Keryl Raist's Blog, page 40

38 Weeks: The Thirty-Second Week

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



Week Thirty Two:
"Why are we doing this?" Michael asked as they headed, him carrying two pillows, towards their doctor's office. "I thought you were all in favor of the lots of drugs version of labor and delivery."
"I am in favor of lots of drugs. But apparently it can hurt for weeks before the drugs get to be part of this, and one of your mom's buddies was talking about how Lamaze training is really good for dealing with the stress of the baby after it's born."
"I can understand that, but why are we going to a class? Don't they have videos online or something?"
"They probably do. Just humor me. We'll go, we'll learn, we'll sit on the floor and breathe, and then come home and eat some frozen yogurt."
"Okay."
Ever since full-on summer had shown up, Michael can't keep enough frozen yogurt in the house. Fi's been gulping it down, as one of the few things that keep her comfortably cool.
He's at the point where he's wearing suits all the time, not because he's got anything particularly formal to do, but because, as a resident of south Florida, he doesn't own any sweaters, and the jacket keeps him comfortably warm in their home.

**************************
Lamaze classes are painfully boring. Maybe if he hadn't read everything in all of the books his mom got. Maybe if, after having done that, he hadn't gotten several obstetrics textbooks and then read them.  And maybe if he hadn't spent hours on line watching live births, both vaginal and c-sections, he would have felt like he was learning something.
As it is, he's feeling awfully over-prepared for this whole thing.
He watches Fi do the whole breathing thing, doing it with her, and feels like this is pretty silly. He got better training than this from the CIA, and he's sure Fi's good with this, too.  After all, it's not like either of them are new to the idea of focusing, forcing themselves to relax, and just go with it.
That's anti-interrogation 101.
He is amused to see the focus items the other couples bring. There are pretty pictures, a few stuffed animals, some small random bits of art, a redhead and her husband have a tiny pewter dragon, and he and Fi have a detonator.  It's not set to blow anything, but as Fi said, "It's supposed to help me focus, and nothing makes me focus better than explosives." He couldn't argue with that, so they brought it.
The redhead sees it, nudges her husband, and smiles at them, but no one else in the class seems to know what it is.
At the end of class they walk out, and Michael says, "So, yogurt at home or out?"
"Out, I want toppings."
"Not a problem." He never anticipated his free yogurt with unlimited toppings for life card was going to come in this handy. But lately Fi's wanted lots of chocolate yogurt with tons of peanut butter sauce on it.
When they get there, she sits down and he fetches the yogurt. She's still limping from her damaged hip, and sitting or lying down seems to hurt a lot less than walking. Doc Johnson had said that from the looks of it, the suture between her sacrum and ilium had slipped, which is normal for small women with large babies, but the result of that is whenever she goes to take a step the muscles that stabilize her pelvis have to work a whole lot harder than normal. So, it's going to hurt until the baby is born and those bones have a chance to get back to where they belong. The good news is that most women heal up from this with no long term issues.
He sets the yogurt in front of her. "Do you want to go back?"
She takes a bite. "Not really. I don't feel like they had anything to offer I didn't already know."
"Me either."
"I appreciate you going."
He smiles and takes a bite of his blueberry yogurt. "Thanks."
*****************************

On Thursday, the furniture showed up.
Friday and Saturday were punctuated by the sounds of power tools, occasional cursing, but mostly laughing. Sure, Fi had left for the "modification" of the nursery, and since the paint fumes ended up giving her a headache when she went in to check on it, not being there was probably a good thing, but she was there for furniture building.
The four of them, Sam, Jesse, Fi, and Michael sat in a small room, playing with power tools, putting together a crib, a dresser, a changing table, and a rocking chair, and enjoyed it.
It occurs to Michael that this is probably the last time for what will probably be quite a while that all four of them will work together on something, and that lends a bittersweet quality to the work.
******************************

On Saturday night, his mom, Katherine, and Elsa come over for dinner, and to see the grand unveiling of the nursery.
The walls and furniture all are crisp, cool white. The trim and bedding is a soft, rosy pink, feminine but nothing reminiscent of Barbie.  The details, like the cushions on the rocking chair, the drawer pulls, the pad on the changing table, and the curtains are a dusty yellow-green.
It's a welcoming place, and as the Grandmas ohh and ahh over it, Michael can imagine Fi, sitting in that chair, nursing Elise, as he leans against the door and watches.
During dinner, as they trade tales of stubborn furniture and not having all the right pieces, he realizes that yes, this might be the last job they all gather for, for a while, but it's not the last time they'll all be together. These people will be here, together, in the coming months to enjoy each other and welcome this child into their family.
And that thought arcs through bittersweet and fills Michael with a sense of peace and hope. 

Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction

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


A long time ago, when he and his sister still lived in California with their parents, Tim started reading Dave Barry.

He remembers one of the books, Marriage an/or Sex, maybe? Probably... Anyway, in one of the books Dave was talking about how people behave differently before they have an affair and during. Before they joke, and flirt, and play up the sexual tension. After they suddenly become all courteous and professional, doing nothing even remotely out of line, and by suddenly acting that way, they might as well post on Facebook that they're sleeping together.

This thought is going through his mind because he's getting dressed for Jimmy and Brianna's belated wedding reception.

It's a Saturday, and they have the day off of work. If it had been a work day, he probably would have given Abby a lift, and then "dropped her back at her car." But it's not a work day. And he lives nowhere near Abby. So he's not giving her a ride.

In fact, he's giving Ziva a ride, because she lives ten minutes from his place, and carpooling makes sense.

But Abby will be there, and he's trying to figure out how he would have acted before they started sleeping together, so he can do a good job of mimicking that. He's fairly certain he wouldn't have spent the entire night dancing with her.

He knows they've been to Christmas parties before, and memory has it they'd usually dance with each other about a third of the time. He'd get more dances than the rest of the co-workers, but not all of them, or even most of them. And he's also fairly certain that there were no soft, slow, cling to each other sorts of dances. Let alone the sort of fast, sexy, make out with your clothing on sorts of dances.

And, of course, this is a wedding reception, so the music might be a tad less... constrained... there's a good word, than what gets played at work Christmas parties. So there will probably be options for fast, sexy dances, and slow cling to each other dances, and honestly, he doesn't want to sit them out.

But he can't for the life of him think of a good way to not sit them out, and keep his relationship with Abby a secret.

He pulls his tie snug, and slips into his jacket. He wonders what Abby will be wearing. The original wedding was formal, and she was supposed to wear some sort of strapless black gown.

But the reception isn't as formal, and he doesn't know what she'll have on, but he's enjoying imagining the possibilities.

His phone chirps, telling him it's time to get going.

The ride to Ziva's is fast. Fortunately there's not too much traffic this time of day. Late afternoon on a Saturday means Silver Springs is pretty dead, and fortunately, when they get into DC it should be pretty slow, as well.

He knocks and waits for a moment. She comes to the door, pulling a coat over a flouncy purple dress with a deep v-neck.

"Hello McGee."

"Hi Ziva. You ready?"

"All set."

"You look nice." And she does. The color works with her hair and skin, setting off her brown eyes. Tim's always aware of the fact that Ziva's a very beautiful woman. But, like sunsets and mountain ranges, her beauty is something he appreciates on an aesthetic level from afar. There's a certain edge a woman needs to have for Tim's libido kicks in, and while Ziva's got edge a plenty, she doesn't have the edge he responds to. Basically, she's gorgeous, but not his type.

"Thank you. You do, too."

"I'm wearing pretty much the exact same thing I wear at work." Sure, he doesn't do a full suit all that often anymore, but his current get up of a dark gray suit, with a maroon and gray striped shirt and black tie isn't really all that different from how he usually looks.

Ziva looks down at herself. "I once wore something kind of like this to work. I was undercover as a cabaret singer."

"You can sing?"

"I can sing."

Tim smiles. "Cool. Why were you pretending to be a cabaret singer?"

"You did not hear this story?"

"If I did, I've forgotten it."

"I think you'd remember it..." Ziva began to tell him about her last operation for Mossad, and after about ten minutes, when she got to the infiltrating part Tim started nodding. That part he was familiar with. By that time they were well on their way to the Adam's House Hotel, favorite haunt of Tony DiNozzo Senior, and location for the Palmer wedding reception.

They chatted about random bits, the last case (Captain Wescott), slightly belated Thanksgiving Dinner at Gibbs' house (who knew Fornell could cook?), and her mystery date (the opera for her sister.) That got them to about ten minutes from the hotel.

At a stop light Ziva says to Tim, "I always love weddings. There's such a sense of hope."

"Yeah, I suppose so."

"There's so much possibility at a wedding. So much that can happen." She's looking intently at him, and he's flummoxed, not sure what she's trying to tell him.

"I like weddings. Don't get to go to a lot of them, but I like them." Whatever it was, he didn't get it. He can see that from how she's looking at him.

"It's good you like weddings. I hope this will be a good one, for both of us."

Yeah, she's definitely trying to tell him something. And for a second he almost says, 'Do you mean with Abby?' but he can't quite say that, even if it does look like she's hinting in that direction.

"I think it'll be a good one. Food should be good. Palmer's got decent taste in music. Abby's going to give the Best Man's toast, so that should be amazing to see. We'll get to spend a day relaxing with people we love, there are a lot of worse ways to spend a day."

She squeezes his hand and smiles. "Yes, there are."

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

On the way in, it occurs to Tim that this is a hotel. As a hotel, it has rooms. And if it has rooms, at some point he and Abby could be in one of those rooms, either sneak away or maybe spend the night. Sure, he has to get Ziva home, but he can come back later...

"John!" he says brightly and waves at one of the guys at the front desk. The guy looks surprised, probably because his name isn't John and he's never seen Tim before, but waves back. "Ziva, you go in without me. I'll be there in a minute. I know him from high school."

Ziva stares at him, looking like she isn't buying that at all, and then nods. He heads over to "John" and asks for a room. Five minutes later he's got two key cards tucked into his pocket.

