and a sigh slips out of him. "Mmmm…"
"Know what'll feel even better?"
"What?" he asks.
"Not having pants on."
He nods. "That'll feel much better." She squeezes again, and he bites his lip.
"But you've got to tell me what you want, first, so we can get the business part done."
He closes his eyes and smiles a little, licking his lips. "Don't suppose you just charge by the hour?"
She shakes her head. "Nope. Gotta tell me what you want."
"Okay…" He looks her up and down, figuring that this is a pretty direct statement of 'You get to pick what we're doing tonight.' "Feeling kind of lazy tonight. Just want to lay back, sixty-nine until I'm about to come, and then have you slip off and ride me home."
"Sounds good. Two fifty, but if you can get me off, it's on the house."
He gently licks her lip. "Then I'll just have to get you off."
He's stripping off his uniform (carefully, it can't be all wrinkly for tomorrow) when she says, "You can try."
"Oh yeah." He grins. "I love a challenge."
A few seconds later he's naked, standing at attention (in more ways than one) next to their bed.
"Nice ink." She says.
"Thanks, like yours, too. You gonna let me see all of it?"
She carefully strips out of the teddy and panties, and his eyes trail all over her. He nods slowly, eyes lingering on her breasts and then pussy. "Yeah, like that a whole lot."
He sits down on their bed, wondering how 'realistic' this is going to be. Granted, he's never had sex with a hooker, so he's a bit fuzzy on the details, but he's assuming a lot of foreplay isn't part of the deal. Of course, given how sleepy she's been lately, quick is probably a selling point right now.
So, he just lays down, pulling her to him, careful not to crush her breasts between them. They're starting to get really sensitive again. "You kiss?" he asks.
She smiles and kisses him, soft and wet and deep. Then pulls back. "I do when I like the guy."
His hand twines in her hair and pulls her down for another kiss, also wet and deep. She's making soft, needy, happy noises in the back of her throat when she pulls back, and starts to flip around.
"Hold up. Change of plans." His hands urge her forward, up his body. "Still want to go down on you, but want to be able to touch more of you."
She's straddling his lips, exactly where he wants her. And for a few seconds he's just looking. Perfect pussy pouting at him, pink lips peeking between white labia, slight gleam of wetness, that smell hitting him so hard.
"Love pussy."
"You and every other sailor."
"Mmmm…" And he dives in. Kissing all over her. Starting gentle and easy, waiting for her body to start to rock in counter to his. Then licking, reveling in her flavor on his lips and tongue. His left hand strokes her, getting wet and slick, moving along with his tongue, finally, first two fingers slipping into her, pressing forward, finding her g-spot. His right hand reaches up, the reason for changing positions. Barely a month pregnant means very sensitive breasts, and he intends to take advantage of it.
Old, familiar dance, well-loved and satisfying. His lips and tongue and fingers know what to do, how to play her, how to touch so that in a matter of minutes she's going tight on him, hips moving fast as thighs tense. He's focused his touches, tongue on her clit, rolling over and over, fast and firm, keeping a steady pulse on her g-spot as his other hand pulls gently on her nipple.
She's moving faster, grinding against him, moans going high and breathy, and he knows she's almost there, just a little more, a few more seconds, bit more pressure. He sucks on her clit, pulling it between his lips, and pinches her nipple, firm, not too hard, and feels her hips and pussy twitch in response, slipping her over the edge.
Abby takes a minute to catch her breath, and then shimmies down him, kissing his lips. "Looks like you know your way around more than a ship."
He grins, sassy, at that. "Aviator. Don't like boats."
"How does a guy who doesn't like boats end up in the Navy?"
"It's where all the best toys are."
"Uh huh." She kisses him again. "So, ride you how? Facing you or turned away…"
"Ohhh… options…" His hands settle on her butt, and he leans up a bit to lick a nipple. "Tits or ass…" He kisses her nipple again, letting his teeth just drag over it, and she shivers. "Love this view, but… Turn around. Always been an ass man."
She turns around, wiggling at him, and then settles onto him in a long, slow stroke.
"Fuck!" he says it sincerely, voice low, hands settling on her ass.
She sets a quick pace. Not setting any endurance records tonight. And like before, it's an old, favorite dance. Motions mastered long ago and beloved. He holds her hips, rocking up to meet her, enjoying the view and the sublime pleasure of her body on his.
It's only a few minutes, but they're good minutes, happy minutes, and then he's also jerking and twitching as he comes.
She rests against him for a moment, both of them enjoying the glow, and then he reaches for the tissues, followed by quick cleaning up, and snuggling in close and sleepy.
They roll onto their sides, breathing slowing, and settle into sleeping position. He kisses her neck and shoulder, and she kisses his hand.
Another breath, one more, and the day ends in slumber.
Next
September 8, 2014
Shards To A Whole: Zzzzzz...
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 385: Zzzzzz....
"Abby, we've got to get moving if we're going to make it to breakfast."
"Mrghr."
"You feeling okay?"
She raises her head from the pillow, glares at him, and says, "Let me sleep, McGee."
He backs out of the bedroom. "Letting you sleep."
Once he's downstairs, he says to Kelly, with a wide, beaming smile on his face, "You know what? I think you might have a little brother or sister in the works."
If it had just been one day of sleepy Abby, he wouldn't be grinning or jumping to conclusions like this. But it's not day one. It's day three of sleepy Abby. (Or maybe day eight. He's not sure if the wedding should count. She did perk back up again after a full night's sleep.)
Thursday night all the stars aligned properly. They got home by six. Dinner went off without a hitch. By seven thirty Kelly was asleep, and he and Abby were on the sofa. The idea, the idea he'd been hoping for all day, was sleeping baby, little TV, then lots of sex, and sleep for them.
So the plan was working. They'd settled in to get up to date on Sleepy Hollow. Abby was snuggled in nice and close. All was good with the world.
Halfway through the show she was dead weight on his chest, cuddled in and sound asleep.
And as much as he appreciated having her warm and close and cuddled in, he'd been hoping for a different sort of warm and close. So, he let two more shows go by, hoping she'd wake up, feeling refreshed from her nap and ready to play, but eventually the clock hit eleven, she was still dead to the world, so he picked her up and carried her to bed, and she slept through that.
Friday morning she claimed she wasn't feeling sick, just really tired, and yeah, the first part of the week had meant two hot cases, so she's been working harder than usual. So, she's sleepy, okay.
Friday night, Abby was drooping by the end of Shabbos, fell asleep on the car ride home, staggered up to their room and was asleep again as soon as she hit the sheets.
Saturday she slept in late, they had a very enjoyable afternoon nap time, followed by dinner with Kelly, and both of his girls were in bed and asleep by seven thirty.
Which meant now, on Sunday morning, he's feeding Kelly breakfast on his own, while sending Jimmy and Gibbs a text saying they were skipping breakfast at the diner this morning.
Gibbs sent back. Okay. Bootcamp?
Think so. Let you know closer to time. Gym, right? Rain's pouring down right now, and supposed to continue on and off all day, so Tim's thinking they're not going to the house today. Though, he's also a little wary of bootcamp in the gym. Everyone is getting along right now, but he knows Jimmy hasn't spent any time alone with Tony or Ziva, and that things are superficially fine, but still a little tense.
Yes.
Jimmy sent back. Tired? Keeping her up all night?
Not that sort of tired.
A minute later he gets: Ohhh! "Tired" :)
Really hope so. Don't know yet.
Let me know when you do.
:)
So… Sunday morning, and he and Kelly have ventured out to Target to run some errands. Windex, more pacifiers, (he has no idea how they can possibly go through them so fast. If it weren't for the fact he changes her diapers, he'd swear that she eats those things. As it is, he's expecting that sooner or later he'll find fifty of them all stuffed in an air conditioning vent or something.) toothpaste, (Tom's of Maine, Spearmint.) pregnancy test, (He's grinning as he tosses that in the cart.) frozen wild blueberries, (just in case) more of the puffed fruit snacks Kelly likes, and the K-Cups assorted flavors he likes to keep his department well-stocked with (along with a decaf pack for him).
He's in an awfully good mood as they head toward the check out, and for that matter, so is Kelly, (he's pointing things out, naming them, and she's trying to repeat them back to him) so maybe they don't need to head home right this second.
He'd like to get Abby some sort of little present to go with the pregnancy test. Some sort of I-love-you, so-happy-you-chose-me-to-have-babies-with gift.
And, sure he can get her a rose, a NonCaf-Pow, and tie the rose with a bow to the pregnancy test, but he's hoping for something a little more impressive than that.
Plus, not like he can just walk into a florist, let alone a supermarket, and just grab the kind of roses she likes best. They might, if he's lucky, have the sort they had at their wedding, white with the red edges, black roses are special order though, so are the ultra-dark red ones she likes, too.
Of course, there's a nursery on the way home… Couldn't get one for her there, but a whole bush. That's an option.
He flashes Gibbs a text: What's involved in planting roses?
Dig a hole in the ground. Put the roots in it. Add dirt. Water. Why?
Just checking.
You do it in the early fall or spring.
Or not.
?
Want to do something nice for Abby.
Roses are good, but they'll be dead by August if you put them in now. No later than March.
Noted.
So, what to get? What to get? This is a moment where it'd be a hell of a lot easier to be Jimmy or Tony. Head to jewelry store, grab pretty, sparkly thing, and you're all set.
And like with the roses, it's not like Abby doesn't like pretty, sparkly things, it's just that she's got very specific tastes and a good present takes that into account.
"What do you think Kelly? What's a good happy baby present?"
"Cookies."
Tim nods solemnly. Kelly's pretty firmly convinced that cookies are the answer to everything right now, and the odds are pretty even on she's answering his question or requesting them for herself.
"Cookies!"
Requesting them for herself then.
"Uh uh. Lunch. Then cookies."
She pouts at him. "Cookies."
"Nope."
He ends up going with a rose. Mostly because he's not seeing or thinking of anything that's really wowing him, and because he thinks he's got a plan, that buys him some more time, and that she'll really like.
When he gets home, he'll get online, find something cool, and give it to her on Kelly's birthday. He thinks that's a very good way to say thank-you-for-having-my-babies.
She's still sleeping when he gets home. That's making him smile even more. He certainly remembers when she was first pregnant with Kelly and wanted to sleep eighteen hours a day.
And yes, he probably shouldn't be getting his hopes up, but… It feels good. And he'd rather be happy than worried that something's wrong.
They've had lunch (with cookies) and he's put Kelly down for her afternoon nap, by the time he hears Abby thumping down the steps.
She pauses at the bottom of the steps, and he calls out, "In my office."
A moment later, she's in his office, sitting on his lap, eyes scanning over the page that's in front of him. "You're really doing it?"
Tim nods. He typed the last words yesterday, now he's re-reading. "The last ride of LJ Tibbs. Anything that comes next is a prequel."
"You think you're going to do another one?"
"Probably. I'm not done with them. Just want to go and play with some new things. Got a really rough outline for the Dragons series, and about six scenes written. Be kind of fun to just write, no deadlines, no page caps, just tell the story however it unfolds."
She nods at that, snuggling into him.
"I've got a present for you."
"Ohhh…" Her eyes light up and she smiles. "I like presents!"
He pulls a pregnancy test out of his top drawer with a baby pink rose tied to it.
Abby takes one look at the rose and the pregnancy test and starts crying.
That startles the hell out of Tim because of all of the possible responses to his little gift that she could have come up with, that wasn't on his list. And it's not good crying either, this is deeply unhappy, world's-about-to-end crying.
Part of him is terrified that this is a response from last time, but she even didn't get to the tired part last time, so she's got to be further along…
"My temp didn't drop this month." More sobbing, and okay, so she might have missed it, that happens, right? This doesn't seem sob worthy. She can see he's clueless.
"Tired, erratic mood swings, no temperature shift, they're all signs of menopause."
"Oh." He winces. "Shit." He rubs his face. "I didn't even think…"
"That the clock's run out, and we're never having another baby. That we've been trying for almost a year, and I'm fucking barren!"
"Oh… Abby… I just… I'm sorry."
"I'm not pregnant; I'm just old."
He doesn't know what to say to that. You're not old may be true, but it's also not true. She is forty-two and the clock is just about run out.
She's crying more, and erratic moods might be a sign of menopause, but the last time he remembers her sobbing like this she was pregnant.
"Wait. The day after we went clubbing with Jimmy and Breena, you couldn't get a good temp that morning because we'd been up all night?"
She half shrugs. "Didn't get one at all."
"Well, okay then." He picks up the pregnancy test and shakes it. "Come on. Let's see what's going on before we start crying about it."
She's not looking happy at him, and he's sure that if it isn't positive this is probably the absolute wrong thing to do, but… he feels it in his guts and… "Please."
"Fine," she snaps out.
A minute later they are sitting next to each other, on the floor next to their bathroom, watching the little grains of electronic sand shift through the gray on gray hourglass that let them know the test is working.
The last grain drops, then the screen goes blank, and then it flashes up one word. Pregnant.
Abby shrieks at it. Tim feels that frisson of joy again, and this time, minor hearing damage.
He pets her tummy, "Hey there, little dude," then he kisses her. "Don't ever tell me you're old."
"I am."
"Well, you're my old woman, and you're also the mom of my kids."
She's smiling and giggling at that. He smiles, too, and then kisses her again, soft and sweet. "You know, we've probably got almost two hours of naptime left."
She giggles at that, too, and straddles his lap.
"You want me to tell everyone at Bootcamp?" Tim asks as Abby gets a very late breakfast or possibly very early dinner.
She exhales long and deep. Celebrations are better with friends, but telling everyone to stop celebrating last time was hard.
"Yeah. Tell them. Neither of us are any good at keeping stuff like this quiet. And we might as well all enjoy the good as much and as long as we've got it."
"Okay." He's grinning. "Boy or girl?"
She thinks about it. "No real feel, yet. I still like Sean James if this is a boy."
His fingers find her stomach again. "Well, you gonna be SJ McGee?"
"Sean! Not SJ."
"I like SJ!"
"Then you can call him that. I'm calling him Sean."
"If he's a him."
"Fifty-fifty shot. More we talk about it, the more I'm feeling boy."
"So, you want to call this one McScuito, too, or just go straight for Sean."
She inhales and exhales dramatically. "To hedge our bets or not?"
"Yeah." He's smiling at her. "I'm leaning toward all in."
"Me, too. Okay, don't tell them at Bootcamp, I want to see Jimmy hear the name. Invite everyone for dinner, okay."
"Was Gibbs already coming over?"
"I think so. That was the plan on Friday."
"Great. I'll get the bootcamp crew, you want to call Ducky and Penny?"
"No problem."
"So, how does this work?" Abbi asks Jethro as they wait outside the NCIS building.
"Tony and Ziva get here soon, then we all get warmed up. Tim, Jimmy, and Collin'll show up eventually."
"Who's Collin again?"
"Jimmy's likely brother-in-law."
Abbi blinks at that.
"He's living with Breena's sister. Looks serious, but no ring yet."
She nods. "So, we get in there…"
"Warm up, practice. There's one ring. I usually set the fights, who's against who. What everyone does, who's on offense or defense. Ziva works on technique, now. Last fight, she was training them on nerve strikes. Jimmy handles general fitness, strength training, stuff like that."
"He's the one who's got you standing on one foot."
Gibbs nods. "Supposed to be good for me."
Abbi's giving him a look suggesting that Jimmy might be pulling his leg on that. They see Tony and Ziva heading toward them, and in a minute, they join Abbi and Jethro.
"So, why are we here half an hour early?" Tony asks.
"Tim's got that test this week, and I want him ready to fight cold if need be."
"We're ambushing Tim?" Abbi asks.
"More or less."
As soon as Tim walks in, before he's even put his bag in his locker, Gibbs says, "Tony, Ziva, Abbi, all three of you on attack, hard, like you mean it. Tim, you're on defense."
Ziva grins. "With pleasure."
Tim glances over at Gibbs, this is overkill in his eyes, but Gibbs just shakes his head, so, without a warm up, without expecting it, Tim's on fight mode. He tosses his bag to Jimmy and heads into the ring and the next thing Tim knows he's being double-teamed by very fast moving DiNozzos,, while Abbi hangs back a bit, watching, looking for openings to jump into.
Short of having them jump him on the way in, this is probably as close to a real fight as he can get. And Gibbs is going to make sure he's ready for a real fight.
Jimmy's standing next to Gibbs, watching Tony and Ziva and Abbi put Tim through his paces. "You've got a really bad feeling about the test, don't you?"
Gibbs nods, grimly.
"He's going to be fine."
Gibbs doesn't nod at that. "What do you have for me?" Part of Gibbs' usual warm up is checking in with Jimmy, showing off how well he's doing with whatever it was Jimmy set for him last time, and then getting new additions to his training routine.
Jimmy rolls with the change in topic. "How are you doing on the balance challenge?"
Gibbs shuts his eyes and stands on one foot, without wobbling, for a minute.
"Good. Okay, variation on a theme time. On your toes. Eyes open." Gibbs looks pretty stable at that. "You've got that down. Close your eyes."
And with teeth gritted, Gibbs closes his eyes, and is down on flat feet in less than two seconds.
"That's the next balance challenge."
"Why are we doing this?"
"Because I'm not visiting you in the hospital because you fell and broke a hip."
Gibbs flashes Jimmy his exasperated look, but closes his eyes and rises up on his toes again. "You can do this, right? You're not just messing with me." (He's down on flat feet before he gets both of those sentences out.)
Jimmy looks satisfied and holds up one finger. He tosses his and Tim's bags aside, slips his shoes and socks off. "Tree pose." He's standing on one foot, other foot tucked against his thigh, hands at heart center, palm to palm, then he rises onto his toes, and then closes his eyes, holding that for a full minute before setting himself down again.
"Yeah, I can do it. And I can do a version of it on one hand, too."
"Why?" Gibbs can understand why you'd spend hours, days, huge chunks of your life working on something other people can see. Practicing for a sport or something. He gets doing the work to look the way Jimmy looks. But he's not getting the point of this. Seems like time you could be doing something else, something useful.
"Why does any man do something physically difficult and kind of stupid? To impress women."
Gibbs laughs at that.
"No, not really. I mean, yes, Breena's impressed by that, but that's not why I can do it. Being able to do it feels good. The focus necessary to do it is good, for a lot of things. You can't hold something like that if your brain is whirling around." He shakes his head a bit, that's part, but not all of it. "I don't talk about it much, but… I'm diabetic, you know that. I manage it so well most people don't even notice. As much as you can beat it into submission, I have. But it's not like I've got allergies. This isn't some little annoyance that makes me periodically uncomfortable. This is serious, and eventually, it will kill me. But it's not taking me easy." Jimmy shakes his head. "So, until they develop that artificial pancreas, I'm running a race against my body, and the better I do with it, the longer I get to keep running. If I want to be there to play with my grandkids, I can't just let myself slide. And, since I want you here to play with my grandkids, too, you're not letting yourself go, either."
Gibbs smiles at that, nods, and then pushes himself up on his toes again.
Tim knows that he's not winning a three on one fight. Not if a third the team he's up against is Ziva, and another third is Abbi, who he's never gone up against before and has a completely different style than he's ever dealt with. His only goal is to just keep at it long enough to not embarrass himself.
But, eventually, like with all fights like this, he hits the mat.
Tony helps him up, and for a moment they all just stand there, breathing hard.
"Test ready to go?" Tony asks after a minute.
Tim nods. It's ready. It's beyond ready. He's grinning, wide and happy at the idea of it. He's going to turn an entire strike force upside down, and it will be completely awesome.
"Be careful."
Tim holds his hands out in a quit worrying gesture. "I'll be with the Secretary of the Navy. Everything should be fine."
Tony nods. Ziva's eyes have narrowed. They don't have the entire story of Tim's issues with his dad, but the bits they do have are enough. Plus, as the test gets closer, nervous is radiating off of Gibbs, so, they're all catching it, too. Same for Abbi, Gibbs hasn't given her all of the details, but she knows McGee and the Admiral don't get on, and she's figured that if McGee can keep a relationship going with DiNozzo after all the teasing she's seen and heard about over the years, there's got to be more between him and the Admiral than they just rub each other wrong.
"We prep Thursday." Tim looks at all three of them. They talked about it a bit at Shabbos, so this isn't new information. "You know, when I get that cover ID that means The Admiral can't even admit he knows me without blowing the op. Then up at the crack of dawn Friday, test goes off in the afternoon, I hang around and watch, and as soon as they figure out what happened or give up, I go home. Should be back by Sunday, Monday at the latest."
Tony nods. Ziva does, too. Then she heads to her bag, rummages around in it, and comes back a few seconds later, handing him something.
Tim looks at it. "A roll of quarters?"
"Makeshift brass knuckles, McGee. The reason you have them is you are bringing home American coins for your children. Every new place you go, you get some of the local currency and take it home to them."
Tim raises his eyebrows and nods. That's a good story. Actually, he's not planning on travelling much, but if he does… He might start doing that. Another thought hits him. "Did your Dad do that for you?"
Ziva nods. "Yes, he did. We also had a map with little pins in it. Learn geography and where Abba was all in one. I was nineteen when I found out he was never where those little pins were, and that his secretary kept a supply of currency for him." She sighs, and Tim does, too. Eli David stories always have that sort of disturbing twist to them.
Gibbs and Jimmy head over, having finished whatever it was they were working on. Collin's been hanging by the edges of whatever it is they've been up to, so he joins them, too. Gibbs looks them all over, focusing on Tim. "All warm and loose?"
Tim nods.
"Good." Gibbs heads into the ring, gesturing to Jimmy and Collin to join him.
Tim stares at Gibbs for a moment, because Gibbs isn't setting up teams. "Six on one?"
Gibbs shakes his head. "Ladies out." Abbi's not looking thrilled at that, but Ziva inclines her head in a I'll explain in a second sort of way. "Your job is to keep us in each other's way as much as possible. Hard to hit one guy if there's a bunch of you fighting at once, so use it."
"Okay."
Ziva and Abbi are watching, and it's a melee. Hard to actually track what's going on, but Tim does seem to be keeping at least three of them out of the fight at any given time.
"So, why are we out?" Abbi asks.
"Collin won't go full out if there's a girl in the ring. Tony won't if I'm in there. And Jimmy and Tim are a lot better than they were when we started, but they can get shaky when they're tired, and Tim's tired. Gibbs doesn't want either of us getting an elbow in the face by accident."
"But he doesn't care if one of the guys do?"
Ziva nods. "Jimmy caught me in the mouth with an elbow… Six months ago. Not a big deal, just a split lip and a bruise, but every time I went anywhere with Tony, the whole time my lip was cut, people kept glaring daggers at him, and two even offered me suggestions for battered wife services. One offered to call the cops for me. And, yes, people stare if the guys have split lip or visible bruises, but it's not as big of a deal."
"Oh."
"So, one of them gets tired, he pulls me out. Apparently, same for you. But there is no reason we cannot spar with each other. If you're interested?"
Abbi smiles at that. "Oh, yeah. Show me your best moves, DiNozzo."
Ziva grins.
Tim's sore, and tired, really tired, as they head to the showers. Gibbs ran him through pretty much every possible fight combination he could think of in preparation for the test.
So, he's undressing slowly. Partly because nothing about him wants to do anything fast right now, and partially so he can get a minute to talk to just Gibbs.
Tony and Jimmy head to the showers. (Collin headed straight home after fighting.)
"Your gut is screaming."
Gibbs nods. "Take your gun."
Tim shakes his head. "Blow my cover. I've always got a knife, and Ziva's roll of quarters is a good plan."
"You keep them on you, all the time."
Tim nods. "It'll be fine."
"You can believe that when you're home. Until then, you're walking into battle, and that's how you're going to treat it."
"Gibbs—"
"No. Don't give me any feel good bullshit about this. You stay armed, you stay alert, and you keep people around you all the time. You do not spend a second alone with him."
"Okay."
Gibbs nods again, not looking relieved, and heads to the showers. A minute later, Tim follows.
They're out of the shower, drying off, dressing, ready to move on with the rest of the day when Tim says, "So, kind of went a bit bonkers at Costco today. They had some really nice looking tomatoes and that bacon we like was on sale… Anyway, BLT night at my house. Everyone's invited."
Jimmy grins. Granted, for him a BLT is a salad and not a sandwich, but he's a fan. And Breena's almost always a fan of nights where someone else cooks. "We're in. Get home, grab the girls, and head on over?"
"Sounds great."
Tony looks pained. He is also a BLT fan. "Can't. Want to, but can't. Dad and Delphine got home from their honeymoon yesterday and invited us for dinner today. I think they're working on setting up some sort of Sunday dinner type thing. Her kids and grandkids'll be there, too."
Tim nods at that. "Sunday dinner sounds like a good thing."
Tony inclines his head. "Hope so. At least, none of the other wives really worked to bring him into her family and vice versa. So, any luck this is a move in the right direction."
Jimmy nods along with that.
"You and Abbi coming?" Tim asks Gibbs. When Gibbs agreed to dinner at their place, he was solo, so it's possible he had things he wanted to do with Abbi on their own.
"We're coming. That was the plan, right?"
Tim nods. "Just checking in."
All four of them are up and ready to go. They're heading toward the door, but Tim hangs back a bit. "Tony…"
"What?"
"You dropped…"
Tony gives Tim a perplexed look, he knows he hasn't dropped anything, but Tim is giving him the get over here look, so he does.
"We're telling everyone else at dinner, so, let Ziva know, Abby's pregnant again," Tim says quietly.
Tony breaks into a huge grin, glances over his shoulder, sees that Gibbs and Jimmy have headed out of the locker room, and then pulls Tim into a warm hug. "Congratulations!"
"Thanks."
"When..."
Tim does a bit of math. "February, probably, early or middle."
"So Molly might be sharing her birthday time?"
"Maybe," he says, grinning.
Tony hugs him again. "So, this one going to be Timmy Junior?"
"No." Tim says emphatically. There will be no Juniors of any variety among his kids. "But… our boy name last time was Sean James, and we're both getting a bit of a boy vibe, so… Maybe SJ McGee?"
"SJ.. Sean… Sean works better."
"Abby thinks that, too."
"Wise woman." Tony grins again. "How far do you want this to go?"
"Just us right now. Labor Day's soon enough to let everyone else know."
"Okay, we'll keep quiet. I better get moving before they wonder what I could have possibly dropped that took that long to pick up." Tony pauses for half a breath before saying, "And don't you even suggest anything about the soap."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
There are things in this world better than sitting on the porch on an early June day, air warm and damp from many thunderstorms, as the last clouds scuttle away, leaving the world watercolor clean. Adding in your family, BLTs, watermelon, happy baby girls playing peacefully with each other, (Okay, Molly and Kelly are "playing," and Anna's just chilling in her baby carrier, enjoying the air.) takes that experience into the upper echelons of better things.
So, it is already a very good evening, as Abby, who's sitting on Tim's lap, gets everyone's attention during a lull in the conversation and says, "I'm pregnant!"
That gets a lot of happy responses, a lot of congratulations, many smiles and hugs, a few words on who's getting told now, when the newest McGee should be showing up, and, as is usual for brand new baby announcements, possible name ideas.
"Have any thoughts about names?" Penny asks.
Tim and Abby nod at that. "Yeah, we do," Tim says
"Another mystery 'family name' that we'll all have figured out by the time we get home?" Jimmy asks with a smirk.
Tim grins at that, and Abby says, "Not a mystery, but yes on the family name part."
"Sort of," Tim adds. They don't have any Seans in the family. "But I bet you can't guess it," he says to Jimmy.
Jimmy's willing to take up that challenge. "Boy or girl name?"
"Boy's name," Abby replies.
"Thomas. That's Abby's Dad's name, right?"
Abby nods, pleased to see he knows that. "Yes, it is, but not the name we're aiming for."
Jimmy thinks for another minute. "Jack or Jackson?" Gibbs looks pleased by that.
Abby and Tim quickly glance at each other, Jackson McGee actually sounds pretty good. Thomas Jackson… that's good, too. That's going on the list of potential baby names if they find themselves looking for another one.
"We like that, but no. Next time we have this conversation, maybe," Tim says.
"Donald?" Abbi asks.
Tim nods toward Jimmy and Breena. "They've got dibbs on that one."
Ducky looks very pleased at that.
"I'd say Leroy or Jethro, but I know you don't like them," Jimmy says to Tim, who turns to Gibbs and says, "No offense."
Gibbs nods at that. His names are country and dated, neither of which is true about his kids.
Jimmy's staring at Tim, mild exasperation overlaying a whole lot of pride in his eyes. "I can't guess it, or I won't guess it?"
Tim shoots him is best smart-ass grin. "Is there a difference?"
Jimmy laughs at that, and before he gets a shot to say anything Abby says, "Sean James. That's what we're thinking."
Jimmy looks down for a second, a very warm, very pleased smile spreading across his face, then he looks up, beaming at both of them, and heads over for more hugs. He's got an arm around each of them, and kisses Abby's cheek. As he pulls back his hand falls to Abby's tummy and he says, "Sean James, you hear that? That's a good name, so you better be the with-a-penis-model, okay?"
Everyone laughs at that, and when they stop, he adds, "Just fooling on that. Girl, boy, little bit of both, doesn't matter, we're all gonna love you no matter what."
Next
Chapter 385: Zzzzzz....
"Abby, we've got to get moving if we're going to make it to breakfast."
"Mrghr."
"You feeling okay?"
She raises her head from the pillow, glares at him, and says, "Let me sleep, McGee."
He backs out of the bedroom. "Letting you sleep."
Once he's downstairs, he says to Kelly, with a wide, beaming smile on his face, "You know what? I think you might have a little brother or sister in the works."
If it had just been one day of sleepy Abby, he wouldn't be grinning or jumping to conclusions like this. But it's not day one. It's day three of sleepy Abby. (Or maybe day eight. He's not sure if the wedding should count. She did perk back up again after a full night's sleep.)
Thursday night all the stars aligned properly. They got home by six. Dinner went off without a hitch. By seven thirty Kelly was asleep, and he and Abby were on the sofa. The idea, the idea he'd been hoping for all day, was sleeping baby, little TV, then lots of sex, and sleep for them.
So the plan was working. They'd settled in to get up to date on Sleepy Hollow. Abby was snuggled in nice and close. All was good with the world.
Halfway through the show she was dead weight on his chest, cuddled in and sound asleep.
And as much as he appreciated having her warm and close and cuddled in, he'd been hoping for a different sort of warm and close. So, he let two more shows go by, hoping she'd wake up, feeling refreshed from her nap and ready to play, but eventually the clock hit eleven, she was still dead to the world, so he picked her up and carried her to bed, and she slept through that.
Friday morning she claimed she wasn't feeling sick, just really tired, and yeah, the first part of the week had meant two hot cases, so she's been working harder than usual. So, she's sleepy, okay.
Friday night, Abby was drooping by the end of Shabbos, fell asleep on the car ride home, staggered up to their room and was asleep again as soon as she hit the sheets.
Saturday she slept in late, they had a very enjoyable afternoon nap time, followed by dinner with Kelly, and both of his girls were in bed and asleep by seven thirty.
Which meant now, on Sunday morning, he's feeding Kelly breakfast on his own, while sending Jimmy and Gibbs a text saying they were skipping breakfast at the diner this morning.
Gibbs sent back. Okay. Bootcamp?
Think so. Let you know closer to time. Gym, right? Rain's pouring down right now, and supposed to continue on and off all day, so Tim's thinking they're not going to the house today. Though, he's also a little wary of bootcamp in the gym. Everyone is getting along right now, but he knows Jimmy hasn't spent any time alone with Tony or Ziva, and that things are superficially fine, but still a little tense.
Yes.
Jimmy sent back. Tired? Keeping her up all night?
Not that sort of tired.
A minute later he gets: Ohhh! "Tired" :)
Really hope so. Don't know yet.
Let me know when you do.
:)
So… Sunday morning, and he and Kelly have ventured out to Target to run some errands. Windex, more pacifiers, (he has no idea how they can possibly go through them so fast. If it weren't for the fact he changes her diapers, he'd swear that she eats those things. As it is, he's expecting that sooner or later he'll find fifty of them all stuffed in an air conditioning vent or something.) toothpaste, (Tom's of Maine, Spearmint.) pregnancy test, (He's grinning as he tosses that in the cart.) frozen wild blueberries, (just in case) more of the puffed fruit snacks Kelly likes, and the K-Cups assorted flavors he likes to keep his department well-stocked with (along with a decaf pack for him).
He's in an awfully good mood as they head toward the check out, and for that matter, so is Kelly, (he's pointing things out, naming them, and she's trying to repeat them back to him) so maybe they don't need to head home right this second.
He'd like to get Abby some sort of little present to go with the pregnancy test. Some sort of I-love-you, so-happy-you-chose-me-to-have-babies-with gift.
And, sure he can get her a rose, a NonCaf-Pow, and tie the rose with a bow to the pregnancy test, but he's hoping for something a little more impressive than that.
Plus, not like he can just walk into a florist, let alone a supermarket, and just grab the kind of roses she likes best. They might, if he's lucky, have the sort they had at their wedding, white with the red edges, black roses are special order though, so are the ultra-dark red ones she likes, too.
Of course, there's a nursery on the way home… Couldn't get one for her there, but a whole bush. That's an option.
He flashes Gibbs a text: What's involved in planting roses?
Dig a hole in the ground. Put the roots in it. Add dirt. Water. Why?
Just checking.
You do it in the early fall or spring.
Or not.
?
Want to do something nice for Abby.
Roses are good, but they'll be dead by August if you put them in now. No later than March.
Noted.
So, what to get? What to get? This is a moment where it'd be a hell of a lot easier to be Jimmy or Tony. Head to jewelry store, grab pretty, sparkly thing, and you're all set.
And like with the roses, it's not like Abby doesn't like pretty, sparkly things, it's just that she's got very specific tastes and a good present takes that into account.
"What do you think Kelly? What's a good happy baby present?"
"Cookies."
Tim nods solemnly. Kelly's pretty firmly convinced that cookies are the answer to everything right now, and the odds are pretty even on she's answering his question or requesting them for herself.
"Cookies!"
Requesting them for herself then.
"Uh uh. Lunch. Then cookies."
She pouts at him. "Cookies."
"Nope."
He ends up going with a rose. Mostly because he's not seeing or thinking of anything that's really wowing him, and because he thinks he's got a plan, that buys him some more time, and that she'll really like.
When he gets home, he'll get online, find something cool, and give it to her on Kelly's birthday. He thinks that's a very good way to say thank-you-for-having-my-babies.
She's still sleeping when he gets home. That's making him smile even more. He certainly remembers when she was first pregnant with Kelly and wanted to sleep eighteen hours a day.
And yes, he probably shouldn't be getting his hopes up, but… It feels good. And he'd rather be happy than worried that something's wrong.
They've had lunch (with cookies) and he's put Kelly down for her afternoon nap, by the time he hears Abby thumping down the steps.
She pauses at the bottom of the steps, and he calls out, "In my office."
A moment later, she's in his office, sitting on his lap, eyes scanning over the page that's in front of him. "You're really doing it?"
Tim nods. He typed the last words yesterday, now he's re-reading. "The last ride of LJ Tibbs. Anything that comes next is a prequel."
"You think you're going to do another one?"
"Probably. I'm not done with them. Just want to go and play with some new things. Got a really rough outline for the Dragons series, and about six scenes written. Be kind of fun to just write, no deadlines, no page caps, just tell the story however it unfolds."
She nods at that, snuggling into him.
"I've got a present for you."
"Ohhh…" Her eyes light up and she smiles. "I like presents!"
He pulls a pregnancy test out of his top drawer with a baby pink rose tied to it.
Abby takes one look at the rose and the pregnancy test and starts crying.
That startles the hell out of Tim because of all of the possible responses to his little gift that she could have come up with, that wasn't on his list. And it's not good crying either, this is deeply unhappy, world's-about-to-end crying.
Part of him is terrified that this is a response from last time, but she even didn't get to the tired part last time, so she's got to be further along…
"My temp didn't drop this month." More sobbing, and okay, so she might have missed it, that happens, right? This doesn't seem sob worthy. She can see he's clueless.
"Tired, erratic mood swings, no temperature shift, they're all signs of menopause."
"Oh." He winces. "Shit." He rubs his face. "I didn't even think…"
"That the clock's run out, and we're never having another baby. That we've been trying for almost a year, and I'm fucking barren!"
"Oh… Abby… I just… I'm sorry."
"I'm not pregnant; I'm just old."
He doesn't know what to say to that. You're not old may be true, but it's also not true. She is forty-two and the clock is just about run out.
She's crying more, and erratic moods might be a sign of menopause, but the last time he remembers her sobbing like this she was pregnant.
"Wait. The day after we went clubbing with Jimmy and Breena, you couldn't get a good temp that morning because we'd been up all night?"
She half shrugs. "Didn't get one at all."
"Well, okay then." He picks up the pregnancy test and shakes it. "Come on. Let's see what's going on before we start crying about it."
She's not looking happy at him, and he's sure that if it isn't positive this is probably the absolute wrong thing to do, but… he feels it in his guts and… "Please."
"Fine," she snaps out.
A minute later they are sitting next to each other, on the floor next to their bathroom, watching the little grains of electronic sand shift through the gray on gray hourglass that let them know the test is working.
The last grain drops, then the screen goes blank, and then it flashes up one word. Pregnant.
Abby shrieks at it. Tim feels that frisson of joy again, and this time, minor hearing damage.
He pets her tummy, "Hey there, little dude," then he kisses her. "Don't ever tell me you're old."
"I am."
"Well, you're my old woman, and you're also the mom of my kids."
She's smiling and giggling at that. He smiles, too, and then kisses her again, soft and sweet. "You know, we've probably got almost two hours of naptime left."
She giggles at that, too, and straddles his lap.
"You want me to tell everyone at Bootcamp?" Tim asks as Abby gets a very late breakfast or possibly very early dinner.
She exhales long and deep. Celebrations are better with friends, but telling everyone to stop celebrating last time was hard.
"Yeah. Tell them. Neither of us are any good at keeping stuff like this quiet. And we might as well all enjoy the good as much and as long as we've got it."
"Okay." He's grinning. "Boy or girl?"
She thinks about it. "No real feel, yet. I still like Sean James if this is a boy."
His fingers find her stomach again. "Well, you gonna be SJ McGee?"
"Sean! Not SJ."
"I like SJ!"
"Then you can call him that. I'm calling him Sean."
"If he's a him."
"Fifty-fifty shot. More we talk about it, the more I'm feeling boy."
"So, you want to call this one McScuito, too, or just go straight for Sean."
She inhales and exhales dramatically. "To hedge our bets or not?"
"Yeah." He's smiling at her. "I'm leaning toward all in."
"Me, too. Okay, don't tell them at Bootcamp, I want to see Jimmy hear the name. Invite everyone for dinner, okay."
"Was Gibbs already coming over?"
"I think so. That was the plan on Friday."
"Great. I'll get the bootcamp crew, you want to call Ducky and Penny?"
"No problem."
"So, how does this work?" Abbi asks Jethro as they wait outside the NCIS building.
"Tony and Ziva get here soon, then we all get warmed up. Tim, Jimmy, and Collin'll show up eventually."
"Who's Collin again?"
"Jimmy's likely brother-in-law."
Abbi blinks at that.
"He's living with Breena's sister. Looks serious, but no ring yet."
She nods. "So, we get in there…"
"Warm up, practice. There's one ring. I usually set the fights, who's against who. What everyone does, who's on offense or defense. Ziva works on technique, now. Last fight, she was training them on nerve strikes. Jimmy handles general fitness, strength training, stuff like that."
"He's the one who's got you standing on one foot."
Gibbs nods. "Supposed to be good for me."
Abbi's giving him a look suggesting that Jimmy might be pulling his leg on that. They see Tony and Ziva heading toward them, and in a minute, they join Abbi and Jethro.
"So, why are we here half an hour early?" Tony asks.
"Tim's got that test this week, and I want him ready to fight cold if need be."
"We're ambushing Tim?" Abbi asks.
"More or less."
As soon as Tim walks in, before he's even put his bag in his locker, Gibbs says, "Tony, Ziva, Abbi, all three of you on attack, hard, like you mean it. Tim, you're on defense."
Ziva grins. "With pleasure."
Tim glances over at Gibbs, this is overkill in his eyes, but Gibbs just shakes his head, so, without a warm up, without expecting it, Tim's on fight mode. He tosses his bag to Jimmy and heads into the ring and the next thing Tim knows he's being double-teamed by very fast moving DiNozzos,, while Abbi hangs back a bit, watching, looking for openings to jump into.
Short of having them jump him on the way in, this is probably as close to a real fight as he can get. And Gibbs is going to make sure he's ready for a real fight.
Jimmy's standing next to Gibbs, watching Tony and Ziva and Abbi put Tim through his paces. "You've got a really bad feeling about the test, don't you?"
Gibbs nods, grimly.
"He's going to be fine."
Gibbs doesn't nod at that. "What do you have for me?" Part of Gibbs' usual warm up is checking in with Jimmy, showing off how well he's doing with whatever it was Jimmy set for him last time, and then getting new additions to his training routine.
Jimmy rolls with the change in topic. "How are you doing on the balance challenge?"
Gibbs shuts his eyes and stands on one foot, without wobbling, for a minute.
"Good. Okay, variation on a theme time. On your toes. Eyes open." Gibbs looks pretty stable at that. "You've got that down. Close your eyes."
And with teeth gritted, Gibbs closes his eyes, and is down on flat feet in less than two seconds.
"That's the next balance challenge."
"Why are we doing this?"
"Because I'm not visiting you in the hospital because you fell and broke a hip."
Gibbs flashes Jimmy his exasperated look, but closes his eyes and rises up on his toes again. "You can do this, right? You're not just messing with me." (He's down on flat feet before he gets both of those sentences out.)
Jimmy looks satisfied and holds up one finger. He tosses his and Tim's bags aside, slips his shoes and socks off. "Tree pose." He's standing on one foot, other foot tucked against his thigh, hands at heart center, palm to palm, then he rises onto his toes, and then closes his eyes, holding that for a full minute before setting himself down again."Yeah, I can do it. And I can do a version of it on one hand, too."
"Why?" Gibbs can understand why you'd spend hours, days, huge chunks of your life working on something other people can see. Practicing for a sport or something. He gets doing the work to look the way Jimmy looks. But he's not getting the point of this. Seems like time you could be doing something else, something useful.
"Why does any man do something physically difficult and kind of stupid? To impress women."
Gibbs laughs at that.
"No, not really. I mean, yes, Breena's impressed by that, but that's not why I can do it. Being able to do it feels good. The focus necessary to do it is good, for a lot of things. You can't hold something like that if your brain is whirling around." He shakes his head a bit, that's part, but not all of it. "I don't talk about it much, but… I'm diabetic, you know that. I manage it so well most people don't even notice. As much as you can beat it into submission, I have. But it's not like I've got allergies. This isn't some little annoyance that makes me periodically uncomfortable. This is serious, and eventually, it will kill me. But it's not taking me easy." Jimmy shakes his head. "So, until they develop that artificial pancreas, I'm running a race against my body, and the better I do with it, the longer I get to keep running. If I want to be there to play with my grandkids, I can't just let myself slide. And, since I want you here to play with my grandkids, too, you're not letting yourself go, either."
Gibbs smiles at that, nods, and then pushes himself up on his toes again.
Tim knows that he's not winning a three on one fight. Not if a third the team he's up against is Ziva, and another third is Abbi, who he's never gone up against before and has a completely different style than he's ever dealt with. His only goal is to just keep at it long enough to not embarrass himself.
But, eventually, like with all fights like this, he hits the mat.
Tony helps him up, and for a moment they all just stand there, breathing hard.
"Test ready to go?" Tony asks after a minute.
Tim nods. It's ready. It's beyond ready. He's grinning, wide and happy at the idea of it. He's going to turn an entire strike force upside down, and it will be completely awesome.
"Be careful."
Tim holds his hands out in a quit worrying gesture. "I'll be with the Secretary of the Navy. Everything should be fine."
Tony nods. Ziva's eyes have narrowed. They don't have the entire story of Tim's issues with his dad, but the bits they do have are enough. Plus, as the test gets closer, nervous is radiating off of Gibbs, so, they're all catching it, too. Same for Abbi, Gibbs hasn't given her all of the details, but she knows McGee and the Admiral don't get on, and she's figured that if McGee can keep a relationship going with DiNozzo after all the teasing she's seen and heard about over the years, there's got to be more between him and the Admiral than they just rub each other wrong.
"We prep Thursday." Tim looks at all three of them. They talked about it a bit at Shabbos, so this isn't new information. "You know, when I get that cover ID that means The Admiral can't even admit he knows me without blowing the op. Then up at the crack of dawn Friday, test goes off in the afternoon, I hang around and watch, and as soon as they figure out what happened or give up, I go home. Should be back by Sunday, Monday at the latest."
Tony nods. Ziva does, too. Then she heads to her bag, rummages around in it, and comes back a few seconds later, handing him something.
Tim looks at it. "A roll of quarters?"
"Makeshift brass knuckles, McGee. The reason you have them is you are bringing home American coins for your children. Every new place you go, you get some of the local currency and take it home to them."
Tim raises his eyebrows and nods. That's a good story. Actually, he's not planning on travelling much, but if he does… He might start doing that. Another thought hits him. "Did your Dad do that for you?"
Ziva nods. "Yes, he did. We also had a map with little pins in it. Learn geography and where Abba was all in one. I was nineteen when I found out he was never where those little pins were, and that his secretary kept a supply of currency for him." She sighs, and Tim does, too. Eli David stories always have that sort of disturbing twist to them.
Gibbs and Jimmy head over, having finished whatever it was they were working on. Collin's been hanging by the edges of whatever it is they've been up to, so he joins them, too. Gibbs looks them all over, focusing on Tim. "All warm and loose?"
Tim nods.
"Good." Gibbs heads into the ring, gesturing to Jimmy and Collin to join him.
Tim stares at Gibbs for a moment, because Gibbs isn't setting up teams. "Six on one?"
Gibbs shakes his head. "Ladies out." Abbi's not looking thrilled at that, but Ziva inclines her head in a I'll explain in a second sort of way. "Your job is to keep us in each other's way as much as possible. Hard to hit one guy if there's a bunch of you fighting at once, so use it."
"Okay."
Ziva and Abbi are watching, and it's a melee. Hard to actually track what's going on, but Tim does seem to be keeping at least three of them out of the fight at any given time.
"So, why are we out?" Abbi asks.
"Collin won't go full out if there's a girl in the ring. Tony won't if I'm in there. And Jimmy and Tim are a lot better than they were when we started, but they can get shaky when they're tired, and Tim's tired. Gibbs doesn't want either of us getting an elbow in the face by accident."
"But he doesn't care if one of the guys do?"
Ziva nods. "Jimmy caught me in the mouth with an elbow… Six months ago. Not a big deal, just a split lip and a bruise, but every time I went anywhere with Tony, the whole time my lip was cut, people kept glaring daggers at him, and two even offered me suggestions for battered wife services. One offered to call the cops for me. And, yes, people stare if the guys have split lip or visible bruises, but it's not as big of a deal."
"Oh."
"So, one of them gets tired, he pulls me out. Apparently, same for you. But there is no reason we cannot spar with each other. If you're interested?"
Abbi smiles at that. "Oh, yeah. Show me your best moves, DiNozzo."
Ziva grins.
Tim's sore, and tired, really tired, as they head to the showers. Gibbs ran him through pretty much every possible fight combination he could think of in preparation for the test.
So, he's undressing slowly. Partly because nothing about him wants to do anything fast right now, and partially so he can get a minute to talk to just Gibbs.
Tony and Jimmy head to the showers. (Collin headed straight home after fighting.)
"Your gut is screaming."
Gibbs nods. "Take your gun."
Tim shakes his head. "Blow my cover. I've always got a knife, and Ziva's roll of quarters is a good plan."
"You keep them on you, all the time."
Tim nods. "It'll be fine."
"You can believe that when you're home. Until then, you're walking into battle, and that's how you're going to treat it."
"Gibbs—"
"No. Don't give me any feel good bullshit about this. You stay armed, you stay alert, and you keep people around you all the time. You do not spend a second alone with him."
"Okay."
Gibbs nods again, not looking relieved, and heads to the showers. A minute later, Tim follows.
They're out of the shower, drying off, dressing, ready to move on with the rest of the day when Tim says, "So, kind of went a bit bonkers at Costco today. They had some really nice looking tomatoes and that bacon we like was on sale… Anyway, BLT night at my house. Everyone's invited."
Jimmy grins. Granted, for him a BLT is a salad and not a sandwich, but he's a fan. And Breena's almost always a fan of nights where someone else cooks. "We're in. Get home, grab the girls, and head on over?"
"Sounds great."
Tony looks pained. He is also a BLT fan. "Can't. Want to, but can't. Dad and Delphine got home from their honeymoon yesterday and invited us for dinner today. I think they're working on setting up some sort of Sunday dinner type thing. Her kids and grandkids'll be there, too."
Tim nods at that. "Sunday dinner sounds like a good thing."
Tony inclines his head. "Hope so. At least, none of the other wives really worked to bring him into her family and vice versa. So, any luck this is a move in the right direction."
Jimmy nods along with that.
"You and Abbi coming?" Tim asks Gibbs. When Gibbs agreed to dinner at their place, he was solo, so it's possible he had things he wanted to do with Abbi on their own.
"We're coming. That was the plan, right?"
Tim nods. "Just checking in."
All four of them are up and ready to go. They're heading toward the door, but Tim hangs back a bit. "Tony…"
"What?"
"You dropped…"
Tony gives Tim a perplexed look, he knows he hasn't dropped anything, but Tim is giving him the get over here look, so he does.
"We're telling everyone else at dinner, so, let Ziva know, Abby's pregnant again," Tim says quietly.
Tony breaks into a huge grin, glances over his shoulder, sees that Gibbs and Jimmy have headed out of the locker room, and then pulls Tim into a warm hug. "Congratulations!"
"Thanks."
"When..."
Tim does a bit of math. "February, probably, early or middle."
"So Molly might be sharing her birthday time?"
"Maybe," he says, grinning.
Tony hugs him again. "So, this one going to be Timmy Junior?"
"No." Tim says emphatically. There will be no Juniors of any variety among his kids. "But… our boy name last time was Sean James, and we're both getting a bit of a boy vibe, so… Maybe SJ McGee?"
"SJ.. Sean… Sean works better."
"Abby thinks that, too."
"Wise woman." Tony grins again. "How far do you want this to go?"
"Just us right now. Labor Day's soon enough to let everyone else know."
"Okay, we'll keep quiet. I better get moving before they wonder what I could have possibly dropped that took that long to pick up." Tony pauses for half a breath before saying, "And don't you even suggest anything about the soap."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
There are things in this world better than sitting on the porch on an early June day, air warm and damp from many thunderstorms, as the last clouds scuttle away, leaving the world watercolor clean. Adding in your family, BLTs, watermelon, happy baby girls playing peacefully with each other, (Okay, Molly and Kelly are "playing," and Anna's just chilling in her baby carrier, enjoying the air.) takes that experience into the upper echelons of better things.
So, it is already a very good evening, as Abby, who's sitting on Tim's lap, gets everyone's attention during a lull in the conversation and says, "I'm pregnant!"
That gets a lot of happy responses, a lot of congratulations, many smiles and hugs, a few words on who's getting told now, when the newest McGee should be showing up, and, as is usual for brand new baby announcements, possible name ideas.
"Have any thoughts about names?" Penny asks.
Tim and Abby nod at that. "Yeah, we do," Tim says
"Another mystery 'family name' that we'll all have figured out by the time we get home?" Jimmy asks with a smirk.
Tim grins at that, and Abby says, "Not a mystery, but yes on the family name part."
"Sort of," Tim adds. They don't have any Seans in the family. "But I bet you can't guess it," he says to Jimmy.
Jimmy's willing to take up that challenge. "Boy or girl name?"
"Boy's name," Abby replies.
"Thomas. That's Abby's Dad's name, right?"
Abby nods, pleased to see he knows that. "Yes, it is, but not the name we're aiming for."
Jimmy thinks for another minute. "Jack or Jackson?" Gibbs looks pleased by that.
Abby and Tim quickly glance at each other, Jackson McGee actually sounds pretty good. Thomas Jackson… that's good, too. That's going on the list of potential baby names if they find themselves looking for another one.
"We like that, but no. Next time we have this conversation, maybe," Tim says.
"Donald?" Abbi asks.
Tim nods toward Jimmy and Breena. "They've got dibbs on that one."
Ducky looks very pleased at that.
"I'd say Leroy or Jethro, but I know you don't like them," Jimmy says to Tim, who turns to Gibbs and says, "No offense."
Gibbs nods at that. His names are country and dated, neither of which is true about his kids.
Jimmy's staring at Tim, mild exasperation overlaying a whole lot of pride in his eyes. "I can't guess it, or I won't guess it?"
Tim shoots him is best smart-ass grin. "Is there a difference?"
Jimmy laughs at that, and before he gets a shot to say anything Abby says, "Sean James. That's what we're thinking."
Jimmy looks down for a second, a very warm, very pleased smile spreading across his face, then he looks up, beaming at both of them, and heads over for more hugs. He's got an arm around each of them, and kisses Abby's cheek. As he pulls back his hand falls to Abby's tummy and he says, "Sean James, you hear that? That's a good name, so you better be the with-a-penis-model, okay?"
Everyone laughs at that, and when they stop, he adds, "Just fooling on that. Girl, boy, little bit of both, doesn't matter, we're all gonna love you no matter what."
Next
September 4, 2014
Shards To A Whole: New Rules
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 382: New Rules
May I see you? Text from Jimmy. Been sitting on her phone, without a response, for more than an hour now.
Yesterday was good. Good all over. And at the end of it, she and Tony had asked Abby about their potential halfway solution, and she gave them some suggestions for how he could get his genome out there, and let other people hunt him down. Apparently, this is going to take a lot of spit, a bunch of test tubes, and mailing off bits of DNA to several internet companies that specialize in helping people find their relatives/history/genealogy or whatnot.
Today was busy. Drug case. No dead bodies, but sixty kilos of heroin will get the MCRT rolling.
Ziva likes drug cases. They're… clean… for lack of a better word. No dead bodies. No having to inform next of kin. No having to ask questions of grieving widows or orphans. No friends reeling from loss. They may be messy as hell with lies and backstabbing and deceit, but no one's dead.
It's occurring to her that she may have been a cop for too long if this is her idea of a good day.
But it has been a good day. And as they were getting ready to go home, her phone buzzes, with Jimmy's message on it.
She shows it to Tony, and he shrugs. Whatever she wants to do about Jimmy, that's up to her.
So she tucks her phone back into her pocket, and they go home.
They're home. Dinner's done. Tony's got a movie he's been looking forward to, but Ziva's not really interested in it.
She heads to their room, grabbing her book, and settles into the overstuffed armchair near their bed.
She's read the same paragraph three times, which means the book's not holding her interest, and she knows why not. Her eyes keep darting to her phone.
Talk to him or not…
She picks up the phone. Yes.
A minute later Where? Anywhere that's good for you, I'll go.
I'm at home.
I can be there in half an hour.
Fine.
And in twenty-eight minutes, he is there.
He knocks. He usually wouldn't. Normally, if he's expected, he'd just head in, because that's how they are with each other's homes. But today he knocks.
He's been trying to think of what to say on the ride over. Not much is springing up. I'm sorry I hurt you. That's pretty much it.
But he's already said that.
I hope you forgive me. I hope you understand. That's there, too.
I hope this is fixable. That's why he's at their door.
Ziva opens the door, and looks at him. Yeah, not pleased at all. It's not a happy expression on her face, but she lets him in.
She leads him to the dining table. They've got an open floor plan, so he can see Tony watching his movie, and feels a flash of hot, angry at seeing him, so… yeah… not okay on that, yet, but… Tony's ignoring them, letting them get whatever they need to do with each other, out of the way.
He sits down, and she does, too, staring at him, making him speak first.
"I'm sorry I hurt you."
"You've said that."
"Wanted to say it again. That was something I needed to do, to be okay, in myself, and, longer term, okay with him, but it hurt you, and… I didn't want that. But I couldn't think of a way to do it without hurting you."
"If he deserved your anger, I did, too."
Jimmy shakes his head. "No… Ziva…You're not—"
"I have run that mission, too, Jimmy."
Jimmy blinks. He opens his mouth, and shuts it, staring at her. He licks his lips, still staring, and opens his mouth again, but no sound comes out.
She sees his posture slouch, and he looks like he's been punched.
But finally he says, "Oh. Uh…" He straightens back up again, breathing deeply. "Then I'm not sorry." He's biting his lip, hard, apparently stopping himself from saying something, likely harsh. He stares at her dining table, and then looks up at her. He looks away again, collecting his thoughts.
"Uh…"
"Would you like to be judged for your worst mistake, more than a decade later?" Ziva asks.
He licks his lips again, and tries to think of what he considers his worst mistake. But when it comes down to it, not going with Breena to Jon's twenty week ultrasound doesn't feel like it fits into the category of use someone for your own gain. But, if she wants to dump on him about it… Not like she'll ever come up with anything he didn't say to himself about that. Not like he won't deserve it. He should have been there with her. She shouldn't have had to face that image and everything that came after it, alone.
"No." He's looking at his hand, wedding ring. "But I'll get it if it happens." He looks back to Ziva. "I don't know if you can call something you did intentionally, knowing you were fucking someone over, a mistake."
"Decision, then."
"Yeah. Decision." He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. "No. I wouldn't want to be judged on my worst decision. Two minutes ago, I thought it was letting you spend that night sitting there, hurting. Now I don't know what it would be. So, you know what, fuck it, judge away. Nothing you didn't deserve. I don't expect you to be happy with it… But, I hope you understand."
"I understand."
He nods and it turns into a head shake. "I don't." He's looking up at her, big eyes, fragile expression on his face. "I said this to him, or if I didn't, I meant to. I don't get it. I don't fucking get it, at all. There are no targets. Just people. And I don't get how you could go into a mission to literally fuck an innocent person with no shot of it working, no hope of doing anything useful. Not when there was a really obvious way to do it without hurting that person. It's one thing if you're off to save the world or something, but…" he shakes his head again. "I don't get it, Ziva."
She shakes her head. "You don't have to, and if you're lucky, you never will."
"That sounds like you do get it. That this… makes sense to you."
She shrugs. "In a properly run mission, it's a simple costs benefits analysis. What's the easiest way to achieve your goal? What tools do you have at your disposal? What timeframe do you have to move in? One broken heart versus a fire fight with an expected fifty casualties? You break the heart."
Jimmy's eyes flick toward Tony. "So, you're saying, what? That this was cheaper than putting surveillance on Jeanne?"
Ziva shrugs, while that is likely true, she doesn't want to put her approval on that mission. "That was not a properly run mission."
"And when you did it, was it a properly run mission?"
"I like to think so."
"Ah." So, not exactly the same mission. "And… did… that heartbreak save lives?"
"It certainly did from my side's perspective. None of our men were lost. It cost lives for the other side."
"But that was going to happen either way?"
"Yes. It's likely fewer died by using the route we did. But it's certain that the target would have been vastly better off if I'd stayed away from him. And, in as much as there are such things as innocent people, involving him meant hurting one, and a direct strike would have only engaged combatants."
Jimmy bites his lip again, thinking.
"Did you know that Ilan Bodnar had a wife and sister?"
"No. You never said."
"We were close once… Not family close, but he was my father's protégée. We worked several cases together. Had dinner together on numerous occasions. Friendly."
"More than friendly?"
Ziva shakes her head. "Never that friendly. Since, I'm 'still looking for Bodnar' I get in touch with them every year or so. Check in, see if they've heard anything." Jimmy knew that keeping up the ruse of still looking for Bodnar was part of the cover, that if he was truly missing, Ziva wouldn't have just given up on the hurt, but he hadn't realized what was really involved in that. "They are still waiting for him, still looking. Still hoping he is alive.
"Everything we do, no matter how justified, touches other people. Sometimes it hurts. If you get into something like that, like the kind of life the Frog was leading, you open up the people you love to this sort of hurt. The fact that they become targets, too, is supposed to help dissuade you from that path."
Jimmy blinks, and nods. "Doesn't mean we have to be the ones to do it to them."
"No, it doesn't. And we try not to. But we are human, and we make mistakes, and we make bad decisions, and things that look like a good plan at the time go haywire."
"Yeah. That's how I was feeling about hurting you."
"But you are not feeling that way anymore, are you?"
"No. Now I'm wishing I had chewed out both of you." Jimmy stands up. "I'm…" And he heads out.
Tony stands up and heads over to Ziva. "That went well."
She glares at him. Not hot, but not appreciating the sarcasm.
He shrugs. "You okay?"
"It is hard to be angry at him when he's sitting there like a kicked puppy."
Tony nods at that, too. "And then you remember exactly how long that night was…"
She nods back at him. Remembering brings that fear and pain back in a flash. Unnecessary pain and fear. Hours of it.
"I'm kind of hoping we can fight it out. Beat the hell out of each other and then call it even."
"It's worked well in the past."
He nods, some. "Yeah. Just get all the angry out in one big burst and then be done with it."
Gibbs has been trying to take a back seat and let them work this crap all out on their own.
Unfortunately, he's not liking the direction 'working it out' looks like it's going to take. Because they're all planning on just beating it out.
The good thing about Bootcamp is that they can all take care of themselves, and then some. The downside is, they're way too damn good to be pounding on each other.
And he can see how this is going to play out. Four person brawl. While it does look like McGee and both DiNozzos are doing okay now (or at least not talking about it) Gibbs knows that if this goes down, Tim will get in it, and he'll fight for Jimmy.
Gibbs just doesn't see any way that ends well.
On top of that, what Breena had to say about Tim and Jimmy coming home with bruises stuck with him.
Ziva and Tony trying for a baby, sticks with him.
Tim having the Stennis test coming up, that's sticking, too.
And in each of his conversations with them, they're all mentioning Bootcamp.
Gibbs has a bad feeling about this. He does not want to see a full-on four person brawl, especially if one of those people may be very slightly pregnant and another one might be walking into a real fight in the next few weeks.
The more he thinks about it, the more it's hitting him that he doesn't want beating the shit out of each other to be the fallback position for how to deal with anger at each other.
He wants the guys, especially Tim and Jimmy to be comfortable with their violence, able to use it when they need it, but… He doesn't want them using it against each other.
Bootcamp is at the house, on Saturday. All six of you. Duck and Penny are watching the girls. No whining or complaining about that. McGee, Palmer, bring your checkbooks.
Gibbs figured that email would do the job, and then he went off in search of a Mason jar and a permanent marker.
The internet is a useful thing. He's never going to have Tim-level google-fu (or for that matter know the term google-fu) but he's found that if you're persistent, you can find out lots of things.
For example, Gibbs already knows what Tony and Ziva make. He's had their jobs, after all. And he's got an idea for Tim, Abby, and Jimmy. But a bit of research and knowing each of their rankings, meant that he was able to get, within a few thousand dollars, what their yearly salaries are.
More googling meant that he was able to find out, again, ballpark, what an author makes per copy of his book sold, and how many books Tim's sold. (A lot more than he had thought.)
Some googling after that meant that he now knows that the Slater Funeral Homes are a closely held C Corp with 14.6 million a year in sales, and shares of the publically traded stock (Not a whole lot of that, the Slaters own more than 90% of the company. He bought some anyway, not a lot, but he wanted a symbolic gesture of supporting the family business.) going for $17.14. More googling found that Breena Palmer currently owns 11.6% of the company and is officially listed as a Director.
And with that, he has a plan.
No Shabbos this week. He's not surprised at that.
He hits Tony and Ziva's place first. They seem, okay. Especially with each other. That reassures him. He doesn't want to be poking his nose into their marriage deeply enough to know what exactly shifted, but they're both more at ease with each other.
They always have that fine buzz of tension. That's just how they work, but right now it's a barely audible hum, coming through in the occasional, slightly sharp, joke.
So, they're running on normal.
Tony wants to bitch about whatever the mystery bootcamp is, but Gibbs just shakes his head.
Palmers' next. Jimmy and Breena he's expecting. McGees just happened to be an added bonus.
Tim and Abby seem okay.
Breena's fine.
Jimmy… Jimmy's in worse shape than he was the last time they talked, and also looking forward to Bootcamp a lot more than Gibbs thinks is healthy.
He'd had dinner with Tony and Ziva, but he's not turning down the watermelon sorbet Breena had for dessert.
Dessert's wrapping up, and he more or less pulls Jimmy onto the porch. Tim follows, not really planning on getting into it, but just staying in the background, there if need be.
"What happened?" Gibbs asks.
Jimmy shrugs. "Turns out Ziva's done it, too." Tim's eyes go wide, he hadn't heard that bit of it yet. "And honestly, if you've ever seduced an innocent person for the job, made them fall in love with you, and used them, I really don't want to hear about it."
Gibbs shakes his head. Sure he's slept with suspects or accomplices, never a bystander.
"They still your friends?"
"Yeah."
"You still love them?"
"Yes."
"Then you've got to let it go. Long time ago and there's nothing they can do about it, now."
"I know. Still hard when people you love and respect do asshole things."
Gibbs stares right at Jimmy, dead into his eyes, makes sure he has his undivided attention, then he quickly glances to Tim before staring back at Jimmy. "Yeah. It is. Sucks when your friends put you in a bad situation, too. "
Jimmy blinks at him, getting what that look is saying. He nods.
"Let it go, Jimmy."
He shrugs. "I'm trying."
"Try harder."
Saturday morning, bright and early.
He's got six tense-looking people milling around what will eventually be the living room once they get this whole place fixed up.
Gibbs takes the mason jar out of his bag. It's got the word ASSHOLE written on it in big letters. He sticks it on the mantle and then points to it. "This is the asshole jar. All instances of assholery will result in donations being placed in the asshole jar. Then whomever has been the victim of assholery will get the proceeds of said jar. I know, ballpark, how much money all of you have, and what you make, so the penalty for assholery is adjusted by income and will sting, but it won't break you.
"The point of Bootcamp is not to beat the shit out of each other. It's to be strong and fast and able to beat the shit out of the other guys out there.
"So from here on out, beating the hell out of each other is off the table. We'll still fight, we'll still train, but it's never going to be a way we deal with our anger at each other, ever again. You need to fight out your anger at the outside world, great, we're good on that. We support each other on that. But never for each other, never again.
"Lifting a hand to each other in anger, in annoyance, it ends now. No one's ever getting a headslap again, either. We're done with it.
"Now, pay up. Director Gemcity, twenty-five hundred, into the pot, each, for Tony and Ziva."
Tim winces, yeah, that's gonna sting, and they haven't gotten to Abby yet.
"LabMistress McGee, thirteen hundred, each, for Tony and Ziva."
Abby's wincing too. Gibbs is right, it's not going to break them. Won't mean a missed payment on anything. They've got the savings to cover it, but they're going to have to shift some cash around and sell off some of their stock to cover it. Tim gets his phone out and starts taking care of it.
"You got a check with you?" he asks Tony.
"Why would I have one? I wasn't told to bring one."
"If you had one, I could wire the money right into your account. I'll Paypal you instead."
Tony nods at that.
Gibbs says, "Dr. Palmer, grand a pop, to Abby and Tim. Five hundred to Tony and Ziva."
"Five hundred?" Jimmy asks.
"Aggravated assholery. You get a discount on that."
Jimmy bites his lip, this isn't supposed to be funny, but he likes the idea of aggravated assholery.
"Director Palmer, eleven hundred each to Tony and Ziva.
Gibbs hands a check over to Jimmy, who looks at it for a second and then stares at Gibbs, dumbfounded, as he asks, "Why?"
"Because as your wife pointed out, someone should have said something to you when it happened. I should have checked in with you. I didn't. My team, my screw up."
"Tony and Ziva, you're not paying out this time, but each count of assholery's gonna cost Tony seven fifty and Ziva four hundred. I know you all get raises, so those numbers are just going to keep getting higher and higher as time goes by."
Breena's got the checkbook out and writing in it. "If you can hold them 'til Tuesday, that'd be good. I've got to move some money into this account, and unlike Tim, I don't have everything for that online."
Ziva and Abby nod.
Gibbs is almost done. "Rule 72: If it happened more than two years ago, let it go. That's our new statute of limitations. Two years. We've known each other a long time and have long memories, and that's not biting us in the ass again. You wanna bitch to your own spouse about it if it's more than two years old, fine. But unless it is so bad you are literally willing to rip our entire family apart over it, if it's more than two years old, let the fucker go.
"Rule 73: If it's less than two years old and didn't happen to you personally, forgive it.
"Rule 74: If you'd yell at the girls for it, don't do it yourself.
"Now, if you still need to go do something hard and strenuous to burn it off, there's a truck load of rocks that still need to be laid out, and then stuck on the house. Get to it!"
House building starts off awfully quiet. Working with Ducky during the week means that about two thirds of the masonry is up. Hopefully with the whole crew here, they'll get it all in place by the end of the day.
Then comes windows. Normally, if you had a full crew of people who knew how to do this, you'd go through, pop the old ones all out, and then put the new ones all in.
They are not going to do it that way. Each one goes out and a new one'll go in. The inside has more than enough water damage already without having every widow a gaping hole for God alone knows however long it'll take to get all the new ones in.
So, that's the plan for today, rocks on the house, and a few windows if they manage to get that far.
But so far, putting more stones on the walls is bordering on silent.
There is a logical part in Jimmy's mind which is greatly appreciating a way to… get out of this… for lack of a better term, without beating the hell out of anyone, or getting beaten.
That's the logical part.
It's normally in charge.
He'd like it to be in charge. Things work better, and they're a hell of a lot easier when it's in charge. And for right now, it's in control of things. Mostly. It's driving the car.
The obnoxious, and loud, passengers in the backseat, anger and violence, are pouting at how this has worked out. They'd be really happy with a drop down, drag out, no one gets out without skin mottled with bruises fight.
He's trying, as he's placing stones against the side of the wall, to boot them out of the car and get back to being okay.
He's thinking that Gibbs may indeed be onto something with the whole Cranston is a good listener thing, because he knows there was a time when beating the shit out of someone because he's mad at them would have literally, never, occurred to him.
If you need something hard to burn it off…
He does. So instead of putting the rocks on the side of the house, he gets up, and starts moving them. Grabbing the next few stone for each of the other six, picking them up, carrying them over, and then back to the lay out for the next batch.
It is hard, and heavy, and he's sweating freely by the time he's done fifteen of them. The driveway (where all of the stones have been laid out) is about four hundred feet away from this side of the house, and sure none of the stones is really heavy, but they aren't light either, maybe ten, maybe twelve pounds, and he's making sure to grab three or four of them in a go.
It helps. Not as good, or fast, or satisfying as actually fighting would be, but it's hard and his heart is pumping, and the feel good chemicals are starting to flow.
Tony would have to admit that not beating the shit out of Jimmy is disappointing. He's also have to admit that the more than ten thousand dollars he and Ziva now have is pretty nice. And that, right now, he's thinking that they are going to go somewhere warm and beautiful and very luxurious and very expensive in the middle of god-awful, nasty winter and then sending pictures back home to gloat about it. And it'll be even better if they manage to time it so the girls have colds.
That is, if that doesn't count as being an asshole.
That's probably being a smartass, and if Gibbs wants them to stop doing that, he's going to have to shoot them, because that's only going to stop when they're dead.
Things start to thaw by lunchtime. Abbi shows up with food. Very welcome food.
They're milling around on the back patio, grabbing drinks, rummaging through sandwiches and salads (everything has names on it) when Jimmy snags a sugar-free iced tea, chugs it, and then takes five steps to the grass and collapses on his back, sprawled out, groaning with pleasure.
His arms are sore, his back is sore, quads are trembling (You have to do a deep knee bend to get the rocks off the driveway, then stand back up with them, multiply that by about two hundred trips, and his legs are jello), and cool, soft grass feels awesome right now.
"What, you sleeping on the job? Not gonna do it. You know you don't get out of working this afternoon unless you're dead." Tony's mouth shoots over to Jimmy before his brain remembers that maybe now might not be the best time to tease him.
Everyone else stiffens slightly, wondering what's going to come next. Jimmy doesn't even look over in Tony's direction, though his arm slowly bends at the elbow, lifting his right hand high, followed by his middle finger extending.
For another second, no one made a sound, still nervous wondering what would happen next, but then Tim says, "Good news, Tony, he's still alive. Now you don't have to worry about moving all those rocks yourself."
That starts the laughter.
"Please, I could move those rocks in my sleep."
Jimmy slowly rolls up into a sitting position, and heads back to the main group, grabbing another drink, and his lunch, and then sprawling bonelessly in the chaise that Breena had grabbed for them. "Yeah, in your dreams you can move that many rocks that fast."
Tim snorts at that while the rest of them laugh and decides now's a good time to shift the topic a bit. He takes a quick bite of his sandwich (corned beef on rye) and asks, "Got your speech done?" The DiNozzo Sr. wedding is a week from today, and Tony's on best man duty.
Tony nods. "Yep, just re-heating the one I used for your wedding." That gets a bit of a laugh, too.
"'I remember the first time McGee saw Abby… The way his eyes glazed over and that slight bit of drool on the corner of his lips…' Yeah, that'll flow naturally for your Dad's wedding," Abby says.
Tim adds. "You know, you weren't actually there the first time I saw Abby. You were going to walk me down, but I shocked you so bad the doors to the elevator closed before you got in."
"It's called poetic license, and you were already drooling by then! You were just about licking your chops as you got into the elevator."
Tim shrugs a bit, not like that was precisely wrong. And technically it wasn't the first time he saw her. He'd caught just enough of a glimpse on the video conference to be very interested in getting to know her better. But it was the first time he saw her in person, and… well, he's fairly sure his eyes did glaze over, and if he'd been drooling… He wasn't, but he thinks that's because his mouth went dry.
"How'd you shock him?" Abbi asks.
Tim smiles. "It was our first case together, and a few days earlier I'd asked about Abby and he told me Abby wasn't my type. I said 'why?'"