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

Finding the ballroom isn't too difficult. There are two on this floor, but only one of them has a horde of NCIS employees milling about outside of it.

Apparently they're a little early. And apparently a little early is a common trait among NCIS employees because he sees about twenty people he knows. He drifts over to Ziva, Tony, and Gibbs, apparently Ducky and Abby are off somewhere with the rest of the wedding party, doing God alone knows what.

"So how does this work?" Tony asks. "Is it a wedding? Or a party?"

Tim knows the answer to this, having listened to Abby talking about it. "They're re-doing their vows for everyone who wasn't at the wedding, but skipping all of the readings/songs/church stuff. Which means we don't have to listen to Palmer sing Wind Beneath My Wings to Brianna. Then there's dinner, dancing, cake cutting, party stuff. And after that they're finally heading off for their honeymoon."

"Where are they going?" Ziva asks.

"Abby tells me Aruba. Apparently they both like to snorkel."

"Huh. Didn't know that about Autopsy Gremlin."

"Me either," Ziva added.

"It's like a different world under there. All green and blue and cool. Everything is soft, rippling, fluid. Sometimes the fish come right up to you and nibble on your fingers."

All three of them stare at Gibbs in amazement when he says that.

He shrugs. "I've been on a lot of honeymoons. Snorkeling is a popular honeymoon thing to do."

The doors open, saving the three of them from having to come up with a response to that.

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

Jimmy, Brianna, her maid of honor, and sister? maybe, she looks an awful lot like Brianna, as well as Ducky and Abby are standing in a small semi-circle in the middle of the dance floor.

They wave everyone over to come join them.

Tim thinks he should be looking at the Palmers. He really should. But he's not. Abby's wearing a little slip dress. It's white, or light pink maybe, with a sheer black overlay. Pink lace trims the knee-skimming hem and neckline. Her hair is up in one long ponytail. She's wearing what he thinks is a black pearl necklace and bracelet, instead of her usual collar and wrist cuff. It's very soft, and very pretty, and he can't pull his eyes away from her.

Several minutes go by while more guests file in and come to stand around Jimmy and Brianna.

And, after a few more minutes, Ducky begins to speak. Tim's not really paying attention. He's getting the basic idea, that the point of a wedding is a public declaration of the vows. It's not just about the death 'til us part bit, but about letting the entire world know you intend to do it. Since the first time they did this, Ducky and Brianna's parents were the only witnesses, they were going to re-pledge their vows to each other and in front of all of their family and friends as a sign of this as something everlasting and public.

The vows are long and flowery, and, honestly, sweet enough to inspire diabetic coma. Tim's not paying too much attention to them, either. Love, honor, cherish, forsaking, forever, that was really what it all came down to. Tim stares at Abby, and condenses it down further, making the promise in his own mind as her eyes caught his. As long as I draw breath, I will be here and I will love you. She smiles at him, and he doesn't know if she's got an idea of what he's thinking, or just noticing how intensely he's watching her. Either way, he smiles back. He's about to mouth, I love you, when Brianna finishes her vows, the Palmers kiss, and everyone cheers.

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

To the surprise of just about everyone, himself included some days, Tim actually can dance. He's not particularly good at anything that requires fast, unexpected physical dexterity, but anything he can study and practice, he can pick up, and quickly. So, yeah, he was a bad dancer at first, and a bad shooter, and he sucks at most computer games for the first two hours if he can't customize the command keys, but once he knows what happens when, he's golden.

So, yes, if you drop him in the middle of a mosh pit, or say, most clubs, Tim will flail around with the spastic grace of an octopus being electrocuted. But, if you happen to have music that's in the range of speeds he can process easily (4/4 time or slower) or happens to be a dance he knows (Waltz, fox trot, rumba, swing, or salsa: he took ballroom dance for his gym credits at John Hopkins.) Tim is actually a decent dancer.

And well, a family wedding tends to have music in the range he can cope with, and occasional songs that are attached to actual formal dances.

Jimmy and Brianna started off the dancing right away. And then vanish with the wedding party for photos. The dinner is a buffet, so everyone can eat or dance as they see fit, and in the first hour Tim mostly bounced between the buffet and friendly dances with Ziva, a few other co-workers, and two women he thinks are Brianna's sisters.

Then Palmer came around, collecting him, Ziva, Tony, and Gibbs, for more photos. And sure, it could be the fact that if she's wearing heels (which she is), that Abby's the same height Tim is that has them standing next to each other, often with his arm around her, in all of the photos, or it could be something else, but somehow the photographer keeps sticking them right next to each other.

Which he doesn't mind.

He makes a mental note to ask for a copy of the goofy one where he's holding Abby, Jimmy's holding Brianna, and Tony has Ziva, and they're all making faces at the camera. And, even though he isn't in it, he also wants a copy of the one where Gibbs has his arms around Abby and Ziva. He doesn't remember the last time Gibbs looked that happy. And yeah, it probably isn't the stealthiest move, but the photographer wanted one of him with Abby and Ziva, so he's got an arm around Ziva, and he's kissing Abby's cheek, both of the girls grinning. He categorizes it under flirty stuff he'd do if he wasn't sleeping with Abby.

Finally, the photos wind down, and he accompanies Abby back to a table. "Here, you sit down. I'll get you something to eat."

"Thanks, my feet hate these shoes."

He looks at the little black satin pumps. "They're cute."

"They are, but they pinch."

"Well, sit down, let your feet rest, and I'll be back with food in a minute."

And while it's true that he's being nice getting her some food and letting her sit down for the first time in two hours, he's also got an ulterior motive. He fishes one of the keycards out of his jacket, and palms it between his hand and her glass.

He hands her the glass carefully, and she takes it, slipping the key into her purse almost like they had practiced it.

"Four seventeen." He mouths it to her, not adding any sound, knowing that she can read lips well enough to get what he's saying. She nods minutely and mouths back, "Thirty minutes," before saying out loud, "What did you get me?"

He pointed out the things on the plate, naming them. Okay, Chicken Marsala is probably hard to identify by sight, but she can probably figure out broccoli without him expounding on the concept, but he does anyway.
Jimmy and Brianna came over, and exchange small talk with them. A song Tim knew he could dance to came up. So he asked Palmer's bride, "Can I have this dance?" Brianna lit up in a wide smile.

"Of course."

He's pretty competently swinging with Brianna to 'In The Mood' when she says, "Jimmy tells me that you're working on starting a relationship with Abby."

"Yes."

"How's it going?"

"Started up and going well."

"Not dancing with her is driving you crazy isn't it?"

"I'll get some dances in with her, too. Just not the ones I want."

Brianna nods at that. "You know, there's a hallway behind this ballroom. You can hear the music, but there's no reason to be back there, unless, say, you wanted a moment or two alone."

Tim smiled at her. "You're a natural at this secret romance thing."

"Thanks. You two should join us for lunch some weekend."

"I think we'd like that."

The song wrapped up. The DJ started blathering away about this next one being dedicated to all the lovebirds out there. "Head back there, and she'll be waiting." Tim looked around and realized that Abby wasn't sitting at their table talking to Jimmy any longer.

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

'I'm Amazed By You' by Tim McGraw is certainly a wedding song. It just wasn't one Tim was expecting to be gently reverbing though the back hallway, but as songs for dancing with Abby went, it was a fine one.

"Hi." He smiled at her, seeing her leaning against the back wall, hands behind her back, waiting for him.

"Hi, back." He steps in close to her and kisses her. She kisses him back and then breaks away. "Palmer's your partner in crime?"

"He's good with secrets."

"And apparently he and Brianna thought we might want one romantic song to ourselves."

"Yeah. So, would you like to dance with me?"

She grins, a wide, bright Abby smile, one that makes him feel light and bubbly from his toes to his ears. "Yes, I would."

He takes a step back and offers her his hand. She takes it, and he pulls her to him. His fingers twine with hers and settle against his chest. His other hand anchors at the small of her back, and her free hand lands on the back of his neck.

She's ditched the heels, so she's a few inches smaller than him now. Just enough so that her head can rest against his shoulder, and he can rest his cheek on hers.

There's nothing particularly fast or complicated about this. They're mostly just two stepping. Tim's humming along with the music, only half-aware that he's doing it, but it seems fitting somehow.

It's a fairly short song, and it wraps quickly, leaving them alone in a hallway with some loud peppy music blaring away.

He looks up and says, "You know, unless I'm mistaken, that's an elevator over there."

She looks over, still pressed against him. "That does look like an elevator."

"I bet it could get us to the fourth floor."

"I'd imagine it could do that."

"Wanna go upstairs?"

Another huge smile. "I've got to give the best man speech in twenty minutes." He grins at her and kisses her forehead. She pulls his head down to kiss her lips. "This is so naughty. Yes!"

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

The elevator takes approximately forever and a half to get down to them, and then get them back up to the fourth floor. And of course, their room is on the opposite side of the hotel. They hurry through the hall, holding hands, his index finger rubbing against her wrist.

He slips his key into the door and swings it open. It's a suite. He didn't pay much attention to that when he reserved it. Mostly he was just thinking, place to get naked with Abby, and all other details were rather moot. They're in a sitting room. There's a sofa, tv, minibar, coffee table, no bed.

And then that didn't much matter because he's back against the door with Abby pressed against him kissing intently.

"How long do you think we can stay?"

She looks away for a second to find a clock. "Ten minutes? I've got to get down there for my speech soon."

"I can do ten minutes." Tim grins.

"Somehow I figured you could." She unzips him while he turns them. This'll work a whole lot easier if she's back against the door.

He kneels in front of her, pushing the skirt of her dress up. Tugging off her panties off with his teeth lets him use his hands to grab a condom and get it on. He stands quickly, lifting her, pressing her back against the door, and slipping into her.

If it wasn't for the fact that the searing pleasure of doing it has wiped all thought out of his mind, he'd be pretty proud that he managed to pull that off in one easy move.