"And I asked if he'd ever had any desire to get a tatt on his ass. He said no. I told him he never had to think about Abby again. You have to remember that back in the day McInked here was about twelve-years-old and looked like he was wearing a suit he borrowed from his dad to go play at being an agent."
"I was twenty-four, Tony. Anyway, I told him that no, I'd never had any desire to get a tattoo on my ass." Tim's pushing up the sleeve on his left arm, showing off the code he's got there. "And that was true. No desire, at all. Still don't have one. Because they hurt to get done and they hurt when they heal up, and who wants to sit on that?" He touches the code. "This on the other hand… I'd been thinking about this for a while. That's my masters dissertation, so not like I woke up one morning and said, 'Oh, bunch of random letters!'
"So, Tony's really looking forward to me seeing Abby and flipping out, or her seeing me and laughing hysterically, and he's telling me she's really not my type, so I said to him, 'You know that desire you were asking about? I took care of it. Went with Mom.' And that fried his brain and stopped him dead."
"Why'd you say Mom?" Tony asks.
"Because I wanted to get to my lunch date, and explaining this would have taken most of the hour Abby had off."
Abbi's looking at that tattoo. "That's your master's dissertation?"
"The core of it. The whole thing is about five pages long. This, then four and a half pages explaining what it does and how."
"What does it do?" Jimmy asks, realizing he doesn't know that.
"Remember, I got out of grad school Winter of '01. So, anyway, back then they were just getting into using database policing. You know, you've got a database that's got every theft in the county, and then use a computer to figure out what was likely to get hit when. Back when I wrote this, the program that did it was thousands of lines of code and would take days, even for a small community. This can handle New York City in an hour, and anywhere smaller in minutes."
"So, everything a cop on the beat could tell you if you asked," Gibbs says, dryly.
"Maybe. This could give you the likelihood of any given address being hit at any given time on any given day. Cop only knows his area and his times on. Usually you'd use something like this to help assign who goes where at what times. How to plan out those beats. And unlike the cop on the beat, this one can update as fast as you feed it new information. So it could tell you in practically real time if your new beat assignments were having an effect."
"Is anyone using it?" Breena asks.
"Not anymore. Much better stuff is out there now. But I wouldn't be shocked if someone built off of it to make some of that better stuff. Just like all the other MIT dissertations, anyone with a library card can find this and build off of it." A thought hit Tim as he says that, something he's never asked. "Ziva, did you go to college?"
"Why are you asking, McGee?"
"IDF at 18. That's what, two years?"
She nods.
"Okay, you're twenty. Then working for your dad. Adventures all over the place. 2005 rolls around, and you're with us. That was fall, so… You're what, just barely 23 then?"
Ziva shakes her head. "I was still twenty-two when I met you. I did not attend college, at least not the way you did. I did get a semester in Barcelona, and another in Cairo, one in Prague. College student is an easy cover if you are twenty-one, and colleges expect to have foreign students. But I do not have a degree. Leon was willing to make an exception for me, based on my vast, in-the-field experience."
"Wise man," Abbi says.
Ziva nods. "I've thought about maybe doing college, going back, along with the job, like Jimmy did, but so far… I think I'd rather just read."
Jimmy nods at that. "Unless you want a degree in something like medicine where you have to go to college, I wouldn't recommend it. Took me seven years to do med school and residency part-time, and I was pretty fried for a lot of that time. What would you study if you went back?"
Ziva shrugs. "I do not know. Literature?" She smiles at Tony. "Film? I did take a class in that, and enjoyed it. I always thought I might like to learn photography, art photography, not just shooting a scene, or go back to dancing. If I went to school it would be for fun."
That makes Gibbs smile. He knows what Ziva's getting for her birthday this year. He still has Shannon's cameras and the dark room equipment. No chemicals, obviously, they'd all be way past their prime, but he's got an enlarger and film spools and trays collecting dust along with an SLR and a collection of lenses and gels in his attic.
They continue to chat while eating, not as easy or smooth as usual, but not silent like the beginning of the day either.
As lunches are wrapped up, and each of them began to head back to the side of the house in need of stonework, Jimmy says to Tony, "Your shot to show off. I'm done with lugging rocks. Let's see how long you can keep it up."
Tony smirks. "All damn night."
Jimmy snorts at that, shaking his head, and follows Breena to where she'd been working, figuring he'd help her with her bit of the wall.
They're getting ready to head home. Gibbs is packing up his tools, talking with Abbi, Tony and Ziva are already pulling out. Abby wanders over to Breena and hands her the check back. "We're good."
Breena looks at her. "Sure?"
"Yeah." She nods to Jimmy, who's putting up the last stone of the day, with Tim. "You think he's gonna make me do something I don't approve of?" She snorts a quick laugh.
Breena nods, that's a good point.
"I should have said or done something when it happened. I didn't. We're good on my end, and I know Tim is, too." She wraps an arm around Breena. "Besides, I know what you said to Gibbs about those two beating on each other hit home, so I'm perfectly good with you getting the idea through to him that this isn't cool. They may not listen to us on it, but when Dad lays down the law, they pay attention. That's worth a few grand to me."
Breena smiles at that.
Next
Chapter 382: New Rules
May I see you? Text from Jimmy. Been sitting on her phone, without a response, for more than an hour now.
Yesterday was good. Good all over. And at the end of it, she and Tony had asked Abby about their potential halfway solution, and she gave them some suggestions for how he could get his genome out there, and let other people hunt him down. Apparently, this is going to take a lot of spit, a bunch of test tubes, and mailing off bits of DNA to several internet companies that specialize in helping people find their relatives/history/genealogy or whatnot.
Today was busy. Drug case. No dead bodies, but sixty kilos of heroin will get the MCRT rolling.
Ziva likes drug cases. They're… clean… for lack of a better word. No dead bodies. No having to inform next of kin. No having to ask questions of grieving widows or orphans. No friends reeling from loss. They may be messy as hell with lies and backstabbing and deceit, but no one's dead.
It's occurring to her that she may have been a cop for too long if this is her idea of a good day.
But it has been a good day. And as they were getting ready to go home, her phone buzzes, with Jimmy's message on it.
She shows it to Tony, and he shrugs. Whatever she wants to do about Jimmy, that's up to her.
So she tucks her phone back into her pocket, and they go home.
They're home. Dinner's done. Tony's got a movie he's been looking forward to, but Ziva's not really interested in it.
She heads to their room, grabbing her book, and settles into the overstuffed armchair near their bed.
She's read the same paragraph three times, which means the book's not holding her interest, and she knows why not. Her eyes keep darting to her phone.
Talk to him or not…
She picks up the phone. Yes.
A minute later Where? Anywhere that's good for you, I'll go.
I'm at home.
I can be there in half an hour.
Fine.
And in twenty-eight minutes, he is there.
He knocks. He usually wouldn't. Normally, if he's expected, he'd just head in, because that's how they are with each other's homes. But today he knocks.
He's been trying to think of what to say on the ride over. Not much is springing up. I'm sorry I hurt you. That's pretty much it.
But he's already said that.
I hope you forgive me. I hope you understand. That's there, too.
I hope this is fixable. That's why he's at their door.
Ziva opens the door, and looks at him. Yeah, not pleased at all. It's not a happy expression on her face, but she lets him in.
She leads him to the dining table. They've got an open floor plan, so he can see Tony watching his movie, and feels a flash of hot, angry at seeing him, so… yeah… not okay on that, yet, but… Tony's ignoring them, letting them get whatever they need to do with each other, out of the way.
He sits down, and she does, too, staring at him, making him speak first.
"I'm sorry I hurt you."
"You've said that."
"Wanted to say it again. That was something I needed to do, to be okay, in myself, and, longer term, okay with him, but it hurt you, and… I didn't want that. But I couldn't think of a way to do it without hurting you."
"If he deserved your anger, I did, too."
Jimmy shakes his head. "No… Ziva…You're not—"
"I have run that mission, too, Jimmy."
Jimmy blinks. He opens his mouth, and shuts it, staring at her. He licks his lips, still staring, and opens his mouth again, but no sound comes out.
She sees his posture slouch, and he looks like he's been punched.
But finally he says, "Oh. Uh…" He straightens back up again, breathing deeply. "Then I'm not sorry." He's biting his lip, hard, apparently stopping himself from saying something, likely harsh. He stares at her dining table, and then looks up at her. He looks away again, collecting his thoughts.
"Uh…"
"Would you like to be judged for your worst mistake, more than a decade later?" Ziva asks.
He licks his lips again, and tries to think of what he considers his worst mistake. But when it comes down to it, not going with Breena to Jon's twenty week ultrasound doesn't feel like it fits into the category of use someone for your own gain. But, if she wants to dump on him about it… Not like she'll ever come up with anything he didn't say to himself about that. Not like he won't deserve it. He should have been there with her. She shouldn't have had to face that image and everything that came after it, alone.
"No." He's looking at his hand, wedding ring. "But I'll get it if it happens." He looks back to Ziva. "I don't know if you can call something you did intentionally, knowing you were fucking someone over, a mistake."
"Decision, then."
"Yeah. Decision." He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. "No. I wouldn't want to be judged on my worst decision. Two minutes ago, I thought it was letting you spend that night sitting there, hurting. Now I don't know what it would be. So, you know what, fuck it, judge away. Nothing you didn't deserve. I don't expect you to be happy with it… But, I hope you understand."
"I understand."
He nods and it turns into a head shake. "I don't." He's looking up at her, big eyes, fragile expression on his face. "I said this to him, or if I didn't, I meant to. I don't get it. I don't fucking get it, at all. There are no targets. Just people. And I don't get how you could go into a mission to literally fuck an innocent person with no shot of it working, no hope of doing anything useful. Not when there was a really obvious way to do it without hurting that person. It's one thing if you're off to save the world or something, but…" he shakes his head again. "I don't get it, Ziva."
She shakes her head. "You don't have to, and if you're lucky, you never will."
"That sounds like you do get it. That this… makes sense to you."
She shrugs. "In a properly run mission, it's a simple costs benefits analysis. What's the easiest way to achieve your goal? What tools do you have at your disposal? What timeframe do you have to move in? One broken heart versus a fire fight with an expected fifty casualties? You break the heart."
Jimmy's eyes flick toward Tony. "So, you're saying, what? That this was cheaper than putting surveillance on Jeanne?"
Ziva shrugs, while that is likely true, she doesn't want to put her approval on that mission. "That was not a properly run mission."
"And when you did it, was it a properly run mission?"
"I like to think so."
"Ah." So, not exactly the same mission. "And… did… that heartbreak save lives?"
"It certainly did from my side's perspective. None of our men were lost. It cost lives for the other side."
"But that was going to happen either way?"
"Yes. It's likely fewer died by using the route we did. But it's certain that the target would have been vastly better off if I'd stayed away from him. And, in as much as there are such things as innocent people, involving him meant hurting one, and a direct strike would have only engaged combatants."
Jimmy bites his lip again, thinking.
"Did you know that Ilan Bodnar had a wife and sister?"
"No. You never said."
"We were close once… Not family close, but he was my father's protégée. We worked several cases together. Had dinner together on numerous occasions. Friendly."
"More than friendly?"
Ziva shakes her head. "Never that friendly. Since, I'm 'still looking for Bodnar' I get in touch with them every year or so. Check in, see if they've heard anything." Jimmy knew that keeping up the ruse of still looking for Bodnar was part of the cover, that if he was truly missing, Ziva wouldn't have just given up on the hurt, but he hadn't realized what was really involved in that. "They are still waiting for him, still looking. Still hoping he is alive.
"Everything we do, no matter how justified, touches other people. Sometimes it hurts. If you get into something like that, like the kind of life the Frog was leading, you open up the people you love to this sort of hurt. The fact that they become targets, too, is supposed to help dissuade you from that path."
Jimmy blinks, and nods. "Doesn't mean we have to be the ones to do it to them."
"No, it doesn't. And we try not to. But we are human, and we make mistakes, and we make bad decisions, and things that look like a good plan at the time go haywire."
"Yeah. That's how I was feeling about hurting you."
"But you are not feeling that way anymore, are you?"
"No. Now I'm wishing I had chewed out both of you." Jimmy stands up. "I'm…" And he heads out.
Tony stands up and heads over to Ziva. "That went well."
She glares at him. Not hot, but not appreciating the sarcasm.
He shrugs. "You okay?"
"It is hard to be angry at him when he's sitting there like a kicked puppy."
Tony nods at that, too. "And then you remember exactly how long that night was…"
She nods back at him. Remembering brings that fear and pain back in a flash. Unnecessary pain and fear. Hours of it.
"I'm kind of hoping we can fight it out. Beat the hell out of each other and then call it even."
"It's worked well in the past."
He nods, some. "Yeah. Just get all the angry out in one big burst and then be done with it."
Gibbs has been trying to take a back seat and let them work this crap all out on their own.
Unfortunately, he's not liking the direction 'working it out' looks like it's going to take. Because they're all planning on just beating it out.
The good thing about Bootcamp is that they can all take care of themselves, and then some. The downside is, they're way too damn good to be pounding on each other.
And he can see how this is going to play out. Four person brawl. While it does look like McGee and both DiNozzos are doing okay now (or at least not talking about it) Gibbs knows that if this goes down, Tim will get in it, and he'll fight for Jimmy.
Gibbs just doesn't see any way that ends well.
On top of that, what Breena had to say about Tim and Jimmy coming home with bruises stuck with him.
Ziva and Tony trying for a baby, sticks with him.
Tim having the Stennis test coming up, that's sticking, too.
And in each of his conversations with them, they're all mentioning Bootcamp.
Gibbs has a bad feeling about this. He does not want to see a full-on four person brawl, especially if one of those people may be very slightly pregnant and another one might be walking into a real fight in the next few weeks.
The more he thinks about it, the more it's hitting him that he doesn't want beating the shit out of each other to be the fallback position for how to deal with anger at each other.
He wants the guys, especially Tim and Jimmy to be comfortable with their violence, able to use it when they need it, but… He doesn't want them using it against each other.
Bootcamp is at the house, on Saturday. All six of you. Duck and Penny are watching the girls. No whining or complaining about that. McGee, Palmer, bring your checkbooks.
Gibbs figured that email would do the job, and then he went off in search of a Mason jar and a permanent marker.
The internet is a useful thing. He's never going to have Tim-level google-fu (or for that matter know the term google-fu) but he's found that if you're persistent, you can find out lots of things.
For example, Gibbs already knows what Tony and Ziva make. He's had their jobs, after all. And he's got an idea for Tim, Abby, and Jimmy. But a bit of research and knowing each of their rankings, meant that he was able to get, within a few thousand dollars, what their yearly salaries are.
More googling meant that he was able to find out, again, ballpark, what an author makes per copy of his book sold, and how many books Tim's sold. (A lot more than he had thought.)
Some googling after that meant that he now knows that the Slater Funeral Homes are a closely held C Corp with 14.6 million a year in sales, and shares of the publically traded stock (Not a whole lot of that, the Slaters own more than 90% of the company. He bought some anyway, not a lot, but he wanted a symbolic gesture of supporting the family business.) going for $17.14. More googling found that Breena Palmer currently owns 11.6% of the company and is officially listed as a Director.
And with that, he has a plan.
No Shabbos this week. He's not surprised at that.
He hits Tony and Ziva's place first. They seem, okay. Especially with each other. That reassures him. He doesn't want to be poking his nose into their marriage deeply enough to know what exactly shifted, but they're both more at ease with each other.
They always have that fine buzz of tension. That's just how they work, but right now it's a barely audible hum, coming through in the occasional, slightly sharp, joke.
So, they're running on normal.
Tony wants to bitch about whatever the mystery bootcamp is, but Gibbs just shakes his head.
Palmers' next. Jimmy and Breena he's expecting. McGees just happened to be an added bonus.
Tim and Abby seem okay.
Breena's fine.
Jimmy… Jimmy's in worse shape than he was the last time they talked, and also looking forward to Bootcamp a lot more than Gibbs thinks is healthy.
He'd had dinner with Tony and Ziva, but he's not turning down the watermelon sorbet Breena had for dessert.
Dessert's wrapping up, and he more or less pulls Jimmy onto the porch. Tim follows, not really planning on getting into it, but just staying in the background, there if need be.
"What happened?" Gibbs asks.
Jimmy shrugs. "Turns out Ziva's done it, too." Tim's eyes go wide, he hadn't heard that bit of it yet. "And honestly, if you've ever seduced an innocent person for the job, made them fall in love with you, and used them, I really don't want to hear about it."
Gibbs shakes his head. Sure he's slept with suspects or accomplices, never a bystander.
"They still your friends?"
"Yeah."
"You still love them?"
"Yes."
"Then you've got to let it go. Long time ago and there's nothing they can do about it, now."
"I know. Still hard when people you love and respect do asshole things."
Gibbs stares right at Jimmy, dead into his eyes, makes sure he has his undivided attention, then he quickly glances to Tim before staring back at Jimmy. "Yeah. It is. Sucks when your friends put you in a bad situation, too. "
Jimmy blinks at him, getting what that look is saying. He nods.
"Let it go, Jimmy."
He shrugs. "I'm trying."
"Try harder."
Saturday morning, bright and early.
He's got six tense-looking people milling around what will eventually be the living room once they get this whole place fixed up.
Gibbs takes the mason jar out of his bag. It's got the word ASSHOLE written on it in big letters. He sticks it on the mantle and then points to it. "This is the asshole jar. All instances of assholery will result in donations being placed in the asshole jar. Then whomever has been the victim of assholery will get the proceeds of said jar. I know, ballpark, how much money all of you have, and what you make, so the penalty for assholery is adjusted by income and will sting, but it won't break you.
"The point of Bootcamp is not to beat the shit out of each other. It's to be strong and fast and able to beat the shit out of the other guys out there.
"So from here on out, beating the hell out of each other is off the table. We'll still fight, we'll still train, but it's never going to be a way we deal with our anger at each other, ever again. You need to fight out your anger at the outside world, great, we're good on that. We support each other on that. But never for each other, never again.
"Lifting a hand to each other in anger, in annoyance, it ends now. No one's ever getting a headslap again, either. We're done with it.
"Now, pay up. Director Gemcity, twenty-five hundred, into the pot, each, for Tony and Ziva."
Tim winces, yeah, that's gonna sting, and they haven't gotten to Abby yet.
"LabMistress McGee, thirteen hundred, each, for Tony and Ziva."
Abby's wincing too. Gibbs is right, it's not going to break them. Won't mean a missed payment on anything. They've got the savings to cover it, but they're going to have to shift some cash around and sell off some of their stock to cover it. Tim gets his phone out and starts taking care of it.
"You got a check with you?" he asks Tony.
"Why would I have one? I wasn't told to bring one."
"If you had one, I could wire the money right into your account. I'll Paypal you instead."
Tony nods at that.
Gibbs says, "Dr. Palmer, grand a pop, to Abby and Tim. Five hundred to Tony and Ziva."
"Five hundred?" Jimmy asks.
"Aggravated assholery. You get a discount on that."
Jimmy bites his lip, this isn't supposed to be funny, but he likes the idea of aggravated assholery.
"Director Palmer, eleven hundred each to Tony and Ziva.
Gibbs hands a check over to Jimmy, who looks at it for a second and then stares at Gibbs, dumbfounded, as he asks, "Why?"
"Because as your wife pointed out, someone should have said something to you when it happened. I should have checked in with you. I didn't. My team, my screw up."
"Tony and Ziva, you're not paying out this time, but each count of assholery's gonna cost Tony seven fifty and Ziva four hundred. I know you all get raises, so those numbers are just going to keep getting higher and higher as time goes by."
Breena's got the checkbook out and writing in it. "If you can hold them 'til Tuesday, that'd be good. I've got to move some money into this account, and unlike Tim, I don't have everything for that online."
Ziva and Abby nod.
Gibbs is almost done. "Rule 72: If it happened more than two years ago, let it go. That's our new statute of limitations. Two years. We've known each other a long time and have long memories, and that's not biting us in the ass again. You wanna bitch to your own spouse about it if it's more than two years old, fine. But unless it is so bad you are literally willing to rip our entire family apart over it, if it's more than two years old, let the fucker go.
"Rule 73: If it's less than two years old and didn't happen to you personally, forgive it.
"Rule 74: If you'd yell at the girls for it, don't do it yourself.
"Now, if you still need to go do something hard and strenuous to burn it off, there's a truck load of rocks that still need to be laid out, and then stuck on the house. Get to it!"
House building starts off awfully quiet. Working with Ducky during the week means that about two thirds of the masonry is up. Hopefully with the whole crew here, they'll get it all in place by the end of the day.
Then comes windows. Normally, if you had a full crew of people who knew how to do this, you'd go through, pop the old ones all out, and then put the new ones all in.
They are not going to do it that way. Each one goes out and a new one'll go in. The inside has more than enough water damage already without having every widow a gaping hole for God alone knows however long it'll take to get all the new ones in.
So, that's the plan for today, rocks on the house, and a few windows if they manage to get that far.
But so far, putting more stones on the walls is bordering on silent.
There is a logical part in Jimmy's mind which is greatly appreciating a way to… get out of this… for lack of a better term, without beating the hell out of anyone, or getting beaten.
That's the logical part.
It's normally in charge.
He'd like it to be in charge. Things work better, and they're a hell of a lot easier when it's in charge. And for right now, it's in control of things. Mostly. It's driving the car.
The obnoxious, and loud, passengers in the backseat, anger and violence, are pouting at how this has worked out. They'd be really happy with a drop down, drag out, no one gets out without skin mottled with bruises fight.
He's trying, as he's placing stones against the side of the wall, to boot them out of the car and get back to being okay.
He's thinking that Gibbs may indeed be onto something with the whole Cranston is a good listener thing, because he knows there was a time when beating the shit out of someone because he's mad at them would have literally, never, occurred to him.
If you need something hard to burn it off…
He does. So instead of putting the rocks on the side of the house, he gets up, and starts moving them. Grabbing the next few stone for each of the other six, picking them up, carrying them over, and then back to the lay out for the next batch.
It is hard, and heavy, and he's sweating freely by the time he's done fifteen of them. The driveway (where all of the stones have been laid out) is about four hundred feet away from this side of the house, and sure none of the stones is really heavy, but they aren't light either, maybe ten, maybe twelve pounds, and he's making sure to grab three or four of them in a go.
It helps. Not as good, or fast, or satisfying as actually fighting would be, but it's hard and his heart is pumping, and the feel good chemicals are starting to flow.
Tony would have to admit that not beating the shit out of Jimmy is disappointing. He's also have to admit that the more than ten thousand dollars he and Ziva now have is pretty nice. And that, right now, he's thinking that they are going to go somewhere warm and beautiful and very luxurious and very expensive in the middle of god-awful, nasty winter and then sending pictures back home to gloat about it. And it'll be even better if they manage to time it so the girls have colds.
That is, if that doesn't count as being an asshole.
That's probably being a smartass, and if Gibbs wants them to stop doing that, he's going to have to shoot them, because that's only going to stop when they're dead.
Things start to thaw by lunchtime. Abbi shows up with food. Very welcome food.
They're milling around on the back patio, grabbing drinks, rummaging through sandwiches and salads (everything has names on it) when Jimmy snags a sugar-free iced tea, chugs it, and then takes five steps to the grass and collapses on his back, sprawled out, groaning with pleasure.
His arms are sore, his back is sore, quads are trembling (You have to do a deep knee bend to get the rocks off the driveway, then stand back up with them, multiply that by about two hundred trips, and his legs are jello), and cool, soft grass feels awesome right now.
"What, you sleeping on the job? Not gonna do it. You know you don't get out of working this afternoon unless you're dead." Tony's mouth shoots over to Jimmy before his brain remembers that maybe now might not be the best time to tease him.
Everyone else stiffens slightly, wondering what's going to come next. Jimmy doesn't even look over in Tony's direction, though his arm slowly bends at the elbow, lifting his right hand high, followed by his middle finger extending.
For another second, no one made a sound, still nervous wondering what would happen next, but then Tim says, "Good news, Tony, he's still alive. Now you don't have to worry about moving all those rocks yourself."
That starts the laughter.
"Please, I could move those rocks in my sleep."
Jimmy slowly rolls up into a sitting position, and heads back to the main group, grabbing another drink, and his lunch, and then sprawling bonelessly in the chaise that Breena had grabbed for them. "Yeah, in your dreams you can move that many rocks that fast."
Tim snorts at that while the rest of them laugh and decides now's a good time to shift the topic a bit. He takes a quick bite of his sandwich (corned beef on rye) and asks, "Got your speech done?" The DiNozzo Sr. wedding is a week from today, and Tony's on best man duty.
Tony nods. "Yep, just re-heating the one I used for your wedding." That gets a bit of a laugh, too.
"'I remember the first time McGee saw Abby… The way his eyes glazed over and that slight bit of drool on the corner of his lips…' Yeah, that'll flow naturally for your Dad's wedding," Abby says.
Tim adds. "You know, you weren't actually there the first time I saw Abby. You were going to walk me down, but I shocked you so bad the doors to the elevator closed before you got in."
"It's called poetic license, and you were already drooling by then! You were just about licking your chops as you got into the elevator."
Tim shrugs a bit, not like that was precisely wrong. And technically it wasn't the first time he saw her. He'd caught just enough of a glimpse on the video conference to be very interested in getting to know her better. But it was the first time he saw her in person, and… well, he's fairly sure his eyes did glaze over, and if he'd been drooling… He wasn't, but he thinks that's because his mouth went dry.
"How'd you shock him?" Abbi asks.
Tim smiles. "It was our first case together, and a few days earlier I'd asked about Abby and he told me Abby wasn't my type. I said 'why?'"
"And I asked if he'd ever had any desire to get a tatt on his ass. He said no. I told him he never had to think about Abby again. You have to remember that back in the day McInked here was about twelve-years-old and looked like he was wearing a suit he borrowed from his dad to go play at being an agent."
"I was twenty-four, Tony. Anyway, I told him that no, I'd never had any desire to get a tattoo on my ass." Tim's pushing up the sleeve on his left arm, showing off the code he's got there. "And that was true. No desire, at all. Still don't have one. Because they hurt to get done and they hurt when they heal up, and who wants to sit on that?" He touches the code. "This on the other hand… I'd been thinking about this for a while. That's my masters dissertation, so not like I woke up one morning and said, 'Oh, bunch of random letters!'
"So, Tony's really looking forward to me seeing Abby and flipping out, or her seeing me and laughing hysterically, and he's telling me she's really not my type, so I said to him, 'You know that desire you were asking about? I took care of it. Went with Mom.' And that fried his brain and stopped him dead."
"Why'd you say Mom?" Tony asks.
"Because I wanted to get to my lunch date, and explaining this would have taken most of the hour Abby had off."
Abbi's looking at that tattoo. "That's your master's dissertation?"
"The core of it. The whole thing is about five pages long. This, then four and a half pages explaining what it does and how."
"What does it do?" Jimmy asks, realizing he doesn't know that.
"Remember, I got out of grad school Winter of '01. So, anyway, back then they were just getting into using database policing. You know, you've got a database that's got every theft in the county, and then use a computer to figure out what was likely to get hit when. Back when I wrote this, the program that did it was thousands of lines of code and would take days, even for a small community. This can handle New York City in an hour, and anywhere smaller in minutes."
"So, everything a cop on the beat could tell you if you asked," Gibbs says, dryly.
"Maybe. This could give you the likelihood of any given address being hit at any given time on any given day. Cop only knows his area and his times on. Usually you'd use something like this to help assign who goes where at what times. How to plan out those beats. And unlike the cop on the beat, this one can update as fast as you feed it new information. So it could tell you in practically real time if your new beat assignments were having an effect."
"Is anyone using it?" Breena asks.
"Not anymore. Much better stuff is out there now. But I wouldn't be shocked if someone built off of it to make some of that better stuff. Just like all the other MIT dissertations, anyone with a library card can find this and build off of it." A thought hit Tim as he says that, something he's never asked. "Ziva, did you go to college?"
"Why are you asking, McGee?"
"IDF at 18. That's what, two years?"
She nods.
"Okay, you're twenty. Then working for your dad. Adventures all over the place. 2005 rolls around, and you're with us. That was fall, so… You're what, just barely 23 then?"
Ziva shakes her head. "I was still twenty-two when I met you. I did not attend college, at least not the way you did. I did get a semester in Barcelona, and another in Cairo, one in Prague. College student is an easy cover if you are twenty-one, and colleges expect to have foreign students. But I do not have a degree. Leon was willing to make an exception for me, based on my vast, in-the-field experience."
"Wise man," Abbi says.
Ziva nods. "I've thought about maybe doing college, going back, along with the job, like Jimmy did, but so far… I think I'd rather just read."
Jimmy nods at that. "Unless you want a degree in something like medicine where you have to go to college, I wouldn't recommend it. Took me seven years to do med school and residency part-time, and I was pretty fried for a lot of that time. What would you study if you went back?"
Ziva shrugs. "I do not know. Literature?" She smiles at Tony. "Film? I did take a class in that, and enjoyed it. I always thought I might like to learn photography, art photography, not just shooting a scene, or go back to dancing. If I went to school it would be for fun."
That makes Gibbs smile. He knows what Ziva's getting for her birthday this year. He still has Shannon's cameras and the dark room equipment. No chemicals, obviously, they'd all be way past their prime, but he's got an enlarger and film spools and trays collecting dust along with an SLR and a collection of lenses and gels in his attic.
They continue to chat while eating, not as easy or smooth as usual, but not silent like the beginning of the day either.
As lunches are wrapped up, and each of them began to head back to the side of the house in need of stonework, Jimmy says to Tony, "Your shot to show off. I'm done with lugging rocks. Let's see how long you can keep it up."
Tony smirks. "All damn night."
Jimmy snorts at that, shaking his head, and follows Breena to where she'd been working, figuring he'd help her with her bit of the wall.
They're getting ready to head home. Gibbs is packing up his tools, talking with Abbi, Tony and Ziva are already pulling out. Abby wanders over to Breena and hands her the check back. "We're good."
Breena looks at her. "Sure?"
"Yeah." She nods to Jimmy, who's putting up the last stone of the day, with Tim. "You think he's gonna make me do something I don't approve of?" She snorts a quick laugh.
Breena nods, that's a good point.
"I should have said or done something when it happened. I didn't. We're good on my end, and I know Tim is, too." She wraps an arm around Breena. "Besides, I know what you said to Gibbs about those two beating on each other hit home, so I'm perfectly good with you getting the idea through to him that this isn't cool. They may not listen to us on it, but when Dad lays down the law, they pay attention. That's worth a few grand to me."
Breena smiles at that.
Next
Shards To A Whole: How Many
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 381: How Many
A/N: I know some of you aren't old enough to remember the '80s (God, how old do I feel, now?) Anyway, things were a whole lot different in the pre-AIDS era. But, for a quick reference, if anyone in Tony's circle in college might have been talking about AIDS, it would have been that vaguely nebulous 'gay cancer' thing. The idea that straight people could even get HIV didn't start to really percolate through most America until the early '90s.
Going to bed early was a good plan. Tony needed the rest. He's waking up, stretching out, and starting to feel fully human again.
Of course, rested means talking. Lots and lots to talk about. Lots to think about. He rolls onto his side, pulling the blankets over his shoulder, listening to Ziva snore.
'We can find your kids, if you want to know.'
Does he want to know? God… That number could be so damn high.
College alone… He went to school with a lot of those girls, but Ohio State isn't a small school. It had more than 40,000 students when he was there. (Sure not all in one spot, but everyone got together for games…) And some of the girls he saw over and over, had class with, or were cheerleaders. He knew none of them were wandering around visibly pregnant.
But if one had dropped out, no way he would have noticed.
And, of course, the team travelled. New schools for all the away games.
And a lot of them… He knows that after a big win, especially against another Big Ten school, or any of the Final Four Championships, he might have been with three a night, maybe four, and they'd just be whoever was cute and nearby.
Frat parties… God, they threw the best parties ever! And no one ever got turned away. Girls didn't have to pay for drinks, or drugs, or anything else. Just because he wasn't into coke, didn't mean it wasn't all over his frat. 1986-88, everyone with money was on coke and his college was rolling in the stuff.
Coke's got a kind of nasty side-effect, makes you horny, but you can't get it up.
So, loose, drunk, horny, happy girls all over the place, and he's the guy who's actually sporting wood. Not difficult math.
Condoms? Huh? What? He'd graduated by the time the whole safe sex thing really got rolling. They'd started to hear more about it by his senior year, so if a girl had one, he'd always go with it, but he never carried them. Never had to deal with the 'what kind of girl do you think I am?' stuff, never had to break the illusion of 'just got so swept away by you.'
College ball player, young, healthy, invincible. Sure he came up positive for gonorrhea, crabs, and the clap every single time they did a physical, but so did three quarters of the rest of the team. Antibiotics got handed out like breath mints for their team. Ten days on, a full dose of Quell for the crabs, and back you go, good as new, with a quick lecture about condoms, but really, what was the point, damn things were a pain in the ass, and as long as you weren't allergic to antibiotics, why bother?
Herpes was scary, but he always made sure to really look before he touched, and that seemed to keep him safe. At least, he never came up positive for it.
Graduated, police academy, first job in Peoria, he spent a lot of that time studying, learning the ropes, and banging anyone he could get his hands on during the weekends.
He was in the middle of a shift, traffic work, sitting on the side of an empty street, listening to the sports station, holding up the radar gun, waiting for someone to drive by when Magic Johnson's press conference came on. He'd been expecting something about the Dream Team (really was looking forward to seeing that) and got a hell of a shock instead.
And two days after Magic Johnson came out as HIV positive, he got tested, and was clean. He thinks half of his team found their first white hair that day. (Between getting tested and waiting for the results, he certainly did.) Six months later he was still clean. (And in possession of a large quantity of condoms.) Five years later, Rob (the center) was dead from AIDS and Stephen (point guard) was living with HIV.
Five years between then and meeting Wendy. A few girlfriends, but nothing steady. He was young, and hot, and could dance, no problem finding company whenever he wanted it. He… usually… used condoms, but, he didn't always have one, and sometimes he did actually get swept up in it, and besides Wilt Chamberlin had had way more women and he didn't come down with anything, so… (And rumor had it that Steve and Rob had been with each other a few times… At least, they liked to share girls, and come on, straight guys didn't catch AIDS… Well okay, everyone said they could, but... Come on…) Like lots of young guys, the little head was in charge a lot more often than it should have been.
The little head being in charge had a lot to do with never holding a job in one place for more than two years. No big screw ups, never really got in trouble, but he also never really fit, never made any friends, no one really wanted him for a partner. Too cool, too know it all, too much of a jerk or prankster. Whatever it was, he didn't fit in Peoria or Philly.
Then there was Baltimore, and Wendy, and settling down, getting on the straight and narrow, and a ring and the white picket fence, but it turned out Wendy didn't want the ring or the fence. Apparently, Wendy wanted the guy he was before he straightened out. So he went on his honeymoon alone and spent every minute he was awake drunk and balls deep in strange women.
Gibbs had been at the wedding. Was the guy who drove him to the airport, guy who picked him up. He slept on Gibbs' sofa for a few weeks and Gibbs made sure he was sober by clock in time every morning. (Hung over a lot of them, but that was true for Gibbs, too. After all, the Stephanie mess was just wrapping up, then.)
More clubs, more parties, more bars, Spring Break in Panama City… That year after Wendy he fucked every woman in DC, just to prove to himself that he could. Wendy may not have wanted him, but look at all these other women who did.
That lasted a year. Kate came around, and he slowed down, got to his 'grown-up' pace, two or three girls a month, longest dry spell he ever hit was eight weeks, and then he took a long weekend to make up for it. Still he knows he averaged about thirty girls a year, and at twelve years… Lord, him going slow was three hundred women over a bit more than a decade.
By then he was using condoms all the time. Girls expected them, looked at you like an unwashed sock if you didn't have them, and by then… He never wanted to give Kate the satisfaction of having some women he barely knew show up with a kid.
But even with them… Let's put it this way, that episode of Friends where Ross is flipping out about condoms not working all the time, that hit a lot closer to home than Tony would have liked.
God, Abby could dig up a hundred kids… Okay, probably not that many, but… twenty? Ten?
Does he want to know?
Does Ziva?
Does it matter if he wants to know? They're out there. They have to be out there. They don't let you donate sperm unless you've got lots of healthy wigglers per shot, and, at least as of college, he did. And he can't think of any reason why that wouldn't have continued to be true.
1984, April, he's pretty sure it was April, maybe March, he was home from school on spring break. Got into a Theta Chi party in the city, found a girl who made his night. He doesn't remember what she looked like, not anymore. (Not reliably anymore. She got hotter and hotter each time he told the story. He thinks her hair and eyes were brown. He knows she wasn't a Rockette. She had wanted to be one, he does remember her saying that.) But he does remember how she made him feel: special, sexy, crazy turned on, desired. And he very clearly remembers how she felt on him. That he remembers. Never saw her again. Never got her name… So, winter of '84-'85. His oldest child could be thirty-one. Lord. He wonders if Abby can make the computer find his grandkids, because, given how active he was in college, it's possible there are a bunch of little guys somewhere in Molly's age range who might be his grandkids.
No, they wouldn't be in any of the databases… Well, it'd be unlikely.
Realistically, any of them who are under eighteen wouldn't be in there. But over eighteen would get all of his most active years, except for the Wendy fall out. Those kids would have been born in 2000, 2001 at the latest. So, they'd be fifteen or fourteen, out of the system unless they really screwed up at something.
He feels Ziva roll over next to him, facing him, hair all wild around her, eyes still closed.
"Morning," he says.
She sighs, stretching, cuddling in closer to him. He holds her, letting quiet and sleep and whatever calm she's got hold onto her for as long as it can.
Eventually she shifts some, moving back a bit, laying on her side, still facing him. "Sleep well?"
He nods. All things considered, yes he did. "You?"
"Enough."
"Talking first, or breakfast?"
She leans up on her elbow and checks the clock. His gaze follows her, it's a little bit after nine. For him that's a decent morning of sleeping in, for her, that's a sleep marathon.
She stretches again. "Talking. If we get called out…"
"Okay. Where do you want to start?"
They've done this in counseling often enough that if they don't actually set it down they'll just sort of keep nudging the topic without really getting into it. So this is him, tossing the ball in her court, letting her know he wants to get her topics done, first, then they'll get to his.
With any luck, they'll overlap.
She sighs. It's easier to be on the listening side, sometimes. Right now it'd be easier to be listening to him talking about finding out about his kids. Still, one of them has to start, so…
"You wanted to be part of Jeanne's son's life."
He nods.
"You jumped right into it, worry, fear, concern. He was your son, and you wanted to be... something… Intimate?" He nods, that'll cover it. "With him."
Ziva brushes the backs of her fingers down his cheek. "But you do not want my child."
His expression is somewhere between sheepish and a wince. "It's not… If it's already said and done… That's what I mean by I can't make myself jump, but I'll be fine when I land. I know when I hold our child, I'll be good, it'll work, but…"
She shakes her head. "I do not want to push you off a cliff. I want you to jump off with me. You used to like sex. We both used to like sex, a lot, and now… Since I have been off the pill, I have seen you go to dental appointments with more enthusiasm. Now, you are 'tired.' And while I do not mind all the oral sex when you aren't 'tired,' I know what you are doing."
He doesn't deny it. It's intentional after all. He knows she can get pregnant. It's been five months since her last pill, and that has made certain bits of his anatomy very skittish about getting too close to certain bits of her. His tongue on the other hand, that works just fine, no matter what, thank you very much.
And it's not like they haven't had any sex. But the frequency of sex that makes babies has dropped from three to five times a week to closer to once a week. And, he's not exactly relaxed on those occasions.
"Tiny person entirely dependent on us. Little bundle of never-ending need. Everything in our life changing. I can deal with it if it happens. I can handle it. But I can't just sign up for that."
"You already did, over and over apparently," her voice is sharp, and he sees her make herself stop that.
He opens his mouth, and closes it, and sighs. "I signed up for a lot of meaningless sex with women I'd never see again. Women who knew me well enough to have my name or my phone number, I was a lot more careful with." He's not proud of it, but it's true.
"Like Jeanne?"
He sighs at that, too. "The first time was when Cassidy died. We almost died that day, too, remember? I told her I loved her, and… And I didn't go hunting for any condoms. I didn't the first time I told you I loved you, either. You remember that, right?"
She nods. "I remember." Very gentle, very quiet, still in the hospital after they almost froze to death. They whisper/kissed it to each other over and over, rocking slowly. That's a good memory.
"I'm fairly sure that even if you hadn't been on the pill, I still wouldn't have said, 'Stop, go get protection!'"
That's a good point.
"And I'm not sorry about it, but, we just don't have the kind of relationship where I can get so caught up in how good right now feels and forget about the fact that we're going to wake up in the morning together and go to work together and come home again, together. The whole forever thing means I can't pretend there isn't going to be a tomorrow."
They watch each other for a few seconds. "That could have been our son, Ziva, and it could have been real, and…" He rubs his face. "How do you just sign yourself up for that? It's one thing if you have to. You've got the kid, you do the job, okay, but… I'll get there. I'll be a dad, a good one, but…"
She shakes her head. "I want you to want this, with me. This should be… joyful."
"I don't think I'm ever going to get there. Caring about people is terrifying. Even people who love you will hurt you. I mean… It's not easy. I can't just—"
She's looking frustrated as she cuts in with, "You think this is easy for me?"
"You want it, so I'm going to have to say, at least compared to me, that yes, it's easy for you. Maybe not cosmic scale easy, but… You're still breathing. The idea of making a child doesn't stop your heart or break you out in a cold sweat, so yeah, it's easy for you."
Tony sits up, back against their headboard, elbows resting on his knees, hands laced loosely together. "I want you. I want a life with you. I want you happy. I know kids are part of that. But they're not something I'm ever going to want for myself. They're something I'll want for you because I know you want them.
"I don't like kids. I don't like loud, messy, chaotic things, and that's pretty much the definition of kids. I'm getting better with them because we've got a bunch of the little ankle biters all over the place, and really, they're not that bad, but you'll notice I never line up to babysit because I don't enjoy spending time with them. I'm not saying I hate our girls, and I'm not saying that sometimes, when you're holding one of them, I don't get all, 'oh how cute,' but… I'm relieved when they go home.
"But I know you want them, so I want them for you, but… I'm sorry I'm not enthusiastic about it, but it really is like jumping off a cliff into icy water. Yeah, I know I can swim, but… So, whatever you need to do to get me into the water is fine, but… I can't just jump."
She nods, resigned. "I know."
"I'm sure, we have one, I'll be able to leap for the next one, but right now…"
"Okay. I know. I do." She looks disappointed by that, but not hurt. "Go get us some breakfast. I'm going to do some thinking. Then more talking?"
"Sure. I can do that."
His phone is showing he's got two texts. First one's from Draga. No cases yet. Enjoy your day off.
One from McGee. He checks it. Keys are in the glovebox. Already picked up Abby's car.
And yes, when he gets down to his usual spot his car is there, and the damn thing does sparkle. It didn't look that shiny when it was new, and Tony's wondering if McMoneybags actually hired someone to detail it. He uses Ziva's keys to unlock it, and finds his in the glovebox.
It doesn't have that 'clean car scent' detailers usually spray the interior with, but it's really, really clean.
That helps, a little. He's more… hurt? Disappointed? Something. Whatever it is, it's not raging angry. Not at McGee, not right now.
McGee picked Palmer over him. Flat out said it. 'He's never pulled any shit on me, you have, so I picked him.'
And honestly, with all the years of stuff between him and McGee… Given the same choice, he'd pick Palmer, too. They have a less complicated relationship. Or at least, that was true the day before yesterday. Now… Well, now, if he's ever in need of someone to hide a body, he's not going to Palmer.
Then he thinks about Bodnar, and the fact that Palmer and Breena did, literally, take care of a body for them. Tony sighs. If it was a clean kill, they'd do it again. Palmer will back him to the end of the line, as long as he's doing the right thing.
And he'll call him out and hurt him for doing the wrong one.
Tony shakes his head. He doesn't know what to do about Palmer. He's angry, because that whole thing just sucked, but… But if it was the other way around, and Palmer had pissed on anyone else for something like this, he'd get it and back him.
Flip it around… What if Jimmy wanted to do something nasty to McGee… for the book maybe. The whole necrophilia thing, or writing about them without permission… A whole night of pain… overkill, but… he didn't have any problem with the teasing Jimmy did, and he wouldn't have had any problems if Jimmy wanted to take that teasing up about ten or twenty notches.
He puts his key in the ignition.
McGee picked Palmer. Because whatever it is they've got, that's easier. He thinks that's some of it, sure, but, not all of it.
He and McGee don't work together every single day. They don't have to trust each other implicitly in all situations now. His life no longer literally rests in McGee's hands and vice versa.
If they hadn't worked together, they would have never been friends. Never been more than acquaintances, and likely less than that. If McGee had stayed in Norfolk, he would have just been a name and a face Tony kind of, sort of knew.
But that's not how it worked out. And right now, he is literally still breathing because of Tim McGee. And that's true for McGee, too. Every day for almost fourteen years, he put his life in McGee's hands, and McGee put his life in Tony's. And that's how it was.
But not how it is, not anymore.
Six months ago, when they were still working like that, Tony's fairly sure that McGee would have… maybe not picked him, but done a better job of coming up with some sort of common ground. He would have thought of a compromise, because his literal life depended on both of them trusting each other utterly with no hesitation.
And now they don't. Now their lives, their survival, isn't chained to their ability to work with each other. And, without something else, a deep interest in the same sorts of things… They're drifting apart.
It's not like they're ever going to be strangers or something. Not like they'll just be acquaintances. They're bound by this family they've got now. But their lives, literally, don't revolve around each other anymore.
They aren't partners, not anymore. They are friends now, but… it's not the same.
And Tony's fairly sure it never will be. It can't be. Because the stakes will never be the same again.
Things change, and they have this, family, now, that's gluing them together, but… It's not the same as knowing that's the guy who will take the bullet for you.
Tony pulls to a stop at the stop sign, idling for longer than strictly necessary.
Things change. Of course they do, and they're going to keep changing.
But Ziva's still there, and she's the one who will still take the bullet for him. She's the partner who's got his back no matter what…
Implicit trust. No questions, no hesitation. You lead and I will follow. I lead and you follow. No matter what I have your back and you have mine.
He touches his wedding ring. I will live. That's the promise he asked for. Those are the words that underline their marriage.
They've talked about that, too. In counseling, and out. How due to too many losses, too many broken loves, they are both terrified of going on by themselves. How that's not healthy. How, in the long run it's probably a good thing that Ziva's going to be getting out of police work, safer for both of them. They've talked that all through.
But that promise. I will live. That's his bedrock. That's what he needs from her. That if something happens to him, she'll keep going without him. That she'll put her fears aside and keep going, alone.
He blinks. He couldn't give that promise back to her, then. And he can't, now. If the words ever left his lips, they'd be a lie.
He can't give her that, but he can give her a child. He can stop being a jerk about it. He can, just like he's asked her to, stuff his fear down and keep going, doing what he needs to to treat her like she's more important to him than air.
He can do that.
And one other thing hits him as that does. If they have a child, and if something happens to her, he can't follow her. He can't let himself self-destruct if she's no longer in his life. He has to make the promise that scares him more than anything else.
Can't live without you. He said that to her, in Somalia. He didn't want to say it, but the wall between his brain and mouth was gone and it just fell out.
And suddenly why he's been dragging his heels, and as she put it, going to the dentist with more enthusiasm than he's been going to bed with her, slams into place and makes a whole lot more sense. Why he can jump full into the idea of another woman's child with both feet and no hesitation, makes perfect sense, too.
If they make a baby, then he has to make that promise, because no matter what, one of them has to come home.
And he's terrified it'll be him.
The car behind him honks, and Tony's got no idea how long he's been lingering at the stop sign. He pulls through the intersection, and then pulls over, stopping the car.
He takes his wedding ring off, and trails his finger over the inscription.
I will live.
His partner. The one he trust implicitly, in all things. The one who will take the bullet for him (though he'd very much prefer she didn't) or put one in someone else.
The one who always has his back.
He slips his ring back on, not feeling any less scared, but he knows what he has to do.
Fake it 'till you feel it… That's the phrase, right?
So, whatever you need to do to get me into the water is fine…
Ziva's in the shower, washing her hair, thinking about that.
She's not sure if that's as close as he can get to outright saying, 'Just lie to me, take it out of my hands, and when we land, I'll be good,' or what he means by that.
The problem is, if he is asking, 'lie to me' then her asking for clarification will screw up the lie. If she asks, 'Tony, are you saying you want me to pretend to go back on birth control?' and then he says, 'Yes,' and two minutes later she says, 'I'm on the pill again,' it's not believable.
If he's going to buy it, it has to look real, otherwise it won't work. He won't relax about it.
And if he's not saying 'lie to me…'
She's talked with Abby and Breena about this, and they've both said that since Tony's already mentioned that he needs some help with this, that he may be asking for her to just lie to him, but… None of them like that option. They all know someone who's done it, but… It feel dirty, and, just… wrong.
She doesn't exactly want to talk to her friends right this second. She's not feeling mad at them. Not right now, much bigger stuff on the horizon, maybe when this all fades that will change, but… Tim and Jimmy don't know about Philippe. Breena and Abby do. That story was told in confidence, and neither of the girls broke that confidence. That helps with mad. The fact that, like Breena, she'll back her husband, even if he's being stupid, helps with mad. The fact that Abby pulled some pretty serious crap on Helen helps with mad, too.
She is mad at Jimmy right now.
But that can wait. Feeling mad at Jimmy right now seems like a way to not deal with what's going on right here, right now. So, that can definitely wait.
She feels the temperature in the air shift, and a second later Tony says, "Hey. I'm back. Got hot coffee, croissants, and strawberries."
"I'll be out in a minute."
"Good."
He's laying food out on the table when she comes out, dressed in pajama pants and a t-shirt.
"I'm going back on the pill." She's not sure if she's lying or not as she says that. She still has two disks full of them, the option to do it for real is there.
He looks a little surprised at that.
"Not forever. Not more than six months. But… I am tired of sex being a chore. And we have more than enough big issues to deal with right this second." So much for what he was planning on saying to her. Before he gets a chance to do much besides stand there and look startled, she says to him, "Your turn."
His turn… Time for him to talk and her to listen. "Okay." His stuff. They can start there, and get back to hers. They've got all day. "I don't know what to do about Abby's offer. It's easier not to know. It's safer, for me, and us, and this tidy little life we've got going here. It's less complicated. But I have this suspicion that not finding out isn't right. That… if you can know, you should know."
She nods at that.
"What do you think? Do you want to know? If we find out, this can hit on a lot of levels, not just emotional, but… God, I feel like a dick for saying this, but, this could be a hard financial hit, too. I mean, if I know those kids are out there… Especially if they're kids, under eighteen and all, I kind of have to do something about it, and…"
And she knows. Money is going to be tight if she wants to do the stay-at-home-mom thing. Adding a pile of child support to the list of bills would only make that worse, and, possibly, take it completely off the table.
Time with these kids… That'd be taking him away from her and their family. It would be… destabilizing. Thinking about that doesn't make her feel good. But, it's real.
"I don't want to know." She's fairly sure that's not the 'right' or 'good' answer. But she doesn't want to know. She looks up at the ceiling for a moment. "But there is likely a child somewhere who wonders about her father. And I do not want to be the wall between you and that child."
"Do you think there's… I don't know, some sort of in between? Some way to set it so that if that girl's out there, looking, she can find me, but… But I don't have to go barging into her home? I mean… I'm sure there are kids who wonder, and there's likely some who don't… I mean… I know at least three of the ladies I hooked up with were doing a last night before the wedding fling, and… if that resulted in kids, they probably aren't wondering who their dad is… They may not have the right answer, but they probably aren't wondering. If I'm just sitting there with a list of people Abby dug up, I won't know who is who."
Ziva shrugs. "I would think so. You cannot be the only man in this situation."
"I think that's what I'd like to do."
Ziva nods at that. Maybe not a perfect answer, but, she can live with it.
Tony spreads some butter on his croissant. That was actually a lot easier than he was expecting it to be. Of course, if he gets on or whatever, and someone does find him, this might get a whole lot less easy.
But that's tomorrow, not today. Other things for today. He puts the croissant down. "Don't go back on the pill."
Her eyebrows rise.
"I'm scared. I'm not going to stop being scared, but…" He touches his ring again. "I asked you for something that scared the hell out of you, and you've handled it with grace. And you deserve that back. So… Don't go back on them." He stands up, heads to their bathroom, and finds both disks. A minute later, he's out in their kitchen, tossing them in the trash.
"You and me, to the end of the line, and… And I've got you. You've got me. That's how this works."
Ziva's smiling at him, very touched, very wowed, and very much hoping that he can stay in this headspace, because she likes it.
He looks at the plate in front of her, about half a croissant and two strawberries has been eaten. He takes the basket of berries, and her hand, tugging her out of her chair.
"Come to bed with me," he says with a smile. (And yes, that might not be the most genuine smile he's ever had, but part of this whole loving people thing is putting them and their needs first. He can do that.)
And Ziva smiles back. She can see that this isn't entirely real, but she really appreciates the effort.
Next
Chapter 381: How Many
A/N: I know some of you aren't old enough to remember the '80s (God, how old do I feel, now?) Anyway, things were a whole lot different in the pre-AIDS era. But, for a quick reference, if anyone in Tony's circle in college might have been talking about AIDS, it would have been that vaguely nebulous 'gay cancer' thing. The idea that straight people could even get HIV didn't start to really percolate through most America until the early '90s.
Going to bed early was a good plan. Tony needed the rest. He's waking up, stretching out, and starting to feel fully human again.
Of course, rested means talking. Lots and lots to talk about. Lots to think about. He rolls onto his side, pulling the blankets over his shoulder, listening to Ziva snore.
'We can find your kids, if you want to know.'
Does he want to know? God… That number could be so damn high.
College alone… He went to school with a lot of those girls, but Ohio State isn't a small school. It had more than 40,000 students when he was there. (Sure not all in one spot, but everyone got together for games…) And some of the girls he saw over and over, had class with, or were cheerleaders. He knew none of them were wandering around visibly pregnant.
But if one had dropped out, no way he would have noticed.
And, of course, the team travelled. New schools for all the away games.
And a lot of them… He knows that after a big win, especially against another Big Ten school, or any of the Final Four Championships, he might have been with three a night, maybe four, and they'd just be whoever was cute and nearby.
Frat parties… God, they threw the best parties ever! And no one ever got turned away. Girls didn't have to pay for drinks, or drugs, or anything else. Just because he wasn't into coke, didn't mean it wasn't all over his frat. 1986-88, everyone with money was on coke and his college was rolling in the stuff.
Coke's got a kind of nasty side-effect, makes you horny, but you can't get it up.
So, loose, drunk, horny, happy girls all over the place, and he's the guy who's actually sporting wood. Not difficult math.
Condoms? Huh? What? He'd graduated by the time the whole safe sex thing really got rolling. They'd started to hear more about it by his senior year, so if a girl had one, he'd always go with it, but he never carried them. Never had to deal with the 'what kind of girl do you think I am?' stuff, never had to break the illusion of 'just got so swept away by you.'
College ball player, young, healthy, invincible. Sure he came up positive for gonorrhea, crabs, and the clap every single time they did a physical, but so did three quarters of the rest of the team. Antibiotics got handed out like breath mints for their team. Ten days on, a full dose of Quell for the crabs, and back you go, good as new, with a quick lecture about condoms, but really, what was the point, damn things were a pain in the ass, and as long as you weren't allergic to antibiotics, why bother?
Herpes was scary, but he always made sure to really look before he touched, and that seemed to keep him safe. At least, he never came up positive for it.
Graduated, police academy, first job in Peoria, he spent a lot of that time studying, learning the ropes, and banging anyone he could get his hands on during the weekends.
He was in the middle of a shift, traffic work, sitting on the side of an empty street, listening to the sports station, holding up the radar gun, waiting for someone to drive by when Magic Johnson's press conference came on. He'd been expecting something about the Dream Team (really was looking forward to seeing that) and got a hell of a shock instead.
And two days after Magic Johnson came out as HIV positive, he got tested, and was clean. He thinks half of his team found their first white hair that day. (Between getting tested and waiting for the results, he certainly did.) Six months later he was still clean. (And in possession of a large quantity of condoms.) Five years later, Rob (the center) was dead from AIDS and Stephen (point guard) was living with HIV.
Five years between then and meeting Wendy. A few girlfriends, but nothing steady. He was young, and hot, and could dance, no problem finding company whenever he wanted it. He… usually… used condoms, but, he didn't always have one, and sometimes he did actually get swept up in it, and besides Wilt Chamberlin had had way more women and he didn't come down with anything, so… (And rumor had it that Steve and Rob had been with each other a few times… At least, they liked to share girls, and come on, straight guys didn't catch AIDS… Well okay, everyone said they could, but... Come on…) Like lots of young guys, the little head was in charge a lot more often than it should have been.
The little head being in charge had a lot to do with never holding a job in one place for more than two years. No big screw ups, never really got in trouble, but he also never really fit, never made any friends, no one really wanted him for a partner. Too cool, too know it all, too much of a jerk or prankster. Whatever it was, he didn't fit in Peoria or Philly.
Then there was Baltimore, and Wendy, and settling down, getting on the straight and narrow, and a ring and the white picket fence, but it turned out Wendy didn't want the ring or the fence. Apparently, Wendy wanted the guy he was before he straightened out. So he went on his honeymoon alone and spent every minute he was awake drunk and balls deep in strange women.
Gibbs had been at the wedding. Was the guy who drove him to the airport, guy who picked him up. He slept on Gibbs' sofa for a few weeks and Gibbs made sure he was sober by clock in time every morning. (Hung over a lot of them, but that was true for Gibbs, too. After all, the Stephanie mess was just wrapping up, then.)
More clubs, more parties, more bars, Spring Break in Panama City… That year after Wendy he fucked every woman in DC, just to prove to himself that he could. Wendy may not have wanted him, but look at all these other women who did.
That lasted a year. Kate came around, and he slowed down, got to his 'grown-up' pace, two or three girls a month, longest dry spell he ever hit was eight weeks, and then he took a long weekend to make up for it. Still he knows he averaged about thirty girls a year, and at twelve years… Lord, him going slow was three hundred women over a bit more than a decade.
By then he was using condoms all the time. Girls expected them, looked at you like an unwashed sock if you didn't have them, and by then… He never wanted to give Kate the satisfaction of having some women he barely knew show up with a kid.
But even with them… Let's put it this way, that episode of Friends where Ross is flipping out about condoms not working all the time, that hit a lot closer to home than Tony would have liked.
God, Abby could dig up a hundred kids… Okay, probably not that many, but… twenty? Ten?
Does he want to know?
Does Ziva?
Does it matter if he wants to know? They're out there. They have to be out there. They don't let you donate sperm unless you've got lots of healthy wigglers per shot, and, at least as of college, he did. And he can't think of any reason why that wouldn't have continued to be true.
1984, April, he's pretty sure it was April, maybe March, he was home from school on spring break. Got into a Theta Chi party in the city, found a girl who made his night. He doesn't remember what she looked like, not anymore. (Not reliably anymore. She got hotter and hotter each time he told the story. He thinks her hair and eyes were brown. He knows she wasn't a Rockette. She had wanted to be one, he does remember her saying that.) But he does remember how she made him feel: special, sexy, crazy turned on, desired. And he very clearly remembers how she felt on him. That he remembers. Never saw her again. Never got her name… So, winter of '84-'85. His oldest child could be thirty-one. Lord. He wonders if Abby can make the computer find his grandkids, because, given how active he was in college, it's possible there are a bunch of little guys somewhere in Molly's age range who might be his grandkids.
No, they wouldn't be in any of the databases… Well, it'd be unlikely.
Realistically, any of them who are under eighteen wouldn't be in there. But over eighteen would get all of his most active years, except for the Wendy fall out. Those kids would have been born in 2000, 2001 at the latest. So, they'd be fifteen or fourteen, out of the system unless they really screwed up at something.
He feels Ziva roll over next to him, facing him, hair all wild around her, eyes still closed.
"Morning," he says.
She sighs, stretching, cuddling in closer to him. He holds her, letting quiet and sleep and whatever calm she's got hold onto her for as long as it can.
Eventually she shifts some, moving back a bit, laying on her side, still facing him. "Sleep well?"
He nods. All things considered, yes he did. "You?"
"Enough."
"Talking first, or breakfast?"
She leans up on her elbow and checks the clock. His gaze follows her, it's a little bit after nine. For him that's a decent morning of sleeping in, for her, that's a sleep marathon.
She stretches again. "Talking. If we get called out…"
"Okay. Where do you want to start?"
They've done this in counseling often enough that if they don't actually set it down they'll just sort of keep nudging the topic without really getting into it. So this is him, tossing the ball in her court, letting her know he wants to get her topics done, first, then they'll get to his.
With any luck, they'll overlap.
She sighs. It's easier to be on the listening side, sometimes. Right now it'd be easier to be listening to him talking about finding out about his kids. Still, one of them has to start, so…
"You wanted to be part of Jeanne's son's life."
He nods.
"You jumped right into it, worry, fear, concern. He was your son, and you wanted to be... something… Intimate?" He nods, that'll cover it. "With him."
Ziva brushes the backs of her fingers down his cheek. "But you do not want my child."
His expression is somewhere between sheepish and a wince. "It's not… If it's already said and done… That's what I mean by I can't make myself jump, but I'll be fine when I land. I know when I hold our child, I'll be good, it'll work, but…"
She shakes her head. "I do not want to push you off a cliff. I want you to jump off with me. You used to like sex. We both used to like sex, a lot, and now… Since I have been off the pill, I have seen you go to dental appointments with more enthusiasm. Now, you are 'tired.' And while I do not mind all the oral sex when you aren't 'tired,' I know what you are doing."
He doesn't deny it. It's intentional after all. He knows she can get pregnant. It's been five months since her last pill, and that has made certain bits of his anatomy very skittish about getting too close to certain bits of her. His tongue on the other hand, that works just fine, no matter what, thank you very much.
And it's not like they haven't had any sex. But the frequency of sex that makes babies has dropped from three to five times a week to closer to once a week. And, he's not exactly relaxed on those occasions.
"Tiny person entirely dependent on us. Little bundle of never-ending need. Everything in our life changing. I can deal with it if it happens. I can handle it. But I can't just sign up for that."
"You already did, over and over apparently," her voice is sharp, and he sees her make herself stop that.
He opens his mouth, and closes it, and sighs. "I signed up for a lot of meaningless sex with women I'd never see again. Women who knew me well enough to have my name or my phone number, I was a lot more careful with." He's not proud of it, but it's true.
"Like Jeanne?"
He sighs at that, too. "The first time was when Cassidy died. We almost died that day, too, remember? I told her I loved her, and… And I didn't go hunting for any condoms. I didn't the first time I told you I loved you, either. You remember that, right?"
She nods. "I remember." Very gentle, very quiet, still in the hospital after they almost froze to death. They whisper/kissed it to each other over and over, rocking slowly. That's a good memory.
"I'm fairly sure that even if you hadn't been on the pill, I still wouldn't have said, 'Stop, go get protection!'"
That's a good point.
"And I'm not sorry about it, but, we just don't have the kind of relationship where I can get so caught up in how good right now feels and forget about the fact that we're going to wake up in the morning together and go to work together and come home again, together. The whole forever thing means I can't pretend there isn't going to be a tomorrow."
They watch each other for a few seconds. "That could have been our son, Ziva, and it could have been real, and…" He rubs his face. "How do you just sign yourself up for that? It's one thing if you have to. You've got the kid, you do the job, okay, but… I'll get there. I'll be a dad, a good one, but…"
She shakes her head. "I want you to want this, with me. This should be… joyful."
"I don't think I'm ever going to get there. Caring about people is terrifying. Even people who love you will hurt you. I mean… It's not easy. I can't just—"
She's looking frustrated as she cuts in with, "You think this is easy for me?"
"You want it, so I'm going to have to say, at least compared to me, that yes, it's easy for you. Maybe not cosmic scale easy, but… You're still breathing. The idea of making a child doesn't stop your heart or break you out in a cold sweat, so yeah, it's easy for you."
Tony sits up, back against their headboard, elbows resting on his knees, hands laced loosely together. "I want you. I want a life with you. I want you happy. I know kids are part of that. But they're not something I'm ever going to want for myself. They're something I'll want for you because I know you want them.
"I don't like kids. I don't like loud, messy, chaotic things, and that's pretty much the definition of kids. I'm getting better with them because we've got a bunch of the little ankle biters all over the place, and really, they're not that bad, but you'll notice I never line up to babysit because I don't enjoy spending time with them. I'm not saying I hate our girls, and I'm not saying that sometimes, when you're holding one of them, I don't get all, 'oh how cute,' but… I'm relieved when they go home.
"But I know you want them, so I want them for you, but… I'm sorry I'm not enthusiastic about it, but it really is like jumping off a cliff into icy water. Yeah, I know I can swim, but… So, whatever you need to do to get me into the water is fine, but… I can't just jump."
She nods, resigned. "I know."
"I'm sure, we have one, I'll be able to leap for the next one, but right now…"
"Okay. I know. I do." She looks disappointed by that, but not hurt. "Go get us some breakfast. I'm going to do some thinking. Then more talking?"
"Sure. I can do that."
His phone is showing he's got two texts. First one's from Draga. No cases yet. Enjoy your day off.
One from McGee. He checks it. Keys are in the glovebox. Already picked up Abby's car.
And yes, when he gets down to his usual spot his car is there, and the damn thing does sparkle. It didn't look that shiny when it was new, and Tony's wondering if McMoneybags actually hired someone to detail it. He uses Ziva's keys to unlock it, and finds his in the glovebox.
It doesn't have that 'clean car scent' detailers usually spray the interior with, but it's really, really clean.
That helps, a little. He's more… hurt? Disappointed? Something. Whatever it is, it's not raging angry. Not at McGee, not right now.
McGee picked Palmer over him. Flat out said it. 'He's never pulled any shit on me, you have, so I picked him.'
And honestly, with all the years of stuff between him and McGee… Given the same choice, he'd pick Palmer, too. They have a less complicated relationship. Or at least, that was true the day before yesterday. Now… Well, now, if he's ever in need of someone to hide a body, he's not going to Palmer.
Then he thinks about Bodnar, and the fact that Palmer and Breena did, literally, take care of a body for them. Tony sighs. If it was a clean kill, they'd do it again. Palmer will back him to the end of the line, as long as he's doing the right thing.
And he'll call him out and hurt him for doing the wrong one.
Tony shakes his head. He doesn't know what to do about Palmer. He's angry, because that whole thing just sucked, but… But if it was the other way around, and Palmer had pissed on anyone else for something like this, he'd get it and back him.
Flip it around… What if Jimmy wanted to do something nasty to McGee… for the book maybe. The whole necrophilia thing, or writing about them without permission… A whole night of pain… overkill, but… he didn't have any problem with the teasing Jimmy did, and he wouldn't have had any problems if Jimmy wanted to take that teasing up about ten or twenty notches.
He puts his key in the ignition.
McGee picked Palmer. Because whatever it is they've got, that's easier. He thinks that's some of it, sure, but, not all of it.
He and McGee don't work together every single day. They don't have to trust each other implicitly in all situations now. His life no longer literally rests in McGee's hands and vice versa.
If they hadn't worked together, they would have never been friends. Never been more than acquaintances, and likely less than that. If McGee had stayed in Norfolk, he would have just been a name and a face Tony kind of, sort of knew.
But that's not how it worked out. And right now, he is literally still breathing because of Tim McGee. And that's true for McGee, too. Every day for almost fourteen years, he put his life in McGee's hands, and McGee put his life in Tony's. And that's how it was.
But not how it is, not anymore.
Six months ago, when they were still working like that, Tony's fairly sure that McGee would have… maybe not picked him, but done a better job of coming up with some sort of common ground. He would have thought of a compromise, because his literal life depended on both of them trusting each other utterly with no hesitation.
And now they don't. Now their lives, their survival, isn't chained to their ability to work with each other. And, without something else, a deep interest in the same sorts of things… They're drifting apart.
It's not like they're ever going to be strangers or something. Not like they'll just be acquaintances. They're bound by this family they've got now. But their lives, literally, don't revolve around each other anymore.
They aren't partners, not anymore. They are friends now, but… it's not the same.
And Tony's fairly sure it never will be. It can't be. Because the stakes will never be the same again.
Things change, and they have this, family, now, that's gluing them together, but… It's not the same as knowing that's the guy who will take the bullet for you.
Tony pulls to a stop at the stop sign, idling for longer than strictly necessary.
Things change. Of course they do, and they're going to keep changing.
But Ziva's still there, and she's the one who will still take the bullet for him. She's the partner who's got his back no matter what…
Implicit trust. No questions, no hesitation. You lead and I will follow. I lead and you follow. No matter what I have your back and you have mine.
He touches his wedding ring. I will live. That's the promise he asked for. Those are the words that underline their marriage.
They've talked about that, too. In counseling, and out. How due to too many losses, too many broken loves, they are both terrified of going on by themselves. How that's not healthy. How, in the long run it's probably a good thing that Ziva's going to be getting out of police work, safer for both of them. They've talked that all through.
But that promise. I will live. That's his bedrock. That's what he needs from her. That if something happens to him, she'll keep going without him. That she'll put her fears aside and keep going, alone.
He blinks. He couldn't give that promise back to her, then. And he can't, now. If the words ever left his lips, they'd be a lie.
He can't give her that, but he can give her a child. He can stop being a jerk about it. He can, just like he's asked her to, stuff his fear down and keep going, doing what he needs to to treat her like she's more important to him than air.
He can do that.
And one other thing hits him as that does. If they have a child, and if something happens to her, he can't follow her. He can't let himself self-destruct if she's no longer in his life. He has to make the promise that scares him more than anything else.
Can't live without you. He said that to her, in Somalia. He didn't want to say it, but the wall between his brain and mouth was gone and it just fell out.
And suddenly why he's been dragging his heels, and as she put it, going to the dentist with more enthusiasm than he's been going to bed with her, slams into place and makes a whole lot more sense. Why he can jump full into the idea of another woman's child with both feet and no hesitation, makes perfect sense, too.
If they make a baby, then he has to make that promise, because no matter what, one of them has to come home.
And he's terrified it'll be him.
The car behind him honks, and Tony's got no idea how long he's been lingering at the stop sign. He pulls through the intersection, and then pulls over, stopping the car.
He takes his wedding ring off, and trails his finger over the inscription.
I will live.
His partner. The one he trust implicitly, in all things. The one who will take the bullet for him (though he'd very much prefer she didn't) or put one in someone else.
The one who always has his back.
He slips his ring back on, not feeling any less scared, but he knows what he has to do.
Fake it 'till you feel it… That's the phrase, right?
So, whatever you need to do to get me into the water is fine…
Ziva's in the shower, washing her hair, thinking about that.
She's not sure if that's as close as he can get to outright saying, 'Just lie to me, take it out of my hands, and when we land, I'll be good,' or what he means by that.
The problem is, if he is asking, 'lie to me' then her asking for clarification will screw up the lie. If she asks, 'Tony, are you saying you want me to pretend to go back on birth control?' and then he says, 'Yes,' and two minutes later she says, 'I'm on the pill again,' it's not believable.
If he's going to buy it, it has to look real, otherwise it won't work. He won't relax about it.
And if he's not saying 'lie to me…'
She's talked with Abby and Breena about this, and they've both said that since Tony's already mentioned that he needs some help with this, that he may be asking for her to just lie to him, but… None of them like that option. They all know someone who's done it, but… It feel dirty, and, just… wrong.
She doesn't exactly want to talk to her friends right this second. She's not feeling mad at them. Not right now, much bigger stuff on the horizon, maybe when this all fades that will change, but… Tim and Jimmy don't know about Philippe. Breena and Abby do. That story was told in confidence, and neither of the girls broke that confidence. That helps with mad. The fact that, like Breena, she'll back her husband, even if he's being stupid, helps with mad. The fact that Abby pulled some pretty serious crap on Helen helps with mad, too.
She is mad at Jimmy right now.
But that can wait. Feeling mad at Jimmy right now seems like a way to not deal with what's going on right here, right now. So, that can definitely wait.
She feels the temperature in the air shift, and a second later Tony says, "Hey. I'm back. Got hot coffee, croissants, and strawberries."
"I'll be out in a minute."
"Good."
He's laying food out on the table when she comes out, dressed in pajama pants and a t-shirt.
"I'm going back on the pill." She's not sure if she's lying or not as she says that. She still has two disks full of them, the option to do it for real is there.
He looks a little surprised at that.
"Not forever. Not more than six months. But… I am tired of sex being a chore. And we have more than enough big issues to deal with right this second." So much for what he was planning on saying to her. Before he gets a chance to do much besides stand there and look startled, she says to him, "Your turn."
His turn… Time for him to talk and her to listen. "Okay." His stuff. They can start there, and get back to hers. They've got all day. "I don't know what to do about Abby's offer. It's easier not to know. It's safer, for me, and us, and this tidy little life we've got going here. It's less complicated. But I have this suspicion that not finding out isn't right. That… if you can know, you should know."
She nods at that.
"What do you think? Do you want to know? If we find out, this can hit on a lot of levels, not just emotional, but… God, I feel like a dick for saying this, but, this could be a hard financial hit, too. I mean, if I know those kids are out there… Especially if they're kids, under eighteen and all, I kind of have to do something about it, and…"
And she knows. Money is going to be tight if she wants to do the stay-at-home-mom thing. Adding a pile of child support to the list of bills would only make that worse, and, possibly, take it completely off the table.
Time with these kids… That'd be taking him away from her and their family. It would be… destabilizing. Thinking about that doesn't make her feel good. But, it's real.
"I don't want to know." She's fairly sure that's not the 'right' or 'good' answer. But she doesn't want to know. She looks up at the ceiling for a moment. "But there is likely a child somewhere who wonders about her father. And I do not want to be the wall between you and that child."