It's not a position he can hold for long. She's smaller than he is, but she's still a good hundred and thirty pounds, if not more. Her legs are wrapped around his hips, and his hands are holding her under her ass. They're kissing frantically, moaning, and his thrusts are slamming her into the door. Anyone on the other side can figure out what's going on in this room.

And all of that adds to it. It's got to be fast. It's dangerous and exposed and just, as she said, so, so naughty. Her feet are digging into his back, and her hands clinging to his shoulders, her teeth nipping his lips, making him feel wicked and sexy and just gloriously fine.

He knows he'll be done in less than a minute, and he suspects she's not that close yet. So he speeds up, goes full out, letting his orgasm sear through him, and bare seconds after his body stops pulsing he drops to his knees again, tonguing her, fingers replacing his dick, pressing her g spot, knowing that's his fastest option. He's awfully glad she's not wearing the shoes, as she climaxes the foot she has on his shoulder twitches hard, her heel pounding into him. With shoes he'd be looking at a ripped jacket and maybe a lacerated shoulder.

Having to miss the best man speech to get stitches would have done wonders for the whole "stealth romance" concept. He's smiling about that as he gently licks her a few last times, feeling her come down.

When she stops quivering, he stands up again, leaning against her, still breathing fast. "I've got the room all night, and tomorrow. Feel like spending the night with me? Getting room service breakfast? Lay around in bed all day? Watch trashy TV and make love until we can't stand up anymore?"

She kisses him, hard and long. Licking herself off his lips. He kisses back, sucking her tongue, reveling in her on him, and how ridiculously sexy it is that she's willing to do it after he goes down on her. Then she pulls back. "I'd like that."

"Good."

"I've got to take Ziva home, but once I do, I'll come back, and we'll have the rest of tonight and all of tomorrow together." He pushes back, and leans against the wall, resting, his knees are feeling wobbly. Abby starts to straighten her dress, slipping on her panties. "Dresses are a lot easier than suits. You just shimmy a little, and you're back to normal."

"Sometimes it's good to be a girl." She checks her makeup in the mirror and touches up her lipstick.

"Presentable?"

He stands up and kisses her, gently, lips barely brushing hers. "Perfect."

"Okay, gotta get back down there and find Palmer. Almost time for me to toast the happy couple."

"I'll be down in a few more minutes. Don't start without me."

"Never. I want you to hear it."

Abby looks over her shoulder, blows him a kiss, and heads into the hall. Tim pulls off the condom, knotting it tidily and tossing it in the wastebasket. He wipes off, rights his clothing, makes sure he's not covered in her lipstick, and notices something. There's a table next to the wastebasket, and next to the phone on the table is a notepad.

For Tim, writing is as much a tactile experience as a mentally creative one. It's an entirely different headspace than the rest of his life, one centered on the merging of a creative mind and a physical effort. He works on a keyboard pretty much all the time. He keeps his notes on his smart phone. Almost his entire life revolves around manipulating digital information, so when he writes, he goes old school, totally divorcing that part of his life from his work life.

The feel of the keys moving under his fingers, the rhythm of hitting the return lever, manually advancing paper are all part of putting him in the place he needs to be to create fiction. It's a physical meditation that binds and encourages narrative flow.

But for poetry he goes another level further back. For free writing, for associative verse, thoughts and phrases that depend as much on sound as meaning, for that, he goes for pen and paper.

He wasn't planning on writing when he got to the reception. But as he's tucking his shirt back into his pants, he's feeling like he might want to at some point, so he grabs the pad, and heads back down to the reception.

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

It doesn't look like anyone noticed he was gone. He gets a drink, scotch neat, and settles in at the table his crew claimed as their own. He's the only one sitting at it right now. But, as Abby stands next to Jimmy and Brianna, gently clinking her ring against her glass, getting the attention of the other guests, Gibbs, Ziva, and Tony drift back and sit down.

"I understand it's normal for the best man's speech to take a few kind-hearted shots at the happy couple, but... Jimmy was just too easy a target, and I couldn't narrow it down to just a few. So instead this'll have to be sincere." She turned to face Brianna. "The day after your first date, Jimmy walked into my lab and said, 'How do you know if you're in love?' I told him, 'Can you imagine the rest of your life without her?' and he said, 'No.' So I kissed his cheek and said, 'Congratulations, you're in love.' About a year after that, he floated down into my lab one day, all glowy, and told me that you loved him, too." She caught Tim's eye, held it long enough for him to know this bit was for him, too, and then put her arm around Jimmy. "And since then, Jimmy's been a glow. You walked into his life, and it changed for the better. You've brought him a sort of happiness I don't think he even imagined could exist. We're pretty close knit at NCIS, and by loving our friend, brother, you've made him happier, and you've made all of us happier as well." She kissed Brianna's cheek. "Thank you. And welcome to our large, somewhat bizarre, family."

Everyone clapped.

Then the caterer brought the wedding cake over to them, and Jimmy and Brianna cut into it. He fed her a piece nicely, no cake shoving. And she placed a small piece between her lips and kissed him with it, much to the delight of everyone in the crowd.

Abby returned to their table a few minutes after that. Tony and Gibbs praised he speech. Well, Tony praised her; Gibbs kissed her forehead as he stood up to get some more bourbon. But for Gibbs that's praise.

The caterer brought around cake, and all of them ate, chattering away about the wedding, the food, the music, how happy Jimmy and Brianna looked. Traditional wedding chatter. Tim stayed quiet, content to just eat and watch, enjoying being surrounded by people he loved.

Abby finished and the music kicked back up. She headed off to dance, and the rest of the crew drifted off.
Tim watched them, made sure they were all busy, and then he leaned back, took another sip of his scotch, and settled in to watch Abby and write.


For Abby: Dancing
Everyone else is busy right now.
Ziva and Tony are dancing with each other.
Gibbs is trying to fend off Jimmy's father-in-law.
Ducky's telling a story.
Jimmy's dancing with Brianna.
Vance is dancing with his wife.
And you're dancing, too.
None of you are watching me
Which means I can sit back, sip my drink, and watch you.
You're dancing like you own the music
Like the reason music exists is to bow down and worship at your red tipped toes
(I know you think I don't notice details like that
but I do)
Ducky joins you, and you're both swinging through a fast song
setting the floor alight.
For a guy who had a heart attack less than half a year ago
he can really move.
You both look happy.
He's grinning.
You're laughing.
And I watch.
I might be a little buzzed while I write this—
not from the scotch—
from watching you move
And the sense memory or your skin on mine
The music slows down, easier, classic, and Gibbs cuts in
He loves you so much
He holds you like you're his north star.
Like he's the father of the bride, giving her away
(What do you think? Maybe a year or two from now?)
Lyrics: Yes you're lovely, with your smile so warm, and your cheek so soft, there is nothing for me but to love you, and the way you look tonight.
Is it terrible that I want to cut in?
That I want this song with you.
Because you are lovely
And I love you
And the way you look tonight
And I want to hold you close, cup your face in my hand, and look into your eyes
while swaying through a slow song like this one.
Tony and Ziva are heading over
So I have to stop
But I promise, next time we dance as lovers, it won't be in secret.


 He folds the paper in half quickly, tucks it into his pocket and gets himself back into small talk mode.

"What are you writing?" Tony asks as he sits next to Tim and takes a drink of his beer.

"Code. I just thought of a way to improve search efficiency by about ten percent when I go hunting through our archives."

DiNozzo shakes his head and slumps back into his chair. "Here we are, at what is likely to be the romantic highlight of our year, surrounded by beautiful women—" And with that he turns to Ziva and looks her over. She slaps his shoulder gently. "—and you're writing code?"

Tim shrugs. Gibbs and Abby come back to the table and for a few minutes they just talk, then Mambo Number Five comes up and Tim decides this one is fast enough that he can dance it with Abby.

He takes her hand. "Come on, dance with me." And leads her out. "Can you salsa?"

"I can learn."

He rests his hands on her hips and talks her through the steps, showing her with his feet and then they go for it. Sure it's a little clumsy and a bit off beat, but it was fun and they were giggling by the end of it. The music stayed fast, Dashboard by Modest Mouse (Tim wonders idly at the DJ's playlist, but it's working, so he's not going to complain.) so they keep at it, and a minute or two into that song, Ziva bopped out to join them. She apparently did know how to salsa, so she stood behind Abby, Tim in front, and the three of them danced together.

Gibbs joined them, spinning Ziva off in a quick and low dip followed by some footwork that, frankly, left both him and Abby stunned. Ziva rose to the challenge, and she and Gibbs left Abby and Tim in the dust.

"And that's what happens when he actually swallows the alcohol." Tim laughed. "I can't believe he can dance."

"I can."

"You'd believe he could fly."

"I would if he did it in front of us."

He smiles at her, wanting to kiss her very much.

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

An hour later, Brianna tosses the bouquet and a minor scrimmage occurs among her various female relatives over it. From there things are starting to break up. Tim excuses himself and scoots back up to the fourth floor. They didn't even make it to the bedroom the first time, so he has to open a few doors before he finds the one that leads to it. Once he does, he writes Abby's name on the poem, and places it on the pillow for her.

Then he heads back down and finds Ziva, getting her coat. He grabs his own coat and heads over to her.

"Time to head home?"

"Yes, I think so." She looks around for a moment, and sees that Tony and Gibbs are heading out together, backs toward them.

"You know, I can get a taxi home."

Tim tucks his arm into his coat. "Why would you want to do that? That's a what, hundred dollar ride?"

"Just, if you wanted to stay late. You don't have to give me a ride home."

"Why would I want to stay late?"

Ziva stares at Abby, who is heading to the elevator. Tim turns and sees what she's looking at.

"That obvious?"

"Most people look at the bride and groom during the vows, not the best man."

"Wonderful. We're trying to keep this quiet."

"I know, and I will keep your secret. I doubt anyone else noticed. I doubt anyone else thought to look."

"Why did you?"