"Do you think there's… I don't know, some sort of in between? Some way to set it so that if that girl's out there, looking, she can find me, but… But I don't have to go barging into her home? I mean… I'm sure there are kids who wonder, and there's likely some who don't… I mean… I know at least three of the ladies I hooked up with were doing a last night before the wedding fling, and… if that resulted in kids, they probably aren't wondering who their dad is… They may not have the right answer, but they probably aren't wondering. If I'm just sitting there with a list of people Abby dug up, I won't know who is who."
Ziva shrugs. "I would think so. You cannot be the only man in this situation."
"I think that's what I'd like to do."
Ziva nods at that. Maybe not a perfect answer, but, she can live with it.
Tony spreads some butter on his croissant. That was actually a lot easier than he was expecting it to be. Of course, if he gets on or whatever, and someone does find him, this might get a whole lot less easy.
But that's tomorrow, not today. Other things for today. He puts the croissant down. "Don't go back on the pill."
Her eyebrows rise.
"I'm scared. I'm not going to stop being scared, but…" He touches his ring again. "I asked you for something that scared the hell out of you, and you've handled it with grace. And you deserve that back. So… Don't go back on them." He stands up, heads to their bathroom, and finds both disks. A minute later, he's out in their kitchen, tossing them in the trash.
"You and me, to the end of the line, and… And I've got you. You've got me. That's how this works."
Ziva's smiling at him, very touched, very wowed, and very much hoping that he can stay in this headspace, because she likes it.
He looks at the plate in front of her, about half a croissant and two strawberries has been eaten. He takes the basket of berries, and her hand, tugging her out of her chair.
"Come to bed with me," he says with a smile. (And yes, that might not be the most genuine smile he's ever had, but part of this whole loving people thing is putting them and their needs first. He can do that.)
And Ziva smiles back. She can see that this isn't entirely real, but she really appreciates the effort.
Next
Shards To A Whole: Mediator
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 381: Mediator
Gibbs supposes, that five years ago, he would have just headed straight into Autopsy and started smacking Jimmy around.
Of course, five years ago, he didn't think Jimmy could have even imagined pulling shit like that.
Well, he could have imagined it. But he wouldn't have had the balls to pull it off. The downside of the boys growing some backbone is that they'll want to use the damn things from time to time.
It feels odd to Gibbs to be the guy who's looking to fix things, calm them down, get them soothed over, rather than just being the guy who storms in and kicks everyone until they all get along again. Of course, as he thinks about it, he's not really 'fixing' anything. He can't actually 'fix' this. What he can do is make sure each of them is as okay in themselves as possible, and try to help them get to understand where the others are coming from so they can then 'fix' it themselves.
So, what's that? Mediator? Whatever, feels weird.
He feels like he's got a handle on Ziva's side of things. Or at least as much of a handle as Ziva does. But he's not sure if she's going easier on Jimmy than she needs to because she's also got some pissed at Tony going on, and thus Jimmy can be an indirect way to get that out, or if she really does sympathize.
He doesn't know where Tony is, because he hasn't seen the fallout of whatever the hell it is Jimmy's done to him.
And he's got no clue on Jimmy, either.
But he's going to find out.
No funeral today. That's a good thing. He doesn't stick out in his cargo pants and Marines t-shirt.
Gibbs heads around to the service entrance and knocks. A few seconds later, Jeannie opens the door. "Jethro?"
He gives her a bit of a smile. "Breena here?"
She nods. "She's working with one of our clients."
Gibbs nods at that. "I know my way." And he does, so he heads back to the mortuary.
Breena's standing next to a steel table, wearing scrubs of her own, as she gently applies makeup to the elderly woman on the table. She's talking to her, letting her know what she's doing and why, and doesn't hear him come in.
"We do this to everyone Mrs. Sander. Just makes you look like you're asleep. I know your kids said you didn't like makeup, so it's nothing drastic. No mascara or lipstick. Just enough foundation and blush so you're not all gray. Then we'll get you dressed and ready to go." She puts the sponge down, and sees Jethro, jerking a bit.
"Don't ever just creep into a mortuary, Jethro."
He shrugs and pulls up a stool.
"So, which one was crying on you?" she asks.
"Which one wasn't's more like it."
She nods. "Tony and Ziva going to be okay? I know all of this has to be killing Ziva."
He nods. "Tell me about Jimmy. He go bonkers last night?"
She sighs. "He didn't tell me the whole Lee story until July. Apparently, it happened and he buried it, and then he and Tim are talking about Tony, and Jeanne gets mentioned, something about Tony not having an easy time trusting that a woman'll stick around, because before Ziva they all left…"
Gibbs is nodding; he's following that, can see how Tim might have mentioned that, and… yeah, depending on when in July, Tony and Ziva were in a rocky patch… okay, that makes a certain amount of sense.
"Somehow Jeanne got mentioned as one of the ones who left. Probably because Tim had the 'official' 'Tony's girlfriend' story more in mind than the real story."
Gibbs nods at that, too. He's actually got no idea, at all, of how much of that whole story Tim has, or for that matter, how much of it he has. Not like they ever sat down with Tony and had a long talk about it, let alone a full debrief. They found out about the Frog side of it months before they found out about Jeanne, and by the time they knew about her, it was done. They all know what Tony was doing and how it was supposed to work, sort of, but Tony's girlfriend was way more entrenched than the second half of the Grenouille story.
"Somehow, they're talking, and it clicks for Jimmy, what happened to Jeanne, what happened to him with Lee. If you remember the second half of the Fourth of July party, he was in a wicked bad mood and kept poking Tony."
Gibbs doesn't really remember that. Franks, stories, he was a bit toasted that night… Tony in a foul mood the next morning. He shakes his head, he doesn't much remember what Jimmy may have been doing that night.
"We get home, and we get Molly down, and I get him talking. I get the whole Lee story. It's a good thing you killed her, because if you hadn't…"
Gibbs nods. He doesn't think Breena would really try anything, but he understands that's more a statement of how angry she was in response to that story.
"Anyway, he was so angry. But, he was also with it enough to know it'd been ten years. Lee's dead. Jeanne's out of the picture. Past can't be changed. So, he decides to bury it again. I suggested to him that maybe that wasn't the most healthy plan he'd ever had, and that just possibly, he might try talking to Tony about it, but he looked at me and said, 'If I talk to him, then I have to acknowledge he did it. And if I do that, I have to do something about it. If it's real, I can't let it lie. So, I'd rather this not be real.'"
Breena raises one eyebrow and says, dryly, "If memory serves that's NCIS coping method 101. Ignore it until it bites you so hard you can't ignore it anymore."
Gibbs inclines his head, she certainly isn't wrong about that.
"So, yesterday, he couldn't pretend it hadn't happened, not anymore. From what he told me he was doing okay as long as it was a real threat to Tony and Ziva, but once he knew it wasn't…"
"He couldn't use the threat to keep himself from thinking about it." Gibbs thinks about what he knows about Jimmy. Jimmy's the guy who gets the shakes after the action's over. He's good as long as he needs to be good, but as soon as it's done, he's useless for a while. So… yeah, he was probably all over helping Tony and Ziva until the crisis was over. Then he got shaky. Then he got thinking. Add in sick child… yeah, protecting them, helping them with a sick child… he'd be right on top of that Until he knew there wasn't a sick child anymore. Once he knew the nightmare was just that… and once it was over, it'd be over…
Gibbs feels like he's getting Jimmy and where he was in mind.
"You knew what he was doing?"
She nods.
"You went along with it?"
He didn't ask why, but Breena figures it's implied. She nods. "Two parts on that. One, he's holding Anna, and he looks at me and says, 'What if it was her?' I've got the kind of job that makes enemies. What if someone tries something with her to get to me?' and the second part is that I know about a few missions Ziva hasn't told the boys about. I didn't much like the idea of them hurting, but…
"What would you do if it was Kelly, Jethro? Your Kelly, Tim's Kelly? How about Anna or Molly?" She looks Gibbs full in the eye.
He doesn't answer, because he doesn't need to. Breena knows exactly what he'd do to the guy who tries something like that on one of his girls. That brings up another question, what would he have done if Grenouille had lived and gone after Tony? After all, he heard, just like everyone else going after ARES, that everything Grenouille was doing was for his kids. That brings about another thought, one he sincerely hopes Jen never had: NCIS's claim on Grenouille was somewhere between shaky and non-existent, but if he attacked an NCIS agent, they'd have jurisdiction. God, please Jen, tell me you didn't set Tony up to get assaulted or killed.
Breena speaking jerks him out of those thoughts. "It happened to Jimmy, Gibbs. MY Jimmy. My sweet, funny, gentle, and trusting Jimmy. The things I love best about him got turned against him. You think I care less about him than you do our girls? And since Ziva and Tony had both been on the dishing out side of it, I figured they could handle a night of taking it, treat others how you would be treated and all that, especially if it made him feel better.
"He called after he got done talking to Tony, he's doing better. Don't know about Tony, but Jimmy's a lot closer to solid than he was last night."
She shakes her head, looking at Gibbs. "I wish this whole thing never happened. I wish Helen had stayed the fuck-" Gibbs blinks, he doesn't remember the last time he heard Breena curse. "away from Tony, and I wish he'd had the sense God gave a cat and turned down the Jeanne mission. I wish this whole thing never touched us. I wish Lee had stayed out of NCIS. I wish her sister never got kidnapped. I wish she had trusted you guys to fix it.
"I wish for a lot of things. Here's something I wish: I wish one of you bastards had acknowledged that something bad had happened to Jimmy when the Lee thing blew up. That would have been nice. Just a few words. Apparently none of you even asked if he was okay." Breena's eyes are right on Gibbs' as she says that, making it awfully clear she's laying that on him.
"You guys put her body in his morgue. For three days." Breena shakes her head and rolls her eyes at that. "And maybe if any of you ever dealt with anything when it happened, or if any of you had even hinted to him that he had any right to feel something about it at the time, he wouldn't have stuffed it so damn far down and let it fester for this long.
"I wish he'd talked to Tony about it before it blew up. I wish I could get him to do something more constructive with all of his shit beyond beating on you guys. Bootcamp helps, it does, and I'm glad he's doing it, because it's a lot better than when he was just stewing, but therapy would be a good plan, too. But you know about doctors and getting doctors to go see another doctor.
"There's a lot of things I wish for…" She sighs. "He's my husband. He and my kids come first. What he did to them eased his pain, and it wasn't entirely out of the blue. Not like he just woke up in a bad mood and decided to start kicking people at random. So, I can live with it. I can back him on it. Can you, or are you going to go slap him upside the head, hard?"
Gibbs sighs. "He goes off the rails again, call me?"
"He was already with Tim."
Gibbs sighs again. He gets how close they are. He gets they can say and… apparently… do… things… maybe… he's still not sure what exactly happened last weekend, with each other that they can't with Tony, but… yeah, sometimes the two of them together is not a great plan.
"I was just pleased to see he didn't come back covered in bruises. Those two don't seem to have gotten much past the beat it out stage when it comes to dealing with pissed off. I'm not sure if ganging up on Tony is a step in the right direction or not."
"Lord. Okay."
"What are you going to do?"
Gibbs shrugs, but stands up, and kisses the top of Breena's head before he leaves. "He's lucky to have you."
She nods. "And he knows it."
Gibbs never did say anything to Jimmy about the Lee case. Once he was done with his questions, that was it. There was the investigation, and hunting down Bankston, and then getting her sister back, and having to deal with the fact that he killed Lee.
It was a good kill, but it's still a life he ended.
And even the good kills hurt.
And none of the rest of them really would have talked to him, either. They weren't close enough for it back then. Ducky might have… or he might have lectured Jimmy about how ridiculously inappropriate it was to be screwing away all over the office and how lucky he was not to get fired for it.
Gibbs sighs, knowing Ducky, it's entirely likely that Jimmy got the latter speech.
Getting a visitor sticker feels weird. Gibbs doesn't need one when they use the gym. Officially they're supposed to sign him in, but they just head in like they always do.
After all, the rules you don't make for yourself don't really apply.
But, in that Gibbs no longer has an ID that opens the doors to the Navy Yard, he's standing at the front desk waiting for Clark to get him an ID. He's not big on small talk, but Clark's chatting about how retirement is going, so he half-heartedly plays along.
A minute later he's got his VISITOR sticker.
"Take it you know the way, Mr. Gibbs?"
"I can probably muddle through."
"Have a nice day!" And thus he's waved off, through the metal detector, and on his way to Autopsy.
Dr. Allan's wiping down the autopsy table with alcohol.
"Get a customer?" Gibbs asks as he steps in.
Jimmy looks up at him. "Suicide. All wrapped up."
Gibbs nods at that. "You got time to get a coffee with me, then?"
"Sure. Dr. Allan, once it's all tidy, you're free to leave."
Allan nods, staring at Gibbs.
Jimmy catches it. "Sorry. I forgot you haven't met. Dr. Sam Allan, Leroy Jethro Gibbs."
Gibbs and Allan do the traditional nice to meet you stuff. Allan's genuinely curious; he has, of course, heard about the infamous Gibbs. Gibbs is going through the motions, he wants to get to talking with Jimmy.
But they get wrapped up, and in a matter of five minutes, they're out front, sitting on one of the benches, both of them with a coffee in hand.
He stares at Jimmy, really seeing him. "You okay?"
Jimmy shrugs. "Now, yeah. This morning really helped. Feels stupid to be this pissed, this many years later, but it's real, and it's right now, and just sitting on it never really seems to work, so might as well get it out and done."
Gibbs nods at that, agreeing with the basic concept, but thinking with a decade down, that Jimmy's got an interesting definition of 'not sitting on it.' "You going to talk to Tony again?"
"Sooner or later. I don't expect him to apologize to me. He didn't do it to me. And I'm not apologizing to him, because he deserved every single word of it and every single minute of it. He needed to know how that night felt. I think he does, now. Not my brightest moment, and I'm not getting the buddy of the year award, but... on my end at least, we're in spitting distance of good."
Gibbs sighs at that. "Put Tim and Abby in a bad place."
"Yeah. I know. Feel bad about that. Feel really bad about what I did to Ziva. I hope they forgive me for it. I hope you do. Didn't hit me until this morning that you were probably hurting, too. I'm sorry about that." Jimmy stares at Gibbs. "No denial, no excuses, no, 'I didn't think you'd get hurt.' I mean, I didn't think you'd get hurt, but that's because I kind of forgot about you." Gibbs holds up a hand, he knows where Jimmy's going with this. "I know what I did. I did it intentionally. I was pissed, so I kicked Tony until I felt better, and bruised the rest of you, too."
Gibbs may not approve, but he respects that. You fuck up, you admit it, you say you're sorry, you face the music, and you move on. "Are you feeling better?"
Jimmy shrugs. "Yeah. Not dancing around with joy in my heart or a song on my lips or anything, but I'm better." Jimmy takes another drink, looking at the Navy Yard. He can see the Director's Office from here. "You know there are no files on that case, not on the computers at least. Tim's gonna check the paper copies, but given how there's literally nothing on the computers, he's sure he won't find anything on paper.
"Jeanne went through all of that, for nothing, and at first, when I grabbed Tim's hand and said, 'Don't tell Tony,' it was about me, all about me, and I'm not going to lie, a lot of this is still about me, but it's about her, too. Everything she went through was for nothing. We never made any arrests. The CIA handled the whole thing, apparently, at least that's how Tim remembers it. No arrests, no convictions, no… nothing. It just vanished.
"That feels bad. Been thinking about that all night. All that pain, for nothing. If… if it had mattered, if… something good had come out of it, it'd be easier, you know? But, there's nothing. It was just meaningless, random pain. Kind of like Jon, you know?" Jimmy looks away from the main building and back to Gibbs. "But, no one did Jon to us. No one had any choice in the matter." He sips his coffee again. "So, then I showed up and bit Tony's head off, and he let me. Not like he was going to say to me, 'It was for a good cause' or 'I didn't know what I was doing' or… He just took it."
"People make mistakes."
Jimmy nods. "I know. Burning Ziva, sticking Tim and Abby in a bad place, that's mine. Ziva's a bad one. She says she accepts my apology, and I really hope she does." He doesn't ask the question, but he knows that Gibbs has had more recent non-professional contact with Ziva than he has.
Gibbs nods. "Yeah. She does. She's pissed at you, but you've earned enough brownie points over the years that she let you have that one. But that's your one freebie. Try something like that again, and she's going to kick your ass from one side of DC to the other."
Jimmy nods.
"And so will I."
He nods at that, too. "I deserve that."
Jethro sips his coffee and quietly says, "I didn't go after every drug dealer in Mexico. Just went for the guy who actually did me pain. I know Lee's gone, and I know that's unsatisfying. But she's gone. And kicking someone else isn't going to scratch that itch."
Jimmy purses his lips, not sure exactly how Jethro means that. He spends a good two minutes really thinking about it, then he says, "We had to pry you out of that desk with a crowbar. Are you really going to tell me that going after the next best thing doesn't help? Or are you trying to tell me that all of this," he gestures to NCIS, "wasn't about going after the next best thing?"
Gibbs also takes a moment to think before answering. "This was the next best thing. And, especially when you've got nothing, the next best thing will keep you up and moving. Keep you going until you can get something, or until the next best thing becomes your something." He sips his coffee and turns to face Jimmy. "But you don't have nothing. You've got piles and piles of not nothing all over the place. You are neck deep in not nothing."
Gibbs gently rubs the back of Jimmy's head, where it meets his neck, and then gives him a slap, hard enough to sting, not hard enough to make his head ring. "So don't fuck it up, and don't burn people you love!
"The next best thing is never going to do it for you. The best thing will never do it for you. You may have noticed, getting the best thing didn't actually make me better. No one ever accused me of being well-adjusted back in '93. More than twenty years of second best didn't do it, either. Nothing outside you is ever going to do it for you. It can help, but it won't bury your dead or calm your demons. It'll, just, maybe, give you room to find out how to do it for yourself. You got a plan for dealing with this, for fixing it, for you, on the inside, so it doesn't come back?"
Jimmy nods. "Yeah."
"Okay."
Jimmy takes a drink, quiet, and then says, "I keep thinking about Jeanne, and me… And me for her."
Gibbs doesn't quite seem to be following that.
"We're here for the victims, right? That's literally my job. Everything I do is with or for the victims. I'm the last voice a dead man will ever have. But, no one ever spoke up for Jeanne." Jimmy smiles, sad at that, looking away from Jethro, back toward NCIS. "And yeah, it was way too little, and way too damn late, but... Someone should have stood up for Jeanne. Someone should have said, 'Whoa, slow the fuck down; there has got to be another way to do this!" Jimmy looks back to Jethro. "I'm someone. So, that was the plan. And like I said, I'm feeling better, maybe not all the way there, and pretty cruddy about pulling that on Ziva, but… There's peace in there now. I'll sleep tonight."
Gibbs sighs, shakes his head a little, and rubs the back of Jimmy's head again. "Breena's worried about you."
He nods. "I know. I'm good, probably ninety-seven days out of one hundred now, but… She lives with me, so she sees the bad ones, too."
"Cranston's a really good listener."
"I'm sure she is."
"Wouldn't hurt-"
"I've got to sleep sometime, Jethro. Job, kids, house, continuing education. I'm pretty much scheduled straight though all summer long. Got two breaks in there, long weekend late July and a break for Labor Day, and I'm going to need them."
"She'll still be there in the fall, and so'll you."
Jimmy nods. He figures if you've hit the point where you're so messed up that Gibbs is telling you you need to see someone, you've got to go. "Email me her number?"
"No problem."
Next stop is Tim's office. Tim's in there, working away on something, fingers flying away on the keyboard.
"Hey."
He jerks slightly and looks up at Gibbs, who closes the door behind him and then whacks him, hard, upside the back of the head.
Tim shrugs a bit at that. "If it's Tony or Jimmy, Jimmy's gonna win."
Gibbs shakes his head, and then looks a bit more carefully at Tim. He sees the split lip, and… "You not shaving again?"
"Clayt suggested it as part of my cover. Might have almost a goatee again by the time we get going."
Gibbs lightly touches Tim's lip.
"Ziva?"
Tim nods. "Arms and shoulders are pretty bruised up, too. Got Tony riled up enough he could let it out. And I'm sure they'll both beat the crap out of me next bootcamp. I'm fine with that. I knew what I was doing, and I did it anyway."
Gibbs shakes his head. "We've got to get better ways of dealing with this. Beating the shit out of each other all the time isn't a good plan."
Tim shrugs. "Seems to work better than talking. Though not doing stupid shit like this in the first place will hopefully do an even better job of it."
"Amen to that." Gibbs sits down. "You and Jimmy okay?"
Tim nods. "Yeah. Didn't love what he wanted to do, but I got it. Happened to me once, too, only for a day, but… Especially if you don't a lot of attention from girls, a woman who really digs you, makes you feel really good… and then it's gone, and she never really… It sucks, Jethro." Tim shakes his head. "Not fun being the one played. So I'm not holding it against Jimmy. He's backed me on plenty of my own insane, I can cover him for this." He pulls his collar to the side, showing Gibbs a greenish blue bruise on his shoulder. "In more ways than one, if need be."
Tim shrugs a little. "While back, Jimmy told me that, basically, at any given time, only one of the two of us needs to be sane. Just wish I'd done a better job of being the sane one. Wish I'd been with it enough to do a better job of talking him down, or had come up with a better way to deal with it, but I didn't. Apparently I'm still pretty pissed at Tony on that whole thing, too."
Gibbs raises an eyebrow.
"Didn't hit the front of my mind, at all. But, he's in here today and asked me why I didn't talk Jimmy out of it, and it literally never occurred to me. At no point did even a hint of there's an option other than we steamroller him or you have to lump it occur to me. So I had to think of why that didn't hit, 'cause it wasn't exactly a reach to come up with something else. Once Tony was in the room, I had one in less than thirty seconds. For a second, I was sort of flailing around and then that image of his car blowing up, and then the corpse..." Tim shudders a little. "You remember how burned and wedged in it was, so I ended up helping Jimmy and Ducky get it out, and… yeah, apparently I'm still a bit pissed on that." Tim shakes his head.
"Jimmy says there's no files on that case."
"None I can find. I asked Janice in records to see if she can find anything, but, you know, they're all by case number down there, and if you can't look the case number up because there's nothing in the electronic files… According to her, cases that old are sent to deep storage, which is a warehouse in Norfolk. They're supposed to be stored by number, by year. But, every case from every NCIS branch will be in that warehouse. Without that number, that case basically can't be found, assuming that there's even anything to find."
Gibbs sighs at that.
"And, I'll admit, I'm not feeling motivated enough to hack the CIA and see what they've got on Lodestone."
Gibbs nods. "Don't think Jimmy needs you going that far."
Tim nods back, agreeing.
"Does Abby need a headslap, too?"
"Nope."
Gibbs shakes his head, standing up, getting ready to head to the Lab. "God, you're a bad liar."
"You think I'm ever going to tell you to go smack my wife?" Tim stands up, and steps close to Gibbs. "In fact…" he turns so the back of his head is toward Gibbs and points to it. "I'm taking hers, too."
Gibbs shakes his head, pats the back of Tim's and says. "It doesn't work that way."
"Fine. No slapping her."
Gibbs licks his lips. "I will deliver a metaphorical head slap."
"Thank you."
In the elevator, on the way up, it hits Gibbs how similar Tim and Breena's reactions to this were. Both well-aware that this would hurt Tony and Ziva, but Jimmy outranked them, and that was that.
Another second after that, it hit him how similar Tim's responses to Jimmy and Abby were, too.
He sighs at that. On one level, if the four of them are going to do… whatever this thing they're thinking of maybe doing is… then they should feel that way about each other. At least, if this thing has any shot of not biting them all, they're gonna need that. They should close ranks to protect their own, because if this ever goes farther than the four of them, and... him and Abbi, they're going to take some shit for it.
If they're willing to risk this… then yeah, Tim should be just as protective of Jimmy as Abby, and vice versa and all the other permutations.
He sighs a little at the idea of Tim being Jimmy's… boyfriend… no, if they do this, it'll be permanent… so… husband? He doesn't know how the hell that's supposed to work. He's awfully certain the guys are straight. Sure, they've never had any conversations about that, but he's not blind. He's been out with both of them, and while he's caught both of them checking out women, he's never seen either of them check out a guy. And yes, he knows they're a hell of a lot more comfortable with each other, on every level he can see, than, well, pretty much every other set of guys he's ever met, but… He doesn't get any sense they're even remotely interested in each other sexually.
Gibbs wonders vaguely if he needs to point out that a foursome with two guys in it will also involve, by definition, two dicks, but decides that, even if the two of them are not impressing him with their combined brainpower right this second, they have probably already sussed that particular fact out.
He really hopes that doesn't end up biting them. He's really not looking forward to some sort of existential sexuality crisis this late in the game.
But if the four of them get into this… thing… are they going to end up with a permanent situation of the four of them on one side and Tony and Ziva on the other? One reason their team really worked was because it was a team. Sure, at any given time two of them were ganging up on the other one, but alliances kept shifting, and it never stayed static for too long.
Though, thinking about that more… The alliances did keep shifting, but, really, it was more often Tony and Ziva on one side, and Tim on the other. And, whenever something went over the line, it was always Tim on one side, and Tony with Ziva or Tony on his own, on the other.
Of course, they're not all working together any longer, so now… Now the alliances are set, three teams of two.
Sort of.
Last summer when everything went bonkers with that case and getting hurt and Ziva and Tony's marriage all messed up…
Jimmy took care of Ziva. Tim and Abby got him.
Tony was mostly on his own. He thinks both of the boys made sure he got some attention, but he didn't get the sort of care and hand-holding that he and Ziva did.
And Tony never really gets that sort of attention. At least, not from anyone who isn't Ziva. Gibbs sighs at that. The elevator doors open at the lab, and they close again. Gibbs gets his phone out.
Want to talk? He sends to Tony.
A few minutes later he gets back. No. Crashing tonight. Asleep by eight. Lay in tomorrow. Lots to say to Ziva.
I'm here if you need me.
Thanks.
Gibbs hits the L button again.
Tim and Jimmy both had a vaguely guilty and chagrined air about them. Breena was completely matter of fact about everything, and Abby…
His read on Abby's body language as she comes bouncing over to hug him is that she's completely unaware of any drama that may be going on in the wider world.
"Hi, Gibbs! What, no Caf-Pow?"
Her underlings are around, and he's not saying anything in front of them. "Only when I'm on the case."
"And no cases for you. So, what can I do?"
"Take a walk with me?"
"Corwin, you good with me out for a bit?"
Corwin nods.
Once they get out of the Lab, Gibbs watches her carefully, but the perkiness doesn't dial back.
"What don't I know?"
She half-shrugs. "A whole lot of things I'd expect, but the relevant ones are that I sicced the IRS, Medicare, and two insurance companies on Helen. Then I offered Tony the option of searching every database I've got, and Tim hacking the ones I don't, to go find any kids he may have."
Gibbs' eyebrows rise, and he nods a bit. Sure, that's not… Hell, he doesn't know, that might actually be even for her part of it. That might even be a bit ahead. Depends on what the IRS does. Then his eyes go wide, he knows who Abby knows at the IRS. Helen's gonna have Diane go after her. For the first time ever, Gibbs is feeling like he might have to give Diane a call and suggest that she go full bore on someone.
Another thought hits, past what Diane's going to do to Helen, the offer to find Tony's kids. "He gonna do it?"
"I think he and Ziva are going to have a long chat about it. I mean, I don't have everyone on Earth, let alone the US, and a lot of his kids, if he has them, would be young enough they probably wouldn't be on any of our databases, but… It's a start. He's probably got some out there, don't know if we can find them, but…
Abby gives Gibbs a thorough looking over. She's been around long enough that she caught the tail end of Stephanie and the fallout of that. She remembers when he wasn't doing all of his drinking in his basement. "How about you Gibbs? You ever get curious about if you left any little Gibbslets along the way?"
He shakes his head.
"Didn't leave them or didn't get curious?"
He shakes his head again.
"Well, if you ever do, the option's open for you, too. Sticking one more profile into the search won't take much more work. In for a penny, in for a pound, right? We're going to run Tim, too."
Gibbs looks curious at that.
"No, not for that. He knows his kid. His dad… He's got no idea how many half-brothers and sisters he may have kicking around."
Gibbs nods, that's a… actually that's likely to be interesting. "Running you, too?"
"Don't see why not. Might get closer to tracking down my birth mom or dad. So, you poking around trying to make sure we're all okay?"
"That's the idea."
"And?"
"Haven't seen Tony, yet. Ziva's not good."
Abby nods. "I think that's more between her and Tony than the rest of this. The kid thing's pretty sensitive for them right now."
"She's talking to you and Breena about it?"
"Yeah. She's…" Abby inhales, ready to get talking and then stops. "Actually… This probably isn't a conversation for you."
Gibbs nods at that. He doesn't need those details. "Just want to know she's talking to someone."
"Yeah. Us, she and Tony are talking… Uh…" A thought hits Abby. "Look, I know you're gonna be all, go track those kids down, do the right thing, be a Dad, hoo rah, but… They're not her kids, Gibbs. And if he says yes, especially if he's feeling pressured to say yes… You got to remember, that she's going to be stuck with a guy who's really skittish about having kids with her, and then the actual, real, live kids he had with other women.
"I get it."
"Good."
Tim heads into Autopsy. It's just about normal quitting time, little bit early, but he's got something to do.
Jimmy's at his desk, books in front of him, reading and highlighting away.
He looks up when Tim comes in. "Hey."
Tim heads over to him and leans, his hips on Jimmy's desk. "Hi. What're your plans for after?"
"Dinner, more studying, early night."
Tim nods. Then he gets his phone out and texts Breena If I bring Jimmy home with food, about half an hour after you'd normally get there, is that cool?
What kind of food? Pops up a few seconds later.
You pick.
Pizza for Molly and I. You've got Jimmy (I assume) so something for him, too.
Will do. And yes, I've got him. He'll be home 7:00ish.
Okay.
"You making a date?"
"Sort of, asking Breena if I can steal you for a bit."
Jimmy seems to appreciate that these days Breena gets asked that, not him. "Okay… and we're doing what?"
"Washing Tony's car."
Jimmy shakes his head a bit, but nods. "Okay. This part of payback?"
"Yep."
"I'm sorry about putting you and Abby in a bad place."
Tim shakes his head a bit. "We're good. Sorry I failed on the one-of-us-being-sane end of things. If there's ever a next time, I'll try to do a better job of it."
"Better job?"
"You want to guess how long it took me to come up with, 'Here, how about you and I go over and tell them it's a hoax, put Ziva out of her misery, and then we'll both go full bore on Tony,' once Tony was in the room, suggesting that maybe there were options other than side with you or side with him?"
Jimmy winces. "Oh… Yeah… that was kind of obvious, wasn't it?"
Tim's nodding.
Jimmy closes up his books, marking his page, and tidies up his desk. They both stand up to head off. As the door to Autopsy opens, Jimmy asks… "So, why would you be going full bore on him, too?"
"Couple things… Did I ever tell you about Amanda Barrow?"
"I don't think so."
"Okay… It wasn't like it was weeks or months or anything. Just a few days… but…"
Next
Shards To A Whole: Hip Deep
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 380: Hip Deep
There's only so much shit a person should have to take in one day. And yesterday poured about two years' worth on top of Tony's head. And today added at least another week's worth. And it's only 6:45.
And right now, Tony doesn't know where he is or which end is up.
Jimmy came in like a small, angry tornado, dumped… a lot of shit on him, and, he's sure, when he's a bit more sober and a bit less… whatever this is… shocked probably, that more of what Jimmy said will hit him, but right now…
He finishes his drink. He closes the windows on his computer, one at a time, shutting down information on lymphoma and leukemia, x-ing out of how bone marrow transplants work, hoping he never, ever needs to get this deep into this sort of thing again.
Yesterday his son was dying. Today he's not. Not dying. Not his son. Not… any of it. Right now, there is no custody case looming. There's no fighting with Jeanne about possible treatments. There's no facing Jeanne at all. There's no fear of having this… feeling, whatever it is... at the idea of this child, turning to ash and ripping his heart out.
And Tony's sure that, as whatever this is fades, all the rest of it'll hit, but right now… Right now his son isn't dying, and that's all he needs.
He's still sitting at his kitchen table, little bit drunk, mostly feeling confused, like he's got whatever the emotional equivalent of whiplash is, when Ziva comes in.
He glances at the clock and notices she's been gone for almost two hours. "Long jog."
She inclines her head. "Jimmy called me, said he wanted to talk to you alone." She looks Tony over, sitting next to him. "I take it he did."
Tony nods.
He doesn't look nearly as bad as she expected him to be. "Are you okay?"
He shrugs. "I'm better than I probably should be. He had a lot of things he needed to say. I didn't have anything good to say back. I don't think I've ever seen him that mad before. Not at a person, at least." He touches the bourbon bottle. "Between that and the boy not being sick, I know I missed some of it, which was probably a good thing. He got really fired up and wasn't entirely making sense the whole time… I think he knew what he was saying, but he was crying for some of it, so I didn't get it all, but I was with it enough to know asking him to repeat himself was a bad plan. I got enough, and the short version is he doesn't want me in the morgue anytime soon."
Ziva sighs. She looks at the bottle, it's at least a drink lower than it was when she left. Tony's not drunk; she knows drunk Tony, and this isn't it, but he's not sober either. He's been keeping himself steadily buzzed all night. She looks at the clock. "Come on, shower time."
"Need to call Gibbs, don't want—"
"I have already talked to him. He's relieved."
"Probably won't be when he sees how this blew up."
She tilts her head, taking his hand in hers, and gently tugging him up, walking him toward their shower. Once they get in there, once clothing is off, and water is rushing over them, he feels himself start to clear up, feels some of the euphoria of his-son-isn't-dying fade.
He feels what Jimmy said to him start to hit.
And Ziva sees it; she says, "Benoit sold the weapons that killed tens if not hundreds of thousands of people."
"I know. I know he wasn't a good guy. The world's a better place without him. I know. And maybe if I'd arrested him, that'd help."
"Every western government was trying to get him, and none of them succeeded. No one ever scraped together enough proof to hold him. Traditional tactics had been used for more than a decade and failed."
Tony shakes his head. "Except they didn't. Kort was already in his organization. He made me the first time he saw me, and Jen knew he was onto Grenouille. It wasn't enough to take him down, she had to be the one who took him down. All that crap that followed, that was him discrediting her to keep the CIA in charge of it. I know what you're doing," he kisses her "and I appreciate it, but… come on, Jimmy's a fucking doctor and he could see the tactics on that mission never worked. I was a cop with fifteen years' experience, no way I should have said yes to that, not without a whole lot more information, not the way Jen wanted to run it. "
He looks at Ziva, naked, wet, in front of him, trying to make him feel better about this pile of shit and what he did that got them into it. "He said we're supposed to be the good guys, that it's our job to look out for the Jeannes. He said a lot of other things, but that's the one that hit hardest, because it was true. I'm a cop. It's my job to protect innocent people, and I didn't do it.
"He said I kept on that case because I loved how Jeanne treated me, because I loved me more than anyone or thing else. And he was right. I knew how to get out of it. I knew how to end it. I was having a hard time looking in the mirror from halfway into that operation, but I just kept on doing it.
"I should have never taken that case. When he first found out about Grenouille, Gibbs tried to make me feel better about lying to him, said I was under orders to lie, but I wasn't… Not exactly. Never ordered. 'Deep cover mission,' she said, 'between her and I.' I asked if he would have lied to Franks, and he left without answering. Because he wouldn't have. Because that would have broken One.
"Even if the tactics worked, even if it had made sense, even if we weren't tromping all over the CIA's case, I shouldn't have taken it, because she asked me to break One for it."
He looks at Ziva, and kisses her again. "I never said it, but I should have, and I shouldn't have done it in the first place, but… I'm sorry I spent so long lying to you about it. I'm sorry I made you worry."
She smiles at him and kisses back. "We have many lies and worries in the past between us. They are dead. They should be dead." She kisses him again. "I want them to be dead."
He touches her cheek. "But they aren't, are they?"
"No."
He sighs and closes his eyes, nodding. "Let's get through today, do whatever needs to be done, get home early, get some good sleep, and go at it tomorrow? I'm too tired and fried for much today."
Ziva nods, that sounds like a good plan to her.
Tony's just pulling on his pants when his phone rings. Dispatch comes up on the ID.
"Case?" Ziva asks.
He nods, listening to the details. She grabs her phone and begins texting Bishop and Draga, letting them know to get in as fast as they can.
"Okay, got it Charlie," he says to the dispatcher after a minute.
Ziva's looking up from her phone, waiting.
"Dead body on K Street. Metro thinks suicide, but he's one of ours, so they're handing him over."
Her phone buzzes. She reads and says to Tony. "Draga's two minutes from the office already. Bishop is still at home."
"Tell him to gas up the van and meet us there."
"Okay."
Doesn't matter how deep in the shit you are, you're still having a better day than your victim.