"You and I were driving to go get a suspect. I noticed you smelled like Abby. Then I thought about it and realized you had been in the lab right before we left. So I decided to keep watch. The next two times you came up from visiting Abby alone, you smelled like her. But when you came up from visiting her with someone else, you did not smell like Abby. So obviously it was not just a matter of being in the lab. You had to get very close to her to end up smelling like her."

"Thank you for keeping quiet. We don't want everyone talking, not yet, at least." He hands Ziva his car keys. "She can give me a ride back to your place. No need for you to get a cab."

"Thanks."

"I'll be by Monday morning."

Ziva's eyebrows rise, and she looks pleasantly surprised. "You and I will talk about this again?"

"At some point. Without Tony."

"Agreed. McGee?"

"Yeah?"

"Were you really writing code?"

"I'm at a wedding watching the woman I love dance, you think I'm gonna write code?"

"No."

He nods. "Monday then?"

"Monday."

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

Abby didn't expect him for close to two hours, that gave Tim a little time to plan. For example, he'd already used the only condom he'd had on him, so restocking, which he would have done if he had driven Ziva home and then come back, was definitely in order.

He calls room service and orders breakfast for the morning, and champagne, roses, and chocolate covered strawberries for now.

He knows he's going overboard, but he's enjoying it. He's never had a girl waiting in a hotel room for him, let alone in a four star hotel when he's had enough money to spoil her.

They didn't get enough time to dance with each other, so doing something about that seems like a good idea, too.

He heads to the hotel bar, orders another scotch, he doubts he's going to drink all of it, he's already feeling pretty mellow, but he's not the kind of guy who can take up a seat in a bar and not buy a drink. Tim sips his drink and then takes out his phone. He spends a good twenty minutes setting up a play list for the weekend. Well, a series of playlists. There's sex songs, dancing songs, and just stuff to listen to in between.

Tim heads over to the gift shop and finds what he needs: toothbrushes, toothpaste, condoms, lube, and a razor.

The cashier smirks at him when she sees his purchase, and though he feels like he'd normally be flustered by this, the fact that he's completely anonymous here means that he doesn't care. He shrugs at her and says, "It's gonna be a good weekend." She giggles while sweeping his credit card.

"Have a good night, sir."

He smiles. "I plan to."

Tim heads up, and lets himself into the room quietly. Room service has already come and gone. He sees the champagne and chocolates are on a tray on the coffee table in the sitting area. The roses aren't there.

The door to the bedroom is open, and Abby's shoes are tidily sitting next to the door jam. He toes off his own shoes, leaving them next to hers, and drapes his coat and jacket over the sofa. He tucks the bag from the gift shop into his back pocket.

He peeks in, sees the flowers on the pillow, her dress, panties, and bra hanging on the closet door, and the poem is missing. He hears water running and sees the door to the bathroom is open, as well.

She's sitting on the edge of a tub big enough for them and three of their best friends, naked, back to him, the fingers of one hand testing the water, the other hand holding the poem, as she reads it. Bubbles foam on the water, kissing her fingers.

He loosens his tie, undoing the top button, leaning against the door jam, watching her. She's angled so he can see her face in the mirrors behind the tub. He settles in to watch her respond to the poem.

Abby's smile comes slowly, spreading across her face, gently. Her eyes are soft, a look of tenderness in them. He thinks he knows which one of the lines makes her close her eyes and inhale quickly. A few seconds after that she folds it closed, places it on edge of the tub, still smiling.

"You are so beautiful."

She jumps a good two inches when he does that.

"McGee, don't creep up on me like that!"

"I wanted to watch you."

"Like what you see?"

He crosses the few steps to where she is and kisses her gently. "Yes, very, very much."

She kisses him back, fingers unknotting his tie, and undoing the buttons on his shirt. "Did you mean that?" she nods toward the poem.

"Every word."

She nods again, kissing him again. "Then yes, I think it's a good idea."

He knows what she means. So he cups her face in his hand, looking into her eyes, and says, "I'll ask you properly one of these days."

She nods again, skimming his shirt off. "You're early."

"Ziva knows." She helps him strip out of the rest of his clothing while he explains what happened. He steps into the tub, and a moment later she's in his lap, touching his face, looking at him with a deep, gentle tenderness that makes him want to melt.

His one hand cups her neck, and the other rests on her hip. For a moment he sits there, cuddled with her in warm water and soft foamy bubbles. "It's funny, you know? I'm good with words. I mean, I get flustered, you've seen that, but I can usually find the one I need when I need it." He traces her lower lip with his thumb, which she nibbles gently. "But I can't find one big enough, grand enough to explain how this feels."

"Then tell me you love me, and it will have to be enough."

"I love you so much, Abby." He kisses her, trying to push the feelings into his touch. "So, so much."

She kisses him, and he felt that same desperate hope to push feeling into a tangible action in her touch. "I love you, too, Tim."

38 Weeks: The Thirty-First Week

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



Week 31:
"Okay, thanks." Michael hung up the phone."Spoke to Uen?" Madeline asked. She and Katherine had come over to get Fi and begin looking for nursery furniture."Yep, he's fine with me adding some protections to the house." Michael, Sam, and Jesse had Harden Nursery: Phase One all but in motion when Madeline mentioned that just maybe, before ripping the walls out and reinforcing them with rebar that it would be a good idea to ask their landlord if it was okay to make any modifications.In that his mom and mother-in-law were sitting there, helping Fi get baby things ready, he agreed to do it. But no matter what Uen said, that room was going to be reinforced and protected. Lucky for him, Uen was fine with it, and he didn't have to lie."Does he have any idea what sorts of protections you intend to add?" Madeline asked."He might be under the impression that I'll be adding motion activated floodlights, and maybe an alarm system.""Uh huh." Madeline looks at Michael standing in front of stacks of rebar, new drywall, the specialty reinforced, bulletproof glass windows, and the dual alarm systems."I will install motions activated floodlights and an alarm system.""Lovely." Image Credit: http://shecapsthat.fanfusion.org"We ready to go?" Sam asks, carrying in a drill, sawzaw, and circular saw."We are ready to go. Uen says we can add whatever we like as long as it's back to the way it was before we began when we leave.""You didn't tell him what you were going to do, did you?""Not at all." "Okay then." Jesse grabbed the dust masks and tossed one to Michael and one to Sam. "Let's tear down some drywall.""Bye, boys, have fun!" Madeline calls out as they head off, the sound of power tools echoing behind her. 

Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction

McGee centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here. Once again this is a mature audiences only tagged chapter, so, really, grown ups only!


Strictly speaking, he's not supposed to be in the evidence lock up. But once he tells the computer what to do, he can't make it go any faster by sitting next to it. Likewise, once he's got his computer, his second computer, and his back-up, auxiliary computer (located in Abby's lab) all looking for things, there's not much he can do besides wait for answers to pop up.

So, he's "officially" down there to offer Abby some help.

But mostly, he's down there, enjoying the view. And, God, what a view!

The black stockings with the red laces up the back are his favorite. They are, without a doubt, the single sexiest piece of clothing in the history of clothes.

And he thinks, just possibly, she knows that about him, and he also thinks, just possibly, that's why she's wearing them, and that delicious red dress, without a lab coat on top of it.

Which is why Tim's been smiling all day.

"McGee."

"Yeah." He's staring at her from across the lock up.

"You're distracting me."

"Sorry."

"No you aren't."

"No, not really." He shakes his head and grins at her.

She's on the opposite side of the Porsche from him, and once again, there are cameras watching. The evidence lock up has 24/7 surveillance. And once again, there's no sound on the cameras, so he knows he can't do anything that looks out of the ordinary. Two colleagues having a conversation, and goofing about a bit, is nothing out of the ordinary. But he can say whatever he likes.

"Speaking of distractions, do you know what those stockings do to me?" She looks amused, leans forward, her arms together, pressing her breasts up and toward him. "God, or that dress?"

She turns deliberately and walks, slowly, her back, and the backs of those stockings to him, each step flexing her legs and swinging her hips in a way that shouldn't be legal. She grabs something from the other side of the room, a clipboard maybe. Her head turns, and she says over her shoulder, "What do they do?"

Abby returns to the car a few seconds later, clipboard in hand. She holds it in front of her, and he looks at it, then looks at her, realizing what she's doing.

He's now got an excuse to stand close to her.

He scuttles to the other side of the car. Stopping just behind her.

Theoretically, you might say this looks like he's standing behind her, looking over her shoulder. Standing right behind her. God, this is a thousand miles out of bounds and if anyone ever looks at the tape of this they are so busted. And he really doesn't care. She's flush against the Porsche, and he's right against her back, chin on her shoulder, his hands to either side of her on the cherry-red metal of the car.

He keeps his voice low, they may be the only two down there, but who knows who might be heading in their direction. Just because most people take the elevator, doesn't mean everyone does.

"They make me want to bend you over this car, pull them off with my teeth, lick my way back up to your pussy, and then fuck you until we're both senseless."

There are certain words Tim basically never uses. Fuck and pussy among them. They only come out during certain extremely intimate occasions. And while it's true he doesn't seem like the kind of guy who would be great at dirty talk, he likes how he feels when he says things like that, and he really likes how Abby responds when he says things like that.

She closes her eyes and moans a little, fingers growing tight on the clipboard. He risks very quickly touching her hand, slipping the thumb that's next to her hand along her knuckles, and then strokes his fingers over the car.

"It's a shame this is evidence. Can you imagine leaning against it, one leg over my shoulder, as I eat you out? I can. I can taste you on my tongue, and see that gorgeous, stocking clad leg against my face and over my shoulder. I can feel your heel, poking me in the back.

"Or how about in the front seat? You in my lap, naked except for those stockings. Me deep inside you. You could lean back against the dashboard, and I could use my fingers."

He looks around, sees no one, and says a quick prayer that no evidence goes missing today. Then he takes his hand, drags it up the back of her leg, and cups her pussy in his hand.

"But what I'll have to settle for is getting you soaking wet. And knowing that you're walking around today, counting the minutes until we can get off work, go for a drive in my car, and try everything I just said." He kisses her neck, and pulls away, his phone buzzing, letting him know that one of his computers has found something.