They don't talk much through the ride to the victim's home. If he is a victim. Ziva tells Tony about talking to Gibbs, and about Jimmy apologizing to her, and about why he was apologizing to her. That Jimmy had intentionally waited twelve hours was one of the things Tony missed in the rush of my-son's-not-dying, or Jimmy didn't flat out say it, or it was one of the garbled bits, or some combination of the three.
However it works out, Tony knows now, and he's less-than-thrilled. And maybe it's just tired, maybe it's that some of the things Jimmy said really hit him, maybe it's just that he wants this shit-storm out of his life, but less-than-thrilled is about all he's able to muster right now.
K Street is the land of the Lobbyists, filled with expensive high-rise apartments, high end cars, and oodles of oodles of money. Their victim's home is no exception to that.
They go in, take over from Metro, secure the scene (bathroom), and while they wait for Jimmy and Dr. Allan, Bishop takes pictures of everything, and Tony and Ziva talk to Major (Ret) Ian Kimmel's nearest and dearest.
Apparently he lived alone. Was last seen two days ago. The cleaning lady had let herself in, and gotten a hell of a shock when she went in to tidy up the bathroom.
Major Kimmel was in a tub filled with blood, dead.
No weapon or wounds they can see, but the water in the tub is up to Kimmel's chest, and it's so murky with blood it's impossible to see through.
They'd only been on the scene for ten minutes when Jimmy and Allan head in. They've got the gurney and their gear. The rest of the MCRT team pulls back to give them room in what is a spacious bathroom, but it's still a bathroom, so it's not exactly a comfortable space for six adults, a body bag, a gurney, and a dead body.
Jimmy eyeballs the room, the space available, the dead body. "Body bag on the floor, Dr. Allan."
"Yes, Doctor."
While Allan spreads the bag on the floor next to the tub, Jimmy makes sure to get the air temperature and the water temperature, both are the same, 70 degrees. He'll get body temp when they get the Major out.
Jimmy looks behind him, sees the bag is all spread out. There's a collection of large, clean, fluffy towels on the towel rack. "Towels around the bag, he's going to drip and Abby will want the liquid. Then down to the van, grab the full arm-length protective gloves."
"Any idea of time of death?" Tony asks.
Jimmy looks up at him, answers cool and professional, no anger in his voice. "He was last seen two days ago, right?"
Tony nods.
"Then not more than two days ago." And while that is a smart answer, that's an almost verbatim 'Ducky' smart answer that Ducky or Jimmy would whip out at any crime scene when asked for a time of death way before there was any way for him to know. "I don't know what temperature the water was, how long he was in it before he died." Jimmy gets his hand behind Major Kimmel's head. "He feels room temperature. Can't be more than a few degrees warmer than the air." He nudges Major Kimmel's head; it moves. "He's either out of rigor or hasn't gotten there, yet."
Dr. Allan finishes with the towels. "But it'd have to be at least a few hours, right? Even if the water was cold and could chill him down fast, it'd take a while for everything to settle into one temp?"
"Correct, Dr. Allan."
Allan nods, pleased, and heads off to get the protective gloves.
Jimmy looks up at Tony. "He's probably already out of rigor mortis, given the temperature of everything, but we'll make sure. Once we get him back, we'll check every fifteen minutes for rigor. If he's not there in two hours, that means he's on the other side of it, either way that'll give me a better idea of time of death." From there, Jimmy shuts up, which is out of character for him, waiting for Allan. He's back in two minutes. They glove up.
"Very carefully, Dr. Allan. If this is a suicide, there's likely a very sharp object in this water somewhere."
Jimmy gets a good hold on Kimmel's shoulders. Allan gets his feet, and they carefully lift him from the bath and lay him on the body bag.
"We'll have to get him rinsed off to know for sure, but I'm not seeing any defensive wounds." Jimmy points to the two long, precise cuts along the Major's thighs. "Slit femoral arteries. Given his position, and depending on water temperature, he could have bled out in less than a minute with those cuts." Jimmy sniffs and stirs the water in the bath lightly. "Apparent lack of fecal matter in the tub indicates premeditation. Suicide or a very well-staged homicide. Blood tox'll help us know for sure."
Allan zips up the body bag.
Jimmy turns to Tony. "I'll send Dr. Allan up with my report as soon as it's ready." Then he turns back to Allan. "Ready?"
Allan nods.
"Careful footing, the floor is going to be slippery, and these protective shoe covers provide no traction."
Allan nods again, re-bracing himself, ready to lift. And once again, they both lift, taking Major Kimmel to the gurney, and from there, to further examination.
Once they're back in the van, heading back toward the Navy Yard, Allan asks, "I take it you and Tony are not pleased with each other, right now?"
Jimmy nods, tensely.
"It's not my business, and I'm not interested in gossip, but… Do I need to get pissed at him, too?"
Jimmy looks at Allan, and smiles at him, pleased by that display of loyalty. Then he shakes his head. "No. It's between me and him."
"You and him. No, you and him and Ziva? Just… with that condom comment, and her wanting to fight in the middle of the day…"
"Oh. No! He's not cheating on her! He's not that guy. Everything is from a long time ago. Turns out that was a hoax, anyway. One of…" It hits Jimmy how bad this load of crap'll look, and that he doesn't want Allan hating, or even not liking Tony. Because Tony now is not Tony then, and Tony now does not need to be judged based on Tony then. (And yes, Jimmy is aware of exactly what he just thought, and yes, it is making him a bit squirmy.) "Dr. Allan, yesterday's situation was a mess. But it's a private mess. Everything involved in it happened a long time ago, but it hit me pretty hard yesterday. Tony and I'll be okay again, eventually. Beyond that, I'd appreciate it if you left it alone."
"Certainly Dr. Palmer."
"Thank you."
Ziva's checking any and every place she can think of for a possible suicide note when her phone buzzes.
Have a few minutes? From Tim.
She stares at that, and another piece of Jimmy's apology slips into place. Tim was looking for the child, Jimmy found him. They would have worked together, which means at some point Jimmy got Tim to hold off on telling them. Maybe… Tim could have just handed it off, gone home… That doesn't feel right.
Why? Are you looking to apologize to me, too? She texts back.
Yes. She winces when she sees that. If you'll accept one. Kind of hoping to talk. You in the bullpen?
On scene.
Oh.
That was a very long night, Tim.
Yes. I imagine it was. I am sorry that backing Jimmy meant hurting you. She exhales quickly. Looks like Jimmy stuck at least him, and knowing how they work, Abby, too, in the middle. And they picked Jimmy.
I'm not the only one who got hurt.
I know. But since we're not all three of us together, I'm just aiming for you. I'll talk to him, too.
Good. When we get a bit of time, we'll be down.
Thank you.
In the hours between getting on the scene to getting back to the Navy Yard, Tony goes from shell shocked to angry.
He doesn't like what Palmer did, but he can understand it. He's not always the sanest guy in the room if you hit him on one of his hot button issues, and he's wishing he had actually talked to Jimmy back in July, the first time it hit his radar, because that probably would have saved them a lot of this.
But he didn't. He knew this hit Jimmy wrong. He knew it was an issue. But Jimmy buried it, so he did too, because there's nothing he wanted to do less than have a heart to heart with Palmer about Jeanne.
Except, now that he's been through the last night and this morning, he's thinking that heart to heart would have been a good idea.
So, he gets Jimmy. He doesn't like Jimmy right now. He's not in any, way, shape, or form happy with Jimmy, and next bootcamp is going to be very interesting, but he gets it. Tony kind of wishes he didn't get it, that he could just cocoon himself into 'poor little picked on me' but he can't, not for this, not for Jimmy.
McGee, on the other hand, is a whole other book of other stories. Once Ziva let him know that McGee was in on it, too, he found someone he could be really good and fucking mad at. McGee is getting his ass kicked from one side of Cybercrime to the other and back again and then he's going to let himself really express how mad he is.
Strategy time. Tim figures he doesn't have all that long before Tony or Ziva, or Tony and Ziva are in his office looking for some payback.
So… lay on his back, expose his belly, and be really upfront about knowing exactly what he did, why he did, and that he'll do whatever they want to make it better?
Err… He sighs.
That's probably the right strategy for Ziva. Tony's likely a different story.
It's been a while since he's been on the apologizing end of things, but he knows sometimes you want an apology and sometimes you just want to hit. And right now he doesn't know if Tony wants abject apology, or if he wants someone to kick.
He'll have to play that by ear.
"You think I deserved that?" Tony asks two hours later as he and Ziva storm into Tim's office. Tim watches both of them for a second, Ziva's tired, Tony's running on angry.
He takes a quick breath and hopes this is the right plan.
He stands up, side-steps Tony, ignoring him, and heads right over to Ziva, kicking his door shut, and closing the blinds on his office as he goes.
Once they're private, he faces Ziva and says, "Ziva, it was intentional, I knew it was going to hurt, I did it anyway because I valued Jimmy's desire for revenge over your happiness. I am taking full responsibility for this. My lack of action hurt you; I know it. Anything you want, anything you need, whatever it is, I am at your complete disposal."
He didn't see the strike that split his lip. He felt it. His head is ringing and he can taste blood, but as best as he can tell, Ziva didn't move.
Tim bows his head. "Whatever you need to do."
Ziva tilts his head up, so he's looking her in the eye. "Next time you feel torn, like you have to pick sides, you grab your phone, and you call all of us, and we talk about it as a family."
Tim nod. "Yes, Ma'am."
Ziva nods back at him. Tony's behind him, and he flicks his eyes toward Tony, hopefully signaling, I'm doing this on purpose, I hope it's the right thing. She gives him a curious look in response.
"Stop me if this is wrong." He mouths it, no sound, but she nods minutely, so it looks like she got it.
Then he turns to face Tony, standing right up in front of him, eye to eye, and very calmly says, "Yes."
Tony's eyes just about fall out of his head, and he hears Ziva shift slightly behind him, but she doesn't grab his shoulder, so he doubles down.
"You deserved every second of that, and for a hell of a lot more than what Jimmy called you on. You and me, last night, that evens us up for all the-"
"Even? How could this possibly be even…" And Tony was off, hot, angry words spewing out of him at a very high rate of speed.
And Tim keeps egging him on, smartass comment after smartass comment, pushing him that much harder, that much angrier.
Tony's not much of a puncher. He can punch, and will punch, but between basketball and football, Tony tends to start a fight with a bull-rush. (That's part of why Tim is right in front of him, he wants to let Tony get it out, but he doesn't want to get killed. So he's making sure Tony doesn't have enough room to get full speed up and use the fact that he's got twenty pounds on Tim and momentum to his advantage.) So, it's not a rush, but he does start out with a hard shove, and Tim's already braced for it, so he doesn't go down, which seems to piss Tony off even more.
Tony's a lot like a firework. He burns angry and hot and bright, but not for very long. After about three minutes of yelling and hitting, (and yes, Tim is both dodging and blocking, as previously stated, he's not looking to get killed today, just let him get the angry out.) he'd blown off everything he had to say about how last night did not even begin to come close to any of the shit he'd ever pulled on Tim and that there was no possible way that any of that was even in the neighborhood of "even" and that if he was such a bad fucking friend that he thought "even" was even in play that he could go fuck himself sideways with a flamethrower (Tony's actually got an impressive command of cuss words. Some of them would have even shocked the Admiral).
But, after three minutes, he's glaring at Tim, panting slightly, face red, fists curled, but from the looks of it, out of words, and just feeling quite hurt.
Tim waits another two seconds, makes sure he's done, stands up, and then puts his hand on Tony's shoulder. Tony tries to shrug it off, but Tim keeps the contact, and says, "No, Tony, I didn't think you deserved that. I just figured you wouldn't find it very satisfying to just yell at me if I laid there and said I was sorry about it." He lets go of Tony's shoulder. "Better?"
Tony blinks. God does he have a big 'fuck with me' sign on his back today? But, he thinks about it, about how it would have felt if Tim just stood there and kept saying I'm sorry. He nods, stiffly. He actually is feeling a better at really getting to let it go.
Better and done aren't the same thing, though.
"If I didn't deserve it, why'd you go along with it?"
Tim points to one of the chairs, for Tony, and pulls his desk chair around to campfire up. "When we first found the information, I had my phone out, your number up, thumb about to hit the button when he stopped me. You've seen him today, right? So you know how bad he was hurting—"
"Do you have any idea how bad I was hurting?" Tony says, voice hard, glaring at Tim.
"As much as anyone who's never been there can, yes."
Tony's eyes narrow at that. He's not sure if the idea that Tim didn't know what he was doing would have hurt more or less than the idea that he did.
Ziva settles in, just watching.
"I wanted to make you feel better, and I wanted to make him feel better, and I couldn't do both, so when it came down to it, he's never pulled any shit on me, but you have, so I went with him."
McGee's got that obnoxiously earnest look on his face as he says that.
"He's hurting because of bad memories of something entirely outside of his control. You're hurting because of your own screw up. I'd assume, in a similar situation, if my own bad decisions were biting me in the ass, and the fact that I'd made those decisions was hurting Jimmy, you'd make the same choice."
Earnestness plus logic is even more annoying. Earnestness plus logic with not a single trace of malice or joy or… Shit. It's really hard to stay mad at McGee when he's just sitting there, waiting to get dumped on some more. Tony's actually wishing the smartass would come back so he could have another go at him.
Tim continues filling them in with what happened last night. "Jimmy cracked the case for you. I was stuck. Nothing left. Aiden Benoit was coming up on nothing I had. He looks at it and uses his ID to break into the kid's medical records. And I'm about to call you when he says stop. I've got three options: A: No Jimmy, this is too mean. B: Okay, I'll go along. C: Or say I'm going along and lie about it. C's out. The one didn't require any soul searching. So, we talk about A and B, make sure he knows what he's doing is mean, point out that it's going to hurt Ziva, too, and he still wanted to do it. The first thing Abby said to him was, 'That's not kind,' and he said that was the point."
"How about D: Talk him out of it?" Tony says sarcastically, few sparks of pissed off joining together and firing off.
McGee stops at that, and Tony can tell by the look on his face that that option did not in any way ever occur to him. He thinks about that. He inhales, exhales, mind very obviously whirling around, and after a minute says, "Apparently, I do think you deserve it. Shit. I'm…" McGeek's doing that annoying thing where Tony can actually see the synapses firing away in his head, trying to get everything in order. "Damn it, I thought I was just backing him, but… Yeah… Should have thought of D. D was obvious."
Tony doesn't know what to do with that. And Tim's rapidly thinking through something, eyes far away, with that 'processing' look on his face.
After a minute, his eyes come back to Tony. "I had to watch you die, in real time, on satellite, and then help clean up your charred corpse, because you didn't feel like letting us in on the full mission. I thought I was over that. Hadn't thought about it in a long time, but… I think that's why I didn't think of D.
"If you'd let me in, you could have had a tracker on you. Could have been a tiny, little thing, in your watch or something, something you would have kept on your body. But I didn't know you were still undercover. Thought you were done after Kort made Ducky. So I didn't have any signal, anything that could let me know you were still alive." They both hear Ziva shift slightly in her seat at that, and Tim remembers how much those hours of not knowing hurt her, too. "If you had had that tracker, we could have had people on you, we could have picked you and Grenouille up, and gotten the whole thing wrapped up, with arrests, that day.
"It was hours before we knew it wasn't you, longer before we knew what happened to you. And you came in and pretty much laughed at me for being hurt because I had to help Jimmy and Ducky get your charred corpse out of a bombed car. So, yeah, apparently I do think you deserved some shit for that. Because otherwise I would have thought of talking him out of it, because that's not rocket science, and if I was truly going at it as someone trying to minimize both of your pain, I would have come up with that."
McGee doesn't look particularly pleased with himself right now. "Tony, it doesn't matter why. I did it intentionally. I knew it was going to suck. I knew it would hurt. And I picked him and his pain over you and yours." He's looking Tony straight in the eye as he says, "You're welcome to do anything and everything you like to me make yourself feel better about that. Whatever you require of me to make this right, I will do."
Tony glares at Tim. Right now he's feeling too defeated to even come up with something that might make him feel better about this. He hadn't realized they'd watched the car blow up, and it's just hitting him how terrible seeing that corpse, believing it was him, would have been. He's starting to think he probably owes Ziva an even bigger apology for that case than he gave her.
Tim turns to Ziva. "Ziva, as I said, anything. Wash your car, ten rounds at bootcamp, do your taxes, all of the above, anything."
She stands up, shaking her head slightly. "My father used to say, 'Do not apologize. Learn from your mistake, and do not do make it again.'"
"I won't."
"Then we are good."
Tony stands up, too. He looks around, tries to find a joke or something. McGee can see what he's aiming for. "I'd offer to do all your paperwork, but I kind of already did."
Tony nods. "That car better sparkle when you're done with it."
Tim nod. He can do that. He takes three steps to his desk, grabs his keys, and hands them to Tony. "Swap with me? It'll be gleaming in the morning."
Tony hands his over and heads off.
"What do you have, Abby?" Tony asks as he heads to the lab.
"Good stuff, lots of good stuff. First off, no prints on the razor, but it was in water for more than long enough to dissolve prints, and of course, it's covered in the victim's DNA. No shocker there. Jimmy was right, no fecal matter, or urine, in the water. Just water and blood, so the Major relieved himself before he took care of things. He had Tylenol, Eliquis, that's a blood thinner, and alcohol in his blood, but not so much that he was incapacitated. Just enough to numb him a bit. I've got no evidence of anyone else on him or on any of the samples you gave me. I'm not Jimmy, but to me, this looks like a suicide by someone who was serious about doing the job right."
Tony nods. Then he looks to Ziva, and back to Abby, waiting.
Abby stares at them, shifting her gaze from one to the other, looking at them expectantly.
"Anything else?" Tony asks.
"Not from me," she shakes her head, short blonde ponytails flapping.
"Nothing about last night?" Tony says. He hates it when she does that innocent/pretending to not know what's going on/cute/dense thing.
"Oh. Yeah. Come on back." She leads them into ballistics so they can have a private conversations. "Yeah, last night sucked. And I know I can't make it suck less, but…
She's still doing that cute thing, which is really annoying Tony right now, but then says, "So I… uh… kind of called Diane, you know Gibbs' Diane, this morning, and you know she's an IRS auditor? Anyway, she agreed with me that what Helen pulled on you was total shit, so Helen's going to get a very thorough tax audit this year. And, I've got another buddy who works for Medicare, and she might have… um… flagged Helen for possible Medicare fraud, so… all of her billing for the last five years is going to be gone through with a fine tooth comb. And… yeah… so it's possible that Blue Cross and Anthem got anonymous tips about her overbilling them."
Tony and Ziva are staring at Abby, who is smiling at them, both of them remembering that for as cute as Abby is, there is a very hard, very cold person under there and you do not fuck with Abby's friends. "Jimmy didn't want you going off on Helen, but he didn't say anything to me about it."
"Abby!" Tony says.
"Hey, if she's been playing by the rules, it'll be annoying, but nothing bad will happen to her. If not… That's on her. I made sure to pick agencies that do audits at random, so it's not like checking out Helen is any more or less likely to turn something up than any of their other 'random' audits, so I'm not wasting resources by doing it. I love Jimmy, and I love you guys, and I know I can't make last night better, and I know you're pissed, so I can and did lay some payback on the person who put this whole thing into motion." She smiles at them again. "I hope that helps, some.
"I do have one other thing, Tony, I've got your DNA on file. Tim and I talked about this last night. If you want, I'll run it against everything we've got, and he'll hack the big private databases, all the organ donation sites, bone marrow, 23&Me, all of them, to increase the scope of the search. If you want to know, we'll find your kids, or at least as many of them as are old enough to have hit any of the major databases. It's not perfect, but it'll cut down on the chance of you getting blindsided like this again."
Tony opens and closes his mouth, a very Gibbs looking gesture, that Abby doesn't think she's ever seen from him. Ziva's looking from him to Abby and back again, not sure what she thinks or feels about that offer.
"You two talk and think. But if you want to know, we'll get it for you." Abby starts to head back to the lab proper.
"That's it?" Tony asks.
Abby nods. "What else would you like?"
"No, 'I'm sorry?'"
Abby shakes her head. "Nope." Then she looks at both of them… "Do you really want to have a long conversation about how I know for a fact that both of you have done exactly what set Jimmy off and that I think he's allowed to be crazy about it as a hot button issue because it happened to him? We can do that. We can talk about the fact that I know about several of Ziva's lesser known exploits, but Tim and Jimmy don't, because that conversation was private between you and I and Breena, and since Jimmy was already in epic-meltdown mode, I really didn't think he needed to know that about you. We could talk about how I hate all drunk drivers, because one killed my parents, and about how you know that about me, and how you have never suggested the fact that I loathe every single drunk driver on Earth is in any way inappropriate, because it's my hot button issue. We can talk about how I let you slide on your hot button issues, and how I've never said a peep about the fact that neither of you are gentle with suspected rapists, and that not gentle can get even worse when I've given you a DNA match. We could talk about how I would not expect you to be kind to Tim or Jimmy if you found out that one of them had ever hit your hot button, even if it was more than a decade ago, and that should you find that out, I'd back your play and let you get whatever comeback you'd need."
Abby waits for both of them to say something. They don't.
"We good?" she asks. Very cold, very hard, not very cute at all right that second.
Tony slumps his shoulders, and Ziva nods curtly.
"Great!" There's that smile again. "Let me know what you want to do about the DNA matching."
Allan's waiting for them, with his report, when they get back up to the bullpen.
"Dr. Allan?" Tony asks.
"Unless you find something to indicate otherwise, we're calling this a suicide. No defensive wounds on the body. Three small hesitation cuts on the right thigh, none on the left. Lividity is consistent with dying in the position we found him in. No signs of rigor, so time of death is more than twenty four hours before we found him, but because we don't know the temperature of the water, we can't get more specific than that. Agent Draga…"
Draga puts up a picture of the bathroom.
"Dr. Palmer noticed the contents of the trash can." In the picture they can see what looks like plastic bags. "They're bags for ice. It's possible that the contents of those bags were in the water, numb him further, make it hurt less. He also had alcohol and Tylenol in his blood, so it's not implausible that he wanted to mitigate the pain. If that's true, that'd put time of death much closer to when he was last seen. But according to Abby, that brand of ice is just municipal water frozen solid, there's no way to tell if it was in the tub with him and melted, or if he used it for something else."
Tony nods. "Thank you, Dr. Allan."
"My pleasure. May we release the body?"
Tony nods. "Yes."
Allan heads off and Tony looks around. It's a bit before four in the afternoon. He's beat. Ziva's tired, he can see it in her eyes and the way she's holding herself. "Bishop, Draga, fill in the database, print the little bastards out, and then cut out. We're all going home early today."
Bishop and Draga seem pleased with that. Tony grabs his go bag, looks at Ziva, and glances at the elevator, and they head home.
He's driving Tim and Abby's car, first time behind the wheel of the roadster. Part of him is very tempted to get into a fender bender. Mostly, he's just too damn tired to deal with it. They're at a stop light. Ziva's not talking, and he's not feeling very talk-y either. But they should talk. Lots of things to say, lots…
Ziva looks at him. "Not tonight. Food. And then I want you to find the dumbest, lightest, fluffiest comedy ever made, and we are going to watch it, and then go to sleep, and as long as no one dies tomorrow, we are taking a personal day, and we will sort it out then."
Tony exhales, relieved. That sounds like a really good plan to him.
Next
Chapter 380: Hip Deep
There's only so much shit a person should have to take in one day. And yesterday poured about two years' worth on top of Tony's head. And today added at least another week's worth. And it's only 6:45.
And right now, Tony doesn't know where he is or which end is up.
Jimmy came in like a small, angry tornado, dumped… a lot of shit on him, and, he's sure, when he's a bit more sober and a bit less… whatever this is… shocked probably, that more of what Jimmy said will hit him, but right now…
He finishes his drink. He closes the windows on his computer, one at a time, shutting down information on lymphoma and leukemia, x-ing out of how bone marrow transplants work, hoping he never, ever needs to get this deep into this sort of thing again.
Yesterday his son was dying. Today he's not. Not dying. Not his son. Not… any of it. Right now, there is no custody case looming. There's no fighting with Jeanne about possible treatments. There's no facing Jeanne at all. There's no fear of having this… feeling, whatever it is... at the idea of this child, turning to ash and ripping his heart out.
And Tony's sure that, as whatever this is fades, all the rest of it'll hit, but right now… Right now his son isn't dying, and that's all he needs.
He's still sitting at his kitchen table, little bit drunk, mostly feeling confused, like he's got whatever the emotional equivalent of whiplash is, when Ziva comes in.
He glances at the clock and notices she's been gone for almost two hours. "Long jog."
She inclines her head. "Jimmy called me, said he wanted to talk to you alone." She looks Tony over, sitting next to him. "I take it he did."
Tony nods.
He doesn't look nearly as bad as she expected him to be. "Are you okay?"
He shrugs. "I'm better than I probably should be. He had a lot of things he needed to say. I didn't have anything good to say back. I don't think I've ever seen him that mad before. Not at a person, at least." He touches the bourbon bottle. "Between that and the boy not being sick, I know I missed some of it, which was probably a good thing. He got really fired up and wasn't entirely making sense the whole time… I think he knew what he was saying, but he was crying for some of it, so I didn't get it all, but I was with it enough to know asking him to repeat himself was a bad plan. I got enough, and the short version is he doesn't want me in the morgue anytime soon."
Ziva sighs. She looks at the bottle, it's at least a drink lower than it was when she left. Tony's not drunk; she knows drunk Tony, and this isn't it, but he's not sober either. He's been keeping himself steadily buzzed all night. She looks at the clock. "Come on, shower time."
"Need to call Gibbs, don't want—"
"I have already talked to him. He's relieved."
"Probably won't be when he sees how this blew up."
She tilts her head, taking his hand in hers, and gently tugging him up, walking him toward their shower. Once they get in there, once clothing is off, and water is rushing over them, he feels himself start to clear up, feels some of the euphoria of his-son-isn't-dying fade.
He feels what Jimmy said to him start to hit.
And Ziva sees it; she says, "Benoit sold the weapons that killed tens if not hundreds of thousands of people."
"I know. I know he wasn't a good guy. The world's a better place without him. I know. And maybe if I'd arrested him, that'd help."
"Every western government was trying to get him, and none of them succeeded. No one ever scraped together enough proof to hold him. Traditional tactics had been used for more than a decade and failed."
Tony shakes his head. "Except they didn't. Kort was already in his organization. He made me the first time he saw me, and Jen knew he was onto Grenouille. It wasn't enough to take him down, she had to be the one who took him down. All that crap that followed, that was him discrediting her to keep the CIA in charge of it. I know what you're doing," he kisses her "and I appreciate it, but… come on, Jimmy's a fucking doctor and he could see the tactics on that mission never worked. I was a cop with fifteen years' experience, no way I should have said yes to that, not without a whole lot more information, not the way Jen wanted to run it. "
He looks at Ziva, naked, wet, in front of him, trying to make him feel better about this pile of shit and what he did that got them into it. "He said we're supposed to be the good guys, that it's our job to look out for the Jeannes. He said a lot of other things, but that's the one that hit hardest, because it was true. I'm a cop. It's my job to protect innocent people, and I didn't do it.
"He said I kept on that case because I loved how Jeanne treated me, because I loved me more than anyone or thing else. And he was right. I knew how to get out of it. I knew how to end it. I was having a hard time looking in the mirror from halfway into that operation, but I just kept on doing it.
"I should have never taken that case. When he first found out about Grenouille, Gibbs tried to make me feel better about lying to him, said I was under orders to lie, but I wasn't… Not exactly. Never ordered. 'Deep cover mission,' she said, 'between her and I.' I asked if he would have lied to Franks, and he left without answering. Because he wouldn't have. Because that would have broken One.
"Even if the tactics worked, even if it had made sense, even if we weren't tromping all over the CIA's case, I shouldn't have taken it, because she asked me to break One for it."
He looks at Ziva, and kisses her again. "I never said it, but I should have, and I shouldn't have done it in the first place, but… I'm sorry I spent so long lying to you about it. I'm sorry I made you worry."
She smiles at him and kisses back. "We have many lies and worries in the past between us. They are dead. They should be dead." She kisses him again. "I want them to be dead."
He touches her cheek. "But they aren't, are they?"
"No."
He sighs and closes his eyes, nodding. "Let's get through today, do whatever needs to be done, get home early, get some good sleep, and go at it tomorrow? I'm too tired and fried for much today."
Ziva nods, that sounds like a good plan to her.
Tony's just pulling on his pants when his phone rings. Dispatch comes up on the ID.
"Case?" Ziva asks.
He nods, listening to the details. She grabs her phone and begins texting Bishop and Draga, letting them know to get in as fast as they can.
"Okay, got it Charlie," he says to the dispatcher after a minute.
Ziva's looking up from her phone, waiting.
"Dead body on K Street. Metro thinks suicide, but he's one of ours, so they're handing him over."
Her phone buzzes. She reads and says to Tony. "Draga's two minutes from the office already. Bishop is still at home."
"Tell him to gas up the van and meet us there."
"Okay."
Doesn't matter how deep in the shit you are, you're still having a better day than your victim.
They don't talk much through the ride to the victim's home. If he is a victim. Ziva tells Tony about talking to Gibbs, and about Jimmy apologizing to her, and about why he was apologizing to her. That Jimmy had intentionally waited twelve hours was one of the things Tony missed in the rush of my-son's-not-dying, or Jimmy didn't flat out say it, or it was one of the garbled bits, or some combination of the three.
However it works out, Tony knows now, and he's less-than-thrilled. And maybe it's just tired, maybe it's that some of the things Jimmy said really hit him, maybe it's just that he wants this shit-storm out of his life, but less-than-thrilled is about all he's able to muster right now.
K Street is the land of the Lobbyists, filled with expensive high-rise apartments, high end cars, and oodles of oodles of money. Their victim's home is no exception to that.
They go in, take over from Metro, secure the scene (bathroom), and while they wait for Jimmy and Dr. Allan, Bishop takes pictures of everything, and Tony and Ziva talk to Major (Ret) Ian Kimmel's nearest and dearest.
Apparently he lived alone. Was last seen two days ago. The cleaning lady had let herself in, and gotten a hell of a shock when she went in to tidy up the bathroom.
Major Kimmel was in a tub filled with blood, dead.
No weapon or wounds they can see, but the water in the tub is up to Kimmel's chest, and it's so murky with blood it's impossible to see through.
They'd only been on the scene for ten minutes when Jimmy and Allan head in. They've got the gurney and their gear. The rest of the MCRT team pulls back to give them room in what is a spacious bathroom, but it's still a bathroom, so it's not exactly a comfortable space for six adults, a body bag, a gurney, and a dead body.
Jimmy eyeballs the room, the space available, the dead body. "Body bag on the floor, Dr. Allan."
"Yes, Doctor."
While Allan spreads the bag on the floor next to the tub, Jimmy makes sure to get the air temperature and the water temperature, both are the same, 70 degrees. He'll get body temp when they get the Major out.
Jimmy looks behind him, sees the bag is all spread out. There's a collection of large, clean, fluffy towels on the towel rack. "Towels around the bag, he's going to drip and Abby will want the liquid. Then down to the van, grab the full arm-length protective gloves."
"Any idea of time of death?" Tony asks.
Jimmy looks up at him, answers cool and professional, no anger in his voice. "He was last seen two days ago, right?"
Tony nods.
"Then not more than two days ago." And while that is a smart answer, that's an almost verbatim 'Ducky' smart answer that Ducky or Jimmy would whip out at any crime scene when asked for a time of death way before there was any way for him to know. "I don't know what temperature the water was, how long he was in it before he died." Jimmy gets his hand behind Major Kimmel's head. "He feels room temperature. Can't be more than a few degrees warmer than the air." He nudges Major Kimmel's head; it moves. "He's either out of rigor or hasn't gotten there, yet."
Dr. Allan finishes with the towels. "But it'd have to be at least a few hours, right? Even if the water was cold and could chill him down fast, it'd take a while for everything to settle into one temp?"
"Correct, Dr. Allan."
Allan nods, pleased, and heads off to get the protective gloves.
Jimmy looks up at Tony. "He's probably already out of rigor mortis, given the temperature of everything, but we'll make sure. Once we get him back, we'll check every fifteen minutes for rigor. If he's not there in two hours, that means he's on the other side of it, either way that'll give me a better idea of time of death." From there, Jimmy shuts up, which is out of character for him, waiting for Allan. He's back in two minutes. They glove up.
"Very carefully, Dr. Allan. If this is a suicide, there's likely a very sharp object in this water somewhere."
Jimmy gets a good hold on Kimmel's shoulders. Allan gets his feet, and they carefully lift him from the bath and lay him on the body bag.
"We'll have to get him rinsed off to know for sure, but I'm not seeing any defensive wounds." Jimmy points to the two long, precise cuts along the Major's thighs. "Slit femoral arteries. Given his position, and depending on water temperature, he could have bled out in less than a minute with those cuts." Jimmy sniffs and stirs the water in the bath lightly. "Apparent lack of fecal matter in the tub indicates premeditation. Suicide or a very well-staged homicide. Blood tox'll help us know for sure."
Allan zips up the body bag.
Jimmy turns to Tony. "I'll send Dr. Allan up with my report as soon as it's ready." Then he turns back to Allan. "Ready?"
Allan nods.
"Careful footing, the floor is going to be slippery, and these protective shoe covers provide no traction."
Allan nods again, re-bracing himself, ready to lift. And once again, they both lift, taking Major Kimmel to the gurney, and from there, to further examination.
Once they're back in the van, heading back toward the Navy Yard, Allan asks, "I take it you and Tony are not pleased with each other, right now?"
Jimmy nods, tensely.
"It's not my business, and I'm not interested in gossip, but… Do I need to get pissed at him, too?"
Jimmy looks at Allan, and smiles at him, pleased by that display of loyalty. Then he shakes his head. "No. It's between me and him."
"You and him. No, you and him and Ziva? Just… with that condom comment, and her wanting to fight in the middle of the day…"
"Oh. No! He's not cheating on her! He's not that guy. Everything is from a long time ago. Turns out that was a hoax, anyway. One of…" It hits Jimmy how bad this load of crap'll look, and that he doesn't want Allan hating, or even not liking Tony. Because Tony now is not Tony then, and Tony now does not need to be judged based on Tony then. (And yes, Jimmy is aware of exactly what he just thought, and yes, it is making him a bit squirmy.) "Dr. Allan, yesterday's situation was a mess. But it's a private mess. Everything involved in it happened a long time ago, but it hit me pretty hard yesterday. Tony and I'll be okay again, eventually. Beyond that, I'd appreciate it if you left it alone."
"Certainly Dr. Palmer."
"Thank you."
Ziva's checking any and every place she can think of for a possible suicide note when her phone buzzes.
Have a few minutes? From Tim.
She stares at that, and another piece of Jimmy's apology slips into place. Tim was looking for the child, Jimmy found him. They would have worked together, which means at some point Jimmy got Tim to hold off on telling them. Maybe… Tim could have just handed it off, gone home… That doesn't feel right.
Why? Are you looking to apologize to me, too? She texts back.
Yes. She winces when she sees that. If you'll accept one. Kind of hoping to talk. You in the bullpen?
On scene.
Oh.
That was a very long night, Tim.
Yes. I imagine it was. I am sorry that backing Jimmy meant hurting you. She exhales quickly. Looks like Jimmy stuck at least him, and knowing how they work, Abby, too, in the middle. And they picked Jimmy.
I'm not the only one who got hurt.
I know. But since we're not all three of us together, I'm just aiming for you. I'll talk to him, too.
Good. When we get a bit of time, we'll be down.
Thank you.
In the hours between getting on the scene to getting back to the Navy Yard, Tony goes from shell shocked to angry.
He doesn't like what Palmer did, but he can understand it. He's not always the sanest guy in the room if you hit him on one of his hot button issues, and he's wishing he had actually talked to Jimmy back in July, the first time it hit his radar, because that probably would have saved them a lot of this.
But he didn't. He knew this hit Jimmy wrong. He knew it was an issue. But Jimmy buried it, so he did too, because there's nothing he wanted to do less than have a heart to heart with Palmer about Jeanne.
Except, now that he's been through the last night and this morning, he's thinking that heart to heart would have been a good idea.
So, he gets Jimmy. He doesn't like Jimmy right now. He's not in any, way, shape, or form happy with Jimmy, and next bootcamp is going to be very interesting, but he gets it. Tony kind of wishes he didn't get it, that he could just cocoon himself into 'poor little picked on me' but he can't, not for this, not for Jimmy.
McGee, on the other hand, is a whole other book of other stories. Once Ziva let him know that McGee was in on it, too, he found someone he could be really good and fucking mad at. McGee is getting his ass kicked from one side of Cybercrime to the other and back again and then he's going to let himself really express how mad he is.
Strategy time. Tim figures he doesn't have all that long before Tony or Ziva, or Tony and Ziva are in his office looking for some payback.
So… lay on his back, expose his belly, and be really upfront about knowing exactly what he did, why he did, and that he'll do whatever they want to make it better?
Err… He sighs.
That's probably the right strategy for Ziva. Tony's likely a different story.