"You're evil."

He smiles. "And you love me."

"Yes, I do."

That stops him dead. She's certainly said I love you before, but it sounds different this time.

"Really?"

She steps up to him, pressing against him. "Really."

Cameras, other people, work, his phone buzzing with new evidence be damned. He pulls her even tighter to him and kisses her. For what feels like a long time nothing held his attention besides the feel of her body on his, but the bonging sound of the elevator forces them to spring apart like matching poles of two magnets, seconds before the doors open. He grabs the clipboard, in need of something to hold strategically, and heads for the stairs, thinking taking the long way back to his desk is a good idea.

Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfic

"You're late, McGee. Have fun at the concert?"

"Yeah, Tony, it was fun. Ran later than expected." Which was technically true. He'd expected it to be over at ten, but a double encore meant it went until 10:20. "And we got shakes after, so all in all, kind of late night."

Of course, it wasn't the late night that had him running late. It was the fact that it was close to seven when he got out of Abby's tub. (Really, he has to find out what sort of water heater she's got, 'cause the water was still running hot when they got out.)

So, he drove like a maniac back to his place. Grabbed a very fast shower. He was plenty clean after Abby's but he also smelled like her soap, shampoo, and conditioner. And changed into something that Don Johnson wouldn't have worn to work on Miami Vice. That got him to eight, the time he normally got to work.

Bolting down some breakfast while driving back to the Navy Yard, once again, like a maniac, meant he got there only half an hour late. The sort of thing that could be explained by whacking the sleep button one time too many.

The adrenaline of driving like a maniac is a good thing, because it killed his I-just-got-laid, blissed-out, ultra-relaxed mood that Tony can spot from a mile away.

So, he didn't have Tony hounding him about his sex life. And besides a few polite questions about the concert, everything seemed to be going well on the stealth romance department.

38 Weeks: The Thirtieth Week

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



On Sunday of the thirtieth week, Michael held the smallest combat knife he had ever seen."You know, when Nate and Ruth got pregnant, they got onesies, diapers, and a stroller from their friends.""I think it's sweet that our friends are thinking of us.""Yeah. Sweet. Fi, this is a toddler-sized combat knife." Michael was holding either the coolest thing in the history of weaponry or the scariest thing he had ever seen. He wasn't entirely sure. What he did know was that a combat knife was a horrendously inappropriate present for a child, even if, as Seymour had said, this child was going to be the biggest badass in the history of badass."A toddler-sized combat knife that Seymour had specially made for us. I'm not saying Seymour and sane have even a casual relationship. Still, you've got to admit, it is cute.""It's got a pink bow and a rattle built into the hilt. I really hope our two-year-old never needs her very own combat knife."Michael put the knife down as Fi picked up a dark blue and gray diaper bag. It had been sitting in a box, along with a second one in mauve and pink, with a very congratulatory card from Buddy.  "The bags are cute.""The bags are very nice." It had taken Michael a good half hour to even remember who Buddy was, let alone why he'd given them his and hers Coach diaper bags. "I don't think these are real, Fi.""I know, Michael. Not only does Coach not make diaper bags, they certainly don't make them with holsters.""What's this pocket for?""A taser? Maybe an extra bottle." "Huh."They're in the nursery, unpacking all of the baby shower presents, making a list of what they still need.Fi leans over to a large box, and checks it. "I thought so. Sam and Elsa got us a stroller.""Good. Stroller, check. Am I remembering right, did your mom get you a breast pump?" "Yeah."Michael checks that off the list as well. "What's in that envelope?""The extra fake IDs.""Right, because what toddler doesn't need her own fake IDs?"Fi checks the passports over carefully. They're perfect, save for the missing pictures. "This one is for if she needs to run with Sam. It's for Elise Finley.""Of course. Is he supposed to be her grandfather?""Who knows? There's one for Elise Porter, as well. It looks like these were designed so that if we ever want to get her out with a trusted friend, she's ready to go."Michael sighs, very much hoping they won't ever have to hand their daughter to Jesse or Sam and have her flee. Still, it's good to be ready to do that if they need to. He writes it on the list, along with a note to give the right passports to Jesse and Sam as soon as they've got pictures to put in them.Fi opened another box. "And we've got onesies. Who's Jessica?""Remember the Frozen Yogurt lady, with the Fed who was posing as a loan shark.""Yeah." Fi holds a tiny pink onesie with little butterflies on the chest up. "It's hard to believe she'll be that small."Michael puts down the list and leans over to touch Fi's tummy. "She's even smaller than that now.""She feels a lot bigger than that now." Fi winced. "Help me up." Michael stood up, and helped lever Fi off the floor. She limped in the direction of the bathroom, and he went back to the list.By the end of the afternoon, they had their shopping list ready. Operation: Get Nursery Ready was one step closer to beginning. 

Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction.

McGee centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here. Up to this point this story's been a pretty steady PG rated little tale. This chapter is marked Mature Audience Only, and I'm not kidding about that. Grown ups only, please!