It's been a while since he's been on the apologizing end of things, but he knows sometimes you want an apology and sometimes you just want to hit. And right now he doesn't know if Tony wants abject apology, or if he wants someone to kick.
He'll have to play that by ear.
"You think I deserved that?" Tony asks two hours later as he and Ziva storm into Tim's office. Tim watches both of them for a second, Ziva's tired, Tony's running on angry.
He takes a quick breath and hopes this is the right plan.
He stands up, side-steps Tony, ignoring him, and heads right over to Ziva, kicking his door shut, and closing the blinds on his office as he goes.
Once they're private, he faces Ziva and says, "Ziva, it was intentional, I knew it was going to hurt, I did it anyway because I valued Jimmy's desire for revenge over your happiness. I am taking full responsibility for this. My lack of action hurt you; I know it. Anything you want, anything you need, whatever it is, I am at your complete disposal."
He didn't see the strike that split his lip. He felt it. His head is ringing and he can taste blood, but as best as he can tell, Ziva didn't move.
Tim bows his head. "Whatever you need to do."
Ziva tilts his head up, so he's looking her in the eye. "Next time you feel torn, like you have to pick sides, you grab your phone, and you call all of us, and we talk about it as a family."
Tim nod. "Yes, Ma'am."
Ziva nods back at him. Tony's behind him, and he flicks his eyes toward Tony, hopefully signaling, I'm doing this on purpose, I hope it's the right thing. She gives him a curious look in response.
"Stop me if this is wrong." He mouths it, no sound, but she nods minutely, so it looks like she got it.
Then he turns to face Tony, standing right up in front of him, eye to eye, and very calmly says, "Yes."
Tony's eyes just about fall out of his head, and he hears Ziva shift slightly behind him, but she doesn't grab his shoulder, so he doubles down.
"You deserved every second of that, and for a hell of a lot more than what Jimmy called you on. You and me, last night, that evens us up for all the-"
"Even? How could this possibly be even…" And Tony was off, hot, angry words spewing out of him at a very high rate of speed.
And Tim keeps egging him on, smartass comment after smartass comment, pushing him that much harder, that much angrier.
Tony's not much of a puncher. He can punch, and will punch, but between basketball and football, Tony tends to start a fight with a bull-rush. (That's part of why Tim is right in front of him, he wants to let Tony get it out, but he doesn't want to get killed. So he's making sure Tony doesn't have enough room to get full speed up and use the fact that he's got twenty pounds on Tim and momentum to his advantage.) So, it's not a rush, but he does start out with a hard shove, and Tim's already braced for it, so he doesn't go down, which seems to piss Tony off even more.
Tony's a lot like a firework. He burns angry and hot and bright, but not for very long. After about three minutes of yelling and hitting, (and yes, Tim is both dodging and blocking, as previously stated, he's not looking to get killed today, just let him get the angry out.) he'd blown off everything he had to say about how last night did not even begin to come close to any of the shit he'd ever pulled on Tim and that there was no possible way that any of that was even in the neighborhood of "even" and that if he was such a bad fucking friend that he thought "even" was even in play that he could go fuck himself sideways with a flamethrower (Tony's actually got an impressive command of cuss words. Some of them would have even shocked the Admiral).
But, after three minutes, he's glaring at Tim, panting slightly, face red, fists curled, but from the looks of it, out of words, and just feeling quite hurt.
Tim waits another two seconds, makes sure he's done, stands up, and then puts his hand on Tony's shoulder. Tony tries to shrug it off, but Tim keeps the contact, and says, "No, Tony, I didn't think you deserved that. I just figured you wouldn't find it very satisfying to just yell at me if I laid there and said I was sorry about it." He lets go of Tony's shoulder. "Better?"
Tony blinks. God does he have a big 'fuck with me' sign on his back today? But, he thinks about it, about how it would have felt if Tim just stood there and kept saying I'm sorry. He nods, stiffly. He actually is feeling a better at really getting to let it go.
Better and done aren't the same thing, though.
"If I didn't deserve it, why'd you go along with it?"
Tim points to one of the chairs, for Tony, and pulls his desk chair around to campfire up. "When we first found the information, I had my phone out, your number up, thumb about to hit the button when he stopped me. You've seen him today, right? So you know how bad he was hurting—"
"Do you have any idea how bad I was hurting?" Tony says, voice hard, glaring at Tim.
"As much as anyone who's never been there can, yes."
Tony's eyes narrow at that. He's not sure if the idea that Tim didn't know what he was doing would have hurt more or less than the idea that he did.
Ziva settles in, just watching.
"I wanted to make you feel better, and I wanted to make him feel better, and I couldn't do both, so when it came down to it, he's never pulled any shit on me, but you have, so I went with him."
McGee's got that obnoxiously earnest look on his face as he says that.
"He's hurting because of bad memories of something entirely outside of his control. You're hurting because of your own screw up. I'd assume, in a similar situation, if my own bad decisions were biting me in the ass, and the fact that I'd made those decisions was hurting Jimmy, you'd make the same choice."
Earnestness plus logic is even more annoying. Earnestness plus logic with not a single trace of malice or joy or… Shit. It's really hard to stay mad at McGee when he's just sitting there, waiting to get dumped on some more. Tony's actually wishing the smartass would come back so he could have another go at him.
Tim continues filling them in with what happened last night. "Jimmy cracked the case for you. I was stuck. Nothing left. Aiden Benoit was coming up on nothing I had. He looks at it and uses his ID to break into the kid's medical records. And I'm about to call you when he says stop. I've got three options: A: No Jimmy, this is too mean. B: Okay, I'll go along. C: Or say I'm going along and lie about it. C's out. The one didn't require any soul searching. So, we talk about A and B, make sure he knows what he's doing is mean, point out that it's going to hurt Ziva, too, and he still wanted to do it. The first thing Abby said to him was, 'That's not kind,' and he said that was the point."
"How about D: Talk him out of it?" Tony says sarcastically, few sparks of pissed off joining together and firing off.
McGee stops at that, and Tony can tell by the look on his face that that option did not in any way ever occur to him. He thinks about that. He inhales, exhales, mind very obviously whirling around, and after a minute says, "Apparently, I do think you deserve it. Shit. I'm…" McGeek's doing that annoying thing where Tony can actually see the synapses firing away in his head, trying to get everything in order. "Damn it, I thought I was just backing him, but… Yeah… Should have thought of D. D was obvious."
Tony doesn't know what to do with that. And Tim's rapidly thinking through something, eyes far away, with that 'processing' look on his face.
After a minute, his eyes come back to Tony. "I had to watch you die, in real time, on satellite, and then help clean up your charred corpse, because you didn't feel like letting us in on the full mission. I thought I was over that. Hadn't thought about it in a long time, but… I think that's why I didn't think of D.
"If you'd let me in, you could have had a tracker on you. Could have been a tiny, little thing, in your watch or something, something you would have kept on your body. But I didn't know you were still undercover. Thought you were done after Kort made Ducky. So I didn't have any signal, anything that could let me know you were still alive." They both hear Ziva shift slightly in her seat at that, and Tim remembers how much those hours of not knowing hurt her, too. "If you had had that tracker, we could have had people on you, we could have picked you and Grenouille up, and gotten the whole thing wrapped up, with arrests, that day.
"It was hours before we knew it wasn't you, longer before we knew what happened to you. And you came in and pretty much laughed at me for being hurt because I had to help Jimmy and Ducky get your charred corpse out of a bombed car. So, yeah, apparently I do think you deserved some shit for that. Because otherwise I would have thought of talking him out of it, because that's not rocket science, and if I was truly going at it as someone trying to minimize both of your pain, I would have come up with that."
McGee doesn't look particularly pleased with himself right now. "Tony, it doesn't matter why. I did it intentionally. I knew it was going to suck. I knew it would hurt. And I picked him and his pain over you and yours." He's looking Tony straight in the eye as he says, "You're welcome to do anything and everything you like to me make yourself feel better about that. Whatever you require of me to make this right, I will do."
Tony glares at Tim. Right now he's feeling too defeated to even come up with something that might make him feel better about this. He hadn't realized they'd watched the car blow up, and it's just hitting him how terrible seeing that corpse, believing it was him, would have been. He's starting to think he probably owes Ziva an even bigger apology for that case than he gave her.
Tim turns to Ziva. "Ziva, as I said, anything. Wash your car, ten rounds at bootcamp, do your taxes, all of the above, anything."
She stands up, shaking her head slightly. "My father used to say, 'Do not apologize. Learn from your mistake, and do not do make it again.'"
"I won't."
"Then we are good."
Tony stands up, too. He looks around, tries to find a joke or something. McGee can see what he's aiming for. "I'd offer to do all your paperwork, but I kind of already did."
Tony nods. "That car better sparkle when you're done with it."
Tim nod. He can do that. He takes three steps to his desk, grabs his keys, and hands them to Tony. "Swap with me? It'll be gleaming in the morning."
Tony hands his over and heads off.
"What do you have, Abby?" Tony asks as he heads to the lab.
"Good stuff, lots of good stuff. First off, no prints on the razor, but it was in water for more than long enough to dissolve prints, and of course, it's covered in the victim's DNA. No shocker there. Jimmy was right, no fecal matter, or urine, in the water. Just water and blood, so the Major relieved himself before he took care of things. He had Tylenol, Eliquis, that's a blood thinner, and alcohol in his blood, but not so much that he was incapacitated. Just enough to numb him a bit. I've got no evidence of anyone else on him or on any of the samples you gave me. I'm not Jimmy, but to me, this looks like a suicide by someone who was serious about doing the job right."
Tony nods. Then he looks to Ziva, and back to Abby, waiting.
Abby stares at them, shifting her gaze from one to the other, looking at them expectantly.
"Anything else?" Tony asks.
"Not from me," she shakes her head, short blonde ponytails flapping.
"Nothing about last night?" Tony says. He hates it when she does that innocent/pretending to not know what's going on/cute/dense thing.
"Oh. Yeah. Come on back." She leads them into ballistics so they can have a private conversations. "Yeah, last night sucked. And I know I can't make it suck less, but…
She's still doing that cute thing, which is really annoying Tony right now, but then says, "So I… uh… kind of called Diane, you know Gibbs' Diane, this morning, and you know she's an IRS auditor? Anyway, she agreed with me that what Helen pulled on you was total shit, so Helen's going to get a very thorough tax audit this year. And, I've got another buddy who works for Medicare, and she might have… um… flagged Helen for possible Medicare fraud, so… all of her billing for the last five years is going to be gone through with a fine tooth comb. And… yeah… so it's possible that Blue Cross and Anthem got anonymous tips about her overbilling them."
Tony and Ziva are staring at Abby, who is smiling at them, both of them remembering that for as cute as Abby is, there is a very hard, very cold person under there and you do not fuck with Abby's friends. "Jimmy didn't want you going off on Helen, but he didn't say anything to me about it."
"Abby!" Tony says.
"Hey, if she's been playing by the rules, it'll be annoying, but nothing bad will happen to her. If not… That's on her. I made sure to pick agencies that do audits at random, so it's not like checking out Helen is any more or less likely to turn something up than any of their other 'random' audits, so I'm not wasting resources by doing it. I love Jimmy, and I love you guys, and I know I can't make last night better, and I know you're pissed, so I can and did lay some payback on the person who put this whole thing into motion." She smiles at them again. "I hope that helps, some.
"I do have one other thing, Tony, I've got your DNA on file. Tim and I talked about this last night. If you want, I'll run it against everything we've got, and he'll hack the big private databases, all the organ donation sites, bone marrow, 23&Me, all of them, to increase the scope of the search. If you want to know, we'll find your kids, or at least as many of them as are old enough to have hit any of the major databases. It's not perfect, but it'll cut down on the chance of you getting blindsided like this again."
Tony opens and closes his mouth, a very Gibbs looking gesture, that Abby doesn't think she's ever seen from him. Ziva's looking from him to Abby and back again, not sure what she thinks or feels about that offer.
"You two talk and think. But if you want to know, we'll get it for you." Abby starts to head back to the lab proper.
"That's it?" Tony asks.
Abby nods. "What else would you like?"
"No, 'I'm sorry?'"
Abby shakes her head. "Nope." Then she looks at both of them… "Do you really want to have a long conversation about how I know for a fact that both of you have done exactly what set Jimmy off and that I think he's allowed to be crazy about it as a hot button issue because it happened to him? We can do that. We can talk about the fact that I know about several of Ziva's lesser known exploits, but Tim and Jimmy don't, because that conversation was private between you and I and Breena, and since Jimmy was already in epic-meltdown mode, I really didn't think he needed to know that about you. We could talk about how I hate all drunk drivers, because one killed my parents, and about how you know that about me, and how you have never suggested the fact that I loathe every single drunk driver on Earth is in any way inappropriate, because it's my hot button issue. We can talk about how I let you slide on your hot button issues, and how I've never said a peep about the fact that neither of you are gentle with suspected rapists, and that not gentle can get even worse when I've given you a DNA match. We could talk about how I would not expect you to be kind to Tim or Jimmy if you found out that one of them had ever hit your hot button, even if it was more than a decade ago, and that should you find that out, I'd back your play and let you get whatever comeback you'd need."
Abby waits for both of them to say something. They don't.
"We good?" she asks. Very cold, very hard, not very cute at all right that second.
Tony slumps his shoulders, and Ziva nods curtly.
"Great!" There's that smile again. "Let me know what you want to do about the DNA matching."
Allan's waiting for them, with his report, when they get back up to the bullpen.
"Dr. Allan?" Tony asks.
"Unless you find something to indicate otherwise, we're calling this a suicide. No defensive wounds on the body. Three small hesitation cuts on the right thigh, none on the left. Lividity is consistent with dying in the position we found him in. No signs of rigor, so time of death is more than twenty four hours before we found him, but because we don't know the temperature of the water, we can't get more specific than that. Agent Draga…"
Draga puts up a picture of the bathroom.
"Dr. Palmer noticed the contents of the trash can." In the picture they can see what looks like plastic bags. "They're bags for ice. It's possible that the contents of those bags were in the water, numb him further, make it hurt less. He also had alcohol and Tylenol in his blood, so it's not implausible that he wanted to mitigate the pain. If that's true, that'd put time of death much closer to when he was last seen. But according to Abby, that brand of ice is just municipal water frozen solid, there's no way to tell if it was in the tub with him and melted, or if he used it for something else."
Tony nods. "Thank you, Dr. Allan."
"My pleasure. May we release the body?"
Tony nods. "Yes."
Allan heads off and Tony looks around. It's a bit before four in the afternoon. He's beat. Ziva's tired, he can see it in her eyes and the way she's holding herself. "Bishop, Draga, fill in the database, print the little bastards out, and then cut out. We're all going home early today."
Bishop and Draga seem pleased with that. Tony grabs his go bag, looks at Ziva, and glances at the elevator, and they head home.
He's driving Tim and Abby's car, first time behind the wheel of the roadster. Part of him is very tempted to get into a fender bender. Mostly, he's just too damn tired to deal with it. They're at a stop light. Ziva's not talking, and he's not feeling very talk-y either. But they should talk. Lots of things to say, lots…
Ziva looks at him. "Not tonight. Food. And then I want you to find the dumbest, lightest, fluffiest comedy ever made, and we are going to watch it, and then go to sleep, and as long as no one dies tomorrow, we are taking a personal day, and we will sort it out then."
Tony exhales, relieved. That sounds like a really good plan to him.
Next
Shards To A Whole: Ziva
McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 379: Ziva
A/N: For reference, it might be a good idea to re-read chapters 255 and 257.
Running. Usually running is good. Feet moving forward, speed, wind, earth below, sky above, quiet mind in between.
Usually.
Today isn't doing it for Ziva.
She can't get into her running zen. Can't quiet her mind.
The last time she had this hard of a time getting out of her mind when she ran, it was the day after Lt. Sanders died. She ran the loop from his direction, mourned the lost opportunity of him, missed him, and then tried to make herself forget.
In that she wore his hat every time she ran until it was destroyed when her apartment blew up, it's safe to say she didn't succeed.
She's tired. That's part of it. It's always difficult to find peace when you're aching tired.
She's sad. There's no way this will work out well. There's no happy ending where Jeanne and Tony get along and they all get to be some sort of functional extended family. They still don't know what they're going to do about this child. If he wasn't Jeanne's Tony would be all for trying to get involved in his life, but he is Jeannes, so they aren't sure.
Tony researched bone marrow donation most of the night, and she had a long chat with Draga about what sorts of rights a father has. Apparently, a DNA match doesn't offer much in the way of rights. According to him, the only reason he's been able to have any luck on getting shared custody of Kevin is because his name is on the birth certificate, and since the day he was born, Kevin has been listed as one of his dependents.
But Tony and Jeanne were never married, and because they've got no idea what she's got written on this child's birth certificate, it's entirely possible that even if they go to court, they cannot get visitation rights. If she's got another man's name on that certificate, and if Tony does not match for the bone marrow donation, he likely won't even have standing to demand a paternity test.
Assuming they can prove paternity, given the story of how this child came to be, it's likely they can't get visitation rights. Ziva knows how that case would go, she's spent more than enough time with lawyers to see that whoever Jeanne hires will make the defense that Jeanne was effectively raped, that the psychic damage on her of having Tony around will be too high, and that Tony has no rights to this child, at all.
And, since NCIS had no legal standing for the case against Le Grenouille, if said lawyer is really sharp, he'll counter-sue Tony for what he did to Jeanne. After all, there was no warrant, no court order, NCIS does not have jurisdiction over civilians engaging in civilian cases. A counter-suit on this would be horrendously embarrassing to NCIS and might actually land Tony in jail.
All of that is a heartache.
Then there's fear. Jimmy sent them a list of links on bone marrow donation, another list on bone marrow diseases. They'd been online, pretty much all night, reading over everything he'd sent them. From everything they've been able to find, parent-child matches are rare, really rare. So the possibility that this might work is almost non-existent.
From everything they were reading, it would have made more sense to use the child's own bone marrow. They've got some sort of technique to suck it out, clean it up, and put it back in again. Or, suck it out, muck around with it, and grow new, clean marrow from the stem cells. Either of those is way more likely to work, no rejection issues, and if Helen's hunted down Tony for this, it likely means those techniques have failed.
And if they've failed… If the cancer (if it is cancer, that seems most likely though) has come back…
If they've failed, attempting another transplant, from a foreign donor… Either there's a piece they're missing, or Helen and Jeanne are torturing this child because they aren't willing to let him go.
More heartache, because if that's true… If that's true then you have to do something about it. You don't let a child suffer, not like that, not if there's not much shot of it actually working. You don't just 'do something' to do something. The potential for healing has to outweigh the pain.
But, Lord, coming in, now, with 'I want access to my child' will be hard enough. 'I want access so you can stop medically torturing him, and let him die in peace…' Just the idea of trying to make that case makes Ziva clench her jaw so hard her teeth ache.
Beyond all of that there's anger.
Jeanne should have told him. She's said that like seven times now and keeps repeating it in her mind.
Jeanne should have told. A child has a right to know his father. And as soon as she knew she was pregnant she should have found Tony and told him.
Ziva keeps saying that to herself, building up her own anger with it. But each repetition is more hollow. Each time she says it, she musters less outrage at Jeanne.
And she knows why it's not working. Because as time goes by, and hours pass, and the more she thinks about this child, the more she has to think about Jeanne, and how this child came to be.
She can hold a moment's rage at Jeanne for not telling, and she wishes she could hold more, but in the end, thinking about, feet pounding the pavement, if the same thing had happened to her… If she had been the target, and she certainly could have been… Not like her father didn't have enemies galore, and it's not like he was easy to get to. Part of her training was to make sure she never did trust anyone, because that way she couldn't be used, not the way Jeanne was.
Her father knew there were Tonys out there. Her father made sure her boyfriends had full, deep, background checks. Her father drilled into her head that trust is dangerous, and trust could lead to deep, deep pain, so it was to be handed out slowly, carefully, only to people who had earned it with blood. And as Bodnar proved, even after it is earned in blood, it can be lost, so easily.
But… If her father was less careful. Or if Tali hadn't died… She would have been a ballerina, dancing in Paris or Moscow or New York. She would have had boyfriends. Men who came to see the shows, and if one of them had been kind, paid attention, loved her… If he was charming, and witty, and funny. If he lavished her with praise and attention and desire… If she had been the target, if a man had used her, lied to her, and gotten her pregnant… Would she have told him?
No, she never would have told him.
Jeanne had her baby, and then came back and tried to frame Tony for murder.
Ziva tries to think about what she would have done, how she would have reacted. She slapped the shit out of Ray, arrested him, and walked off. But that is NCIS Agent Ziva, who believes in things like law. And Ray wasn't using her, not the way Tony used Jeanne. She knew who he was, she knew what he did. She knew she was getting involved with a professional liar. She had already detached from him, had already begun to grow some distance when he tried to use her.
And it still hurt. And she still burned her tears with hate, and made Gibbs drive her home, and she turned away from him, not letting him see the pain, headed into her place, and beat the hell out of her pillows, ran ten miles, and then forced herself to be calm.
Then she went back to work, and buried all of it in the job.
What if it had been from day one? If from day one everything with Ray had always been an act… If one day she had a man she loved who was moving in with her, and the next it he was out to kill her father and she was pregnant…
What if Ray had done that?
No, she wouldn't have framed him for murder. And she wouldn't have stopped at just hitting him. She would have killed him. And that would have been that.
Confusion trumps anger. If she was the target, she'd rage, but she's been on Tony's side of it, too. She's run this op, twice, and both times she used her looks, her charm, her humor, and walked into a the target's home and killed him.
One time she seduced the target. One time she seduced his son.
The time it was the target, it went fast. Third date, back to his place, he had certain expectations of how that night was going to go. It didn't go that way. In, out, done, clean. She got everything in his hard drive, all of his files, and hasn't been back to Prague since.
The time it was the target's son, it went slow. Deep cover. Took months before he invited her home to meet his family. She eagerly accepted that invitation. His family was Catholic, devout, or at least his mother and sisters were, so they each had their own room. When Philippe suggested it was bedtime, that first night, she'd smiled at him, said she was heading to the kitchen to get a bottle of wine, and that he should meet her in bed in an hour. He'd grinned and headed off, huge smile on his face, looking forward to sneaking around.
She'd headed to his father's office, knocked quietly, and when he opened the door, all he saw was a pretty girl, with long curly hair, wearing a sundress and cute, little sandals. He'd smiled at her, too, and she'd asked him some sort of question about the family, stepping in, closing the door, setting him at ease. By the time the door was closed, she had him in a choke hold. Ten seconds later he was unconscious. A minute later he was dead. Two minutes after that, she walked out, with a bottle of wine, going to get some fresh air and enjoy the countryside.
It can be very difficult to get into a place, but it's usually not very difficult, especially if you are willing to walk and leave all of your things behind, to get out of one.
She walked away, found the motorcycle waiting for her three miles away, and was gone before anyone knew she was missing.
She's never regretted that kill, never thought twice about Philippe. But right now, she is, and she hates the way that feels. He probably looked for her when he noticed she wasn't in her room. He may have been the one who found his father. It wouldn't have taken long after his family knew what had happened to start putting it together, blame him for bringing home the woman who killed Papa.
She wonders, now, how he dealt with that.
Papa led a branch of the Basque Separatists. Now, she wonders if Philippe, who studied sculpture and music in Barcelona, had been killed for bringing home the woman who killed his father.
Confusion and hate and regret slip to anger as her feet pound over the pavement. Anger at Tony. On one level, the big level, the one she feels stupid for, there's just the rush of 'How could you possibly be so fucking stupid?' It was a long time ago. She knows this about him. She knows his past is a wasteland of reckless sexual encounters, any one of which may have produced a child.
When they were talking about it, before they got married, and she asked how many women he'd slept with, his best guess was 'about a thousand.' She thought he was kidding until he broke it down. First time at sixteen. He was forty-five when they had that conversation, so almost thirty years. Five years with Wendy cut it down to twenty-four. Not much action from sixteen to eighteen. Call it twenty-two years of an active sex life. He got to college and got to be one of the stars on the basketball team. Two or three girls a week in college. Two or three a week for the year after Wendy. He figured those five years covered about five hundred girls. The other seventeen years worked out to about thirty women a year, or about one every other week. Factor in Spring Breaks in Florida and dry spells, and that was about right for him.
She thought she was okay with that. At the time, she was okay with that. She's had more than enough partners of her own that she's not going to complain about what he did before they were together.
But right now, especially knowing that Tony wasn't careful with Jeanne, that's really pissing her off.
And she's pissed at herself for being pissed about that. It can't be changed. None of this is blindsiding her or a shock. But it still hurts. She's pissed that this hurts so much. Tony has a child. A child who isn't hers, and that aches.
He's so skittish about making a baby with her, but he spent twenty years more or less spraying sperm around at random like some sort of fertility garden sprinkler, but for her, for a woman he loves and has a future with... No, with her, he's scared.
They talk about it in counseling. She knows rushing him is a bad idea.
And he's said that it's like standing on the edge of the cliff looking off. He can't make himself jump, but that, if he just got a good hard shove, once he landed, he'd be fine. But he needs the shove. So, she's shoving.
They're 'trying' for a baby. But she can feel he's not really comfortable with it. He can't fully relax into it, though he's 'trying.' And she can feel it's getting better, but better and good aren't the same thing and she doesn't know how to get him to good.
But with Jeanne, he could just be in the moment and 'forget.' With Jeanne, he could make a baby. And that hurts so much worse than she thought it would.
Her phone chirps at her, and she stops running. You on your jog? From Jimmy.
She looks around, really noticing that she's about ten minutes from home. Yes.
Whole thing was a hoax. There is kid, but he was born in '10, he's not sick. Jeanne died last week, and Helen went a bit crazy.
She stares at that. For a good five seconds her head is completely blank. She's got no idea, at all, how to even begin to feel about it. Eventually, she feels like she can breathe. Like a huge weight is gone. And sure, some of this stuff won't go away just because this has, but the biggest part, the what do we do now part, that's gone.
Her shoulders slump, tension spiraling out of her, relief washing over her, pulling away a lot, but not all, of the anger and fear and hurt that's been aching through her for the last day.
Her phone chirps again. I haven't told Tony, yet. Want to talk to him, in person, alone. Is that okay?
What would Jimmy want to say to Tony about this on his own? Why?
Got some things to say to him about this. He's not going to like them. You might not, either.
Ice goes down her spine. There's no kid. It's a hoax… Jeanne's dead… Did she commit suicide? Lord, did the thing with Tony screw her up that badly? Does Jimmy want to protect her from that? Things about Jeanne? she texts quickly.
No. Anything I know about her, I'll tell you, too. Things about him and me. You want to be there for this, that's fine, just be easier the two of us.
That makes no sense to her at all. Why would Jimmy want to talk to Tony about Jeanne, and what would it have to do with him? Jimmy?
What do you remember about Michelle Lee?
And then she gets it. What would she have done if she was the target? How would she react if someone had spent months lying to her? God, Jimmy was the target. He can't be cool with this because it happened to him. She punches his number into her phone. A second later she says, "Hi."
"Hi, Ziva."
"I remember Lee. I was the only one she didn't try to convince she did the right thing."
"Not the only one."
She supposes that's likely true. She can't imagine what Lee might have said to Jimmy. "I'm sorry. I… knew, but…"
"Didn't put it together?"
"Yes."
"Because I'm a guy? And as long as I got laid, I was getting what I wanted, so what's the problem? Guys don't get used, they don't feel bad about it after, not if they get sex, right?"
She winces; he sounds so bitter and so hurt about that. The fact is that it never hit her, at all, that Jimmy got used, until two minutes ago. Why? Then she knows. "That's part of it, yes. Mostly though, because you ended it, before it blew up."
"Yeah. I did. Still bit me in the ass, though. Still got hauled in for questioning, for treason. Still… still had to deal with… all of it."
She can feel the pain in his voice. "I'm sorry."
"Yeah, well… Anyway, got some things to say to Tony. About using people. About sexually using someone. They aren't complimentary. He's unlikely to enjoy them. If you wanted to get yourself some breakfast, say for two hours or so, it's my treat."
She nods. The silence stretches for another second. She's got too much rolling around her mind right now, so she asks again, "It really is a hoax?"
She hears Jimmy sigh. "Yeah. It is. Jeanne was in a car accident last week. She died. Helen... I don't know how she came up with it, but making Tony hurt seemed like a good idea to her. I've already talked to Helen, she's not going to pull anything again." Jimmy stops for a second there. "Ziva, I'm sorry this screws you, too…"
Something feels off about that. He was sorry yesterday, too. Sorry that she was stuck with this mess, stuck with having to deal with the emotional fall out of her husband's stupidity. And yesterday, she definitely got the sense that Jimmy was not thrilled with Tony for having done something that would put her in this position, but that for the most part he was all about making sure they got through it as easily as possible.
But she's not feeling that anymore, and he's still apologizing. Ziva's starting to wonder what the hell just happened, because this is too much for sympathy.
"I really am. I'm sorry you're in the middle of this. I'm sorry this isn't just done, and we can't just all relax and kick back and let it go. I'm sorry, for you, to you, that I can't just let it go. I want to. I'm a lot happier not thinking about this. But, right now, I can't get this out of my head, because I was where Jeanne was. So, I've got to go yell at him. And I know I'm going to hurt him, and I know that's going to hurt you, and I'm really sorry about that, because I don't want to be hurting you, but I don't know how I can stop hating him without it hitting you, too."
It takes her a second to sort through all of that, and find the relevant part. Jimmy's already talked to Helen. Which means he's known about this long enough to find her and have a conversation with her.
"You've already spoken to Helen?" Her voice is cold.
"Yes."
"How long have you known?"
"Since around six last night." Twelve hours. He's known for twelve hours. "I got into Aiden, the boy's, medical records around then. Couldn't find him on the bone marrow registry, so I went into the Federal Medical Database. Then I looked Helen up, found when she was on shift, and made sure she'd never pull anything on Tony again."
Her eyes close and her hand fists. Jimmy went out of his way to find the child for them. He went to see Helen to protect them. And then he let them stew for a night. She's smiling, but it's not a happy gesture.
What would you do if it had been you?
"Ziva?"
"You and McGee were working together to find Aiden?"
"Yeah. Tim was coming up empty because he had a name, but the wrong birthday, so... technically you aren't supposed to look up people who aren't your patients, but... any doctor has access to any patient, because you never know who'll roll in your door. It was the most direct way to get the information about him."
She forces her fist to relax. He broke the law to find the child for them. Because he's their friend. He talked to Helen, because he didn't want anything bad to happen to them. When everything was going bonkers with Tony last summer, he was the one she spent hours talking with. He was the one who suggested they try marriage counseling. It was his house she stayed at. He's asking her permission to talk to Tony about this. Because he's her friend.
And he let them sit, because he's hurting, and he wanted them to hurt. No, he didn't want them to hurt. He wanted Tony to hurt, and he couldn't figure out how to do that without hurting her.
She exhales, loud. If Tony deserves any of this, she does, too. Jimmy doesn't know that, and she's thinking he's likely better off never knowing that, but…
And if Tony doesn't deserve this, and if she doesn't, then what is she saying to Jimmy? She's saying that what happened to Jimmy was okay. Because if it was wrong when Lee did it, then it was wrong when they did it. And if it wasn't wrong when they did it, then Jimmy's just got to suck it up and deal, because it was okay for Lee.
And it wasn't okay when Lee did it.
She hates this. She hates all of this, every single fucking second of this is torment. All of those hours… but… compared to what she would have done, if it had been her… "I accept your apology, Jimmy." Her voice is tight as she says it.
"Thank you. Anything I say or do to him that you think is over the line, you get as many free shots as you want on me." Of course, yesterday he gave her twenty minutes of free shots on him, because she was hurting. Yesterday, he let her literally hit him (well, he was dodging and moving around, too, but he put his physical body in the game, gave her the opportunity to beat it out on his skin) to make herself feel better.
And it's not the first time he's done that. Because, as of yesterday, anything she has ever needed from him, Jimmy has provided.
"You want to give Gibbs a call?" he asks as she's thinking about the fact that Jimmy will take literal, physical pain from her if it makes her feel better about herself. "Let him know. Tell him I'm handling it."
She sighs again. "I can do that."
"Thanks." He hangs up, and she puts her phone back in her pocket. Right now, talking to Gibbs sounds like
a VERY good idea.
"Balance challenge." Gibbs says it like a swear word. You're knee's all together, so new exercises, working on all of you, not just leg strength. Jimmy had said to him the last time they had a Bootcamp in the gym. Then Jimmy stood on one foot, which didn't look hard at all, then he closed his eyes. When you can do it, each leg, for twenty seconds, no wobbling, we'll move up to the next level.
Gibbs is horrendously embarrassed at how hard it is to stand on one foot with his eyes closed. He hasn't actually fallen over, yet, but he has had to touch the other foot down on more than one occasion.
He can do it with his eyes open, no problem at all. He can probably stand on one foot for as long as he can stand on two, with his eyes open. He just slips into sniper mode, patient, balanced, still, and it's no problem at all. Once those little bastards close, his weight starts to shift, his ankle goes wobbly, and two seconds later, he's got his second foot on the floor.
He's not exactly feeling great this morning, and teetering around on one foot is not improving things. Bad sleep, got some, but the ghosts of the whole Jeanne thing kept his sleep light and his dreams confusing.
But it is morning, and in the morning, he gets up, takes care of business, and then he does his exercises, so he's doing the damn things, and Mona's being 'helpful' by occasionally nosing one of his hands (he's holding them out to help balance, and she keeps thinking this is an offer for petting, so she noses him, and he tips over.) He spends five minutes on his left leg, trying to get to twenty seconds without wobbling, failing at it, and is getting ready to do five on his right when Mona looks up, and suddenly trots down the stairs.
Someone's coming in, fast.
Gibbs tosses on a t-shirt and some sweats and heads down just as Ziva walks in.
She's on her own, in her jogging gear, and he doesn't know exactly what's going on with her right now. Right now she's snuggling Mona, because it's easy to take comfort from a pet. He sits on the floor next to her, where her face is pressed against Mona's neck, and he strokes her back.
"News?"
She looks up at him and nods. "Yes. Jimmy called. The whole thing was a hoax."
Gibbs feels a hot flare of rage. "Did Jeanne put her mom up to it?"
Ziva shakes her head, sadly. "According to Jimmy, Jeanne died last week, and Helen…"
Gibbs nods, getting it, not needing more words. "C'mere." He wraps her in a hug and kisses the top of her head.
It's hitting Gibbs, as he's holding her, that this is not relief, there's some of that, but Ziva's doing her sad thing, and her angry thing, and her I-want-to-explode-but-there's-no-one-to-hit thing.
She's not talking, because she doesn't much like to talk about this stuff, but… there should be some happy here, right? He's feeling a lot more relieved right now, so she should, too, right?
Also, half the team is missing.
So, he quietly asks, 'Where's Tony?"
"At home. Jimmy's yelling at him."
Gibbs blinks at that. Ziva's got mad radiating off of her in all directions, so his first guess is that Jimmy is yelling at Tony for being a selfish dork who put his wife in a situation where she had to deal with this crap. Because that's a Jimmy thing to do.
Ziva pulls back, looks at Gibbs. "Can we run?"
He nods. She wants to run it off, that's fine with him. "Let me get my sneakers on." He gets up, grabs them, and sees Mona head back to Ziva and rub the top of her head against Ziva's chin.
He's laced up and they're on the porch when Ziva says, "He found out about Aiden, the child, last night. Didn't tell us until now."
Gibbs stops dead and stares at Ziva, he blinks slowly and licks his lips. He knows he heard what she said. Not like she mumbled or something. But, he can't make himself understand.
She can see him staring at her, trying to put the pieces together.
"I was running, thinking, too much thinking all night long, because we were sitting there steeping in this… torture… And I'd been making myself not… I kept saying she should have told Tony, because then I could be angry at her, because I don't want to be angry at him, not right now, not when he's hurting that bad.
"But I could not keep thinking she should have told him. I started to think about what if it had been me. It could have been me. So many men wanted my father dead, for so many reasons. If Tali had lived and… I could have had a life where I would have been a target.
"If it had been me, I never would have told him. Never. And I would have done much, much worse to a man if I found he had been lying to me for months, almost a year, using me like that. Ray used me for a few days, and that… that hurt. Weeks? Months? Everything, all of it a lie?" She shakes her head, and then meets Gibbs' eyes, saying, voice soft, dangerous, "I would have done much, much worse."
Gibbs is feeling very confused, but he's standing there quietly, waiting, letting her get it out.
"Then Jimmy calls, and it's all a lie. And I was starting to feel better, some, about the child and what we'd have to do, at least. There's still, our own… issues… And Jimmy is apologizing to me, which did not make much sense. Because, he had not done anything to me, but he is being very sincere and…
"And then it did make sense, because he has known since last night. He went to talk to Helen, to make sure she would not try anything again, last night. And he let us sit. And… And I want to hit him so hard. Because… the worry, and the fear, and the hurt… But… What if it had been me? What if I had been the target? What would I have done to a man who used me like that? If I had been a target, what would I do to any man who used a woman like that?"
Gibbs is still a step behind. He's getting Ziva starting to feel for Jeanne, but he's not seeing how Jimmy fits into this.
Ziva can see that Gibbs isn't putting it together on his own, either. "Do you remember Lee?"
Gibbs nods, pieces snapping into place.
"Jimmy was the target. And… somehow that never hit me before today. Somehow, I never put that together.
"He let us sit to get back at Tony. Because he knows Tony used Jeanne as a target. And, I want to hit him for it, hard. Want to break a hand on him, because it hurt." She's staring up at Gibbs, and her face is making it clear exactly how bad last night was. He'd offered to stay with them, but they left anyway. He should have gone with them.
"And I understand why he did it. Because twelve hours would not even begin to cover what I would want to do to someone who did that to me. And… And I have my own Jeanne, but Jimmy does not know that. A man I never thought twice about, but… But today, I am thinking about him, wondering what happened to him.
"I hate this whole thing, Gibbs. I hate every angle of it. I hate every inch of it. I hate every minute of this. And I am so mad at everyone right now." Ziva squares her shoulders. "Can we just run?"
"For as long as you need."
So they run. Running is good, because it's letting Gibbs get things into place. Sort of. Jimmy found the kid. Last he heard Tim was looking, but… Okay, Jimmy found him, which means… Medical databases, Tim doesn't have access to them, and Jimmy does.
So, Tim stalls out, Jimmy gets into the game.
He finds Aiden.
And then…
And then Gibbs stalls out because he's not sure how this works. He wants to ask more, but she very clearly does not want to talk.
So they keep running.
Round the block, through the park, down the side street, and back again. It's a mile and a half loop, he usually does it twice. But when they get back to his house, she stops, and goes to sit on the porch. Of course, judging by how she looked and what time it was, she's already done her full morning jog, on top of this.
He pats Mona. "That's it girl. Go play."
She trots off to the backyard. She'll probably be back with her ball, soon.
"I am so angry at him."
Gibbs nods. What Jimmy pulled looks like a shit thing to him. "Want me to go slap him upside the head?"
She laughs, a little, at that.
"He is already slapping himself right and left."
"Wait, Jimmy pulled this, but he feels bad about it?"
She blinks slowly. "I was talking about Tony. But yes, if you want to slap Jimmy, I'd approve."
Gibbs nods. A visit to NCIS just went onto the schedule for today.
She half-smiles, self-depreciating, not happy. "It feels stupid. I know all of this about him. I knew about it when it was happening. I've known about it since, and… I was okay with it. I had forgiven him for that year. I thought I was at peace with it, but…
"But it's back?"
She nods. "It's rule number one, Gibbs. Don't screw your partner! I was his partner, and that year... The lies, lie after lie after lie, and I was so worried for him, and he just left me hanging."
"He had orders."
"When do we ever follow orders to screw each other? 'It's a case. I can't talk about it. When I can, I'll tell you.' How hard would that have been?"
Gibbs nods. "And you two were more than partners, then, right?"
Ziva's mildly surprised to hear that, but only mildly. Of course, he figured it out. "Not once you got back. His team, his rules. Your team, your rules. How did you know?"
"The way he looked when you called me in for help instead of him. The way you were acting. Known a few jealous women over the years."
She inclines her head at that. She was jealous, and worried, and angry. Anyone who knew what it looked like could identify it.
She had called Gibbs in because she didn't want Tony to get in trouble. He read it as she called Gibbs in because she didn't trust him to save her. They couldn't get past that, and when it was clear Gibbs was staying, she ended things. "His team, his rules," she had said to Tony, and left him in the break room on his own.
"I should be done with this. Yesterday I was done with this. Today, I want to slap him for being stupid. He got in too deep and didn't ask for help, and…" She sighs, gritting her teeth. "He wasn't careful with Jeanne."
Gibbs can feel that's a live wire, but he can also see she's not ready to touch it yet.
"I want to dig Jenny up and shoot her. She knew how to run that mission right. She knew Tony was not trained for it or capable of pulling out smooth. She knew he wasn't hard enough for it.
"We had both run honeytraps. We'd run one together. I know she knew how to do it right. How to get in and out clean. How to take out the target. And… and now, all I can think is that Jeanne was her target, because I am certain she did not tell Tony that this was supposed to end with him killing Benoit. He wasn't hard enough for Jeanne; he certainly wasn't hard enough for wetwork."
He rubs her back, gently. He knows he can't fix this, can't make it right or better. "You want some breakfast?"
"Sure. Send Jimmy a bill."
He looks at her curiously.
"Breakfast is on him." She shakes her head. "I hate being angry at him, too. He asked my permission to talk to Tony, offered to let me sit in on it. He apologized to me because he didn't want me to hurt about it, but couldn't figure out how to not hit me, too. He let me beat it out on him yesterday, gave me a huge pile of information, found the kid, and talked to Helen.
"And he let me sit. Once he figured out it wasn't real, that this wasn't something we'd have to deal with for the rest of our lives, that we weren't going to be burying a child or dealing with a massive custody battle, something in his head switched and…"
Gibbs nods, that makes a more sense, once the immediate danger was over, Jimmy could stop just looking out for his friends and start to think about himself. "Look out when a good man goes to war."
"Yeah. I shouldn't have let Tony take that alone. But I'm afraid that if I get in the middle of it, I'm going to start yelling at both of them."
Gibbs nods. They're in his kitchen now. "Eggs?"
Ziva nods.
"Milchig or parve?"
"Doesn't matter. I have not eaten yet."
She starts the coffee while he gets his pan set and begins cooking up the eggs. Once he's got the eggs on plates and they're both sitting down, he says, "Wanna tell me the rest of it? There's more than fallout from Jeanne here."
She shrugs.
"It's personal."
"Okay. But… you want to say it… It's okay, you know?"
She nods, chewing, sipping her coffee. Not saying anything.
"Want me to tell Jimmy these eggs were coated in gold and had those really expensive mushrooms cooked into 'em?"
She smiles a little, appreciating him trying to joke with her. "With caviar and powdered diamonds on top."
"I can do that." He thinks about it a bit more seriously. "Two thousand dollar eggs? And maybe a long weekend somewhere nice for you and Tony? Get your personal stuff talked out?"
She sighs… "We are talking. We have talked." Another quiet moment. "I know all of this. I have known all of this. I knew it before we got married and signed on anyway. But it's harder, now. This child wasn't his. But the next one? Or the one after that? They have to be out there. No way there isn't at least one, and probably more.
"Once he knew, he wanted to know that child. He wanted to be part of his life. That he was Jeanne's complicated things, but if this hadn't been Jeanne… If it had been one of the ladies from a bar or a club… If that had been the case he would have dived right in…
"But with me… he is scared. With me, he doesn't want to make a baby. With me he isn't interested in just jumping in." She stabs her egg with her fork. "That's not entirely fair. Like I said, we have talked, we are talking, and we're trying for a baby but… that is how it feels. He could knock up strangers with abandon and glee, but with me…" she's looking at her eggs, then she looks up at Gibbs. "Got anything that makes this better?"
He shakes his head. "Want me to slap him upside the back of the head when I get done with Jimmy?"
She shakes her head, and looks over at the clock. "I should get going. Still have to get ready for work. Have to see what sort of a mess is at home."
Gibbs nods.
"What are you going to do?"
She shrugs. "Right now, he's having a worse day than I am, so I will be there for him and I will support him, and I will make him feel better. Tomorrow, he will be there for me. And we'll get it worked out."
Gibbs nods. "Jimmy?"
She shrugs. "I have already accepted his apology. We're not doing carpentry this week for bootcamp, though."
Gibbs nods at that, too. "Okay. Not going to the house today. I'll have my cell on, and I'll head over to NCIS later. You want me, you track me down, okay?"
"Okay."
She stands up to go, and he does too, hugging her close for a moment, kissing the top of her head.
Next
Chapter 379: Ziva
A/N: For reference, it might be a good idea to re-read chapters 255 and 257.
Running. Usually running is good. Feet moving forward, speed, wind, earth below, sky above, quiet mind in between.
Usually.
Today isn't doing it for Ziva.
She can't get into her running zen. Can't quiet her mind.
The last time she had this hard of a time getting out of her mind when she ran, it was the day after Lt. Sanders died. She ran the loop from his direction, mourned the lost opportunity of him, missed him, and then tried to make herself forget.
In that she wore his hat every time she ran until it was destroyed when her apartment blew up, it's safe to say she didn't succeed.
She's tired. That's part of it. It's always difficult to find peace when you're aching tired.
She's sad. There's no way this will work out well. There's no happy ending where Jeanne and Tony get along and they all get to be some sort of functional extended family. They still don't know what they're going to do about this child. If he wasn't Jeanne's Tony would be all for trying to get involved in his life, but he is Jeannes, so they aren't sure.
Tony researched bone marrow donation most of the night, and she had a long chat with Draga about what sorts of rights a father has. Apparently, a DNA match doesn't offer much in the way of rights. According to him, the only reason he's been able to have any luck on getting shared custody of Kevin is because his name is on the birth certificate, and since the day he was born, Kevin has been listed as one of his dependents.
But Tony and Jeanne were never married, and because they've got no idea what she's got written on this child's birth certificate, it's entirely possible that even if they go to court, they cannot get visitation rights. If she's got another man's name on that certificate, and if Tony does not match for the bone marrow donation, he likely won't even have standing to demand a paternity test.
Assuming they can prove paternity, given the story of how this child came to be, it's likely they can't get visitation rights. Ziva knows how that case would go, she's spent more than enough time with lawyers to see that whoever Jeanne hires will make the defense that Jeanne was effectively raped, that the psychic damage on her of having Tony around will be too high, and that Tony has no rights to this child, at all.
And, since NCIS had no legal standing for the case against Le Grenouille, if said lawyer is really sharp, he'll counter-sue Tony for what he did to Jeanne. After all, there was no warrant, no court order, NCIS does not have jurisdiction over civilians engaging in civilian cases. A counter-suit on this would be horrendously embarrassing to NCIS and might actually land Tony in jail.
All of that is a heartache.
Then there's fear. Jimmy sent them a list of links on bone marrow donation, another list on bone marrow diseases. They'd been online, pretty much all night, reading over everything he'd sent them. From everything they've been able to find, parent-child matches are rare, really rare. So the possibility that this might work is almost non-existent.
From everything they were reading, it would have made more sense to use the child's own bone marrow. They've got some sort of technique to suck it out, clean it up, and put it back in again. Or, suck it out, muck around with it, and grow new, clean marrow from the stem cells. Either of those is way more likely to work, no rejection issues, and if Helen's hunted down Tony for this, it likely means those techniques have failed.
And if they've failed… If the cancer (if it is cancer, that seems most likely though) has come back…
If they've failed, attempting another transplant, from a foreign donor… Either there's a piece they're missing, or Helen and Jeanne are torturing this child because they aren't willing to let him go.
More heartache, because if that's true… If that's true then you have to do something about it. You don't let a child suffer, not like that, not if there's not much shot of it actually working. You don't just 'do something' to do something. The potential for healing has to outweigh the pain.
But, Lord, coming in, now, with 'I want access to my child' will be hard enough. 'I want access so you can stop medically torturing him, and let him die in peace…' Just the idea of trying to make that case makes Ziva clench her jaw so hard her teeth ache.
Beyond all of that there's anger.
Jeanne should have told him. She's said that like seven times now and keeps repeating it in her mind.
Jeanne should have told. A child has a right to know his father. And as soon as she knew she was pregnant she should have found Tony and told him.
Ziva keeps saying that to herself, building up her own anger with it. But each repetition is more hollow. Each time she says it, she musters less outrage at Jeanne.
And she knows why it's not working. Because as time goes by, and hours pass, and the more she thinks about this child, the more she has to think about Jeanne, and how this child came to be.
She can hold a moment's rage at Jeanne for not telling, and she wishes she could hold more, but in the end, thinking about, feet pounding the pavement, if the same thing had happened to her… If she had been the target, and she certainly could have been… Not like her father didn't have enemies galore, and it's not like he was easy to get to. Part of her training was to make sure she never did trust anyone, because that way she couldn't be used, not the way Jeanne was.
Her father knew there were Tonys out there. Her father made sure her boyfriends had full, deep, background checks. Her father drilled into her head that trust is dangerous, and trust could lead to deep, deep pain, so it was to be handed out slowly, carefully, only to people who had earned it with blood. And as Bodnar proved, even after it is earned in blood, it can be lost, so easily.
But… If her father was less careful. Or if Tali hadn't died… She would have been a ballerina, dancing in Paris or Moscow or New York. She would have had boyfriends. Men who came to see the shows, and if one of them had been kind, paid attention, loved her… If he was charming, and witty, and funny. If he lavished her with praise and attention and desire… If she had been the target, if a man had used her, lied to her, and gotten her pregnant… Would she have told him?
No, she never would have told him.
Jeanne had her baby, and then came back and tried to frame Tony for murder.
Ziva tries to think about what she would have done, how she would have reacted. She slapped the shit out of Ray, arrested him, and walked off. But that is NCIS Agent Ziva, who believes in things like law. And Ray wasn't using her, not the way Tony used Jeanne. She knew who he was, she knew what he did. She knew she was getting involved with a professional liar. She had already detached from him, had already begun to grow some distance when he tried to use her.
And it still hurt. And she still burned her tears with hate, and made Gibbs drive her home, and she turned away from him, not letting him see the pain, headed into her place, and beat the hell out of her pillows, ran ten miles, and then forced herself to be calm.
Then she went back to work, and buried all of it in the job.
What if it had been from day one? If from day one everything with Ray had always been an act… If one day she had a man she loved who was moving in with her, and the next it he was out to kill her father and she was pregnant…
What if Ray had done that?
No, she wouldn't have framed him for murder. And she wouldn't have stopped at just hitting him. She would have killed him. And that would have been that.
Confusion trumps anger. If she was the target, she'd rage, but she's been on Tony's side of it, too. She's run this op, twice, and both times she used her looks, her charm, her humor, and walked into a the target's home and killed him.
One time she seduced the target. One time she seduced his son.
The time it was the target, it went fast. Third date, back to his place, he had certain expectations of how that night was going to go. It didn't go that way. In, out, done, clean. She got everything in his hard drive, all of his files, and hasn't been back to Prague since.
The time it was the target's son, it went slow. Deep cover. Took months before he invited her home to meet his family. She eagerly accepted that invitation. His family was Catholic, devout, or at least his mother and sisters were, so they each had their own room. When Philippe suggested it was bedtime, that first night, she'd smiled at him, said she was heading to the kitchen to get a bottle of wine, and that he should meet her in bed in an hour. He'd grinned and headed off, huge smile on his face, looking forward to sneaking around.
She'd headed to his father's office, knocked quietly, and when he opened the door, all he saw was a pretty girl, with long curly hair, wearing a sundress and cute, little sandals. He'd smiled at her, too, and she'd asked him some sort of question about the family, stepping in, closing the door, setting him at ease. By the time the door was closed, she had him in a choke hold. Ten seconds later he was unconscious. A minute later he was dead. Two minutes after that, she walked out, with a bottle of wine, going to get some fresh air and enjoy the countryside.
It can be very difficult to get into a place, but it's usually not very difficult, especially if you are willing to walk and leave all of your things behind, to get out of one.
She walked away, found the motorcycle waiting for her three miles away, and was gone before anyone knew she was missing.
She's never regretted that kill, never thought twice about Philippe. But right now, she is, and she hates the way that feels. He probably looked for her when he noticed she wasn't in her room. He may have been the one who found his father. It wouldn't have taken long after his family knew what had happened to start putting it together, blame him for bringing home the woman who killed Papa.
She wonders, now, how he dealt with that.
Papa led a branch of the Basque Separatists. Now, she wonders if Philippe, who studied sculpture and music in Barcelona, had been killed for bringing home the woman who killed his father.
Confusion and hate and regret slip to anger as her feet pound over the pavement. Anger at Tony. On one level, the big level, the one she feels stupid for, there's just the rush of 'How could you possibly be so fucking stupid?' It was a long time ago. She knows this about him. She knows his past is a wasteland of reckless sexual encounters, any one of which may have produced a child.
When they were talking about it, before they got married, and she asked how many women he'd slept with, his best guess was 'about a thousand.' She thought he was kidding until he broke it down. First time at sixteen. He was forty-five when they had that conversation, so almost thirty years. Five years with Wendy cut it down to twenty-four. Not much action from sixteen to eighteen. Call it twenty-two years of an active sex life. He got to college and got to be one of the stars on the basketball team. Two or three girls a week in college. Two or three a week for the year after Wendy. He figured those five years covered about five hundred girls. The other seventeen years worked out to about thirty women a year, or about one every other week. Factor in Spring Breaks in Florida and dry spells, and that was about right for him.
She thought she was okay with that. At the time, she was okay with that. She's had more than enough partners of her own that she's not going to complain about what he did before they were together.
But right now, especially knowing that Tony wasn't careful with Jeanne, that's really pissing her off.
And she's pissed at herself for being pissed about that. It can't be changed. None of this is blindsiding her or a shock. But it still hurts. She's pissed that this hurts so much. Tony has a child. A child who isn't hers, and that aches.
He's so skittish about making a baby with her, but he spent twenty years more or less spraying sperm around at random like some sort of fertility garden sprinkler, but for her, for a woman he loves and has a future with... No, with her, he's scared.
They talk about it in counseling. She knows rushing him is a bad idea.
And he's said that it's like standing on the edge of the cliff looking off. He can't make himself jump, but that, if he just got a good hard shove, once he landed, he'd be fine. But he needs the shove. So, she's shoving.
They're 'trying' for a baby. But she can feel he's not really comfortable with it. He can't fully relax into it, though he's 'trying.' And she can feel it's getting better, but better and good aren't the same thing and she doesn't know how to get him to good.
But with Jeanne, he could just be in the moment and 'forget.' With Jeanne, he could make a baby. And that hurts so much worse than she thought it would.
Her phone chirps at her, and she stops running. You on your jog? From Jimmy.
She looks around, really noticing that she's about ten minutes from home. Yes.
Whole thing was a hoax. There is kid, but he was born in '10, he's not sick. Jeanne died last week, and Helen went a bit crazy.
She stares at that. For a good five seconds her head is completely blank. She's got no idea, at all, how to even begin to feel about it. Eventually, she feels like she can breathe. Like a huge weight is gone. And sure, some of this stuff won't go away just because this has, but the biggest part, the what do we do now part, that's gone.
Her shoulders slump, tension spiraling out of her, relief washing over her, pulling away a lot, but not all, of the anger and fear and hurt that's been aching through her for the last day.
Her phone chirps again. I haven't told Tony, yet. Want to talk to him, in person, alone. Is that okay?
What would Jimmy want to say to Tony about this on his own? Why?
Got some things to say to him about this. He's not going to like them. You might not, either.
Ice goes down her spine. There's no kid. It's a hoax… Jeanne's dead… Did she commit suicide? Lord, did the thing with Tony screw her up that badly? Does Jimmy want to protect her from that? Things about Jeanne? she texts quickly.
No. Anything I know about her, I'll tell you, too. Things about him and me. You want to be there for this, that's fine, just be easier the two of us.
That makes no sense to her at all. Why would Jimmy want to talk to Tony about Jeanne, and what would it have to do with him? Jimmy?
What do you remember about Michelle Lee?
And then she gets it. What would she have done if she was the target? How would she react if someone had spent months lying to her? God, Jimmy was the target. He can't be cool with this because it happened to him. She punches his number into her phone. A second later she says, "Hi."
"Hi, Ziva."
"I remember Lee. I was the only one she didn't try to convince she did the right thing."
"Not the only one."
She supposes that's likely true. She can't imagine what Lee might have said to Jimmy. "I'm sorry. I… knew, but…"
"Didn't put it together?"
"Yes."
"Because I'm a guy? And as long as I got laid, I was getting what I wanted, so what's the problem? Guys don't get used, they don't feel bad about it after, not if they get sex, right?"
She winces; he sounds so bitter and so hurt about that. The fact is that it never hit her, at all, that Jimmy got used, until two minutes ago. Why? Then she knows. "That's part of it, yes. Mostly though, because you ended it, before it blew up."
"Yeah. I did. Still bit me in the ass, though. Still got hauled in for questioning, for treason. Still… still had to deal with… all of it."
She can feel the pain in his voice. "I'm sorry."
"Yeah, well… Anyway, got some things to say to Tony. About using people. About sexually using someone. They aren't complimentary. He's unlikely to enjoy them. If you wanted to get yourself some breakfast, say for two hours or so, it's my treat."
She nods. The silence stretches for another second. She's got too much rolling around her mind right now, so she asks again, "It really is a hoax?"
She hears Jimmy sigh. "Yeah. It is. Jeanne was in a car accident last week. She died. Helen... I don't know how she came up with it, but making Tony hurt seemed like a good idea to her. I've already talked to Helen, she's not going to pull anything again." Jimmy stops for a second there. "Ziva, I'm sorry this screws you, too…"
Something feels off about that. He was sorry yesterday, too. Sorry that she was stuck with this mess, stuck with having to deal with the emotional fall out of her husband's stupidity. And yesterday, she definitely got the sense that Jimmy was not thrilled with Tony for having done something that would put her in this position, but that for the most part he was all about making sure they got through it as easily as possible.
But she's not feeling that anymore, and he's still apologizing. Ziva's starting to wonder what the hell just happened, because this is too much for sympathy.
"I really am. I'm sorry you're in the middle of this. I'm sorry this isn't just done, and we can't just all relax and kick back and let it go. I'm sorry, for you, to you, that I can't just let it go. I want to. I'm a lot happier not thinking about this. But, right now, I can't get this out of my head, because I was where Jeanne was. So, I've got to go yell at him. And I know I'm going to hurt him, and I know that's going to hurt you, and I'm really sorry about that, because I don't want to be hurting you, but I don't know how I can stop hating him without it hitting you, too."
It takes her a second to sort through all of that, and find the relevant part. Jimmy's already talked to Helen. Which means he's known about this long enough to find her and have a conversation with her.
"You've already spoken to Helen?" Her voice is cold.
"Yes."
"How long have you known?"
"Since around six last night." Twelve hours. He's known for twelve hours. "I got into Aiden, the boy's, medical records around then. Couldn't find him on the bone marrow registry, so I went into the Federal Medical Database. Then I looked Helen up, found when she was on shift, and made sure she'd never pull anything on Tony again."
Her eyes close and her hand fists. Jimmy went out of his way to find the child for them. He went to see Helen to protect them. And then he let them stew for a night. She's smiling, but it's not a happy gesture.
What would you do if it had been you?
"Ziva?"
"You and McGee were working together to find Aiden?"
"Yeah. Tim was coming up empty because he had a name, but the wrong birthday, so... technically you aren't supposed to look up people who aren't your patients, but... any doctor has access to any patient, because you never know who'll roll in your door. It was the most direct way to get the information about him."
She forces her fist to relax. He broke the law to find the child for them. Because he's their friend. He talked to Helen, because he didn't want anything bad to happen to them. When everything was going bonkers with Tony last summer, he was the one she spent hours talking with. He was the one who suggested they try marriage counseling. It was his house she stayed at. He's asking her permission to talk to Tony about this. Because he's her friend.
And he let them sit, because he's hurting, and he wanted them to hurt. No, he didn't want them to hurt. He wanted Tony to hurt, and he couldn't figure out how to do that without hurting her.
She exhales, loud. If Tony deserves any of this, she does, too. Jimmy doesn't know that, and she's thinking he's likely better off never knowing that, but…
And if Tony doesn't deserve this, and if she doesn't, then what is she saying to Jimmy? She's saying that what happened to Jimmy was okay. Because if it was wrong when Lee did it, then it was wrong when they did it. And if it wasn't wrong when they did it, then Jimmy's just got to suck it up and deal, because it was okay for Lee.
And it wasn't okay when Lee did it.
She hates this. She hates all of this, every single fucking second of this is torment. All of those hours… but… compared to what she would have done, if it had been her… "I accept your apology, Jimmy." Her voice is tight as she says it.
"Thank you. Anything I say or do to him that you think is over the line, you get as many free shots as you want on me." Of course, yesterday he gave her twenty minutes of free shots on him, because she was hurting. Yesterday, he let her literally hit him (well, he was dodging and moving around, too, but he put his physical body in the game, gave her the opportunity to beat it out on his skin) to make herself feel better.
And it's not the first time he's done that. Because, as of yesterday, anything she has ever needed from him, Jimmy has provided.
"You want to give Gibbs a call?" he asks as she's thinking about the fact that Jimmy will take literal, physical pain from her if it makes her feel better about herself. "Let him know. Tell him I'm handling it."
She sighs again. "I can do that."
"Thanks." He hangs up, and she puts her phone back in her pocket. Right now, talking to Gibbs sounds like
a VERY good idea.
"Balance challenge." Gibbs says it like a swear word. You're knee's all together, so new exercises, working on all of you, not just leg strength. Jimmy had said to him the last time they had a Bootcamp in the gym. Then Jimmy stood on one foot, which didn't look hard at all, then he closed his eyes. When you can do it, each leg, for twenty seconds, no wobbling, we'll move up to the next level.
Gibbs is horrendously embarrassed at how hard it is to stand on one foot with his eyes closed. He hasn't actually fallen over, yet, but he has had to touch the other foot down on more than one occasion.
He can do it with his eyes open, no problem at all. He can probably stand on one foot for as long as he can stand on two, with his eyes open. He just slips into sniper mode, patient, balanced, still, and it's no problem at all. Once those little bastards close, his weight starts to shift, his ankle goes wobbly, and two seconds later, he's got his second foot on the floor.
He's not exactly feeling great this morning, and teetering around on one foot is not improving things. Bad sleep, got some, but the ghosts of the whole Jeanne thing kept his sleep light and his dreams confusing.
But it is morning, and in the morning, he gets up, takes care of business, and then he does his exercises, so he's doing the damn things, and Mona's being 'helpful' by occasionally nosing one of his hands (he's holding them out to help balance, and she keeps thinking this is an offer for petting, so she noses him, and he tips over.) He spends five minutes on his left leg, trying to get to twenty seconds without wobbling, failing at it, and is getting ready to do five on his right when Mona looks up, and suddenly trots down the stairs.
Someone's coming in, fast.
Gibbs tosses on a t-shirt and some sweats and heads down just as Ziva walks in.
She's on her own, in her jogging gear, and he doesn't know exactly what's going on with her right now. Right now she's snuggling Mona, because it's easy to take comfort from a pet. He sits on the floor next to her, where her face is pressed against Mona's neck, and he strokes her back.
"News?"
She looks up at him and nods. "Yes. Jimmy called. The whole thing was a hoax."
Gibbs feels a hot flare of rage. "Did Jeanne put her mom up to it?"
Ziva shakes her head, sadly. "According to Jimmy, Jeanne died last week, and Helen…"
Gibbs nods, getting it, not needing more words. "C'mere." He wraps her in a hug and kisses the top of her head.
It's hitting Gibbs, as he's holding her, that this is not relief, there's some of that, but Ziva's doing her sad thing, and her angry thing, and her I-want-to-explode-but-there's-no-one-to-hit thing.
She's not talking, because she doesn't much like to talk about this stuff, but… there should be some happy here, right? He's feeling a lot more relieved right now, so she should, too, right?
Also, half the team is missing.
So, he quietly asks, 'Where's Tony?"
"At home. Jimmy's yelling at him."
Gibbs blinks at that. Ziva's got mad radiating off of her in all directions, so his first guess is that Jimmy is yelling at Tony for being a selfish dork who put his wife in a situation where she had to deal with this crap. Because that's a Jimmy thing to do.
Ziva pulls back, looks at Gibbs. "Can we run?"
He nods. She wants to run it off, that's fine with him. "Let me get my sneakers on." He gets up, grabs them, and sees Mona head back to Ziva and rub the top of her head against Ziva's chin.
He's laced up and they're on the porch when Ziva says, "He found out about Aiden, the child, last night. Didn't tell us until now."
Gibbs stops dead and stares at Ziva, he blinks slowly and licks his lips. He knows he heard what she said. Not like she mumbled or something. But, he can't make himself understand.
She can see him staring at her, trying to put the pieces together.
"I was running, thinking, too much thinking all night long, because we were sitting there steeping in this… torture… And I'd been making myself not… I kept saying she should have told Tony, because then I could be angry at her, because I don't want to be angry at him, not right now, not when he's hurting that bad.
"But I could not keep thinking she should have told him. I started to think about what if it had been me. It could have been me. So many men wanted my father dead, for so many reasons. If Tali had lived and… I could have had a life where I would have been a target.
"If it had been me, I never would have told him. Never. And I would have done much, much worse to a man if I found he had been lying to me for months, almost a year, using me like that. Ray used me for a few days, and that… that hurt. Weeks? Months? Everything, all of it a lie?" She shakes her head, and then meets Gibbs' eyes, saying, voice soft, dangerous, "I would have done much, much worse."
Gibbs is feeling very confused, but he's standing there quietly, waiting, letting her get it out.
"Then Jimmy calls, and it's all a lie. And I was starting to feel better, some, about the child and what we'd have to do, at least. There's still, our own… issues… And Jimmy is apologizing to me, which did not make much sense. Because, he had not done anything to me, but he is being very sincere and…
"And then it did make sense, because he has known since last night. He went to talk to Helen, to make sure she would not try anything again, last night. And he let us sit. And… And I want to hit him so hard. Because… the worry, and the fear, and the hurt… But… What if it had been me? What if I had been the target? What would I have done to a man who used me like that? If I had been a target, what would I do to any man who used a woman like that?"
Gibbs is still a step behind. He's getting Ziva starting to feel for Jeanne, but he's not seeing how Jimmy fits into this.
Ziva can see that Gibbs isn't putting it together on his own, either. "Do you remember Lee?"
Gibbs nods, pieces snapping into place.
"Jimmy was the target. And… somehow that never hit me before today. Somehow, I never put that together.
"He let us sit to get back at Tony. Because he knows Tony used Jeanne as a target. And, I want to hit him for it, hard. Want to break a hand on him, because it hurt." She's staring up at Gibbs, and her face is making it clear exactly how bad last night was. He'd offered to stay with them, but they left anyway. He should have gone with them.
"And I understand why he did it. Because twelve hours would not even begin to cover what I would want to do to someone who did that to me. And… And I have my own Jeanne, but Jimmy does not know that. A man I never thought twice about, but… But today, I am thinking about him, wondering what happened to him.
"I hate this whole thing, Gibbs. I hate every angle of it. I hate every inch of it. I hate every minute of this. And I am so mad at everyone right now." Ziva squares her shoulders. "Can we just run?"
"For as long as you need."
So they run. Running is good, because it's letting Gibbs get things into place. Sort of. Jimmy found the kid. Last he heard Tim was looking, but… Okay, Jimmy found him, which means… Medical databases, Tim doesn't have access to them, and Jimmy does.
So, Tim stalls out, Jimmy gets into the game.
He finds Aiden.
And then…
And then Gibbs stalls out because he's not sure how this works. He wants to ask more, but she very clearly does not want to talk.
So they keep running.
Round the block, through the park, down the side street, and back again. It's a mile and a half loop, he usually does it twice. But when they get back to his house, she stops, and goes to sit on the porch. Of course, judging by how she looked and what time it was, she's already done her full morning jog, on top of this.
He pats Mona. "That's it girl. Go play."
She trots off to the backyard. She'll probably be back with her ball, soon.
"I am so angry at him."
Gibbs nods. What Jimmy pulled looks like a shit thing to him. "Want me to go slap him upside the head?"
She laughs, a little, at that.
"He is already slapping himself right and left."
"Wait, Jimmy pulled this, but he feels bad about it?"
She blinks slowly. "I was talking about Tony. But yes, if you want to slap Jimmy, I'd approve."
Gibbs nods. A visit to NCIS just went onto the schedule for today.
She half-smiles, self-depreciating, not happy. "It feels stupid. I know all of this about him. I knew about it when it was happening. I've known about it since, and… I was okay with it. I had forgiven him for that year. I thought I was at peace with it, but…
"But it's back?"
She nods. "It's rule number one, Gibbs. Don't screw your partner! I was his partner, and that year... The lies, lie after lie after lie, and I was so worried for him, and he just left me hanging."
"He had orders."
"When do we ever follow orders to screw each other? 'It's a case. I can't talk about it. When I can, I'll tell you.' How hard would that have been?"
Gibbs nods. "And you two were more than partners, then, right?"
Ziva's mildly surprised to hear that, but only mildly. Of course, he figured it out. "Not once you got back. His team, his rules. Your team, your rules. How did you know?"
"The way he looked when you called me in for help instead of him. The way you were acting. Known a few jealous women over the years."
She inclines her head at that. She was jealous, and worried, and angry. Anyone who knew what it looked like could identify it.
She had called Gibbs in because she didn't want Tony to get in trouble. He read it as she called Gibbs in because she didn't trust him to save her. They couldn't get past that, and when it was clear Gibbs was staying, she ended things. "His team, his rules," she had said to Tony, and left him in the break room on his own.
"I should be done with this. Yesterday I was done with this. Today, I want to slap him for being stupid. He got in too deep and didn't ask for help, and…" She sighs, gritting her teeth. "He wasn't careful with Jeanne."
Gibbs can feel that's a live wire, but he can also see she's not ready to touch it yet.
"I want to dig Jenny up and shoot her. She knew how to run that mission right. She knew Tony was not trained for it or capable of pulling out smooth. She knew he wasn't hard enough for it.
"We had both run honeytraps. We'd run one together. I know she knew how to do it right. How to get in and out clean. How to take out the target. And… and now, all I can think is that Jeanne was her target, because I am certain she did not tell Tony that this was supposed to end with him killing Benoit. He wasn't hard enough for Jeanne; he certainly wasn't hard enough for wetwork."
He rubs her back, gently. He knows he can't fix this, can't make it right or better. "You want some breakfast?"
"Sure. Send Jimmy a bill."
He looks at her curiously.
"Breakfast is on him." She shakes her head. "I hate being angry at him, too. He asked my permission to talk to Tony, offered to let me sit in on it. He apologized to me because he didn't want me to hurt about it, but couldn't figure out how to not hit me, too. He let me beat it out on him yesterday, gave me a huge pile of information, found the kid, and talked to Helen.
"And he let me sit. Once he figured out it wasn't real, that this wasn't something we'd have to deal with for the rest of our lives, that we weren't going to be burying a child or dealing with a massive custody battle, something in his head switched and…"
Gibbs nods, that makes a more sense, once the immediate danger was over, Jimmy could stop just looking out for his friends and start to think about himself. "Look out when a good man goes to war."
"Yeah. I shouldn't have let Tony take that alone. But I'm afraid that if I get in the middle of it, I'm going to start yelling at both of them."
Gibbs nods. They're in his kitchen now. "Eggs?"
Ziva nods.
"Milchig or parve?"
"Doesn't matter. I have not eaten yet."
She starts the coffee while he gets his pan set and begins cooking up the eggs. Once he's got the eggs on plates and they're both sitting down, he says, "Wanna tell me the rest of it? There's more than fallout from Jeanne here."
She shrugs.
"It's personal."
"Okay. But… you want to say it… It's okay, you know?"
She nods, chewing, sipping her coffee. Not saying anything.
"Want me to tell Jimmy these eggs were coated in gold and had those really expensive mushrooms cooked into 'em?"
She smiles a little, appreciating him trying to joke with her. "With caviar and powdered diamonds on top."
"I can do that." He thinks about it a bit more seriously. "Two thousand dollar eggs? And maybe a long weekend somewhere nice for you and Tony? Get your personal stuff talked out?"
She sighs… "We are talking. We have talked." Another quiet moment. "I know all of this. I have known all of this. I knew it before we got married and signed on anyway. But it's harder, now. This child wasn't his. But the next one? Or the one after that? They have to be out there. No way there isn't at least one, and probably more.
"Once he knew, he wanted to know that child. He wanted to be part of his life. That he was Jeanne's complicated things, but if this hadn't been Jeanne… If it had been one of the ladies from a bar or a club… If that had been the case he would have dived right in…
"But with me… he is scared. With me, he doesn't want to make a baby. With me he isn't interested in just jumping in." She stabs her egg with her fork. "That's not entirely fair. Like I said, we have talked, we are talking, and we're trying for a baby but… that is how it feels. He could knock up strangers with abandon and glee, but with me…" she's looking at her eggs, then she looks up at Gibbs. "Got anything that makes this better?"
He shakes his head. "Want me to slap him upside the back of the head when I get done with Jimmy?"
She shakes her head, and looks over at the clock. "I should get going. Still have to get ready for work. Have to see what sort of a mess is at home."
Gibbs nods.
"What are you going to do?"
She shrugs. "Right now, he's having a worse day than I am, so I will be there for him and I will support him, and I will make him feel better. Tomorrow, he will be there for me. And we'll get it worked out."
Gibbs nods. "Jimmy?"
She shrugs. "I have already accepted his apology. We're not doing carpentry this week for bootcamp, though."
Gibbs nods at that, too. "Okay. Not going to the house today. I'll have my cell on, and I'll head over to NCIS later. You want me, you track me down, okay?"
"Okay."
She stands up to go, and he does too, hugging her close for a moment, kissing the top of her head.
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