13.
Tim McGee likes sex, a lot. He doesn't get to have nearly as much of it as he'd like, at least, with other people, but the fact that he's not hitting on every woman nearby doesn't mean he's not interested.
But he's also not DiNozzo. Plain, vanilla sex doesn't precisely bore him, but it's not what he's after, either. And, when it comes down to it, an unending string of one-night stands doesn't allow enough time to learn your partner well enough to get into the more interesting variations of sex.
Abby likes sex too. And his guess is that she's gotten a lot more of it over the years than he has. But, still, the whole first few dates thing tends not to lead up to particularly interesting play. And he doesn't think she's gotten much beyond the first few dates in the last nine years either.
But when you've known someone, basically, forever, and you got those first few dates out the way a decade ago, then it's not a big deal if, say, you like being able to stretch your partner out on the bed, tie their hands and feet down, write poems on them with black ink and a Japanese calligraphy brush, pillow book style.  Or, if say, one of you has a slight necrophilia kink, then laying perfectly still becomes a very interesting challenge in submitting your own desire to move to her desire for motionlessness. And, if say, both of you happen to enjoy certain costumes, and say, maybe, knot play, and possibly a little D/s, and occasionally all of those things wrapped up in a role-playing encounter, then life is awfully good.
But for right now, all of that is in the future. Right now is a flavor of sex Tim sort of, vaguely remembers from his grad school days. It's true he hasn't been celibate the last nine years, but it's also true that he hasn't been in love with anyone he's slept with either.
Right now, there's a delicious sense of teasing and anticipation. They finished the milkshake, and even spent a good twenty minutes lingering over it, exchanging soft words and quick, or not so quick, Abby's fingers kept drawing obscure patterns on the inside of his thigh as they sat next to each other, touches and kisses.
He dropped her off at her car—going out together is one thing, coming back to work together the next morning is an entirely different story—getting out, walking her the five steps to her door, keeping his distance, because they both know there are cameras in the NCIS parking lot. But the camera can't pick up words, so it misses her saying, "I'll see you back at my place. Bring a condom..." she pauses and thinks about that for a second. "Bring a pack."
He breaks into a massive grin and says. "See you there."
Being able to focus on traffic is proving to be something of an issue. He's having a difficult time keeping his mind clear enough of the erotic images filling it to even see the oncoming cars. Lucky for him he doesn't have to try to remember where the nearest drug store is. The GPS on his phone takes care of that.
He spends almost a minute standing in front of the condom display, debating between a three pack and a six pack and what exactly each may say about his intentions before he realizes that this is just slowing things down, and that he certainly hopes to have sex with her on a regular basis, so he grabs a twelve pack of assorted styles, a bottle of lube, because everything works better with lube, and is out of there in a one more minute.
The drive to Abby's is long enough to wilt his erection, which he appreciates because he doesn't enjoy wandering about with that visible. Even if the bag from the drugstore is translucent, and the box is too damn big to fit into his pocket, so pretty much there's no way to do this subtly.
He thinks about that as the car slides across the miles to Abby's home. He can just about drive it on automatic.
At one stop light he tears open the box, tossing the ribbed, flavored, regular, and glow in the dark condoms aside. They may all be fun, but they're not for tonight. He snags the two ultra-thin condoms and sticks them in his trouser pocket. He tucks one of the extra-sensitive ones in his sock, after all, his pants might not be within easy reach by the time he wants a condom, so making sure he's got at least one stashed elsewhere is a good idea.
At the next stoplight he tucks the rest of them into his jacket pocket.
One more stoplight, a long one, gives him time to get the lube out of the box, open—Why would anyone put one of those heat sealed plastic wrappers around the lid of something, and then stick a tamper evident seal under the lid? Let alone on an insanely small bottle likely to be fumbled around with by someone half-mad with horniness? Lucky for him, rule number nine means he's well equipped to take care of that.—and tucked into the opposite pants pocket.
He's as ready as ready can be. It occurs to him that this is probably not what his Scout Master meant by always be prepared.
Tim's also less than a minute from Abby's place.  He pulls into the parking garage, circling around. This late anyone who doesn't have a reserved place, namely him, and other visitors like him, end up exiled to the very top level. Oh well, nothing for it. He passes Abby's car as he heads up, and sees she's still in it. She smiles and waves, and he continues up, looking for a space to park.
Tim just about jogs down to her, erection returning as he watches her across the expanse of gray concrete and parked cars.
She's out of her car now, leaning against it, waiting for him. The ever present security conscious part of his mind wants to scold her for doing something so dangerous. The part that really, really wants to have sex decides that maybe now isn't the best time for that conversation. And the little bit of his mind that's aware of the fact that he's actually a fairly dangerous guy reminds him of the facts that A: He's armed, and B: She's less than two hundred feet away from a guy who loves her dearly and can get six out of six head shots at fifty meters, with a handgun, anytime he's at the range.
He stops less than a foot away from her. She's looking into his eyes, smiling, and he appreciates how she's almost as tall as he is.
"How many did you get?"
"Twelve."
She smiles with approval. "Ambitious."
"I wasn't plan—" He realizes she's teasing, so he pulls her close, kisses her deeply, his hands cupping her rear, rubbing against her, letting her feel exactly how hard he is. "And we're trying a different position to go with each one."
*****************************
The first time was fast. He knows they kissed and petted all the way to her door, and he was entirely wrapped around her as she got her key into the lock. A very long half minute later the door banged open and they just about fell into her apartment.
"Oh, God, Abby!" was the last thing he remembered saying when she landed on top of him. Panting moans, shivered groans, and soft breathy sounds replaced words and punctuated soft, rhythmic slap-squish sounds.
Later, it amazed him how fuzzy the details were. He wasn't drinking, so he should be able to remember everything, but whose hand was where when, let alone in any coherent chronology, just isn't in his memory.
Instead he remembers feelings and almost snap-shot quality images:
Pulling the collar of her shirt to the side so he could nuzzle and kiss her neck. Her hair in his fist, and the silky thinness of the underside against his palm and the almost-crunchy overly hair-sprayed curls of the top between his fingers. Abby naked above him, head back, hair wild, her fingers clenching on his shoulders. The snug slip and impossible hotness of her body sliding onto his. Sitting up, her in his lap, holding her close so they could look into each other's eyes and kiss.
He can remember the feel of her heartbeat and breath, and the incredible, almost bubbly joy that arced through him as they made love. He wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or cry, and might have been doing both, but until that moment, he'd never been happier to be with or in another person.
**********************
Later, he's aware of the fact that they've dozed off on the floor, spooned together. He looks up, and sees they're less than seven feet from the front door.  It makes him giggle. The fact that she's naked, and he's still got his pants on, well, on the one leg, makes him laugh, too.
He has no idea where his shirt is. Hers is currently doing pillow duty for Abby. He sees one half of her bra to their left, and the other to the right. He doesn't remember ripping it, but he's never been good with bras, and he really doubts she ripped it off herself.
He's on his side, head on his right arm, the left arm wrapped around her. The floor is a bit on the cold side, but he's got no interest in getting up to grab a blanket.
Tim toes off his left shoe, still on his foot, and, frankly, a bit uncomfortable there, and kicks off his pants.
He tries to figure out the time, but that's hard to do where they are. Abby keeps her blinds closed, so there's no light from outside to give him a clue. From his location on the floor, he can't see into the kitchenette, where one clock lives, or the living room, where there's another.  
Oh well, as long as it isn't eight yet, the time he normally gets to work, it's all good. And he doesn't think it's anywhere near eight, not yet. With that, he rests his face against her shoulder, enjoying softness of her skin and that uniquely Abby scent, and falls back to sleep.
**********************
He's feeling surprisingly awake and alert when Abby jogs his shoulder, saying, "McGee, time to get up."
Her hair's lopsided, half of the curls have either fallen out or been crushed by her sleeping on them, the other half still held in perfect frozen loops by whatever product she had used. And last night wasn't precisely kind to her makeup; it's coloring parts of her face it was never intended to go near, and not a bit of it matters because she's still the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.
"You're beautiful." She smiles at him, even more beautiful yet. He flexes and stretches, his back, neck, and shoulder less than thrilled at sleeping on the floor. "What time is it?"
"Bit after five."
He nods and sits up. That's early for him, but not horrendously so.
"Wanna get a shower?"
He stands. "Yeah, that'd be great." Tim follows Abby into her room, toward the bathroom when he sees something that stops him dead.
"You got a bed!" It's a huge bed. And he's not sure where she found a lace trimmed black comforter decorated with tiny skulls, but it's very her, and very cool.
"Yeah. I'm tired of being alone. And you know what? Coffins are one to a customer."
Tim isn't sure how to process all of that, so he turns and kisses her.  "I'd have shared a coffin with you."
"You're sweet. But how about you try sharing a bed with me?"
"I'd like that. It's nice to have room to stretch out."
"Yeah. It's pretty comfortable, too. I kept falling out of it the first two days. It took a while to get used to something that didn't have sides. But once I had sleeping in the middle of it down, it's been great."
Two more steps had them in her bathroom. She turned on the water, and while they waited for it to heat up, they brushed their teeth. Tim decided not to ask why she's got an extra toothbrush. He doesn't really want to know.
Abby finished and stuck her hand in the shower, testing the water. Tim leaned against the sink, watching her body, and the way it moved, appreciating the glorious long expanse of naked skin in front of him.
"You coming?" Abby asked, half in the shower.
"Yeah." Tim realized he still had his socks on, so he pulled the condom out of the one, and then took them off.
"You had a condom in your sock?"
"I thought there was a decent possibility I'd want one, and my pants would be nowhere nearby." He took a step closer to her, his erection brushing her hip. "And, look, here I am, no pants, and definitely hoping for sex."
She laughed, took the condom from him, and stepped fully into the shower. He followed a heartbeat later.
Abby's bathroom has one of those combination tub/shower things.  It's true Tim isn't much for baths, it's also true that he appreciates the fact that there's more than enough room for both of them in there. But more than that, he's appreciating that it's well lit, and with Abby's scrubby in hand, he's got a good excuse to look at, and touch, all of her.
He likes looking. She's standing under the spray, her head back, eyes closed, the water dancing down her skin. It's a fabulous image, and the sort of thing he often dreams of. It's good to see it live again.
Most of her skin is familiar. But she's had some new work done over the years. The cross on her hip is new. It's about six inches long, ornate, and he can easily imagine it being made of cast iron. He looks at it more closely and notices the letters CT twined amid the roses at the center of the cross.
"Is this for Kate?"
"Yeah. I got it right after she died." He thinks about that for a moment, while squeezing out the sponge, watching the suds slither down her leg.
"Is the one on your back for your parents?"
"Yes."
"Are they all memorials?" he asks, standing behind her, fingers and scrubby lightly tracing over the cross on her lower back.
"Just the crosses." She turns to face him, her hands on his neck. She glides them down his skin. Her lips ghost over his deltoid, caressing his tattoo. Then her fingers skim his scar, still red after five months.
"I was really angry at you when you got hurt. I was sitting on the sidewalk, with an EMT checking me out, and then I saw them run you to an ambulance on a gurney. Gibbs told me you were going to be fine, but he looked really worried, and I was just so mad at the idea that you stayed in that building and got hurt."
"I'm sorry. It was really stupid. I know that now. Next time, if there ever is, someone says evacuate, and I'm getting the hell out. There's nothing on my computer worth dying for."
"Good."
"You were the first thing I thought of when I realized I was hurt." He touches her face, kissing her gently. "I was thinking that I hadn't told you I loved you, not properly. And I was wondering if you were okay, but decided you had to be because there was no way Gibbs would just be walking through if you weren't. Then I kind of passed out. Somehow I ended up in the ambulance, and from there things were pretty foggy until I woke up at my place and you were sitting next to me in my bed." He's staring into her eyes, holding her gently. "I love you. I really do."
She dips her forehead to his shoulder, and spends a long minute holding him, her hands meeting each other at the small of his back. He rests his chin on the crown of her head and enjoys the closeness.   
Eventually she says, "No new ink for you?"
"I had thought about putting the first line of Deep Six on my shoulder..." He steps back and touches his left shoulder blade, and then begins to rub the scrubby along her neck and breasts, enjoying the play of suds on her skin, the way they trickled down her flesh, between her breasts, and along the hollow of her stomach. It occurs to Tim he's staring, and hasn't finished the sentence. "...When it made the New York Time's Bestseller's list, but that just seemed too self-congratulatory."
"'L.J. Tibbs never used words when an action would do, so, as he leveled the barrel of his gun at Avi Wazari, words were supremely unnecessary.' It's a good first line, McGee."
"You remember?" He pulls his eyes away from the suds to look in her eyes.
"I've read all of your books. Even the two you've written as T. M. Gee."
His eyes went wide. Those books were a cross between The Dresden Files and Laurel K. Hamilton and starred a not very modified version of Abby.
She looked at him as the water streamed over them, her fingers caressing his face. "McGee, are you blushing?"
"Ummm... probably. No one was ever supposed to know I wrote those. My picture isn't on the cover. I went through a different agent, and a different publisher. Hell, T.M. Gee has a fake biography and is technically a woman. How did you find out?"
She smiles. "I have my ways... But you shouldn't be embarrassed about them. They're beautifully written and scorching hot."
"Well, um... yeah... thanks."
"You should have told me you were using me as a main character, though."
He smiles, looking chagrinned. "I wasn't sure if you'd like being the main character in a series of urban fantasy-mystery-lesbian erotica books."
"I like lesbians." Tim groans at that, blood rushing toward his dick.
"That might be the single hottest thing you've ever said."
"And I thought you loved me for my mind."
He kisses her hard, tongue stroking and slipping against her lip, then kneels, tracing his lips from her knee to hip to belly, and standing, her breasts, collar bone, neck and lips, hands tracing the path of his lips. "God, Abby, I love your mind, I love your body, I love the fact that you aren't freaked out about those books. I just love you."
"Good. You should love me." She smiles as she says that, and he laughs, kissing her again.
Abby takes the scrubby from him, lathering him up. He's definitely hoping this results in sex. Her fingers on his skin, the hot water, the sight of her, kneeling in front of him, are all combining to make sure he's hard as a rock.
She looks up from scrubbing his left foot, her face inches from his erection.
"That looks like it wants some attention."
"Yes, please."
She stands up and reaches for the shower soap, lathering up her hand. Then she steps so that she standing next to him, her full body pressed against his left side. For a moment she stands there, kissing him, then she takes him in hand. He rests his forehead against hers, groans deeply, and then looks down to watch her fist him.
"God, that looks so good."
"Looks good? How does it feel?"
He cups his hand around the back of her neck, kissing her deeply, mouth open, tongues dancing, and then says, "It feels amazing. Feels so good it shouldn't be legal." His hand traced down her back, slips along her butt, and settles between her legs, fingers slipping along wet, slick skin. "It feels as good as that does, I hope."
Her eyes close, and she sags against him. "It's good McGee, really good."
"And this?" He moves a little faster, a little harder.
"Yeah. Just like that."
"Just like that?" He turns her so her back is to the wall of the shower. "How about this?" He kneels in front of her, lips and tongue replacing fingers.
"Better." Her fingers clench in his hair. "That's... Oh... Fuck, Tim! Don't stop that!"
He almost says, "Never, baby." but he'd have to stop to do that. So he doesn't. He wishes he could tell her how good she tastes, and how beautiful she is, but well, he's got better things to do with his tongue right now, so he does them.
Abby climaxing is one of the supreme joys of his life. In this, like everything else, she's entirely her own. There's no pretense, no hiding, no fear that a sound she's making might be undignified, or that the way she's moving might look odd. She's supremely self-confident, and watching a woman like that, knowing that he's giving her that sort of pleasure, rocks Tim's world.
She comes down slowly, and for what feels like a long time, he kneels before her, face resting against her thigh, fingers idly tracing along the crest of her hip, water streaming down them.
He's just about gotten to the point where he's thinking that she must have one hell of a high capacity hot water heater when she says, "How did you get so good at that?"
He looks up at her, grins, and says, "Lots of practice."
She kneels next to him, and gently tugs at him until he's lying in the tub, back against the slanted back rest.   "Really?" She's grinning as she straddles him, and reaches up to the shelf where the shower gel, shampoo, conditioner, and condom are.
He's immensely pleased to see she grabbed the condom.
"No, not really. Remember that scene in Revenge of the Nerds, where the sorority girl asks how the nerd is so good at sex, and he says nerds spend all their time thinking about sex?"
"Yeah." She laughs. "Thinking about that a lot?"
He groans a little as she opens the wrapper. Tim is intensely wired into certain sense memories, and his brain associates the sound of a condom wrapper opening, along with that slightly manky smell of condoms with very good things happening.
"Probably my third favorite fantasy." He groaned again as she slipped the condom onto him. Sure, he knows most guys don't like condoms, that they cut down on the sensations, but since he's never had sex without one, he's got nothing to compare it to. And, since he loves to watch, he also loves seeing her hands gently smoothing it onto him.
"What are the top two?"
She eases onto him, slowly inching down, wrapping him in snug, slick, warmth.
He exhales a slow "ohhhh..." and holds her flush against him, reveling in the feel of her on him. "God, that's both of them. Sex in general, and sex in specific with you."
She smiles brightly, and begins to rock against him. He meets her thrust for thrust. "So, all those years, when you're alone in your shower, you've been thinking of me?"
He could quip, something like, 'How do you know I'm in the shower when I do that?' But he's having a pretty hard time focusing on anything besides the sensations she's producing and how much he loves them.   So instead he says, "Yesss..." and it kind of slurs into a groan as he pulls her tighter and closer to him.
From there things slide into a vivid awareness of the sight of her body above his and the feeling of her slipping along him. He's not sure if his time sense slowed down, or if they just took a very long time, but it felt like it went on forever, like in some way he was trying to make up for all the lost hours of making love to Abby in one long, exquisite fuck.
Or maybe that's just his writer sense trying to provide meaning and context for what was happening.
Either way, when they were done, when he was lying blissed-out and limp in her bathtub, he was happier than he had been in almost a decade.

Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction

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


12.
Nothing looks less like a clandestine date than getting dressed up at work, and then openly taking your date out, while inviting everyone else around you to come along, knowing the activity you have planned is so far outside their comfort zones that the merest mention of it is enough to make them want to run screaming away. Short of taking Abby to DragonCon, he can't think of anything Tony or Ziva or Gibbs would be less interested in attending.
Tim has on a pair of cream colored slacks, a turquoise polo shirt, collar up, a cream colored Member's Only Jacket, and matching turquoise top siders.  He's halfway between Michael Jackson and Don Johnson.
"Sure you don't want to come, Tony?"
"No, McCrocket, I have no interest at all in... whatever unwholesome activity it is you and Abby are going to do tonight."
"This from a man who dressed up like John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever and did the voice. We're going to see The Generics. You know, the concert tickets you got for me?" He turned toward Ziva.  "Ziva? I don't want any hurt feelings about not being invited."
"My feelings are not hurt." Ziva stepped in front of him studying his outfit. "Why is the collar up?"
"I have no idea. It's just how they wore them back then."
"Ready, McGee?" He turned from Ziva to see Abby. He'd, of course, heard about the outfit, they'd talked about what they'd be wearing, but seeing it was an entirely different thing all together.
Abby had found the neon-pink Converse high tops she'd been looking for. She'd added them to a look of black leggings, a flouncy, neon-pink lace skirt, a wide studded black leather belt, black t-shirt with, and this was a modern twist, a cartoon skull wearing a bow. A black denim jacket finished off the clothing. She'd let her ponytails down, curled her hair, and topped the outfit off with a big, floppy, and, of course, neon pink bow in her hair.
He felt the grin break out over his face, and was glad that Ziva and Tony were behind him and couldn't see it. Tim was certain it wasn't the sort of smile you give someone you're just happy to see.
"I'm ready."
*******************************The concert had been a blast. Sure, it wasn't anything either of them was listening to these days. Abby loves Industrial and Punk, and Tim's on a Mumford and Sons kick with a side of fairly obscure Indie-Brit Bands when he's not listening to jazz. But, the Generics were good at capturing a feeling of the semi-naughty, mostly innocent mid-eighties rock and roll. They knew all the songs well enough to sing along, and just about everyone in the audience, themselves included, sang themselves horse and bopped around to the tunes.
By the end of the concert, neither of them wanted to go home. They were in his car, heading back to the Navy Yard, and Abby's car when he said, "Want to split a milkshake with me?"
"I think you're mixing up your decades."
"I don't know. The fifties and the eighties have a lot in common. Slightly restyle the outfits and we're Gibbs on his first date."
"I don't think Gibbs is that old," she says with a smile.
Tim grins at her. "Okay, we're Ducky on his first date."
She laughs. "Do you think they had 'the 50s' in Scotland? Or was it just an American thing?"
"I'm sure if you don't mind a half-hour long discourse of the socio-economics of post-World War II Scotland, we can find out."
"I can probably skip that."
"Me, too."
She sits quietly for a moment, and then asks, "What flavor shake?"
"You pick."
"Okay. Take us to the milkshakes."
*************************The hole in the wall diner Tim took them to could have been transported directly from the fifties without any of the intervening years touching it. A gleaming aluminum counter divided the kitchen area from the booths.
He pointed out a booth in the back, and walked with her past the other diners, who looked at the two of them with raised eyebrows. She slipped in, and he surprised her by sitting next to her, instead of across.
"Easier to share if we're next to each other."
"Makes sense."
The menus were already on the tables, sandwiched between the napkin dispensers and the salt and pepper shakers. He handed one to her and waited patiently while she looked over the options.
"Any that are really good?"
"I like the dark chocolate, almond, and cherry one." He reads the menu over her shoulder, seeing that the options are all modern takes on old classics. So, time hadn't entirely passed the place by.
Abby snaps shut the menu. "That sounds good." As she does it, a waitress in a blue uniform comes over. She goes through her spiel telling them about the specials, sounding bored but looking amused at their outfits. Tim thinks she's old enough to have worn this sort of clothing the first time it was popular.
Abby orders, and Tim just nods.
A few minutes later she returns with a tall fluted glass, filled to the brim with ice-creamy goodness, a swirl of whipped cream and cherry on top, and a tall metal glass half-filled with even more.
Tim grabs the straws out of the dispenser on the table, and puts two of them in the milk shake.
Abby takes the cherry off the top, and slides it into her mouth. There's nothing overtly sexual about this, it's just Abby eating a cherry, but Tim is watching, fascinated.
Abby sees the way he's watching her. "Tim, what is going on?" He knows she's serious. She rarely uses his first name, and when she does she's either feeling tenderly toward him, or annoyed. And she doesn't look annoyed.
He takes a sip of the milkshake, closes his eyes, and sighs. He's playing up how good it is, a little. It's really good, but maybe not quite that good.
"You remember how I was really skinny a while back?"
"Yeah?" She'll let him go on this digression, but her expression tells him she wants a real answer soon.
"I gave up carbs, most meat, ate all organic pretty much all the time. And I lost a ton of weight. But you know what? I like meat. I love sugar. And since the explosion," he shook his head, "I've wanted to spend my life doing the things I love with the people I love. I'm done with avoiding or putting off things that are important to me so that I can look better, or more like everyone thinks I should look."
"That sounds very healthy, McGee."
"Thanks." He took a deep breath, and focused his eyes on hers. "I love you, Abby. And I want to be with you. I want to wake up with you and go to sleep with you, and if that means getting an extra-wide coffin, so be it. And I know this is probably the wrong way to do this, that I'm going to fast, but... I don't want to waste any more time. It's been nine years, and for at least six of them, I've known you're the love of my life, and I'm hoping that I haven't just made a huge fool of myself and that you love me, too. So, anyway, having said all of that, would you like to be my girlfriend?"
For a second it looked like Abby was somewhere between laughing and crying, and then she was wrapped around him, kissing him.
After a few minutes, he pulled back. "I've missed you."
"You see me every day." She smiled widely, lipstick smeared a bit, and then bent forward and daintily sipped from the milkshake.
He leaned forward, his lips brushing her ear. "I've missed touching you." Then he placed a warm kiss on her ear, and took a sip from his straw.
Tim's writer sense, the almost outside himself narrator that likes to look at things and see how they are and how they'll fit into his stories, can tell that right that second they're ridiculously cute. They're fluffy kittens tangled in balls of yarn playing in a meadow while unicorns frolic under rainbows cute.
And he doesn't care, because life is good when it's this cute.

38 Weeks: The Twenty-Ninth Week

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



Week 29
All things considered, as Fi went from trimester two into trimester three, the pregnancy had been going well. By week twenty-two she had regained the weight she lost from morning sickness, and had continued from there to plump up nicely.The baby was doing a pretty good job of not bugging her mom, too much. Sure, she seemed to be under the impression that Fi's bladder was her own personal combination pillow and punching bag, but beyond that, she was behaving.And compared to some of the horror stories Fi had been hearing, something about a visibly pregnant woman inspires strangers to tell said woman just utterly terrible things, she'd been having it pretty easy.So, she probably should have figured she was due for something to happen. After all, whenever a job seems like it's going too well, something is about to jump out and bite them.She was getting dressed to go jogging. She stopped training with Michael when it came to fighting as soon as she learned she was pregnant, but since the doc said pregnancy wasn't a good time to start jogging, but if you were already doing it, there was no reason to stop as long as it didn't hurt, they had kept up with the running. Fi stood on one foot, and lifted the other to put a sock on. Normally that would be that, put sock on, lower foot, put other sock on, and go run. But this time something happened. She doesn't know what, but she was standing, foot up, sock in hand, and then there was searing pain all down her hip and left leg, and she was on the floor cursing loudly.Michael was there a second later, worried, picking her up, asking what happened.She tried, gingerly, to put some weight on her leg, and once again pain went shooting through it.Five hours later they were out of the Emergency Room with a diagnosis of a strain, and instructions to put ice on her hip and rest.
**********************
They are sitting on the bed, her between his legs, back resting against his chest, as he gently rubs her hip and thigh. "How about Claire Natalie?" Michael asks."I like Claire. But...""Yeah, I don't actually like Natalie either. It's a bad name for a girl. Natalia isn't much better. I just want—""What was his middle name?""Elias."Fi thinks about that. "Ellie? Elise?"Michael slowly starts to smile. "I like Elise.""How about Elise Claire? Claire is just mine, but Nate was both of ours."Michael kisses Fi's temple, and rests his hands on the baby bump. He strokes it firmly, and feels the baby kick in response."Hello, Elise."
 ***************
Supposedly, Sam is bringing them to meet a client. Just for a consult. He and Jesse will handle the heavy lifting on this. Mike and Fi are just there to plan.Supposedly this client is very security conscious, which is why they're going to his place in, from what Michael can see, the Everglades.And, as they pull into a driveway filled with cars, he sees Sam frown. Someone, and he's guessing in this case, someone is Barry, forgot that if you're trying to set up a proper surprise party for Joe Average, let alone Mr. and Mrs. Superspy, not having everyone parking in the driveway is a good plan. It's a beautiful house, and it's way off the beaten track, and Michael is certain that's on purpose. Sure, Barry and his mom may have forgotten about the parking situation, but they both understood that this particular combination of guests would need a lot of privacy.Inside looks like a Mary Kay convention. There's pink everywhere. Pink balloons, pink streamers, pink pillows, pink cake, and in case all of the pink didn't get the idea across, It's A Girl was emblazoned everywhere. And also inside was a huge group of people, almost everyone he and Fi have helped over the years. He's got no idea how Barry and his mom could have come up with this guest list. It boggles his mind that all of these people are here to celebrate him and Fi having a baby.And yes, the games are kind of cheesy, and the food could be better, but as he sits there opening a collection of unique baby gifts, he's amazed at how much he loves these people, and how happy he is right that moment. He leans over and kisses Fi, which results in a wave of "Ahhhs" cresting over them, strokes her face, and pets Elise.And right now, life is awfully sweet. 

Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction

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



11.
He had been planning on spending the night gaming, maybe write a page or two more on the latest novel if gaming did a good job of getting his head clear, and then turning in early.  A good night's sleep sounded excellent right about now.
The knock on his door wasn't entirely unexpected, nor was it entirely welcome.
Everyone had been dealing with the explosion in their own way. Ziva stopped holding herself so rigidly. Tim would use the phrase, 'let her hair down,' but that isn't precisely right. Let her hair curl? More accurate, but not exactly a well-known turn of phrase. Abby hadn't been sleeping, though, thank God and her brother, as of last week she finally was. Gibbs had started building something huge.  Director Vance was still walking on eggshells. Ducky was fuming with boredom, and Palmer's running around trying to keep his head above water.
And Tony... Tony was suddenly... well maybe not suddenly... this isn't entirely out of the blue, growing up.  
From the looks of it, growing up entails not chasing every woman he sees, and spending more time with Tim. Tim isn't sure if this is about avoiding temptation—Tony can't be hitting on women if there aren't any around—or if this is about avoiding rejection—Tony can't get turned down if he's at Tim's.
Either way, he's at Tim's, pacing around, poking delicate computer equipment, complaining about the lack of cool things to do.
"Tony, sit down." Tony flops on the sofa. Tim tosses Tony a PS3 controller and points to the screen. "This is Call of Duty. Those guys are the bad guys. The people running next to us are on our team. In about five minutes, we'll wrap up this mission. Then I'll let them know I've got a noob, and we'll play with them."
"You want me to play—"
"You've got a noob, McTim?" The voice of SandyAUKKG left Tony silent.
"Yeah, Sandy, never played before. He's not even holding the controller right."
"Oh My God! This'll be so much fun. I'll get the girls."
"Girls play this?" Tony whispered urgently to Tim.
"Yeah, Tony, they do. KKG stands for Kappa Kappa Gamma, and AU stands for American University."
"Sorority girls." Tony's voice is hushed and reverent.
"Sorority girls who are going to kick your ass!" Sandy added with a giggle. "Let's play!"
**************************
He's not entirely sure how the thing with Borin started. He and Tony one upping each other certainly had something to do with it. And there was some sort of weird vibe going on with Ziva and Tony, which, honestly, if the two of them would just get over it and start dating, this would be so much easier. But maybe that's why Tony is at Tim's all the time these days. Maybe he too was trying to get his head right before making a big change.
The idea that that may be true, and that Tony would chose to spend time with him in order to help do it makes Tim laugh.
"What?" Laughing while Tony is getting him tickets to a concert so he's got some ammo for asking Borin out was the wrong thing to do.
"Nothing."
"You were laughing."
"You were playing Call of Duty last night. I'm getting my geek claws into you. That's funny."
Tony doesn't seem to buy it, but he does hit enter on his computer and the tickets are purchased.
"Okay McGeek, you're all set up for asking Borin out. Eight o'clock, next Tuesday, you, her, The Generics. Love is in the air."
"If it's anything like my last five dates, she'll be trying to kill me before the curtain call. What are you going to do?"
"I think I'm going to let you have her."
"Let?" Well, there was a snag in the plan. The idea was Tony would ask her out too, and Tim would just stall until after Tony asked, she'd pick Tony, and he'd be out of this with his honor intact and concert tickets.
"You're right; she's too much like Gibbs. It's enough to have him as a boss. I don't need to date him—"
"Date who, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asks as he sweeps in, looking for updates on the case.
"Nobody, Boss."
And then they got back to work.
**********************
Tim was however, sure about how to end the thing with Borin. And better yet, how to end it and maybe, if he played his cards right, end up with a date with Abby, who was perking back up nicely.
There was certainly no way to get out of this with his honor and dignity intact, so, he flubbed it. Badly. And everyone expected him to do it.
Tim is socially awkward, but he's also not an idiot, or seventeen. He can ask a woman out. He's even done so on numerous occasions, and ended up with a collection of, frankly, scary dates. Mostly though, he's shy. He usually doesn't ask women out, which is why he rarely gets shot down.
But, by making himself look like a twit, in front of everyone, he's managed to get tickets to a concert next week, and an excuse to take Abby along without raising suspicion of taking her on a date.  Eighties cover bands might not be her favorite music, but he can't think of anyone who will have more fun getting into the spirit of it than she will. Excuses to get dressed up, listen to loud music, and have a nice dinner out is Abby's idea of fun, and his, too, for that matter. So, why not have fun together?
Thus, a few hours after getting horrifically shot down by Borin, he heads to the lab, a spring in his step.
"Hey, Abby, wanna go to a concert with me?" he shouts over Abby's music.
She looks up from the computer and turns the music down. "Who's playing?"
"The Generics. They're an '80s cover band."
"You think I'd want to go see an '80s cover band?"
"Not precisely. I think you'd find getting dressed in '80s clothing, going out, having dinner, and bopping around for a night fun."
"Didn't you just ask Borin to do this?"
"Yep." Tim grinned at her, trying to get the message of 'please go out with me, I love you, but we have to do this kind of quite' across with a look. "But I don't think she gets how fun it is to get dressed up and be someone else for a night."
Abby studies him for a moment, and he can see she's aware that his look means something, but not precisely what it means. "The way Tony tells it, you had your foot so far in your mouth by the time she left, only your knee was visible."
"I'm sure that's how it looked, to Tony." He grins again.
"McGee." She's starting to sound suspicious, and Tim enjoys it. She might not have all of the unspoken context here, but she's creeping up on it.
"Yeah?"
"You're grinning. You don't look like you just got shot down." He kept grinning. "Are you asking me on a date?"
"Don't you think it'd be kind of, I don't know, tacky, to ask one woman on a date a few hours after being shot down by another one?"
"Yes." She looked at him for a long minute, and her eyes narrowed, puzzled, but enjoying the puzzle. "You're still grinning, McGee."
"Yes, tacky, very, very tacky." He shook his head forlornly; that grin trying to peek out. "But, asking a friend to go out with you, to do something that that friend would probably enjoy, something the original girl would probably run screaming away from, even if she hadn't been approached by someone with the social skills of, say, a retarded turtle, would in no way violate rule number twelve." 
A smile spread across Abby's face, she's got it now. "Uh huh. So, two friends going to a concert and dinner together."
He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. "Exactly."
She turns into the kiss, her lips barely brushing his as he's pulling back. "Yes, I would like to go out with my best friend and see a concert, bop around, and have some dinner."
He didn't think the grin could get any bigger, but it could. "Wonderful."
Later that night, he's on eBay, gchatting with Abby, coordinating looks, hunting for a Member's Only jacket, while she looks for hot pink Converse High Tops.
Yeah, this'll be fun.